#as for the drawing itself i was picturing it taking place before the final battle just ugh

[cringefail-clown]

havent drawn dirkri in a while

[enter-the-performapals]

For my Original Characters 8th anniversary and Caelum's birthday this year, ive decided to redesign my main OCs as YGO characters!

When I watched Arc-V for the first time, I of course had to relate it to my OCs (becuae I do that with everything lol) but also because Ayumu's nickname is Literally Yuzu and Luciano's nickname is LuLu and my tiny little brain was like "omg! Jus like my babies!" For reference I created Caelum, Luciano and Ayumu (in that order) when I was 15, Fiore a little later at 17, and I watched Arc-V when I was 18 and I am 23 now.

Basically, these guy's stories would happen during the events of Arc-V. All the characters here are also a little older at 16. As I know very little about the card game itself I haven't given them decks but I may create archetypes when I've watched more than Arc-V and GX.

I will also note that I'll probably draw these guys again because I love them lol

Just a trigger warning as well: there's a bit of graphic violence in these descriptions, so just look at the pretty picture of them if that bothers you :)

Ayumu

An absolute goblin who loves to analyse duel monsters matches but doesn't actually play himself

Basically a hikikomori who spends his days on duel monsters Wikipedias and complains on forums about the current meta

When he learns about pendulum he's absolutely fascinated and avidly watches Yuya's matches in the Maiami cup

When the Battle Royale in Maiami city is announced and that there will be pendulum cards up for the participants he goes nuts

He actually ventures out of his house in months to pinch some pendulum cards from the restricted zones of Maiami

Mainly to say to forum shitposters that hes gonna break the game with his own pedulums

He has a really basic starter deck with him just in case he encounters one of the contestants but he'd eventually get a different deck

Finally sneaks into one of the zones while the Obelisk Force attack is happening and finds a couple of pedulum cards

Before accidentally running into Luciano, another character I'll mention later

After a scuffle between the two, Lucio panics and teleports out of Standard and Ayumu is also accidentally teleported-ending up in Synchro

Caelum

As you can probably tell, he is very much a commons

Has a very Fuck Cops Eat the Rich attitude and is very pro revolution

Also die hard Jack Atlas and Turbo Duel fan lol

Hobbies include: Stealing from the Tops, Invading their spaces, being a generally nuisance to anyone who doesn't live in the Satellite

Also always happy to help in any relief efforts as he can't go past anyone who's struggling

Met Ayumu after a mix up in a Tops only area when Security mistook him for a commons and he just had to rescue him

Immediately became fast friends with him and helped build a better deck

Mainly because they're both Duel Monsters geeks, but Cae has very little knowledge while Ayumu has very little experience

The both of them snuck into the stadium where the friendship cup was taking place and watched from the sidelines

And that's about it for what I'm developed for them lol

Luciano

Just very quickly: in the original cannon for my OCs, Lucio is Italian so his name is pronounced Lew-cho or Lew-cha-noe not Loo-see-oe

And from here on out I'll be calling him by his nickname, Lucio

Lucio is an Duel Academia student (quite obviously) who, before and during the genocide on Xyz was an Osiris/Slifer Red

While he was a good student, good enough to easily be Obelisk Blue, he was very disrespectful and horribly obstinate

Basically forced himself into being a soldier in the war effort no matter what anyone said

Was terribly violent with his duels, and eventually murdered someone

When this was found out, he was extradited back to Academia to stand on trial for basically robbing the Arc V of power

He was put on a probation of sorts and told if he made one more wrong move he'd be kicked from Duel Academia all together which sent him into a spiralling panic

After the trial, he was approached by Joeri who chastised him and smugly told him to get his act together

After restraining himself from attacking Joeri and calming down he was left absolutely despising the younger kid and desperate to upstage him

Through Espionage ™ he found out the very basics of the Revival Zero project and that Leo Akaba was seeking the components of Ray and decided that this was his chance

Also learned of Obelisk Force's plans to storm Standard and decided that that was his chance

Stole an Obelisk Force Uniform, teleported to Standard and went on the hunt for our fav citrus girl

Alecksi

Absolutely loved his life in Heartland City before the genocide

Had a practically identical twin sister, Alessia- also known as Fiorella (little flower in Italian)

Wasn't really big into Duel Monsters, but supported his sister, who wanted to be a pro duelist

When Academia hit them, they weren't expecting it

They survived a while, but never ended up running into the Resistance nor any relief efforts for the displaced people of Heartland, staying mostly on the outskirts of the distressed city

Eventually they were caught by Academia students and chased into the inner part of the city

Eventually cornered by Lucio who challenged Fiorella to a duel

Even though she fought as well as she could, the two of them were both half starved to death and practically on their last legs for spending such a long time out of the city in an active war zone

After defeating her, he went overboard and ended up brutally murdering her and gouging out Alecksi's eye instead of turning them into cards

After Alessia dies in his arms, she gave him her deck and her necklace to remember her by

He takes them and swears revenge

Practically bleeding to death, Alecksi faints and eventually wakes up in a shelter, saved by Sayaka and Allen

He takes a long time to recover (as best he can) from his injury and his malnutrition

While healing, he learns as much as he can about duel monsters from The Resistance

Keep what happened to himself, but sympathizes with Syun

After he's healed to the best he can be, he flees the shelter and goes on the hunt for Lucio

And that's all I've got for now. Ill definitely do a bit more art of Cae in this AU for a belated birthday present, but let me know if you'd like to see/read more of these guys, as they're really close to my heart :)

[cassandraclare]

The Whispering Room: James’ POV

Here it is finally — James’ POV of the Whispering Room scene from Chain of Gold. I wanted to wait until Chain of Iron was released to give more people a chance to read the book, and also because what we learn in COI does inform the scene. I hope you enjoy!

*art by Cassandra Jean

Cortana wove with her words, underlining each one with steel. She turned as her sword turned, and her body curved and moved like water or fire, like a river under an infinity of stars. It was beautiful—she was beautiful, but it was not a distant beauty. It was a beauty that lived and breathed and reached out with its hands to crush James’s chest and make him breathless. — Chain of Gold

James had felt a strange emotion when Daisy first took the stage at the Hell Ruelle. It was a mix of several feelings...

worry on her behalf, annoyance at Kellington, curiosity, and admiration for her bravery and poise. It was unfair of these Bohemians to force her to caper for them, and, he thought, a bit insulting to Shadowhunters in general. He supposed that Matthew had given them a rather unusual view of what the Nephilim were like in such circumstances.

And then she had begun to dance. And suddenly she was not Daisy, his old friend. She was Cordelia, whose name meant heart, whose every gesture was fire. Every earthly worry he’d had had been swept out of his mind. He was conscious only of Cordelia, whirling back and forth across the small stage. Cortana danced around her, shedding light like embers. The dull glow of the lamps illuminated her body, describing her every movement, her every curve as she danced. Her scarlet hair whipped around her in time to the music, and the golden light of the lamps in the Ruelle slipped across her skin, slow and hot, like beads of honey. The cadences of her voice, rising and falling, seemed to weave a cage of silken thread about her audience, and James was no exception.

Later, James would think it was odd that he had not compared her to Grace. Grace had never entered his mind at all. Cordelia danced, and by the end of her performance, James’s entire life had been disassembled and put back together in a new and different shape. He was conscious of Matthew, beside him, also staring as the crowd cheered, his sharp cheekbones flushed. He looked dazed; James couldn’t blame him.

Cordelia descended the stage and slipped through the crowd to come back to them, blushing at the looks and murmured comments she was drawing from the audience now. James could see the desire in the eyes that followed her. Everyone wanted her. He felt a dull fury. They had no right. They did not know Cordelia. She was more than just that dance.

When she reached them she let out a long breath of relief and smiled. She glowed with the exercise of dancing. Sweat beaded along her collarbones, shimmered between her breasts. Her eyes were bright as Cortana’s blade, strapped to her back.

“Bloody hell,” Matthew exclaimed.  “What was that?”

A look of uncertainty crossed Cordelia’s face. James said, “It was a fairy tale, Math,” and Matthew nodded. His dark green eyes searched Cordelia’s face, as if looking for the key to a locked room he had only just discovered.

Cordelia looked uncertain. James couldn’t bear that. She’d been magnificent; she should know it. But he couldn’t say that, of course. It would only make her self-conscious.

“Well done, Cordelia,” James said instead; when he unfolded his arms; his wrist hurt and he wondered if he’d been clenching his hands.

Cordelia. He hadn’t called her Daisy, and she looked a little surprised. It seemed inappropriate, somehow. Daisy was Lucie’s friend, the Merry Thieves’ compatriot; he found it a smaller name than she deserved. Cordelia, though—she had been a queen, hadn’t she? Queen Cordelia, daughter of Leir, ruler of Britain before the Romans had ever landed on those shores. Like Boadicea, a legendary warrior queen. A blazing white fire behind fathomless black eyes.

“Anna has disappeared with Hypatia,” James said, noting the empty settee, “so I would call your distraction a success.”

Cordelia’s lips twitched into a smile. “How long does a seduction usually last?”

“Depends if you do it properly,” Matthew said, with a wink. James felt it as a spark of relief, a bit of lightness amid the feeling that something heavy was sitting on his chest.

“Well, I hope for Hypatia’s sake Anna does it properly,” James said. He registered, with the reflexes of a parabatai, that Matthew had gone still next to him, and wondered what was wrong. “Yet for our sake, I hope she hurries it up.”

All hint of Matthew’s jocular tone from before was gone. “Both of you,” he said urgently. “Listen.”

Did he mean all the muttering about Shadowhunters? Was he only noticing it now? It had followed them since they came into the place. But when James followed Matthew’s gaze, he found Kellington staring with an expression of vexation, not at them but at the door. All questions were answered as through the door came Charles Fairchild, looking around him with a haughty expression. He looked like was about to raid the place; so much for whatever work Matthew and Anna had done for Downworlder-Shadowhunter relations here.

Matthew narrowed his eyes. “Charles,” he sighed. “By the Angel, what is he doing here?”

Charles was, James thought, probably looking for them. He was making his way through the crowd and gazing around him. Luckily for them, the crowd was not interested in letting him through, and he was moving very slowly.

“We should go,” James said. “But we can’t leave Anna.”

In one way, at least, Charles’s arrival was helpful; it threw a bucket of cold water on the roiling heat that had gripped James’s heart since Cordelia had begun her dance. Back to the matter at hand: a demon, a Pyxis, a plan.

“You two run and hide yourselves,” Matthew said, still keeping his eyes on his brother. “Charles will go off his head if he sees you here.”

“But what about you?” said Cordelia.

Matthew shrugged, but James could see the tension in his jaw and his shoulders. “He’s used to this kind of thing from me. I’ll deal with Charles.”

Not for the first time, James wished that his parabatai wasn’t in such a hurry to sacrifice his own reputation. He exchanged a long look with Matthew, but Matthew was sure, and determined, and his desire to rush into his own humiliation was an issue that would have to wait. Nodding, he turned and caught Cordelia’s hand with his own. “This way,” he said, and she nodded back in acknowledgement. As he pulled them into the crowd he heard Matthew’s voice calling, “Charles!” in a hearty tone of pleasant, if entirely false, welcome.

James didn’t know his way around the place, and the crowd made orientating himself even more difficult, but after some trial and error he and Cordelia managed to get behind Kellington and slip into a corridor leading away. This wasn’t safe in itself, since from the main chamber one would have a clear view down the entire corridor. In fact, they were temporarily more exposed than before, and James’s hope for the hallway to take a quick turn or to contain large statuary to hide behind was quickly dashed. He continued to hold onto Cordelia’s hand, not that he needed to; she seemed to know her way better than he did.

Partway down the corridor, James caught sight of an open door — its silver plaque labeling it the entrance to THE WHISPERING ROOM. Swiftly he drew Cordelia inside, out of sight. He slammed the door behind them, causing a loud noise, but he thought it couldn’t possibly be heard over the crowd in the main chamber. Only then did he release Cordelia’s hand and take stock of their surroundings.

The room was dimly lit, but not cold: a scented fire burned in the grate, filling the space with the smell of sandalwood and roses. It was a study, he guessed, based on the gigantic walnut desk against the wall and the bookshelves opposite, but it was too richly decorated to be solely a place for studious contemplation. Phoenix feathers and dragon scales danced across the gilded wallpaper; there were no windows, but the walls were hung with patterned tapestries, the floor covered with a rug so thick James felt his boots sink into it as he moved further into the room.

Cordelia had leaned her back against the wall next to the door. Her eyes were closed and she was taking deep, full breaths, calming herself down. Cortana gleamed gold over her shoulder; the firelight gleamed a deeper gold on her skin, which seemed to take and hold its warmth. James curled his fingers in against his palm.

He wanted to touch her. He half-turned away, pretending to study the books on the wall. Any other time, he would have been fascinated by the titles. Now they seemed distant, neither immediate nor imporant. He could have sworn he heard his own heart hammering. He said, “Where did you learn to dance like that?” surprising himself with the roughness of his own voice.

His gaze snapped back to Cordelia as she opened her eyes and gave a little shrug. There was something magical about the dress she wore: it followed the shape of her own body rather than the shape of corsetry or whalebone petticoats. It slid softly against her skin as she moved, just as her dark red hair tickled the bare skin of her throat, her shoulders. “I had a dance instructor in Paris. My mother believed that learning to dance aided in learning grace in battle.”

The word grace pierced James like an icicle. He could not quite picture Grace at the moment, it was true; could not quite envision her face. He had given Grace his heart — that was an immutable fact, something he knew as he knew that two plus two equaled four. But he had to admit that at the moment his heart did not feel given. It felt like a thrumming machine inside his chest, pumping blood and heat.

“That dance,” Cordelia added with a quirk of her soft mouth that struck James like a blow to the stomach, “was forbidden to be taught to unmarried ladies. But my dance instructor did not care.”

“Well,” James said, keeping his voice steady with practiced control, “thank the Angel you were there. Matthew and I could certainly not have pulled off that dance on our own.”

Cordelia turned away from him, the smile still on her face, as though she were keeping it secret from him. She trailed her hand along the top of Hypatia’s desk. At one end was a stack of papers held down by a large copper bowl of fruit, and she brought her hand up to trace its rim.

James may have been distracted beyond the capacity for distraction he’d known before, but he was still a Shadowhunter. “Be careful,” he said warningly. “I suspect that is faerie fruit. It has no effect on warlocks—no magical effect, at least. But on humans…”

Cordelia pulled her hand back as though stung. “Surely it does not harm you if you do not eat it.”

“Oh, it does not. But I have met those who have tasted it. The say the more you have of it, the more you want, and the more you ache when you can…have no more.”

Cordelia was looking at him now, and though it took a great summoning of courage, he returned her gaze. In her dark eyes the silver and blue flames of the fireplace danced. James could not catch his breath. He had never felt this before, this breathlessness. It was like pain, but with a sweet, sharp edge. Like licking honey from a knife. He said, in a low voice, “And yet. I have always thought…is not knowing what it tastes like just another form of torture? The torture of wondering?”

The door shook on his hinges suddenly, making a clatter that made both he and Cordelia jerk their heads around to look at it. The knob was starting to turn.

Cordelia paled. “We’re not meant to be in here —“

James’s world closed down to just this: Cordelia was here, she was with him, and she looked frightened. He would do anything to stop that look on her face. He caught her in his arms, and the relief was incredible — he had not realized how much he wanted to be touching her until he was. Until he was holding her, and her strength and warmth and softness were all pressed against him, and her face was so beautiful it hurt, and her lips were parted in surprise and without another thought he kissed them.

He could feel her sharp intake of breath with his hands, clasped together at her lower back. She gasped, but did not draw back, or away — he thought he would have died if she had — she leaned into him, her full lips opening under his. She was kissing him back. He tasted honey, smelled jasmine and smoke. His hand slid up her warm cheek and into the soft fall of her hair.

Time stopped.

Cordelia’s arms were around his neck. Her lush mouth opened a little against his, and the kiss deepened. He moved his hand to the back of her neck to bring her closer. Her teeth grazed his lower lip, and he couldn’t help it; he moaned, and felt her tremble against him.

Very far away, a voice chuckled and the door closed with a soft click. This whole thing had been intended as a ruse, he knew, for the benefit of whomever was trying to get into the Whispering Room. Probably some Ruelle attendees, Downworlders most likely, who had snuck off for a rendez-vous.

Ruse accomplished, then. With intense regret, James drew back from Cordelia. Her hand, warm and soft and wonderful, was against his neck; her fingers stroked his pale white scar. Her eyes were fixed at the level of his shoulder. He could hear himself say her name — Daisy, my Daisy — instead of responding, she whispered, “I think more people are coming.”

He knew it wasn’t true. He didn’t care. He knew what she was saying: that she was asking and giving permission at once. All James’ life, he had struggled for control: control over his sudden falls into shadow, control over the dark world he could see, that was invisible to everyone else. He had worked and fought and trained for control every day, and for the first time in as long as he could remember it deserted him.

The walls he had put up burned to the ground in an instant as he caught Cordelia to him. He groaned against her mouth, his hands slipping over the silk of her dress, the hot satin of her skin. He undid the strap that held Cortana, got rid of it somehow — carefully, he hoped — and let himself fall back into delirium.

He did not ask himself why he had never felt desire like this before. He could not. He was lost in the feel of her, the incline of her waist, the flare of her hips, the rise and fall of her chest as she gasped. They were kissing wildly, uncontrolled; they fetched up against the desk, Cordelia’s back to it.

Her body bent backward in an impossible arch, her hands going behind her to brace herself. Her eyes half-closed, her head fell back, revealing the bare column of her throat. He pressed his lips there, eliciting a gasp of surprised pleasure.

His hands trailed up the sleek material of her dress — he could feel the heat of her skin through it — from her waist to the neckline of her gown. His palms followed her curves until the tips of his fingers were pressing into the bare bronze skin just above the neckline of her dress. She was sleek and soft and hot all at the same time, like nothing else he’d ever touched. He heard her whimper; she was saying his name, and his heart beat in time with her words: James, James, Jamie please.

The please undid him; shrugging off his frock coat, he caught hold of her around the waist, lifting her until she was perched on the edge of the desk. The material of her dress bunched around her knees, her thighs, as she took hold of his shirt by the starched front and kissed him. His mouth drove against hers, hot and demanding, even as he clambered onto the desk after her. She reached up her arms for him and he sank down on top of her, bracing his weight with a hand above her head.

He paused, just for a moment, looking down at her. Her scarlet hair fanned out across the desk, her eyes glazed, her full lips red from kissing. He was cradled by her body, her legs on either side of his hips, her skirt rucked up nearly to her waist. She wrapped her long, bare legs around him and he shuddered. What was in him, what he wanted, was inchoate but insistant, a force he’d never known. A yearning like hot wires in his blood, the pain-pleasurable ache of unbearable wanting that drove him to kiss her again, kiss her harder. She tangled her hands in his hair, pulling at it as he kissed her breasts, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin until she gave a low scream and clutched at him with desperate hands.

He sank down against her and kissed her, hot and deep and hard. She arched into the kiss, her breath coming in gasps. He felt her through the thinner material of his shirt: the heat of her, the swell of her breasts against his chest, her hands smoothing over his chest, his sides.

His hands aching to touch her in kind, to find out what she liked, what made her gasp, and do it again and again . . . Nothing had ever felt like this, nothing. He’d known desire before; so he remembered, so he had believed. It turned out he had stepped into a puddle and thought it was the sea. As Cordelia moved in his arms, as her lips, he realized there was a depth to desire he hadn’t even guessed at: that it was more than just desperation, but joy and need and wanting and being wanted back. It was a fever dream, his hands sliding up under the heavy satin of her skirts, the salt-sweet taste of her skin, the soft sounds of her pleasure as she urged him closer, urged him onward, the desk seeming to spin beneath them.

He heard, as if at a great distance, the sound of the door opening. He lifted his head, saw the slim fair-hared figure in the doorway. Ice washed through his veins. Cordelia stiffened, began to scramble to sit up. No, he thought, but he couldn’t stop her, couldn’t blame her. It — whatever it had been — was over.

He slid off the desk. Already the fever was vanishing, that feeling —the glorious freedom from the burden of his own will — receding. Grasping at his control, he drew it around himself,  reaching for his coat, turning to calmly meet the gaze of his parabatai.

“James?” Matthew said.

[witch-hazels-musings]

a place for the weary 

Convincing the boys to take a break and rest their head on your lap, because they all work so hard and need a comfortable place to just ... be  - plus … some of them just need love and affection (please) 

Includes: Albedo, Diluc, Scaramouche, Kaeya 

Warning -> SFW

Character X GN reader 

Albedo 

He’s busy, always busy - whether he’s working on some research in the labs or out in the field, he’s hardly ever taking a moment to stop. What he finds most relaxing is drawing, painting the scenery in front of him until he gets it all perfect, and while you love to watch how his face twists, his eyes scrunch together as he examines the lines on the page, you also wish he would take a moment to do nothing 

If you suggest the activity to him, he may wonder what could be the purpose of it; he might ask you a lot of questions as he leans down to rest his head on your lap 

“Albedo,” you call out to him as you watch him shuffle through the crates examining the bottles and other items sprawled in the container. He tilts his head to look at you, his fingers wrapped around the neck of a glass contained filled with some sort of liquid. “You’ve been working for so long, come take a rest.” You pat your leg and invite him to join you on the soft blanket you’d laid out some time ago. 

“I’m trying to make sure we have …” 

“I know,” you chuckle, “and it’ll be there for you after you take a quick break.” 

He straightened himself out, his torso stretching and overcorrecting slightly as he elongated out his muscles. The bottle slipped further into his palm as he moved his hand up and down, bouncing it slightly as he contemplated your suggestion. You knew it wasn’t like him to take breaks like this, still, you hoped he would at least this time.

“If it makes you feel more productive, bring your notebook so you can draw.” That seemed much more enticing, you smiled to yourself as you watched him retrieve his journal before falling in place at your side. 

You were always persistent in getting him to take a moment, a small second to stop moving or relax his eyes which only seemed to be tired when he rested against you 

After the first few times, he had tried a couple of different iterations until he found the best position to be the one he was participating in right now. Legs bent so he could prop his drawing notebook or journal onto them; his legs acting as a makeshift easel so he could sketch or paint what was in the background 

He may be inclined to share his thoughts with you, perhaps dominating the conversation as he ponders on rhetorical questions and thoughts that fill his mind, but you don’t care because your hands are busy in his hair anyway 

After finding a comfortable place for his head, the back of his hair pushed itself up as he slid along the edge of your thigh. You shifted so he could have enough space and while he began to work, you could continue reading through your book. These moments you cherished, these simple, peaceful moments that allowed you to be close to him while giving him all the freedom he’d ever shown you. 

Every once in a while you glanced down to his notebook and became transfixed by the way his pencil moved across the page. How each line transitioned from nonsense into a masterful capture of the world stretched out in front of him. It was incredible how his eyes were able to see so much and his hands moved to copy it all down. He didn’t seem to mind the corners of the page fluttering in the wind or how leaves would fall haphazardly around him, resting quietly on his chest or in his hair. 

Your hands instinctively went to retrieve them, your thumb sliding across the bumpy surface and fingers pushing against his soft blonde hair. Letting the leaf meander on its way to the ground, you returned your fingers to his head. The tips ran over his forehead, trailing until they came to rest on his outer ear and carefully you tucked some strands of his hair behind it. You heard him sigh and noticed the quick movements of the pen slow to a near stop, a sign for you to continue. 

Carefully, you returned your bookmark to the page before resting it onto the blanket. Your hands found their way back to his hair and they began to work their way to his scalp. Your nails sliding along, underneath, below, and over each strand as if you were inspecting it all. The soft texture of it, and the reaction of its owner, made the experience all the better. 

After a while, Albedo seemed to pull himself away from the trance you had put him under. A line here, a curve there, his pencil began to move again and the once empty spaces of the paper grew into a beautiful work of art. You too returned to the book you were reading but left one hand against his hair, your fingers moving every once in a while. 

The two of you shared in a moment, uninterrupted, and through the connection, the both of you felt more energized than before. 

Diluc

Relax? What is relax -> Diluc doesn’t know how, when, or what he would even do to relax so getting him to take a break, to have a moment would be a battle to say the least

You’re much more likely to find success if he’s tired, like super tired, tired to the point you see him shaking his head or rubbing his eyes with his fingers - here he is less likely to deny you - here you have more push in your persuasion 

You walked into the study knowing full well what you would find when you pushed open the door. There he was, just as you had imagined him, with his head peering down at documents, his fist balled and pressing against his forehead, his other hand gripping a pen and moving across the papers. 

The light from the midday sun slipped through the window and surrounded him in a beautiful glow; an ethereal being with hair the color of juiciest apples and skin paler than the cups of china stocked in the kitchen below. If Diluc would allow it, you’d have stolen several photos of him while he worked, but he wasn’t fond of pictures. 

You walked up to the desk and noticed that he had barely eaten the lunch the maids had prepared for him, a few bites taken but nothing substantial. He continued his work even as you approached the front desk, moments like these reminded you how much he trusted you. To allow someone to invade his space like this was an unbelievable sign of faith from the ever distrustful Diluc Ragnvindr. 

“Diluc, are you finished with this?” You asked, resting your hand on the edge of the desk and the other grazing the edge of the plate. 

“Mm?” He looked up at you, his eyes fuzzy and tired, you glanced with your eyes toward the plate and he followed their gaze. “Oh, yes. I’m finished.” You gave him a weak smile as your fingers closed around the cold ceramic. His head dropped back to the paperwork and you shook your own. Moving to place the plate on the tray next to the entrance of the study, you quickly returned to him but this time moving to his side. 

“How’s it coming?” You asked him, your hand drifting toward his shoulder and you grinned as his torso shifted to press deeper into your touch. 

“More and more orders are coming in. Seasonal changes always bring business, but it’s difficult to keep the orders together.” 

“Hmm, well I know you’ll get it done, you always figure it out.” You slid your hand along his back and noticed how he stopped the movements of his pen. “Why don’t you take a break?” 

“I’m far too busy for that.” He voiced, pulling himself back and away from you.

You reached for his hand, your fingers sliding over his bare skin. He disliked wearing gloves while he worked like this. “Indulge me?” 

You’ve instructed him to remove his jacket, the heavy fabric would distract from the relaxation you explained would come - he’s a bit hesitant about it, but you’ve asked so nicely how can he possibly say no to you 

He will lay on his back and look away from you in an effort to hide his embarrassment or weakness - as the master of the winery, the owner of this business, the pride of so many resting on his shoulders he always told himself that he has to hold it all together, until the day he realized you were the only thing holding him together

He melts, purely and simply, the ever stoic Diluc finds peace with you 

His head provides a nice pressure on your legs, his shoulders press against your thigh as you help him get comfortable here. He’s so tall that his feet fall off the daybed, but he doesn’t say anything or really move after. One of his arms rests at his sides while the other lay across his stomach, and you can’t help but smile at the tense way his fingers wrap themselves into a comforting fist. 

“I won’t hold you here for long, just try and relax.” You express knowing full well he will have a hard time doing just that. You’ve made sure his hair isn’t tucked underneath him and you admire the way it contrasts with your dark pants. With deft fingers, you undo the ribbon that keeps his hair in place, and as soon as it’s released you begin to fan the strands over your legs. 

Carefully, you run your hands over his hair, pressing lightly as you start at the crown of his head and work your way over the red pool on your lap. Out of the corner of your eyes, you noticed his fist beginning to relax, the way his long fingers extended across his stomach told you that he was finally committing to your request. From there, you decided to work your way through his hair, your fingers sifting and moving through the mess of wildfire on top of his head. 

Each time you moved to a new, untouched spot he relaxed more. His legs bending slightly, his hands opening up, his expression softening and soon, he began to turn toward you. His head moved, forehead now pressed against your hip, his body shifted just slightly to be closer to you. 

You began to softly hum, the sound of your voice adding to the calming atmosphere of the quiet study and, in a matter of minutes, you could see the steady rise and fall of Diluc’s chest, the inhale and exhale of air as it slipped past his lips and the irregular twitch of his fingers as he slipped off to sleep. 

A maid entered the room shortly after and when she saw the two of you in the back of the study and noticed the smile slightly hidden under your index finger as you indicated to her of the sleeping man on your lap, she bowed and exited the room. 

Scara

Grumpy - the embodiment of grumpy and absolute worst at taking any suggestion, ever. So when you bring this idea up to him, he’s super against it. He doesn’t want to appear, look, seem soft in any way - ‘what is this silly little thing you are asking me to do?’

He’d push the idea away every time you bring it up -- that is until the day your legs look so tantalizing they are practically calling his name. Perhaps it's the way your hands rest in your lap as they hold onto a book, or the light as it hits your legs, or just the sound of your voice as you offer him a place to rest again and again - he finally succumbs 

You’ve been sitting in Scara’s living room for some time now. You learned early on to let him do his own thing and not get in his way, he had made that very clear. Still, you were happy he let you invade his space, that he let you be someone that he tolerated more than most. It definitely ignited your pride to have someone of his stature interested in you. 

Though, the only issue with him was the fact that he was always on the move. He never seemed to be stationary for long, and often would be gone for days or weeks at a time, sometimes with a warning. So, you learned to keep yourself busy and take in every moment you could with him. 

He had been in and out most of the day so you found yourself preoccupied with your things. Reading, working, relaxing, whatever followed the requirements of the day; you just went with the flow. Today held those sentiments very strongly as you got comfortable on the couch, one leg resting underneath you and the other bouncing on the ball of your foot. You had been engrossed in your book for so long, the characters' adventures gripping you and pulling you through every hill and valley they traveled. You were so absorbed in the words that you didn’t notice Scara calling your name, or how he stood in front of you with his hands on his hips. 

Fingers entered your vision and a loud snap sound directly in front of you. You looked up startled and when you saw his face you finally welcomed him. 

“Hey, I didn’t notice you were home.” You show him a kind smile and receive nothing in return. 

“I was calling you.” 

“Sorry, I didn’t hear you.”

“What have you been doing all day? Lazing about what it looks like.” He crossed his arms and looked around the room before returning his attention to you. 

“I’m taking a break, you’re welcome to join me.” You added, patting your lap. 

“I’ve already told you I would never do something so childish.” 

You chuckle, slipping your fingers in between the pages of your book. “I know, figured I’d give it another shot. Are you heading back out?” 

“It doesn’t matter.” He replied; conversations were often like this with him, short and to the point and almost always without any real answer. So you returned your attention to your book, the pages calling your name as your eyes scanned down the page before landing back on the sentence from which you had been pulled from. 

You were drawn back into the scene only to be ripped out of it once again. The book in your hand was pushed to the side, your elbow knocking into the arm of the chair and your head snapping to the source of the disturbance. Scara’s face suddenly came into view as his head rested against your lap, his eyes staring at the ceiling and cheeks speckled with the color silk flowers.

He has this response to things that can throw others off so quickly. He’s violent and angry, but he shows these small signs of humanity in his actions, simple, small things every once in a while it reminds you of a small child who isn’t sure what he really wants 

The more he participates in this activity, the more likely he will invade your lap whenever the urge comes over him. He’ll push whatever is in your lap away, if he’s feeling really nice he’ll pick it up and place it elsewhere, otherwise you learn to never hold anything breakable here - he won’t look at you either, his eyes will look away, always, and he expects you to know what he wants, don’t make him beg for anything 

You never once expected him to follow through with your request, not in a million years. So when he settles against your legs, his face right next to your stomach and eyes looking upward at you, you're unsure how to respond. 

“Well, I’m here.” He says, crossing his arms and legs as he waits expectantly for your attention. You’re so taken-aback that you can’t help but burst into laughter. Covering your face with your hand, the sound of your voice spills into the room and makes the harbinger shift against you. “I knew this was stupid …” He huffs and you have to use so much more strength than you anticipated to pull him back. 

“I’m sorry. I just … I never expected … please, don’t go.” You look at him with hopeful eyes and with a sigh he returns his head to your legs. While one of your hands rests against the top of his head, the other works to save your place in your book before resting it on the end table. You don’t even notice that your fingers have started to play with the short locks of his hair until you look back at his face and see his eyes closed. 

You stall, but only long enough for him to slightly open his eyes and look at you, his expression of ‘did I tell you to stop’ speaking volumes. So, you start to work your fingers through his hair, the dark purple strands slip easily through your fingers as you shift them around. Spreading your hands out and pressing the tips of your fingers against his scalp and, as your bravery grows, you move your fingers toward his jaw and along the edge of his hairline. His short hair gives you a great view of his face, and you wonder if this is the first time you’ve ever really had the opportunity to look at him. He’s incredibly handsome, one reason he was able to capture you so easily, and the longer you played with his hair, the further the corner of his mouth moved into a faint smile. You would do almost anything for that smile. 

A soft chuckle sounds from your throat and the calmness of your actions is gone in an instant. His eyes are open and he’s slipped from your lap, his feet connecting to the floor and the warmth of his body dissipating from your legs. You protest, but he’s already halfway across the room and is clearly trying to keep you from looking at his face. 

Kaeya

He is all about this activity - honestly, he’s all about any type of touch you want to offer him and while he has a lot on his plate, he will take these moments to be with you. He doesn’t care either where or around who, he may be partaking in this delectable experience - his mind is filled with you and, when you hold him, touch him, love him, he can think of nothing else 

You hadn’t seen him all day, which wasn’t uncommon when there were new recruits or the knights were preparing for a subjection out in the wilderness, Kaeya was typically busier during these times. So, when there were days he wouldn’t be able to get away, and you knew he would continue to work until everything was done, you would find your way to him and offer him a short reprieve from the duties of his work. 

He was standing in the hallway consumed in a conversation with one of the knights. His usually peppy demeanor seemed faded, his shoulders drooped a bit further, his gestures more muted as spoke with the other party, and overall, he didn’t seem as energetic as he normally was. 

The closer you got, the more attention you drew, and soon Kaeya turned to look at what was drawing the eyes of his speaking partner. 

“Y/N. What a pleasant surprise.” He perked up when he saw you, the light in his blue eyes flashing, a smile stretching across his face. 

“Hey! I wanted to stop by since I had a moment. Are you free?” You asked him, crossing your hands behind your back and giving the other knight a quick head nod who returned your hello in a similar manner. 

“Of course, I will spare all my time for you.” He closed the distance between the two of you, an arm draping around your shoulder and pulling you close. 

“Captain, we’ve been asked to …” 

“Yes, yes. I’ll get right on it.” He affirmed to the knight before turning all his attention to you and ushering you down the hallway toward his office. 

“Are you sure you are free? If you need me to come ba …” 

“Nonsense, how could I pass up this opportunity. Do not worry your pretty little head.” He laughed, his smile wide and eyes closed. 

“Okay, I won’t keep you long then.” 

“Oh, but I was hoping you’d save me from this boring day.” He laughed and squeezed you closer to his side, even though you could tell he was more tired than usual he was still able to give you so much of his energy.

Kaeya will turn his head toward you, he’ll wrap his hand around your waist because even here he cannot get close enough 

Here, he can breathe you in and be the center of your attention - which is his most favorite thing

What he prefers, what he loves most, is when you touch his face, stroke his cheeks with the back of your fingers or your hands as they slide over him, the way you run your fingers along his brow, his jaw, and across his neck - these actions will give him the chills and it may be the only time you truly see him react in such a way 

When you get settled onto the couch in his office you call him to you. He eagerly takes the space next to you as if it was always meant for him. 

“Lay down, you look exhausted.” You explain, extending your arm around him and waving him to rest in your lap. 

“Hah, are you trying to take advantage of me?” He asks, moving closer to you rather than doing what you asked. 

“If taking advantage of you looks like letting you take a break, then yes. That’s exactly what I’m doing here.” Your laughter fills his ears and he remembers just how much he missed the sound. 

“How can I possibly say no to you?” 

“I know, I’m pretty convincing. Now, come here.” You pull on the sleeve of his arm and he quickly follows your guidance. His head settles onto your thighs, his face as close to your stomach as he can get, and his hands resting against his chest. 

You help him drape his hair over your leg and start working your way through his bangs, sliding your fingers along his forehead. His playful smile slips into a relaxed expression as he takes in the feeling of your touch on his skin. The way you trace your fingers down his cheek, over his nose, across his lips, his jawline, he is beyond happy here. 

“Do you know when you might be able to take a real break?” You ask, running your fingers through the blue strands of his hair, admiring the way it looks as you move them to places they don’t normally rest. 

“It seems there are many days ahead of us. These new recruits are …” He lifted his hands into a shrug before dropping them back onto his chest, “Well, progressing at their own pace we’ll say.” 

“So it’ll be a while.” 

“Perhaps. Don’t fret though, I’ll always make time for you to refill my reserves.” 

“I’ll take on that request.” You look down at him and catch his eyes staring back, he moves his hand to rest against your arm and gives it a tight squeeze before turning his face toward you. His eye closes and even as the conversation dies down, as his breathing becomes slower, and his hand slips down the side of your arm you know he won’t fall asleep. He never falls asleep when you are with him like this, no matter how tired he is he refuses to miss a single moment. 

[binniesthighs]

➵ changbin, son of ares ➵

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x seo changbin

Genre: that good good smut n’ a lil fluff, pwp 

Word count: 1.6k 

demigod skz mini-masterlist coming soon

{see below for nsfw tags and warnings!} 

Tags: demigod au, inspired by PJO, sonofares!changbin, hardsub!changbin, tattooed!bin, explicit language, mentions of battle scars, nipple play (r), mild knife play (no blo*od) (m), lil bit of hand focused oral fixation, marking and spanking (r), oral (69), unprotected sex (stay safe lovelies!), creampie, cockwarming

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Fire and fury, scalding hot, fingers biting into the delicate insides of palms. He is passion in the form of white heat that buzzes in your head and glistens with sweat between your shoulder blades. His eyes are gilded in flecks of gold that flicker like the flames which writhe under his skin. By contrast, his lips are soft and plush like the way rose petals crinkle. 

He is never cold, and he never falters where he imbues his body into yours with darkened eyes that can see you inside and out until there is nothing left to hide. 

He’s told you that the anger that boils inside him is nothing for you to fear: passion and infatuation are just other emotions which we all feel as intensely as fury. 

Still, he’s immense: a show of force that makes you feel small and insignificant even though you know that you are nothing of the such to him. He holds you to his chest, letting you feel the pound of his furious heart that resounds and quickens when he pulls you in even closer, stretching out your limbs until they too burn. 

The kisses he bites into your skin sink in like he can scald the very words there himself, “I’m just as much yours as you are mine.” 

Your loyalty to him is the greatest gift--it is an honor to be by his side so fully knowing that the bend and arch of your back follows the trace of only his hand. You feel honored to have those golden and deep crimson eyes outline your frame. He bears his weight down lower, pressing into you until you gasp under him: your passion for him journeys over every twist of his muscled arms and chest that swells with strength. The illustrations of wars once fought and the symbols of his father rage war on his skin in thick strokes of ink. Your hands tell their stories where you leave no space untouched. 

The scars that tatter his skin are more visible in the moonlight: places where his fury has leaked out and healed unevenly. Your fingertips know them well: how they feel like vulnerable little corners where the pieces of him don’t add up. Your lips find the curves of scars on his ribs and stretch around his arms as if you could heal him even more. By comparison, your skin is nearly spotless, and he too brings his lips to caress into the nape of your neck and down your arms all the way to your palms where he presses his passion there too. His hands are rough and calloused, but they still feel light as flames where he grazes the skin between your thighs. 

“Let me see you.” He asks, laying down in the middle of the bed larger for just the two of you. The windows creak with the sound of the breeze, which then gather up the linens that bow along with the air. It wafts in and sends shivers down your arms. Intertwined with the air is the smell of smoke carried from afar; it is the scent of the night before battle and restless fires that wait distantly for him. The thought itself is distant: you wrap your legs around his waist to prowl over your lover who cranes your neck and guides your waist to hover over him. 

Desire had never left his eyes: it's a type of insatiable fire that ravishes you and follows the way that you let your fingers creep to his bottom lip which you pull at, kissing him, letting the taste of your skin linger between your lips and his. He smirks, digging more roughly into the squishy parts of your hips to melt you into him. You grasp at the wooden handle attached to the leather sheath at his hip, drawing out slowly the curved metal knife which he keeps ready. The pure silver metal of the blade glistens in the moonglow, reflecting the image of your looming figure which brings it tickling up his skin. The sharpened edge draws a thin white line up his chest where you outline the space between his pectorals where he heaves in feeling the cold bite. You trace around his collarbones, threatening the pumping vein on his neck. 

“You could kill me if you wanted.” He laughs out with a confident air, “You know that only you’ve got that power.” 

You smile wickedly in response, pressing the tip of the blade in harder. Just a bit more pressure and you could draw blood, but you don’t. 

“I know.” You tease the blade back down his body, feeling the cold on your stomach too. “Only I’ve got the pleasure.” 

You cast away the knife sending it clattering to the floor, finding your hand hungrier than the blade. His arms wrap around you as if he can unfold you, and the heat from his skin marries with your own that trembles. Every inch of your being craves to drip in the fury and passion that consumes him, to make the one man unconquered by anyone weak to you. 

You grind your hips hard, languidly taking in the way that his cock swells between your legs no more desperate than you are. His kisses find their way down your chest, leading heavy breaths to your nipples which he pulls at gently with his teeth--only at first--only growing in intensity the shallower he hears your breaths inhale. He moves his focus for only a few moments to suck harder at your untainted skin to place marks and battle scars of your own which tell stories of him. 

“Are you going to fuck me, or keep me waiting?” He hushes directly into your ear. 

You meet his eyes in their spectral glow: it's a color that you could never recreate, unlike any other creation of the gods. 

“And you?” You pull lightly at his bottom lip with your teeth lavishing in the groan that it elicits from his throat. “I’m waiting too.” Your hand creeps down his torso to unfasten the button of his pants. 

Incessant fingers meet in the middle where bodies curve and reposition, knees sinking into the feathered mattress that wrinkle with the soft touch of satin. His girth swells pink with the veins outlining and pulsating where your hand wraps, tongue dripping with saliva to his tip which flares until you lean in to give him what he craves. Your body shakes after he pulls your hips closer to his own heated mouth. 

Your lover gives you no time to wait, pressing his tongue against your sensitivity and promptly tasting your essence on the tip of his tongue that teases. His fingers bury into your legs to pull them farther apart, burning the skin when he raises his hand to hear the way that your skin sounds. 

You take him in until you can no deeper, swallowing his length with the moans that vibrate the deepest parts of your throat and make him growl with pleasure. Whimpers fill up your chest as your body surrenders to the way that he chooses to lap slowly at your sex, pressing in an evil grin. 

“I could do this to you all night…” He promises, pressing sloppy kisses over your heat. 

You wince, feeling the contrast of his blazing warmth to the cool breeze of the evening that is nearly enough to dizzy you. You know that he’d let you do whatever you want, even letting your impatience get the best of you. You flip back around, facing him, tangling your fingers deeply into his onyx-black hair, finding your mouth smashing against his and gasping with every bit of your want directly into his mouth so he can feel it. 

In seconds, you align yourself over his cock until you feel so full that it makes your insides burn with a pleasure so indescribable you’re convinced that your own being must be possessed with some kind of crazed desire. 

He coolly looks up to you, only exhaling once you begin to move your hips, finally moving his hands down your sides to help you rock. Your lover brings his thumb to your lip, rubbing away at the way that it trembles in your focus, dipping the digit in to swipe over your tongue. 

“I know you can fuck me harder than that, my love.” He tests, ringing the sound of another slap to your skin through the room. “Harder.” He demands, and you flick your waist even rougher, losing your breath as the fire spreads through each of your limbs. 

Your vision blurs trying to make out his features: the tattoos that paint nearly his whole form, the vertical scar over his eye which spits his face into a rugged and intimidating picture of the wars which he runs into so fearlessly. To others, they would see him as a monster, but you could never imagine it: not like this, and not for you. 

Your frail form threatens to break, and you find the tears of pleasure and pain mixing on your cheeks which he wipes away gently, then taking up your cheeks in his hands to kiss at the stains. 

Sweat condensates behind your neck, and your arms feel weak from merely holding yourself up above him, yet your energy still doesn’t falter. He bites at his lip in his pride, seeing exactly the way that you fall apart. You cum for him, loud and indulgently, nearly screaming from how your whole body explodes, then grows numb and placid as you put the world back together. Your lover turns into a madman in his determination: his touch nearly rips you apart. He fills you, pulsing with his seed that drips down your legs white. 

You gasp as if you’ve forgotten what it means to breathe, collapsing upon him to feel the warmth of his embrace which you’ve long been addicted to. 

Carefully his hand trails up and down your spine to calm you while the two of you connect for moments that carry on forever, pledging, “You are the only one I am powerless to, my love.” 

~🌹~

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @cherrychngkyn @iwanttobangchan @bowlofblueberries @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

[rumblelibrary]

The Diary of Doctor Laszlo Kreizler

Chapter 1

Synopsis: Alienist’s notes are private, sometimes gruesome, secrets of others and of himself.Those pages belongs to secrecy and decadence, have a glimpse to this world made of drafts, notes, accidents and reflections. Or maybe it is you the only person that should ever reach for it.

While you read this imagine Laszlo mostly at the end of his day, scraping the ideas and the thoughts, adjusting previous notes with additions, closing the day behind himself with a couple of sentences while sitting in his evening robe, a good glass of whiskey and his glasses bridged almost at the tip of his nose. Or maybe imagine yourself, you sneaky thing, reach for it from a far shelf.

Word count: 3k

Warnings: listen, this is the set of ideas and confessions of a man living in the 1890’s. Most of them will be outdated, rough, even deprecating in some analysis of the roles of men, women and social status, religion, etc.So be prepared, my point is to make Laszlo reflect upon those topics, but to be as faithful as I can to his time. Mention of death, mutilation, self harm and a minor depiction of a fight. Psychologically troubled young children ahead! Author’s note: I am a nerd for a good Victorian novel and a sexy Alienist.I have always been charmed by Laszlo’s mind and inner conflicts. So I took the chance and tried to have a run into that rollercoaster.  The story is placed between season 1 and season 2.

Diary belonging to Dr. Laszlo Kreizler.  This is a professional book of annotations over medical treatments of an alienist toward his patients. Do not disclose and send it back to the address if found: Kreizler’s Institute, xxxxxx, New York City (NY) L.K.

Samuel Griswold Goodrich, Illustrated Natural History of the Animal Kingdom (c1859). Contributed for digitization by University Library, University of Illinois Urbana-Champaign.

Schiller in his “Die Weltweisen” wrote: So long as philosophy keeps together the structure of the Universe so long does it maintain the world’s machinery by hunger and love. From the philosopher point of view sexual life takes a subordinate position in human’s life, from recent studies pushed by European philosophers, everything is about sexuality and its development. I like to think of the experience of being an alienist as the process of Queen Penelope that, while waiting for her husband Ulysses return, undoes her craftwork every night. I undo the fabulous constructs of people’s beliefs to go back to the rough sketch that stands at the beginning of their loss, their complex, their pain. Maybe that’s why working with children is so motivating and fascinating. They can be saved and yet, I am well aware, some of those sketches already traced in their young lives equal to scars that not even the most advanced theories could cure. But I can sooth them. I can prevent them the torment, the anguish, the recollection at night of those monsters. I feel like a poet would be a better alienist than a philosopher, but I have got no poetry nor philosophy in my veins, but the cold experience of the razor blade judgment of Life itself.

Today I observed a fight among the children at the Institute. Age range between 10 and 12. Boys. The fight was over the possession of a side of the playground, the territory of a pack  of youngsters formed under the name of Steven. Peculiar lad, coming from a military background finds comfort in replicating the schemes he lived in his family. He takes the role of the Father/Captain of the team and subjects children that come from a similar background story, but do not posses his same attitude to the command. All quiet on the front, until the space he declared is own spot got affected by the presence of others.  Intruders. I knowingly let the events unfold to see how Steven would react to his challenged authority. His reaction was, at first, worded, a sketch, a stage-play of an action he witnessed over and over, and he knew the part so well that some of the contending kids lowered their stance against him. Among considering to mildly intervene into this pyramid scheme of authority, another boy, Jan, calls himself on the role of the educator and hero of the masses and proceeds to unfold a wild and well assessed punch on the newly declared dictator face. Balance is established again. No need for me to arbitrate, once more the laws of nature seem to apply to children as in a state of nature.

Meet John Moore over lunch. His job at the newspaper is picking up, he is charmed by the spirits and the wits that he finds in his shared office with all the other writers. He mentions many, goes on and on over qualities and troubles, gossips and tendencies, and even little scandals here and there. To be aware of all those details gives me no interest, but to see a dear friend so invested clearly gives me something to pick up. To consider also the amount of details and the way he describes this or that member of the journal, I can do a small exercise of analysis. It is almost too easy because John is painfully genuine, even some of the kids at the institute would beat him hands down in a battle of lies. The more he likes somebody, the more he goes on about all the details and the characteristics, often letting aside the physical appearance. When he doesn’t like somebody he has a couple of adjectives for the wits and around four or five for the physical aspects that usually indulge on some repulsive idiosyncrasies.  John is a man that painfully fits in the storyline of The Picture of Dorian Gray: to him physical beauty is spiritual beauty and, of course, the other way around. This part of him surely intrigues me, makes me want to tease more from him. But, as a friend, it concerns me as John is way too prone to purposelessly decide that somebody with good eyes is also a good human being, which is a very romantic and admirably naive way of judging matters. I noticed some names that keep repeating in his narration. I dread that it is synonymous of a soon encounter from my side with the objects of his admiration. Fetiches, I dare to say, that I will have to annihilate before they sediment into his mind, perpetuating a narration that soon sees John being mislead by others.

Reserved: Tickets for the Eroica, Symphony n. 3 by Ludwig van Beethoven. Thursday evening.

Note on the show: the first movement lacked the pathos needed to begin with, I am not sure that the guest orchestra really managed to portray the wider emotional ground needed to withstand the whole representation. As the evening progressed there were some outstanding performances by the cellists. Still not approving the choice of reprising the early quick finale movement against the lengthy set of variations and fugue that we are used to in presence of the Eroica. Underwhelming the performance of the horn and oboe, vital in the comprehension of the genius of Beethoven. 

Niki is a new addition of the Institute, quite old for the standards. He is already 16, he will leave when summer ends to some expensive college his family meant him to stay. His parents expect me to make him “normal” in the time we are allowed together.  He is Austrian and I let him act it out like I don’t understand German for the first week of hist stay until today. I believe I hit his pride, which is good, in the moment I answered back to one of his sneaky comments. Now he knows. He is not safe from me, he doesn’t like it. The young man has a tendency to danger, risky tasks and edgy situations. In his mother’s own words “Niki is not afraid of anything”. The phrase didn’t raise any excitement in the father, rather some sort of painful acceptance that is role as the alpha male of the house is probably not only being challenged, but  already diminished, if not abolished. I have taken in consideration that Niki will break himself a bone or two in the process of the therapy, probably out of the spite of boredom or rebellion. It took him less than few days to turn himself into an outcast among the outcasts, which only drives me closer to analyse the complexity of his narcissistic wall of self defence. I gave him a physical challenge to lift a certain weight, he is a pretty skinny one, he didn’t like the challenge, but I am sure he will take it. He is a brainy guy, he hates to be questioned on unfamiliar ground. He won’t sleep at night thinking about it.  A challenge, in this first phase, can only bring me closer to the ease of his pains. To continue the observation.

It is a sad privilege of medicine, in particular the one I practice, to be able to witness the weaknesses of the human nature and the reverse side of life. Nevertheless, I oblige this same privilege of the study as life moves into shades of darkness. To be aware of it gives more solace to my soul than to be victim of patiently waiting for the inevitable unfolding of the events. To be able to understand more about psychology would bring more comfort and elevation to any human being, the times might not be there yet, but eventually something will move into the direction of a more wholesome approach.

Dinner meeting with Sara Howard, at the restaurant Jardin Des Cygnes, 7 pm sharp.  Do not expect to reach the dessert. Do not know if John will be participating due to undeniable tension among the two and the fatal despise of John over French cuisine.

The case that Sara unfolded tonight to my ears feels more and more like pulled out from some gothic book or from the mind of a Roman historian that needed to justify the godly origins of an Emperor. One killing, apparently random, a very constructed iconography over the body. Signs and insults, shapes and drawings. Is this a work of art? Does the killer wants his victim to be his Mona Lisa? His David? I am charmed and destabilised. If this was a murder like any other, then why to spend so much time into it? Based on the description the act of killing itself was quick: a sharp cut over the throat, almost like not wanting to ruin too much the surface to use as base for, what? I keep rerunning those symbols over and over as Sara described them to me, my mind is flooded with the designs of greek philosophers that needed to explain themselves why the sky is above our head and never collapses on us. Hilarious how, no matter the science advancement, in the mind of many the sky stands inevitably overt their shoulders, suffocates them, brings them to a death of the soul and not of the body. Is all this graphic charade indeed only a form to scream for attention?  To stress the eyes of an unaware viewer? It seems ridiculously elaborate, a scream for attention would be quick, it would be like guided by instinct, not reasoning, craftwork. Any man with a knife can paint in blood red the walls of a room and that’s asking for attention. That is the primal howl: look at me! I am here! But this one.  I don’t know yet.

Spent the early morning reading anew my copy of The Metamorphosis by Ovid. Didn’t touch it in a long time and I got bedazzled by the world of terrible sensuality, anger and selfishness of those gods and mortals. I think back at all the deviances and weaknesses of human kind and I try to relate it to all of those humanoid figures. Niki would be a minotaur, the lonesome son left in the labyrinth and his strive for success is his bull’s head. Or maybe a centaur, because of his wits and strategic thinking. I might keep up the process, maybe this is the way to understand my patients better, to understand the killer better. Must remember not to romanticise it. Greek gods were probably the first form of self indulging of a society that needed gods to be forgiving and allowing favours and punishments, but only in exchange of sacrifices. But the sacrifice never comes from the God’s will, but from the will of the man that perpetuates the act of killing. To sacrifice someone or something is the sadistic response to a lack of love deeply inherited in human mind that becomes neurotic. Is the killer giving the God of his own neurosis a body to feast upon? 

I talked with Jan this morning. The young boy is about 10, but he acts like a full grown adult. I could easily asses that’s the reason why he could challenge Steven in that fight. Two children mimicking adults situations they know too well. Jan is son of an industrial man, but he is also son of the dialectics of the industrial revolution. He sounds like he swallowed some of those books about working class rights and communism, probably pushed by a resentful surrounding (mother?uncle? the midwife?) over the social role of his father. As much as incredibly smart and lectured, Jan lost most of his early occasions in life by spending a considerable amount of time using his fists. The anger ever present in the young boy always surprises me, he seems to be holding a power, a strength of a full grown man in those tiny arms. Nevertheless, he is already the tallest of the group. He is surely an idealist, which makes him also tragically fragile. His strength mixed with his heart of gold can make him the best of the heroes or the worst of the villains. He apologised for the fight, he specified how he didn’t like the sound of Steven’s voice, more than the sound, the level of pitch.  I can’t stand somebody shouting orders, I just don’t listen anymore. He is so mature even about his own feelings, almost a gentleman in his chivalry toward the weaker children, honest with his open heart and resentful against any form of injustice.  I am not spared by his ways, he would come at me whenever he feels like I was being partial over some of the kids, his sense of justice blinds him and transform a perfectly balanced boy into a ranging animal.

Ordered book, to be delivered around tomorrow evening: Introduction à la méthode de Léonard de Vinci by Paul Valéry. Suddenly feeling myself as a gross ignorant in art themes. I always regarded myself aware of the artistic personalities and tendencies of present and past, but this new amount of perceptions over the human figure and the human body leads me to document myself more. I could ask John for advice, but he wouldn’t take things at matter that seriously. I can almost hear him say how I can make gruesome a pleasant topic such as art. I should probably wait to see the body to push any further aesthetic study, but I find myself not being able to stop. I reckon, I can allow myself a vice or two.

Today I saw the body of the killed man, courtesy of the Isaacson's. To be fair, I had underestimated it. In Sara’s descriptions, probably due to her more analytic mind, all the charm of the representation got lost in favour of a less cryptic and reasonable understanding of the act. Sara got what some alienists will call a masculine mind, which I don’t perfectly agree on. If I apply that same approach John would be a very feminine mind, all wrapped up in romanticising even the ugliest. I guess that dividing the world in “fragile and gentle” and “strong and powerful” is just easier to explain the fluctuation of something that doesn’t need a real name or a category like human inclinations on thoughts.  I got a feverish sense of patience by looking at the body. Each symbol traced with sapient slowness, dense of the time that the killer spent with the body. That is a work of hours, he had time and meaning. He had resources and was able to spend not less than the time he needed to reach, a vision? An ideal? A message? Is it the message meant to be understood? Am I supposed to unravel it or it is maybe just the way the killer communicates within himself? And if I do decifrate the code, will that bring me closer to him? Or to his next victim?

Reminder: ask John to replicate all the symbols on the bodies in the correct measure and order. It might be needed some hard convincing. Addition: scheduled meeting, his house, 3 pm.

It wasn’t a day like any other when I met you. Or maybe it was, and that’s why I got so struck by it and now I am here playing it over and over through what my memory clung on so desperately. In my own experience, life was often similar to swimming in a lake. Those rich, dense lakes in the north of (illegible cancelled word) were my father used to bring us during summer. I still feel the pull, the draw down toward the abyss. It ashamed me, in a way, the fear that such a simple feeling aroused in my young mind, unaware nevertheless, that such a feeling would follow me through all my existence. It was a prophecy and, like most of the prophecies, was a riddle. I cradle in my heart the charm of those days, the mindless happiness. The foolish feeling of freedom. Little I knew that freedom would be taken away from me that soon, that the body that used to navigate me over the dense waters, helping me to fight the haul toward the unknown, would become my own cage. That day. Today. The day where I met you, the day I was afloat.  The child gasping for air felt the wrench become a gentle push and now he is floating on his back over the scary waters of reality and malice. It gave me relief and it gave me terror, because since that very moment I knew that I would never be able to move on from the sight of you. From the feeling of your eyes lingering on me. From the smile you so easily shone upon me. From the whiff of imported perfume that hit me when you turned on side exploding that swan like neck. And nothing, not even my stern look, could dim that wave of hope that your sole presence washed over me. The abyss roars, calls me to a home of damnation and terror and curses my name and yet you repeated that hell-bound name of mine after me and I felt safe.

John told me so much about you, it feels like I have always known you.

The rope is gone from my neck, the guillotine won’t fall on me, I am spared, I am free.

I have read your latest article, I am thrilled to help with the case.

I am in disbelief.

Your voice.

Dr. Kreizler

How dare you? How dare you to come into my life, to appear, like a vision, mystical, in a way I despised at University when all those theology students talked about the divine. In this very moment I can’t recollect much of what you said, something about the case, about going with John at the obituary. It feels confusing, I feel overstimulated, my memory fails me, I am not sure anymore. I write these few lines and it is passed the hour of the witches and I wish, I demand, to never see you again, because life should never grant hope to a condemned man. 

[captnjacksparrow]

I heard there were rumors about Naruto being developed into seinen after Shippuden. Wouldn't that have been wonderful? I think it was such a wasted opportunity for another amazing experience. We wouldn't have any child marriages, or that recycled bs Boruto. And a challenge for Kishimoto. Although I am not sure about that last one, he kind of lost the plot towards the end there.

But even so, what a wasted opportunity.

What's your take? What could have been the implications of that?

Am just going to take this ask as an heartful rant!!!!!! 😊😊😊😊

Just because of this ask, I decided to dig deeper into his past interviews and found things that even confirmed my opinions even stronger. 

Damn you!!!! Kishimoto!!!!

Thanks to you @sneezemonster15 🤩🤩🤩. LOL. Because When your speculation becomes true, you will experience some satisfaction which is immeasurable.

[[Anything I am going to cite from an old interview, after this line of the post is something I got to knew only today. Which means I never knew about these interviews before. Probably SNS shippers knew about these long back but to me it’s a new thing.]]

I heard there were rumors about Naruto being developed into seinen after Shippuden. Wouldn't that have been wonderful?

I never heard of such development and even if they do, they already did a lot of damage in the name of Boruto. And I don't think they can tell anymore story after Shippuden in a convincing way.

For me, Shippuden is in and of itself looks like a big seinen based Manga because I believe there were certain themes which were told in part 2 that are simply not suitable for a 12 year old to comprehend. Even I was overwhelmed by such plots because it really questioned my world view.

I mean, what can a 12 year old understand about Hatred or World peace which Nagato planned to implement or Itachi's pain? Yeah, there may be very few who could understand but majority don’t and hence we could see some part of fandom who still thinks ‘Sasuke should have left alone and made to start a new Village as a Revolution, or he should’ve destroyed Konoha to dust’. Any mature audience who consumed various media and have a broad world view would never spout such nonsense. Because the real world wouldn't work that way.

he kind of lost the plot towards the end there.

He didn’t actually. I believe he was made to create that Kaguya plot as a thread to continue Borutoverse. It may not be his idea. I am just speculating. Because Kishi is a damn genius in dropping threads much earlier in the story.

Example, Uchiha Madara.

When Sasuke and Naruto battled in VoTE1, I was wondering about the statues as to who might they be?. Then Kakashi slightly hinted us that the statues represents the men who created Konoha, but they were fighting until the very end for some reason. Similar to how Naruto and Sasuke fought there. And when Madara’s name was dropped for the first time when Sasuke suppressed Kurama, it just got only better.

So, I think Kaguya was a plot which was created right when Naruto was decided to pair up with Hinata and have a baby who will lead the Next Generation. When the series was going on and on about Sharingan, all of a sudden it took a U-Turn towards Byakugan. I was like, ‘Who the fuck cares about Byakugan anyway?’

Then it all made sense after looking at the abomination called ‘Boruto’, where all the Aliens were seen having Byakugan. So, It feels like he lost the plot. But I really think he was forced to. 

So far, whatever I wrote till now was my observation. 

That Damn Kishimoto gave an interview long back which proved my hunch right.

So, You see, he was never interested in a sequel series to happen. He was just forced to. 

Do you know what was the real ending he aimed for?

In many of my posts, I wrote about how SNS was a carefully constructed bond which Kishimoto paid a lot of attention to. I mean, there’s no way we can call the chapter 698 as a Retconned one. Every clues and hints were already there.

It seems that the bastard confessed about this 15 years ago, in 2006 Shonen Jump Interview and again in 2015 NYCC comic con.

He didn’t talk about Ships and shits in any of these interviews. He already planned the ending long back when he finished Part 1. The ending with Naruto and Sasuke doing Reconciliation Seal with Hashirama and Madara statues by visualizing everything into details and that too in freaking 2006. 

[[Click the picture to see the full view]]

Reconciliation of Naruto and Sasuke was something Kishi planned long back after finishing part 1. He even visualized all the panels in detail and that's the ending he was striving towards.

It seems, he never planned about pairings and stuffs ahead as many shippers would like to claim. I am not saying he planned SNS as the endgame couple either. But I honestly think, Kishi wished for an ending similar to Chapter 699. Like without any pairing trash, finishing off with Naruto and Sasuke sharing their dreams and hopes together. 

And this is what I’ve been screaming in all my posts... That I speculate, I guess, I believe and so many similar words... that Kishi always wanted to finish with Chapter 699 and Chapter 700 feels like an afterthought.

But anyways, with Studio persuaded him into pair up his Main Characters, he was asked to write Boruto Script for one last time and it seems, that’s the only movie where he wrote the entire screenplay from A to Z. He said that Boruto movie is the ‘Pinnacle of his career’. Does it mean, ‘The Last’ movie was not his pinnacle, eh??? 

And what do I always scream about Boruto series in every posts?

That I feel like Naruto and Sasuke seems to Babysit Boruto like a parent. 

And that’s what he wanted to finish as the last chapter of Naruto.

I mean throughout the movie, there were no trace of Hinata and Sakura playing any major role in their Child’s life, instead Sasuke is seen talking fondly about Naruto to his Son, I mean Naruto’s Son. So, If he envision drawing 2 guys taking care of a child as the last chapter, then what was he trying to say?

This Kishimoto is just too sinister!!! 

And it seems, he dissed ‘The Last’ movie subtly in his own words. Like almost he claims he had no part in that movie. Well, I always had my doubt regarding that movie. Never expected Kishi would say this.

Couple of days ago, I made a post about, how Kishi never gave 2 fucks about Sakura from the beginning. I analyzed that post based on my observation by carefully reading through panels in the initial chapters and his motivations to draw the panel in a certain way. That gave me an idea of what Kishi’s style of designing a character. I never knew about this Interview thing, when I wrote that post.

It seems, in an Interview, he pretty much confirmed my view about him.

Kishi’s assistant was posed with a question, ‘How every character, no matter how bad they are, gets redeemed in some way?’

To which he answered, ‘Before even making a first appearance, Kishi will lay out how he wants the character to be, what it’s personality traits are, what was it about to do.’

So, Kishi really never planned to make Sakura redeemable. Her fate was sealed when she unveiled her grand dream in chapter 4 before her teammates.

What I would like to conclude is,

Kishi developing anything after Shippuden will not have his full heart. So, that development based on Seinen may not be true. 

Kishi planned Chapter 698 long back when he completed Part 1. He even visualized every panels about how it is going to be. So, probably Chapter 699 is where Kishi intended to end the series. Hence, the abomination you were made to see in Boruto is not his idea.

He never planned about pairings unless he was asked to. Hinata was the popular one and he just went with it. It’s not like he always intended for Naruto to end up with Hinata.

When he was asked to write a story about Boruto, he envisioned Boruto movie as the final chapter of Naruto series, if only he had the opportunity to draw this as a manga. In this movie, Naruto became an Hokage, Sasuke is a Shadow Hokage, Naruto’s son was adopted by Sasuke. Hinata and Sakura were the bench warmers. 

It seems to me that Kishi somehow wants to place Naruto and Sasuke as the face of this series towards the end. He knew that he can't make them as an official couple and when things didn't go as he planned he made them into an unofficial couple who takes cares of a boy with all the care.

Geez!!! I wish I were wrong😏😏😏😏. But all these interviews proves that I was right about many things without even realizing it was there.

[thenerdyindividual]

Okay so yesterday @sterlingdylan made this awesome analysis post about BBC Merlin, stating that it was neither Arthur’s nor Merlin’s fault that Merlin didn’t reveal his magic, something I 100% agree with.

Unfortunately, this post also got derailed by a discussion comparing Arthur’s attitudes to homophobia. Now, to be clear, I do think there are some parallels there. Writers will look to real world bigotry in order to write their fantasy bigotry better. For BBC Merlin, the bigotry does feel a lot like homophobia because magic is: a part of the characters and not something they chose, something the characters must hide or be put in danger, something characters worry makes them evil/monsters, etc. However, parallels are not the same thing as an allegory.  If we try to take BBC Merlin as a direct allegory for homophobia it falls apart because there are genuine reasons for people to be afraid of magic in the canon because it can and has killed people, controlled people, and hurt people. Queer people can’t do any of that with their queerness. Our queerness is fundamentally harmless, whereas magic is not. Also, as sterlingdylan discussed last night, if we take it as an allegory it sets up a concerning narrative about “closeted” Merlin being good, and “out” other characters being bad. Which is injecting a really extreme and problematic moral into the show, and not something we as an audience should be placing on the shoulders of the writers.

I don’t think we need to take BBC Merlin as an allegory for anything, It is enough to discuss parallels to our lives, and examine how the bigotry functions in the context of the show itself. But If we are going to be comparing it as directly as possible to something in our daily lives, then it would probably be more accurate as a narrative about extremism and essentialism. It is still an imperfect comparison because usually extremism and essentialism are not founded on genuine concern, but stick with me. It gets long so the essay is going under the cut.

Uther experienced the death of his wife at the hands of magic. Now, we know that he and Ygraine asked Nimueh for help conceiving. Whether they fully knew the cost or if Nimueh downplayed it is neither here nor there. What is relevant is that Uther was given proof of magic’s ability to harm him and the people he loved. Now, someone who did not hold the black and white “The King is always right” attitude might have taken this instance and pushed for regulation of magic rather than a ban. However, as we witness in later episodes in which he locks up his own children for defying him, Uther can never admit he was wrong so rather than say it was a bad idea to use magic in the way he did, he convinced himself that it wasn’t him who made the mistake, but that magic itself was an inherently evil corrupting force, and started the purge. He took an extreme oppositional view towards magic.

On the flip side, much of the narrative of the magic half of this battle is also about extremism. They are, rightfully, infuriated by and afraid of Uther, but they also let their anger at Uther shade their perception of Arthur. Morgana, starting in season one, was already set against Uther, but was not yet set against Arthur. However, when she met Morgause her train of thought went from justice, to revenge against Uther, to a desire for power, and finally a deep desire to see Arthur dead. Perhaps in some way Morgause really does care about creating a just world for magic users, but she clearly also has a desire for power (as seem when she encourages Morgana to stage a coup and take the throne for herself instead of try to teach Arthur, when he’s demonstrated before a willingness not to lock step with Uther) which are two things that aren’t compatible.

Morgause encourages Morgana to see the worst in the people around her, and encourages her to give into acts of extreme violence against people who don’t necessarily deserve it (ie all the peasants she was prepared to starve when they disagreed with her when she took the throne at the end of season three. A move remarkably similar to something Uther would have done). Morgana no longer stops to consider the times that Arthur stood against Uther, and comes to view Arthur not as someone who can be shown the bigger picture, but as someone inherently against magic rather than the violence it can do. This cycle does not stop with Morgana either, it also reaches Kara who refuses to see the good in Arthur even though he has shown his willingness to make peace with members of the Old Religion (druids), and was prepared to let her get away with attempted murder simply because Mordred and Merlin asked him to show her mercy.

Kara and Morgana both have come to view Arthur as inherently violent and set against magic the same way Uther came to see magic as inherently violent and set against Camelot. Neither of which are accurate views on the situation.

Arthur is the one who was prophesied to break this cycle of extremism and essentialism, and we can see him attempt to try. There are multiple occasions in which he considers that magic may not be evil. Off the top of my head there is the scene after Morgause reveals the true circumstance of his birth, the scene in which he allows Dragoon to attempt to heal Uther, and the scene where he asks Merlin if he should legalize magic in order to save Mordred. In all of these cases someone (usually Merlin) prevents him from exploring that thought deeper. Even so, he does make great strides towards taking up the proper nuanced view needed for this situation. He takes Camelot from a kingdom that relentlessly hunts down and persecutes magic, to a kingdom of fair trials and peace with druids.

Sadly, no one can meet him in the middle. Morgause and Morgana’s insistence on trying to take him down and harm the people closest to him prevents Arthur from learning the good aspects of magic just as much as Uther’s propaganda did. Merlin is the only sorcerer in the entire show not to be set against Arthur, and therefore the only one who could show Arthur how to break this cycle, but doing so presents no small risk to his own and Arthur’s safety. If Arthur took it badly and either banished or executed him, it would effectively prevent Merlin from protecting him. This leaves Arthur trying to draw his own conclusions, and he never gets the additional information that magic can, and is, used for beauty and healing. He can only operate on what he has seen, and what he has seen is magic being used against himself and Camelot repeatedly.

Arthur can’t be held responsible for not incorporating information he isn’t given into his view on magic, and Merlin can’t be held responsible for not risking himself to teach Arthur. We can, however, hold the people around them responsible for creating an environment that prevents Arthur from learning on his own, and prevents Merlin from teaching him. The fault lies primarily with Uther for kicking this whole chain of events off in the first place, and in Morgause who co-opted a genuine struggle in order to gain power. Morgana is also responsible for letting her view of Arthur (someone she has seen stand for justice) be corrupted. In the end the fault lies neither with Arthur, nor with Merlin. The fault lies in the very human tendency to view the world in black and white, and react with violence against those deemed dangerous (despite how much that title is or is not earned).

[falcor-thee-luck-dragon]

Love Cuts Deep

Chapter 13- Avengers. Assemble

Summary: With the new Infinity Gauntlet finally put together, things are about to get more chaotic then you could have ever realized. But in the aftermath, there is a joy within the sadness.

Warning: fighting, some blood, angst, fluff, bucky returns!

Masterlist

With no time to waste, Tony’s robotic tech ever so carefully placed the Infinity Stones onto a new gauntlet specially crafted by the man himself. With the utmost precision, he designed the piece in the familiar likeness of the Ironman suit, specifically taking into account the hand area. All in all, it looks just like that blasted Infinity Gauntlet that’s caused yourself and the universe so much pain.

But you known this is different, this is necessary above all else and must happen or you’ll face the dreary facts of never seeing Bucky ever again. No one still left behind in the aftermath like yourself will ever see their loved ones again, and Natasha’s death would all be for nothing. This is it.

You stand around Rocket with the rest of your friends, everyone suited up for the inevitable unknown while he carefully finishes up a few lasting touches on the metalwork with the aid of Tony to keep it steady.

“All right, the glove’s ready.” Affirms Rocket with a confident nod as everyone stands around him waiting expectantly, “Question is, who’s gonna snap their freakin’ fingers?”

 The room keeps to a heavy silence before Thor immediately makes hastily overconfident steps forward, “I’ll do it.” States the bearded god of thunder, no surprise to you, like he’s even in the right headspace to take on such a task. Especially looking like he just walked out of a homeless shelter.

Thor quickly earns a puzzled look from Tony. “Excuse me?” Asserts Stark with a raised brow as just about everyone else gives Thor a similar look of bewilderment.

Thor waves him off with a casual swing of his thick paw, “It’s okay.” Calmly dismisses Thor as he walks in closer to the perched gauntlet, eyes set for the powerful object within arms reach. Tony, Steve, and Clint immediately raise their arms to hold him back for the time being as your eyes widen at his go-getter attitude for something so seriously dangerous. He would fucking die.

“Stop, stop. Slow down.” Advises Tony while Steve steps between the gauntlet and an eager Thor. Blue eyes set and steady though a friendly softness flashes through them knowing the true reasons why Thor wants to do this above all the others, “Thor. Just wait. We haven’t decided who’s gonna put that on yet.” Implores Steve while Thor blinks, clearly not satisfied with this answer.

“I’m sorry. What, we’re all just sitting around waiting for the right opportunity?” Laughs off the large Asgardian as his eyes trail around the room to the unclear hesitant faces of you all.

“We should at least discuss it.” Interjects Scott as Thor turns to face him before looking to all of you again.

Thor finds Steve’s conflicted gaze of uncertainty, “Look, sitting here staring at that thing is not gonna bring everybody back.....I’m the strongest Avenger, okay? So, this responsibility falls upon me...”

Tony sets a friendly hand on his chest, “Normally you’re right...”

“It’s my duty.” Interrupts Thor, more heatedly this time as Tony slowly draws him away from the gauntlet. Doing his best to sway Thor’s mind, “It’s not about that...” Begins Tony as Thor interjects. “It’s not that...” Rambles Thor as you frown, eyes set on the glowing Infinity Stones as they rest comfortably atop the Vibranium laced metalwork.

“Sheeesh stop it!” Whines the agitated god of thunder, “Just let me....Just let me do it.” Whispers Thor in defeat, face falling with remorse as he focuses on Tony, “Just let me do something good. Something right...”

Tony lets out a disheartened sigh, “Look, it’s not just the fact that glove his channeling enough energy to light up a continent. I’m telling you. You’re in no condition.” Sincerely adds Tony, trying his absolute best to sway Thor from doing this to himself.

“What do you think is coursing through my veins right now?” Asks Thor with a reasonable bout of self confidence while Rodney throws a sarcastic. “Cheez Whiz?” In reply. Thor clenches his fist, pointing a threatening finger to him but ignores the verbal blow.

Eyes set on Tony as the god smiles, “Lightening.”

Tony doubtfully nods, “Yeah.”

“Lightening.” Says Thor again, like that’s going to hold all the answers and save everyone from oblivion.

Taking an anxious breath, you’ve already made your decision as you take a step forward, “Lightning won’t help you this time, Thor. You couldn’t take it.” He sends you a defeated look, eyes falling to the floor as the others gain your attention. Frowning, your eyes study the glowing colors of the new Infinity Gauntlet as you nervously swallow, “I’ll do it.”

“Y/N...” Begins Steve like a concerned father while his blue eyes grow with apprehensive doubt, he opens his mouth to speak more on the matter but you cut him off with a stern look, “My body can regenerate its genetic makeup, essentially I should heal from anything it does to me, it won’t kill me Stev...”

“We don’t know that,” Interjects a worried Bruce as he walks in closer to your little group, “It’s gotta be me, we saw what those stones did to Thanos. They almost killed him, these are the Infinity Stones we’re talking about. None of you could survive.” Explains Bruce honestly as he finds your troubled gaze, “Even you, Y/N.”

Your brows furrow in thought while you let a depleted sigh escape your lips, “How do we know you will?”

“We don’t.” Begrudgingly admits Banner, “But the radiation’s mostly gamma. It’s like...” He stares solemnly down at the beacon of destructive hope for a small moment, its shimmering colors glowing with a dangerous beauty, “..I was made for this.”

“Then it’s settled then.” Declares Tony with a confident nod, “We do this today. Everyone suit up, we have no idea how this is going to go.” And with that does the room quickly file out, your small team of nine hastily on the move to prepare yourselves for the impending future still held in mystery and a growing hope.

Soon, you and the rest of the Avengers nervously watch as Bruce picks up the metal gauntlet while Tony sends him a concerned brotherly look. “Good to go, yeah?” Wonders Tony as he stands a couple feet away for safety reasons like everyone else. Bruce gives the stones a last fleeting glance before raising his eyes up to meet him, “Let’s do it.”

“Okay, remember, everyone Thanos snapped away five years ago you’re just bringing them back to now, today. Don’t change anything from the last five years.” Warns Tony as Bruce nods. “Got it.”

Everyone takes a cautious step backwards, making sure to shield themselves from whatever’s about to happen next with either their actual suits or in Steve’s case his legitimate shield. All you got on is your usual dark attire that’s armored comfortably in the areas needed. That and your uncanny but evidently helpful ability to heal yourself instantly. Which may either become unneeded, or hold true to its helpful wonder if things go south for whatever reason.

Tony quickly has Friday adorn the protective barriers around the buildings interior so whatever happens inside, stays inside. A moment later Banner puts the gauntlet on with a hesitant grimace, the metal grows as it adjusts to his hand, immediately the power of the stones glows bright. The raw energy crawling wickedly up his arm as Bruce falls to his one knee in pain. Loud grunts of strained discomfort emitting from the half-hulks throat. Shit that looks painful.

“Take it off! Take it off!” Worries Thor as Steve throws up a cautious hand. “No, wait. Bruce, are you okay?” Banner groans in agony as Tony adds, “Talk to me, Banner.” More pained moans are heard before Bruce is finally able to give a reassuring nod, well, at least the best one he can manage.

“I’m okay.” He mutters through clenched teeth, sending a small spark of relief through everyone as he forces his fingers to reach one another. Yelling like a charging warrior through the pain of battle, Bruce forces his stiffened digits into submission, snapping his fingers through the gauntlet with all the strength he has left before a blinding bright light emits forth in an instant. Cascading the small lab into an almost heavenly glow, you can’t see anything it’s so obnoxiously bright.

When the light fades a swift moment later, you’re able to witness the aftermath of a brave Bruce Banner who’s currently semi-unconscious on the floor, metal appendage laying a couple feet away from him as Steve races to Banners side, “Bruce!” Panics Steve.

“Don’t move him.” Warns Tony as he sprays some type of healing particles onto the ashen green of Bruce’s right arm to increase the natural healing process from the stones hefty damage. “Did it work?” Wonders a drowsy Banner while he blinks back the blurry fuzz of the gauntlet's intense power.

Thor smiles brightly, “We’re not sure. It’s okay...just relax, it’s alright you did it.” Both him and Steve give Bruce some more encouraging words of praise as you take a step back from the scene to release a breath you didn’t know you had.

Holy shit, you think, heart slowing down from the adrenaline rush of it all. Trying to take in everything's that’s just happened, you ignore as Scott wanders away to the giant opening windows as your ears prick to the sound of Clint’s phone ringing on the nearby metal table. You watch curiously as he slowly walks over to it before picking it up and answering with a teary eyed grin from witnessing the picture of his beloved significant other. The sound of his confused wife reaching your ears in an instant and your heart immediately swells with joy.

Bucky!

Suddenly a dark shadow bestows itself upon the compounds opened sunroof, you quickly twist on your heel to face the others who are looking up at a dark shape with an equally as baffled expression. A second later your world turns to darkness.

Then nothing.

——

Someone’s shaking your shoulders. God that’s annoying.

But you can’t see or hear anything, can’t even feel your own body but the stuffy thick air that flows forcibly into your healing lungs. Slowly, your senses of touch and perception come back to life, vision deciding to wake up from the blurry void next and with that so does your hearing, “Y/N! Wake up! Come on, wake the fuck up!” Shouts the annoying voice of.....Clint. While his dirt smudged face flashes with uncertain panic. The fuck does he want? And where the hell are you?

Coming to, you suck in a needed breath before he quickly sits you up against a rock, a dull throbbing making itself known from the right side of your forehead that feels oddly wet. Ignoring his concerned gaze, you press a hand to it only to find your fingers coated in blood, “Clint, what the fuck just happened? And where the hell are we?” You grumble before taking a good look around you, finding nothing but rocks and ruble. “This looks like a sewer system, goddammit my suits ripped.” You complain, still a tad bit disoriented from the head trauma that’s still healing while you eye up the nasty blooded gash on your left thigh.

Clint huffs in frustration before taking a calculated look around at your minimal surroundings of rock and red warning lights as he takes a step forward, boot quickly smashing into something hard as he looks down to find the fucking gauntlet of all things right by his feet as something oddly familiar sounds in your sensitive ears. Oh, shit. Jumping to your feet, you turn your head to the cavernous tunnel on the right, night vision giving you the perfect view of... “Space dogs. Fucking space dogs!” You fearfully whisper yell as he sends you a perplexed look.

“Ugh what?” Mutters Clint as you throw him a look of pure panic, understanding something is most definably wrong if you of all people are scared shitless, he quickly sends a lighted arrow past your head before catching a glimpse of exactly what you were warning him about. Thanos’ army of monstrous bastards from space. This is your nightmare all over again.

“Shit.” Mumbles an alarmed Clint as he tugs on your arm before the two of you book it in the other direction, screams of fury and death sounding from the beasts pursuing you. For a good twenty yards do the both of you run until by some wondrous act of the universe are you able to climb your way to a higher level where the creatures can’t get to either of you. Clint shooting a skilled blow to the creatures brave enough to pursue you further, killing them quickly enough so you both have a moment to rest. And inhale much needed oxygen from the swift sprinting session you just unwillingly endured.

Laying on the metal floor next to a worn out Clint, your breaths are heavy and labored when Nebula randomly walks out of nowhere like she owns the place, glad to just see a familiar face you pay her no mind when she leans down and quickly retrieves the gauntlet from Clint before raising her hand to her ear and speaking, “Father...I have the stones.” 

Uh, what? Oh wait! Your eyes widen in fear as you swiftly jump to your feet, Adamantium claws protruding out of your fists as you prepare yourself for a fight to the death over that damned gauntlet when without warning she sends a swift blast straight through your chest. Shit, you can barely breath.

You gasp, falling to the metal earth as she’s immediately confronted by some green chick and another Nebula, though you’re too frazzled and in pain to listen to their arguing. A couple long moments later the traitor Nebula is shot, falling to the ground right next to you as your lung muscle and bones fuse back together again. Body at long last letting you take in a proper breath. Dammit she got you old western style too.

Clint’s at your side in an instant, “Jesus Y/N, you okay? That looked bad.”

Grumbling in annoyance for the misadventure you’ve just found yourself in, he kindly helps pull you to your feet, “I’ve had better days Clint, I’ve really had better days.” You deadpan as he chuckles before the both of you follow Nebula and the green woman out and into the clearing of the destroyed Avenger’s Facility.

Once foggy ashen sunlight hits your dirt smudged blood spattered face, a pearl white pegasus flies above you and Clint, “The hell?” Mumbles Barton as the two of you start jogging into the destroyed landscape of the desolated Avengers base that’s currently in the midst of a chaotic battle between Thanos’ army and the Avengers, and clearly a lot more then just your lost friends. God today just keeps getting worse, not to mention weirder.

“Come on, this way.” Shouts Clint as you two begin making your way through the mess, both on a mission to protect this stupid gauntlet and try not to get yourselves killed in the process. Though soon some type of giant lumbering beast starts trailing you two as Clint calls in to anyone listening, “What do you want us to do with this damn thing?” You can’t hear what they’re all saying due to the fact that your earpiece is broken, but quickly enough Clint glances at you.

“Y/N! We gotta find Scott and that ugly brown van of his, it’s got the time machine portal in it so we can get these stones away from here!” Shouts Barton as he jumps over a protruding piece of shrapnel before one of Thanos’ loyal creatures jumps near, throwing him to the side as you launch yourself onto the beast. Digging your shimmering talons deep into its neck as it screams in agony, dying a second later.

“Give me that fucker, I can see the van from here.” You urgently exclaim as he hands it over to you without a second thought, too exhausted to run any longer. With the stones in your possession now, you book it on swift legs across the demolished battlefield as monsters of all kinds pursue you.

You’re luckily able to slash a few while dodging heated blows in an attempt to stall your progression, although unknowingly to you while you’re sprinting like a bat out of hell, mumbling a distressed chorus of “Fuck off, Fuck off, Fuck off..” to no one in particular. Bucky’s gaze is able to track your panicked form as it races across the destroyed landscape, Infinity gauntlet in hand. So that’s what you’re doing, thinks Bucky with relief, glad to know you’re okay. Well, for the most part.

Slipping from his curious view, you make it a good ten yards before a lumbering beast knocks you from your stable legs and onto the ground just as T’Challa ends its ugly life. Body hurting all over, you finally give up the gauntlet into the arms of the Black Panther, “I got it Y/N, you’ve done well.” Praises the king of Wakanda as you give him a weak thumbs up in reply, too damn winded to really answer with anything fully comprehensible.

God it’s a good thing you heal quickly cause shit, your everything hurts.

When will this shit end! Huffing in irritation, you swiftly pull yourself up before joining the Avenging masses into the storm of chaos. You slay monster and beast of all kinds before Proxima of all beings throws her spear at your head, just narrowly putting a full damper on your already hectic day as you dodge left.

“Didn’t I kill you already?” You growl in irritation as she begins hand to hand combat with you, more so claws to sword then anything else. For the next minute do you two hash it out on the battlefield, Thanos and other brave Avengers doing what they can to fight the Infinity Stones off of him as you slice up her face in a moment of valuable weakness.

Unfortunately she’s able to kick you into the cement, raising her shimmering blood coated weapon before thrusting it downwards straight for your naked jugular when suddenly it turns to dust against your exposed skin. Eyes wide in bewilderment as you breath in heavy breaths, you’re pleasantly surprised when the bitch disappears completely, nothing left but ashes floating on the breeze.

Wiping some fresh blood from your nose, you slowly stand on sore legs, eyes quickly scanning the surrounding area only to find all of Thanos’ army turning to dust as well. A relieved smile falls upon your chapped lips, though quickly enough your heart sinks when you wander over to Steve and Thor as they watch Pepper say her last goodbyes to a dying Tony Stark. So he was the one who did it, he killed Thanos for good. And this is the price that must be payed.

Your chest rises and falls with labored breaths from battling the enemy as his reactor core flickers, white light slowly going out soon after. You frown deeply as Pepper sobs by her husbands side as you notice the others beginning to slowly gather around behind you, and the ones nearest to him. Peter, Rodney, Steve, and Thor.

The dismal scene breaks your heart to watch so instead do you drop your gaze to the ground where you study the ripped fabric of your pants and the dried blood that coats it. You can’t believe after all this shit and time spent tirelessly in pursuit of those fucking stones has the deed been done at last. Two friends lost in the taxing journey to save the world from a deepening pit of confusion and despair, but it’s done, and Thanos will never hurt anyone ever again.

You’re so tired you could probably curl up and fall asleep on the rocks below, but yet your body shakes with adrenaline that keeps you from submitting to the earth for a long rest.. “Y/N?” You freeze, going still as a statue when your ears fully register the voice it belongs to. You’d recognize that voice anywhere.

Blinking hard, you turn around, your eyes slowly trailing up to meet the beautiful blues of the one and only, James Buchanan Barnes. Your breath catches in your throat, it truly feels like your whole world has just stopped and reset itself. Tears immediately prick at the corners of your eyes from the intense feelings of being overwhelmed from battle and by him, he looks exactly the same as when he left you five whole years ago. Long dark hair falling to his broad shoulders, metal arm apparent as it shows itself freely in the cloudy sunlight.

His eyes of stormy ocean studies your awestruck expression, handsome face softening as he takes a cautious step forward, “Y/N.” Mutters Bucky as your lip begins to quiver, so many emotions rushing through you like a giant waterfall, a couple stray tears draw clean marks down the sides of your dirt smudged face as your heartbeat begins to race.

You feel like hyperventilating right now but are to astounded to completely lose your shit, instead do you let him silently walk the rest of the way to you before gently placing his hands against your tear stained cheeks. He hands you a handsome grin of pure love and adoration as you place your shaking hands against his forearms. So incredibly awestruck that he’s actually with you right now in the flesh for you to form a coherent sentence.

You swallow, eyes furrowed as they wander all over his beautifully dirty face, “Please tell me this isn’t some sick dream.” You whisper, voice raspy while you try and keep your inhales as less erratic as possible. “Oh God I hope this isn’t another dream.”

Bucky chuckles a sweet tune of joy before engulfing you into a ginormous Bucky bear hug, he gently wraps his strong arms around your tired vessel with ease, burying his head in the crook of your neck as tears flow freely out of you now. Shaky hands holding him as close and humanly possible while you breath him in for all he’s worth. Your Bucky, finally in your arms at last.

You can’t believe it, after everything you’ve endured, after a thousand nights spent alone and days lasting for too many hours to count. He’s holding you like his whole life depends on it, every single muscle and fiber of his entire being wills himself to hold you in his arms like nothing and no one else matters.

Because right now, in the midst of a desolated battlefield, you can finally feel at peace with the man you have never stopped loving for even a single second. The man you will swear on your life to never leave his side ever again if you can help it. Your sweet James Buchanan Barnes. Your beloved Bucky.

You can feel as a feather light kiss brushes past your hairline before he slowly pulls away, metal and flesh hands still holding yours as his blue eyes soften, “This isn’t a dream.” Chuckles Bucky as he studies your teary eyed face, a growing confusion clear on his puzzled features, “Why would this be a dream Y/N? I mean, well I’m not sure where we are actually or how I got here or why your hair looks different now....and uh...clothing too?” His brows furrow as he trails his gaze all over you, clearly unaware of the time differences between you both and what troublesome lengths it’s taken to see him again.

He doesn’t know. Biting your bottom lip anxiously, you blink with saddened eyes before resting a hand on his metal shoulder for a bit of self comfort, “How long until you came through those portals?”

Blue irises flicker to the ground in puzzlement before finding yours once again, “Uh, I think it was about five minutes actually....it’s, it’s weird. I remember seeing you by Steve and then, I don’t remember anything else until it felt like I blinked and suddenly these huge portals were appearing in Wakanda. And you weren’t with me. I don’t know what happened....I’m not sure why you look a little different now either?”

Smiling at his adorable confusion, you trail a hand up to drag it through his messy dark locks, “You weren’t gone for five minutes Bucky, you were gone for five years.”

His lips part likes he’s about to speak though nothing comes out, handsome face slowly falling into a frown while he gently touches the side of your bloodied cheek, “What?” Whispers Bucky in astonishment, “Five...five years? Five whole years? That’s why....that’s how....how you, Jesus Y/N...”

“You have no idea how much I missed you James....how much I, I...” Your throat feels like it’s tightening as you lip quivers, voice unable to produce any sounds but your labored breaths. You feel like bawling.

Bucky takes this like the dutiful lover that he is, pulling you flush against him once more as he gently squeezes you close, face pressed into your neck as he mumbles out a soft but meaningful, “I love you Y/N.” That causes you to almost crush him in your loving embrace.

“I love you too, so fucking much.”

——

Standing on the grassy edge of the Starks riverside house somewhere in upstate New York, dressed in your usual dark attire. Though for this instance, it’s a rather dismal affair that truly represents the black clothing adorning your body with more purpose this time. But you don’t feel as terrible as you thought you would have.

A soft late summer breeze blows your hair back as you keep your hands deep in your jacket pockets while you let yourself enjoy the beautiful view of the water shimmering in the sunlight. It truly couldn’t have been a nicer day for such a day filled with melancholy for the loss of Tony. In fact, when you arrived for the funeral today, you could barely look at Morgan without feeling the urge to shed a few tears.

She’s surprised you though, her little heart is stronger then you’d realized, she’s clearly filled with confused grief for the sudden loss of her father. But she’s admittedly able to handle the dreary situation better then you’d expected, though it is true we all grieve in our own way and in our own time. Luckily she has a plethora of friendly people by her side, plus your cat Silver who you let her adopt considering you’re technically homeless.

Soon the familiar sound of footsteps walking across the grass alerts you to a new presence approaching you nearby, you could smell his scent a mile away. The blue eyed man in question, stops by your side, eyes trailing over you while you keep a steady gaze on the water. “Y/N.” Your name on his tongue, spoken so gently as he forms your letters into a term of simple greeting.

A smile immediately tugs at the corner of your lips when he literally says anything now, you turn to face him as you raise a brow, imitating his tone, “Bucky.” You practically tease.

He flashes a quick grin before shrugging, eyes glancing up to the house before finding your undivided attention once more, “They made sloppy joes if you want one. They’re not too bad actually, I had one so....yeah.”

“I’ll take your word for it, but uh...I’m okay thanks.” You add, gaze set back onto the water beyond as you let out an admittedly tired sigh, “I’m just, I don’t even know.....whatever, I’m okay.” You mutter while giving a weak shrug, a frown crossing your features as your mind wanders to your lost friends and the reason why you’re even at this funeral. It’s been a long fucking road to peace, if this even is peace.

Bucky, noticing your disheartened expression, gently nudges your arm, “Hey, you know you can talk to me.” Assures your sweet lover, eyes softening as he gently tugs at your sleeve, “Are you sure you’re okay?”

Making a sour face at the water, you avoid his gaze while your heart swirls with a conflicted sadness, “No. Not really.” You freely admit, “Both of them, I never got a chance to say goodbye. I wish I could have, I really do Buck.” Biting your lip to hold back the tears, Bucky wraps a comforting arm around you, knowing how much this all pains you since he’s been back and was filled in on everything that’s happened.

You don’t even hesitate to relax into the warm embrace as you throw an arm around his waist to bring him in even closer to you now, “Truth be told Y/N, I never got a chance to tell Tony how sorry I am for what I did to his parents. If there was onl...”

“He forgave you, Buck.” He shares a puzzled look with you.

“He did?” Whispers Bucky in confusion though a slight hopeful relief laces his words.

 You nod, “Tony...we had a long conversation about that when I was visiting once for some birthday party, it was a difficult subject. But after everything we talked about, he forgave you for what you did. Of course we had no way of knowing this was all going to happen but uh, I just want you to know that. And so did he even if you weren’t there to hear it. Guess it was the thought that counts.”

“oh.” Mutters Bucky in clear astonishment as he keeps silent for a long moment, truly processing the solid fact that Tony Stark actually forgave him for such horrendous crimes committed against his closest family members. Bucky lets out a heavy breath of relief, giving you a small squeeze before speaking, “That’s, that’s good. Yeah, alright um...” His eyes flicker to the side as he pauses for a brief moment, “..you, you want anything up there?”

Chuckling, you roll your eyes at him, “What? Let me guess? You’re still hungry and don’t want to eat alone?”

Bucky keeps silent for a brief but telling moment as he mumbles out a soft, “Yeah.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

He nervously laughs before gently squeezing your shoulder, “Or we don’t have to, it’s fine I was just wondering...”

“Buck.” You throw him a humored glance as he smiles before you lose your grip on his torso, “Come on hot stuff let’s get you a sandwich.” He grins as you start backing up towards the house filled with multiple guests of all kinds still socializing amongst one another.

“Y/N I could go myself if I wanted to.” Says Bucky as he wanders across the grass by your side, “I could....but yeah, I’d rather have you with me.”

You snicker quietly as his stubbled cheeks redden in slight embarrassment, “Well Mr. Barnes, if you must know, I don’t plan on letting you do anything alone for a long time so get used to my company.”

“Sounds good to me.” Smiles Bucky as he gently nudges your shoulder, “But seriously you gotta try these sandwiches they’re really good.”

“Buck, I don’t doubt it.”

-

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[awkwardspontaneity]

Battle for the Sky

Link x GN!Sheikah!Reader

Part 4 of Memories of You

Prev | Next

Summary: Link and Y/n are called to Rito Village when a dark beast has taken over Vah Medoh and Y/n’s biggest fear finally comes to light.

AN: I finally finished this part. May have gone a touch overboard with this one it’s like 2500 words. I just had a lot of fun writing the battle and the characters. Its got a lot of fighting and mayybe a teensy bit of angst. I rlly like Revali so I had to feature him. bit of gore so just a warning

regular= present    italic= memory

Link stood atop Revali’s Landing, eyes closed as he enjoyed the cool breeze. There was so much to do before he could save Zelda, but after having to sneak through the Yiga hideout and his fight to free Vah Nabooris he relished this quiet moment. Even if it was only a few minutes under the light of the moon, he would take the time to think.

So many memories were coming back in a jumbled mess. Like pouring the pieces of a puzzle out of the box. But he hadn’t been given the full picture yet. So much of who he was was in those few precious moments he had with his friends, all he wanted was to have that back. At the very least he wished to remember those he had lost 100 years ago when calamity struck.

And yet, a part of him almost didn’t want to remember. The more he recalled his friends, the more he was reminded that because of his failures they had been lost. Trapped within their Divine Beasts with no escape for 100 years. Forced to watch as the very things they were supposed to use for protection wreaked havoc across their beloved homes. Maybe Revali had been right about him not being up to the task.

Revali.

The last time he had come to the Rito Village had been for a monster attack on Vah Medoh too hadn’t it.

“Impressive, I know.” 

Revali hovered softly before landing on the railing. A smirk stretched across his beak as he looked down at Link. Although this level of bravado was normal for the Rito warrior, Link suspected he was playing up his capabilities in response to their presence.

“Very few can achieve mastery of the sky.” So this was how the trip would be then. “Yet I have made an art of creating an updraft that allows me to soar. It’s considered to be quite the masterpiece of aerial techniques, even among the Rito”

At this point Link was discreetly looking for Y/n. They had said something about asking the village chief for the key to Medoh before running off and leaving him alone. He was sure that they had done this to avoid Revali’s complaints. Still, Link wished they would hurry and save him. Revali responded better when they were present. Or at least, he was more capable of tolerating Link with Y/n around to deflect conflicts.

“Now then,” Revali hopped down from his perch, drawing Link’s attention back to him, “my ability to explore the firmament is certainly of note, but let’s not- pardon me for being so blunt- let’s not forget that I am the most skilled archer of all the Rito. Yet despite these truths, it seems that I have been tapped to merely assist you. All because you happen to have that little darkness- sealing sword on your back.”

Link looked down with a clenched jaw. Hylia he wished Y/n would come save him. 

“There you are!” He felt a breath escape him at Y/n’s call. There was only so much of the Rito warrior’s ego one could put up with. 

Y/n skipped over to stand beside Link and gave the two Champions a grin, “I got Medoh’s key from the chief so if the two of you are ready, we should head up.”

Recali scoffed at the smaller Sheikah, waving his wing in a dismissive manner, “There’s no such need for the two of you to board Medoh. As a matter of fact your presence here is quite redundant, so why don’t you run along back to the princess like the good little hero’s you are.”

Link stepped forward to stop Revali from taking off but was stopped by Y/n placing a hand on his arm. “If you’re flying off to the archery range to get in more practice you can meet us back here. We’re fully prepared to wait until you feel ready.”

“Excuse me?”

“The chief told me you haven’t been able to enter Medoh for nearly a week due to this monster.”

“I assure you I can kill it on my own.”

Y/n sighed, reaching out to carefully lay a hand on Revali’s wing. “We only want to help. There’s no shame in working alongside your comrades. Besides, consider it a favour from us for your future help in defeating Ganon.”

“I suppose, I have no choice.” The Rito warrior hardly looked pleased with them forcing his hand, er, wing. The feathers on his neck were ruffled up as the trio looked tensely at the flying beast above. “I’m sure that even if I were to fly off at this moment, the two of you would still go on up to Vah Medoh and end up getting thrown over the sides.”

Y/n let out a nervous laugh at his snide remark and Link found himself wondering if the tightness in their voice was due to Revali being correct in his assumptions… or maybe something else.

------

Link and Y/n appeared on top of Vah Medoh in a swirl of blue light. They were swiftly met by Revali pushing them to stay hidden. He was quick to explain the winged beast, how it crawled across Medoh with sprawling legs. Y/n had mused about winged octopi only to be flicked on the head by Revali. 

As the trio emerged from their hiding spot the two Hylians found Revali had not given nearly enough detail on the horrific creature. It was as large as he had described, with muscled legs sprawling across the wings of the Divine Beast. Its body resembled a Lynel, thick arms ending in sharp claws. Possibly the most terrifying thing were the wings sprouting from its back. They were dark and feathered, each one dripping with malice that ran down its body before piling across the ground like muddy footprints. 

Link heard Y/n draw in a sharp breath as they crept along the edge in their approach. He reached out to place a hand between their shoulder blades, a simple motion they had developed in their journeys to signal they were with the other. Whether in physical danger or an uncomfortable situation, they would handle things together. He wasn’t sure how much comfort he could offer at this moment, but he’d make due with the promise to be by their side. Even if he was worried about the feeling of their shallow breaths against his hand.

After carefully making their way to the center terminal of the Divine Beast, Revali gave a quick signal before crouching to take off. As the wind picked up around the Rito, Y/n took in a breath before squeezing Link’s wrist and darting out from their hiding spot. 

“HEY SLIMEBALL!!”

Apparently that was extremely offensive to the beast because as soon as it located the small Sheikah it tore off after them. Y/n sprinted away sending a wink as they passed the terminal and Link. Y/n reached the first pillar and slid to a stop behind it right in time to take cover from the bomb arrows exploding against the creature's torso. Mangled wings came up to protect the beast from further blasts giving Link the opportunity to lunge forward and strike down its legs. He managed to slash through two of the muscular appendages before the creature let out a screech and spread its wings, and with them, an attack of razor sharp feathers. 

Y/n had come out from their spot behind the pillar, luckily just in time to slash a feather in half before it could hit Link. The duo exchanged grins before taking off to continue their plan. Y/n would lead the beast away with their faster speeds while Revali would circle above, waiting for the moment when the Sheikah would twist the monster around pillars where he could strike it with a volley of bomb arrows. Then while it wrapped itself in its wings for protection, Link would unleash a flurry rush, slashing away at its legs until they disappeared in a haze of dark smoke.

They pulled off their barrage of attacks until the final leg dissipated giving it one option. 

To fly.

Fortunately, they had planned for this, and Revali struck the creature before it could get far. It crashed to the ground with such a force, it shook the entire Divine Beast in the sky. Y/n let out a scream as they lost their balance, reaching out to grab the pillar they stood beside. He knew he had a goal to complete but, as he slashed away at the fallen creature, all Link could think about was how he wanted to rush to his friend's side. 

The creature seemed to sense Link’s hesitation because it began to spasm, forcing Link to jump back. It seized the moment and took off into the skies screeching as Revali circled too close.

“We must finish this quickly!” Revali dove closer to the two champions, being mindful of the writhing beast in the skies. “That thing is getting desperate, and I only have so many arrows left.”

Link gave him a terse nod as he rushed over to Y/n who was still pressed against the pillar. 

“Y/n.” Only a small hum escaped them, although there was a comfort in the way they leaned into his touch. “Y/n, I don't know what’s going on in your head right now, but we need you. Revali’s almost out of arrows and I don’t think I can take it down alone.”

Their hand curled around his, shaky but tight. “I’m okay.” He was sure neither of them believed the grin that pulled at their lips. “Its wings are the only thing it has left to attack with, right? Keep its attention and I’ll take them out.”

“Are you sure?”

“I have to be.”

He nodded, although his expression betrayed his concern, something Y/n took note of. They smiled softly, albeit weakly, and out their forehead against his. “Relax Hero, we can do this.”

Link sighed softly, pressing his head against theirs with a little more force. They pulled away sharing nervous grins before Link took off. 

Fortunately, the beast had been distracted by launching feathers at Revali, who had been swooping around it with practised expertise. Link gave a shout to signal he was ready for Revali to shoot down the monster and, with an audible scoff, the Rito notched his arrows.

With a thunderous crash the beast landed on Medoh once again and, fighting the urge to look back at Y/n, Link rushed forward with his sword drawn. Link slashed and chopped away at the creature's muscular arms, trying to force it to spread its wings. It took longer than he had hoped for with far too many close calls before wings spread, throwing sludge along with it. If it weren’t for the glint off Y/n’s twin blades, Link almost wouldn’t have seen the young Sheikah sprint past. Before the monster could register their presence, Y/n had hopped from its arm, up to the shoulder, and flipped over to land on its back. 

What came next was a flurry of silver blades and the tearing of malice dripping flesh. The monster attempted to rear back and reach Y/n with its arms but it was stopped by Revali and Link each attacking an arm, preventing it from being able to knock off their partner. 

With a final flourish, Y/n thrust both blades between the beast's wings. A harrowing shriek escaped the beast as it trembled from the blow. The malice surrounding it began to bubble and swell up. With a grunt, Y/n placed a foot against its back and tore their blades free. They looked up at Link with a grin but, just as they opened their mouth to shout, the monster exploded.

The moment Link uncovered his face, he was met with the sight of Y/n sliding off the edge of Vah Medoh. Link took off as fast as he could, watching as they scrambled for a grip along the edges but came up with nothing. Link hit the ground, sliding towards them with an outstretched hand. The two made eye contact and Link’s heart twisted at the terror within their ruby eyes. He felt their fingertips touch before Y/n was gone, their desperate cry as they slid over the edge carrying across the wind.

Link stared at his empty hand. He would have thrown himself over the edge after Y/n had he not seen the flash of blue following Revali as he shot after the Sheikah like an arrow from his bow.

The moments Link lay there waiting for Revali to return were spent forcing himself to breath while his lungs were crushed under the weight of guilt. He could still feel his fingertips brushing against Y/n’s. See the expression of fear that had torn the grin from their face as they cried out.

Wind swirled around Link, forcing him to sit up as Revali soared past him. The Rito landed on Medoh and, in a surprisingly tender moment, laid a wing upon the Sheikah warrior clinging to him like a koala.

Link was quick to approach the two, getting a glimpse of the way Y/n’s brow furrowed as they hid their face in Revali’s feathered chest. Noticing the way Link watched the two, Revali scoffed before grabbing at Y/n’s arms. “You’re not falling anymore, you can stop tugging at my feathers.”

Y/n mumbled an apology as they shakily detached themselves and stepped to the ground. They managed a wobbly grin that was interrupted by Link crashing into them. Y/n let out the faintest sob as they buried themselves deeper into his arms. Link tightened his grip, carefully pressing his nose into their hair. The two heroes held each other tightly, hoping to ground themselves in the other. To remind themselves that they were together still.

“Ahem.” The bubble popped around the two heroes as Revali looked on in barely hidden irritation. He tapped his talons against Medoh, sighing as the two looked at him with wide eyes. “As wonderful as it is that we are all, in fact, alive. I would appreciate it if you could use whatever it is you brought to seal away that creature.”

“Right.” Y/n stepped towards the terminal, Link’s hand still held tightly in their own. They pulled a seal from one of their pouches before mumbling a few phrases. Deep violet tendrils of malice swirled around, collecting in front of Y/n. The seal they held began to glow blue, spreading its own tendrils of light outwards. The lights seemed to dance through the air around them. Gathering together until they spiraled into the paper seal in Y/n’s hands.

“That should be it. Now can we please get off this bird?”

“I couldn’t agree more.”

[freebooter4ever]

Living in close quarters for months on end with a bunch of men his own age doesn't bother Snafu a bit. It's the one part of the Marines Corps he actually enjoys. Like living on an island full of eye candy. Snafu became mostly numb to the sheer number of naked butts by the end of his second day on Pavuvu. With the heat and the sun, the men need very little provocation to strip their clothing off. It was distracting for about an hour and then it became commonplace.

Later, after Gloucester, after living for three straight weeks in rain and misery, under the constant threat of violent death, and then returning once more to Pavuvu, Snafu becomes numb to everything....

He's never been one for carousing - a trait his peers in high school picked up on pretty quick. He's been compensating ever since. Packing on the innuendo and flirtation, and studying how other men act towards women and amplifying it in his own behavior.

So even before the numbness set in, Snafu isn't sure he ever actually felt anything like what others seem to describe. Even though Snafu admires his daily fill of half dressed fellow Marines wandering around camp, he does it in a detached sort of way that makes him feel more like an observer than participant. And it's good, because while there are whispers and rumors about certain guys who will take a man into the woods and show him a good time, Snafu doesn't need to get involved. He gets himself into enough trouble without adding a court martial onto it.

A few days after Gloucester an envelope arrives. There's no letter, simply a newspaper clipping slipped inside and stamped. The clipping is from his hometown newspaper and the article is about their hometown hero - brave Merriell Shelton - who shot up the enemy with his 'mortar gun'.

It's truly amazing how in a small town such as his, one can go from being the delinquent orphan son of impoverished half crazed parents easily forgotten by polite society, to being a hometown hero in the span of one battle.

Everyone in K company teases him about the article, especially about the 'mortar gun' bit. Snafu enjoys it immensely. He takes pride in his notoriety. It adds to his carefully cultivated mystique. No one wants to fuck with the fast talking, mean Merriell Shelton, war hero.

In actuality, Snafu is no hero. He fights for one reason, and that's the fifty dollars a month being sent home to his kid sister. He doesn't want her saddled with being a burden to her adopted family. Not like Snafu was with their own parents.

Overall, aside from the numbness, everything about Snafu's time in the Marine Corps is going well. He has respect, he has the looming potential of death and relief, and he has a steady diet of filling if questionable food. He thinks he's got a handle on things.

Till his downfall arrives a few days after the envelope.

Eugene Sledge looks like a fool from the minute he steps into Snafu's tent. Something about him irritates the hell out of Snafu. To try and figure out what about Sledge bothers him so much, Snafu goes out of his way to run into the guy. But no dice. Nothing works.

It doesn't click until Snafu accidentally runs into Sledge in the showers. Normally Snafu showers on off times to avoid any accidents. But after one particularly disgusting round of coconut duty, Snafu is stuck washing the gritty stickiness off in the middle of the day.

At first there's just him and Pops in the showers. A typical sight - Gunney Haney is obsessively clean. Snafu ignores him, and ignores the new Boots who join them halfway through. Snafu requires single minded focus to fish out all the coconut pieces that mysteriously found their way into his hair.

Once finished, Snafu turns around and bends his head back under the stream of water to rinse. He opens his eyes after the worst of the suds are gone, and spots Eugene Sledge in the group of new recruits. They are huddled around the shower heads in the opposite corner as far away from Snafu and Pops as they can get. Snafu smirks at them as a greeting.

It's kinda fun being intimidating.

Except they aren't paying attention to him. Sledge's eyes are transfixed on Haney as the man scrubs his dick.

Admittedly, for the uninitiated, seeing Haney shower is quite a sight. The man uses a bristly GI brush. The working theory is that he's been doing it so long and he's so old that his skin is pickled enough to be as thick and tough as leather. Everyone stares and winces in pain when they first witness Haney washing his junk.

However, Sledge is unusually engrossed. Snafu feels a strange prickle at the back of his neck and a spike of annoyance over this.

Jealousy - a word Snafu's never related to before.

Once he recognizes the feeling, though, he starts seeing it everywhere. Sledge is genuinely kind, and cares about everyone in a way that would stretch Snafu thin enough to break. Sledge is the best sharpshooter in the company, beating Snafu's considerable score by almost an entire point. Sledge takes every work duty thrown at him without complaint and with stubborn pride. Sledge takes everything thrown at him without complaint, including Snafu's own malice.

And all Snafu wants is for Sledge to just fucking look at him.

The tipping point comes after Sledge's little buddy Philips rotates home without warning. The despondency Sledge sinks into for a few days makes Snafu ache with frustration. Sledge starts disappearing whenever the replacements get an hour or two off. Snafu makes it his mission to find him.

He eventually does. Turns out Sledge is running off to a secluded beach, but he never goes in the water. Instead he sits crosslegged in the sand and stares at crabs. Snafu shimmies up a palm tree and scoots across the rough bark until he's nearly hanging over the oblivious Sledge.

In Sledge's lap is a dog-eared notebook, probably a moonlight requisition from the officer's tents. Sledge hunches over the page, his hand scribbling furiously and Snafu cranes his neck till he can see what Sledge is working on.

It's drawings of crabs. Countless pages of them. Snafu straddles the uncomfortable palm tree for almost an hour, watching in disbelief as Sledge makes study after study of crab anatomy.

Instead of killing the damn invasive creatures with a shovel and burying them in the sand, Sledge draws them.

If Snafu could draw, maybe he'd finally be free of this strange fascination that's taken hold of him. The image of Sledge that one afternoon - showering, naked and lean and glowing in the midafternoon sun - burned itself in Snafu's brain. He doesn't know how to purge himself of it. At the time, he didn't even realize he'd been looking that closely at Sledge while they were in the showers, but afterwards his brain pieced the scraps of memory together and gave him a picture more vivid than what he thought he saw.

And now he sees it whenever he looks at Sledge.

Even on Peleliu, after everything's gone to shit, but somehow they got off the beach and somehow they're not dead yet, his mind drifts to Sledge. The boy strips off his shoes in the midst of battle. Snafu stops him, shoving Sledge's boots back into his chest with force.

It's the first time he lays hands on Sledge and he doesn't even register it because he's too busy being worried about the damn idiot being caught with his pants down and shoes off.

Sledge is a distraction. That's all he is.

Until Sledge fucking picks Snafu up off the ground even when Snafu is pretty sure he's already dead. Sledge drags Snafu out of his shock and out of danger, and proves he can keep his cool during battle. Cooler even than Snafu, who still runs hot whenever Sledge gets too close.

Naive little Sledgehammer grew up quick, but unlike Snafu, he did not grow up mean - he still saves worthless things fallen helpless in the sand and dirt. From that minute on, Snafu makes it his personal mission to preserve Eugene's goodness.

He doesn't anticipate Sledgehammer accepting Snafu's newfound loyalty so readily.

Burgie calls Snafu out on it teasingly during their ship ride back to dreaded Pavuvu. A painful bout of seasickness causes Snafu to lose track of Sledgehammer for a few hours aboard ship, and Snafu spends the time wandering the decks in search of him.

"Since when did you appoint yourself as his shadow, Snaf?" Burgie retorts when Snafu asks if he's seen the 'Hammer'.

"Just need to collect on my bet about him smoking by the end of his first battle," Snafu shrugs.

"Every nonsmoker smokes by the end of their first battle, Snafu. You already knew that," Burgie says, "Leave him be."

"No way," Snafu argues, "Someone needs to teach that rich boy that he don't know everything."

"And of course you'd be the one to do it," Burgie sighs.

Ironically, Sledge is the one to find Snafu in a random ship compartment instead of the other way around. Snafu is lying prone, trying to keep his half digested meal from rolling around.

"Here," Sledge says, shoving a small box at Snafu as hard as Snafu shoved Eugene's boots.

"What is it?" Snafu asks, feigning disinterest.

"Crackers. They'll help with the stomach," Sledge replies, "C'mon, let's get you topside."

"How the hell'd you get crackers on a ship short of rations?" Snafu asks. He obediently follows Eugene through the ship to the deck. Like a damn shadow.

"I sweet talked one of the swabbies," Sledge explains casually.

That news roils Snafu's gut. Jealousy again. It's lucky they made it to the deck. He staggers to the rail and pukes overboard.

"The swabby liked my accent," Eugene says and leans beside Snafu, "Think he was from northern Alabama. I told him how us southern boys have the best aim in the Marines."

Snafu finishes vomiting up the last of his afternoon chow.

Sledge sighs and places his hand on Snafu's upper back.

Snafu's glad no one else is around on this part of the deck to see his shame. He hangs on the rail and feels miserable.

"Get it all out?" Sledge asks, and passes Snafu his canteen.

Snafu takes a sip, swishes it around his mouth, and spits into the sea. And then guzzles as much water as he thinks he can keep down. He sticks his tongue out at the disgusting aftertaste and hands the canteen back.

Sledge runs his hand down from Snafu's back to his arm. Before Snafu knows what's happening Eugene is gently taking Snafu's hand and leading him away from the rail. Sledge sits on the deck and leans against the ship's wall. He tugs on Snafu's hand for him to sit next to him.

"Better to go down to one of the cabins," Snafu resists.

"You don't want to know how bad it smells down there," Sledge warns, "Trust me. Fresh air is best."

Snafu gives in and collapses next to Eugene. He tilts his head back against the cold metal and closes his eyes.

Sledge takes the box of saltines from Snafu's hands and Snafu hears rustling as Sledge opens the package. Sledge then nudges Snafu's elbow with the box.

"Eat," Sledge says.

Snafu groans and leans his head on Sledgehammer's shoulder instead. He doesn't want any ill-gotten flirtation crackers. It's a lot easier to close his eyes and pretend to sleep.

Sledge seems to not mind Snafu sleeping on him. He doesn't move away, at least. So Snafu uses it as an excuse to shuffle closer. Which is when he realizes Eugene never let go of his hand. He's still holding on. Tight.

"Snafu?" Sledge prompts. He uses Snafu's nickname like they're best buds, though they've hardly ever spoken.

Snafu grunts.

"On that airfield…" Sledge says, "Don't you ever dare do that again, allright?"

"Whatever you say, Sledgehammer," Snafu drawls, "Don't even know what I did."

"You just...lay there," Sledge says quietly, "Like you were...."

"Waiting?" Snafu tries to remember his own state of mind in that moment.

"Gone," Sledge says sharply.

"Same damn thing," Snafu gives up on sleeping and lights a cigarette.

"If you're not around who'll tell me what I'm doing wrong?" Sledge asks.

"Shit, Sledge," Snafu drawls with a grin, "practically anybody who's not you could do that."

Sledge actually chuckles. That's the thing about Eugene. He's not stuck up or prissy like Snafu'd expect him to be. He's humble, and willing to laugh at his own inexpertise.

"I'd rather it be you," Eugene adds quietly with a small smile.

Snafu sucks on his bottom lip and refuses to respond to that.

"So no dying," Eugene finishes, as if such a conclusion were a choice.

Snafu does fall asleep and when he wakes up a few hours later, Sledge's head is tipped on top of Snafu's. Sledge's long nose is in Snafu's hair and he's snoring loud enough to wake the enemy a thousand miles away. Snafu can feel Eugene's snores blowing his hair around.

Despite these annoyances, Snafu tries to freeze in place and jostle Eugene as little as possible.

Their hands are still linked together. Sledge's hand is wrapped tight around Snafu's. Snafu lifts Sledge's hand to examine his delicate fingers - long and gentle, but not dainty. Eugene has the calluses of an expert marksman, and painfully short fingernails. Snafu picks at the boy's ring curiously.

Sledge shifts and turns farther in towards Snafu's body. He draws his arm away from Snafu's fiddling and instead places his hand on Snafu's soft belly. "Stop moving," he mumbles.

"You stop snoring," Snafu complains. He bumps his head intentionally into Sledge's big nose to make his point.

Sledge ignores him and slumps more of his weight onto Snafu's shoulder.

Snafu accepts his fate and reaches over Sledge's body to steal the saltines. He opens the cracker package and starts snacking.

"Must you, with the crunching?" Sledge snarls after a few minutes.

"Got hungry, Sledgehammer," Snafu, "If you're gonna be using me as a pillow, I'm gonna need to generate extra padding."

Sledge sighs and holds his hand out, "Give me one."

Snafu complies, "If you get crumbs in my hair, I'll kill ya."

"Wouldn't be the worst thing in your hair right now, Snafu," Sledge gripes.

"Yeah? What else is up there? Pick it out for me," Snafu grins.

"Smells like you took a nap in seawater," Sledge says, "Or smoke."

"Get your long nose out of my hair then," Snafu quips.

"Once you get past the brine smell it's not so bad," Sledge mutters and doesn't move

"Yeah, well your shoulder smells like…" Snafu starts, and then cuts off when he realizes Eugene's shoulder doesn't smell like anything Snafu finds unpleasant. "Did you change your shirt?"

"Traded it for the saltines," Sledge explains, "The swabby wanted a souvenir that saw battle. I gave it to him. Stole this one off a supply crate."

"Fuck, Eugene, I thought you flirted your way into the galley," Snafu grumbles.

"Who says taking off my shirt wasn't a part of that?"

Snafu can't see it with his head on Sledge's shoulder but he swears Gene is smirking at him. "Should have just given him your pin," Snafu argues.

"Can't," Eugene replies, "Sid says they're good luck."

Snafu rolls his eyes at the mention of stupid Sid and settles back comfortably to sleep.

Eugene hooks a thumb in between Snafu's button holes in his shirt to keep his hand on Snafu's stomach. His fingertips barely brush Snafu's bare skin, and suddenly Snafu is no longer interested in sleeping.

And then Eugene's wandering fingers hit Snafu's shrapnel wound.

His response is immediate and a little shocking, "What the fuck, Snafu?" Without asking Eugene starts popping open all of Snafu's shirt buttons.

"What the hell, Sledge?" Snafu tries to back away from him.

"My father's a physician, let me look at you," Eugene orders. He manhandles Snafu's hips forward away from the wall to stretch him out on the deck. Snafu's thin wound runs from right beside his belly button to right over his hip. "Jesus, Snaf, that could turn infected."

Snafu is still trying to process the feel of Eugene's long hands gripping his hips, there is no room in his brain for worrying about infections right now.

"You're gonna need to lie down," Eugene tells him, "Here…" Sledge takes off his shirt and folds it up so Snafu doesn't have to rest his head on the floor.

"Thanks," Snafu says blankly.

"I thought it didn't hit you, you idiot?" Eugene asks.

"Naw, it hit me," Snafu smiles, "just didn't kill me."

"Wait here, I need a kit," Sledge gets up and walks off, leaving Snafu on his own.

Snaf uncomfortably folds his open shirt closed and crosses his arms over his chest self-consciously. He hopes no one will accidentally walk past this part of the ship while Snafu is stuck laying here like a patient. It takes far too long for Sledge to return.

When Eugene does finally return, he's holding a big medic kit that definitely is going to be missed somewhere.

"What'd you have to take off to get that?" Snafu asks, his voice mean, "Your pants?"

"I'll return it when I'm done," Sledge tells him in a no nonsense tone. He sets the kit down and flips it open. "I'll need to open the waist of your pants though, do you mind?"

Snafu looks to the sky to avoid Sledge's concerned gaze. "Don't care," Snafu says as nonchalantly as he is able. He wets his lips and squeezes his eyes shut.

Sledge gently uncrosses Snafu's arms and moves them to the side. When Sledge unbuttons Snafu's pants, Snafu takes a deep breath. His stomach constricts, and he knows his bones are poking out embarrassingly far. Sledge's hands are warm and surprisingly soft. Cleaning everything, and putting a tiny amount of stitches near Snafu's waistband area doesn't take Sledge long at all. Before Snafu even gets to fully enjoy the feeling of Eugene's fingers sliding over his most sensitive area, Eugene is already buttoning Snafu's pants back up and smoothing his shirt down. Snafu flicks the shirt back off, deciding if he's already indecent he might as well continue that way.

Snafu moves to sit up, but Sledge puts a hand on his shoulder.

"Stay down for a bit," Sledge says, "I want my shirt back though. Here." He scoots next to the wall at Snafu's head and then helps Snafu lean forward enough that Sledge can reclaim his stolen shirt. Sledge throws the shirt on and then scoots closer again, beckoning Snafu to lay back down.

Having his head in Sledge's lap is about a thousand times more distracting than Eugene touching his skin. There was a medical excuse for that. There's no goddamn excuse for this.

As if reading Snafu's mind, Sledge decides to up the ante and he runs his hand along the clean skin beside Snafu's wound. Sledge's hand continues up to Snafu's chest and then stops. Sledge picks at a brown spot of dried mud below Snafu's sternum till it pops off and he can flick it away onto the deck. He then massages away the sting and leaves his hand resting there.

Snafu daringly rests his own hand on top of Sledge's. He doesn't breathe even once till they're both settled and Eugene doesn't pull away.

"You need a shower, Snafu," Sledge comments.

"You gonna give me one?" Snafu lolls his head so he can see Sledge's face.

"Only way to do that now would be to toss you off the ship," Sledge says seriously.

"That a no?" Snafu guesses.

Sledge glances down at Snafu with his signature 'I know better than you, but I am also amused' expression, and then stares blankly out towards the sea. He sighs, "Sleep off the seasickness. I promise I won't snore."

Snafu silently watches Eugene's profile for a while before he finally closes his eyes.

Sledge keeps his promise. He doesn't fall asleep once during the entire time Snafu is out. Sledge does, however, eventually remove his hand from atop Snafu's chest and that wakes Snafu up instantly.

Snafu stays perfectly still, and tries to breathe as even as possible. He doesn't want Sledge to notice he's awake and kick Snafu out of his lap.

Snafu carefully peeks one eye open, and sees two hands hovering above his head holding a book and pencil.

"Writing again?" Snafu accuses.

"Hmmm," Sledge says.

"What about?" Snafu asks.

"You," Sledge responds.

Snafu smiles. He knows Sledge is just being obtuse and not actually writing about him, but still, "Tell me."

"No," Sledge refuses.

Snafu eyes Sledge's hands and attempts to determine how much force it would take for him to grab the book away.

"If you take this bible from me, I'll never let you sleep on me again," Sledge warns.

"What makes you think that's a threat?" Snafu teases. He sits up and tries to lean over to read Sledge's writing.

"Because you slept like a baby during your nap," Sledge says. He angles the book away from Snafu's prying eyes.

"Plenty of other guys in the company more comfortable than you to sleep on, Sledgehammer," Snafu says.

Sledge looks Snafu straight in the eye and dares him, "Then why don't you go find them?"

Snafu holds his gaze for a few breaths. And then wordlessly puts his head back in Eugene's lap.

Sledge calmly sets down his pencil and book, and threads his hand into Snafu's hair instead. "You know what I miss?" Sledge idly scratches Snafu's head as he talks, "Having an inexhaustible supply of blank paper."

"I still don't understand how you've managed to hold onto that one pencil nub for so long," Snafu comments. If talking means Sledge will massage his head, Snafu will do anything to carry this conversation.

"Writing in my bible is well and good, but nothing compares to a fresh blank sheet," Sledge states, "I can't believe that in school I used to tear pages up, or throw them away if I made even one typewriter mistake."

"We should find you a new pencil," Snafu continues his own train of thought, "Or maybe a couple."

"What a waste," Sledge sighs over his stupid crumpled typewriter pages.

"I bet the officers' tent in camp has pencils," Snafu muses.

"You need to borrow a pencil?" Sledge asks, "Sorry, I wasn't listening for a minute. Here, take mine." He hands Snafu the tiny nubby remains.

"Thanks, Sledgehammer," Snafu says and sticks the pencil behind his ear to remind himself later.

The first thing Snafu does on Pavuvu is go scrounging for paper. The constant stream of people coming in and out of the officer's tents makes it particularly easy to search. Snafu gets five pencils on only one run. He doesn't dare take the brand new stacks of paper. It would be too obviously missed. Instead he hunts through trash bins around the camp, and pulls out anything that looks clean and innocuous.

Snafu figures any important classified documents are being shredded or burned immediately anyway. No chance of him accidentally picking up something he shouldn't.

It takes a few days, but finally Snafu hits the jackpot. An entire stack of half used blank sheet notebooks. They're spiral bound, and the edges are dirty, and the covers don't look particularly pretty. But the pages inside are clean. Snafu takes his stack behind the mess tent and scrubs off some of the dirt stains.

A few of the notebooks are too gross to be salvageable. For these he carefully cleans his knife, and cuts out the crisp pages individually.

When he's finished he leaves his collection on Sledge's cot with the pencils resting on top of everything. Satisfied, Snafu takes a step back and surveys his work. Then realizes he can't let it look like he is doing Gene any favors. He sticks his hands out and musses the papers completely so the stacks are no longer neat and the pages aren't ordered by type. But he leaves the pencils on top. He doesn't want them to get lost or sat on.

At first Sledge doesn't say anything about Snafu's gift. The next time Snafu stops by the empty tent, the paper and notebooks are neatly stacked on a high shelf to keep it out of the way of crabs and vermin. It warms Snafu to see how organized the messy pile he left became. Even the pencils are safe and snug wrapped in a little handmade pouch.

Snafu takes the warm feeling with him to chow that evening.

"Did you wake up on the right side of the bed for once, Snaf?" Burgie asks.

Snafu brushes his comments off with a smile and sarcastic look.

Sledge looks up the minute he realizes Snafu is sitting down. "Hey," he says eloquently.

"Hey," Snafu says back. He sets his tray down and pulls out his cigarettes.

"I swear you smoke more than you eat," Sledge observes. He eyes Snafu's still mostly full and cooling plate of food.

"I only put things in my mouth if it's worth the bother," Snafu tells him, smirking.

"Are you saying warm mush isn't worth it?" Bill jokes as he polishes off his own bowl heartily.

Snafu laughs at Bill's graceless eating, till he realizes Eugene is staring. Not at Bill, but at Snafu. And looking very mournful for some reason. Unable to stand seeing Eugene looking that way, Snafu anxiously extends his hand to touch Sledge's knuckles, and then offers him a smoke.

"No thanks, Snafu," Sledge says, very unfriendly and possibly looking to start a fight, "I prefer to eat my meals."

"Has anyone gotten any letters from home yet?" Burgie changes the subject brightly.

Bill shakes his head.

"Nothing but my mother's usual package," Sledge says. He notices Snafu staring at him with quiet interest and adds with a sigh, "Yes, Snafu, I saved you your favorite jar."

Snafu smiles, "See, always worth it to wait." He grabs his unused spoon off the table and slips it into his pants for later.

"Sid still hasn't written to tell me if he made it home okay," Sledge says with a worried frown.

"I'm sure he did," Burgie says kindly.

"What about you, Burg?" Snafu interrupts, "You hear anything from Florence lately?"

"She's written, yes," Burgie says and turns as red as the canned beets Sledge's mother mailed last week.

Snafu whistles, Leyden begs Burgie to read any exciting bits aloud, and Sledge politely asks who Florence is.

"Burgie's girl he met in Australia after Gloucester," Snafu explains.

"I knew she liked me because she was the only girl not flocking around Snaf," Burgie jokes.

"Like flies to shit?" Bill snaps, "Snafu being the shit 'n ass."

"Don't think he slept in the stadium bunks with the rest of us even once," Jay laughs.

"I had more worthwhile places to go," Snafu says and eyes Sledge to gauge his reaction. He lazily takes a drag on his cigarette.

"Think we'll be given liberty in Australia again sometime?" Sledge asks. He holds Snafu's gaze steady.

"Don't care," Snafu shrugs.

"Unfortunately no," Burgie says, "I suspect we'll be run ragged till this war is over."

"At least she writes you," Bill interjects, "You'll just have to skip over thataway and pick her up before going home at the end of all this."

"Not sure how I'll manage that," Burgie takes a deep breath, "But it's true, I think she felt as strongly as I did. She expresses it well in her letters."

Bill whines that Burgie is holding out on his buddies by not divulging the content of said letters. He and Burgie get into a heated discussion that mostly consists of Bill begging and wallowing in self pity over not having any sweethearts.

Snafu and Eugene ignore them. Once Sledge finishes his meal, Snafu offers his cigarette again, and Sledge accepts. They pass it back and forth as they watch the sunset over the beach in the distance. Snafu wallows in every single touch of their fingers during each exchange.

"Speaking of mail," Sledge starts, "Snafu, did you leave paper on my bunk?"

"Why would I leave paper on your bunk?" Snafu scoffs.

"I thought maybe you were writing a letter and forgot it, or something?" Sledge asks, as though he isn't smart enough to put two and two together. No one accidentally leaves a jumble of notebooks lying around. Not when they're such a hard commodity to find.

Bill barks a laugh "Snafu writing? Can you imagine...that'd be the day."

"The only paper I ever concern myself with is asswipe," Snafu taunts. He dangles his cigarette out of his mouth and smirks at Leyden. Snafu throws one cautious glance over to Sledge and immediately regrets it.

Instead of being grateful, Sledge is annoyed. He snatches the cigarette straight out of Snafu's mouth. Sledge's fingers press into Snafu's lips briefly before he steals the smoke away, almost like a gentle punch. The unexpected touch and Sledge's deadly serious glare turns Snafu hot down to his toes.

Sledge finishes the cigarette in dead silence, and rather than stub it into the ashtray, he takes the nub and sticks it back between Snafu's lips. Sledge abruptly stands, grabs his tray, and stalks off without another word.

Leyden awkwardly coughs and gives Snafu a sympathetic look.

"Did you dump a bunch of papers on Eugene's bed?" Burgie asks Snafu for clarification.

"Fuck no," Snafu lies. They know he's lying. He grinds the cigarette into dust on the ashtray.

"Maybe I should have mentioned the Australian guys were buzzing around you, too," Jay suggests to Snafu, "Except there were less of them thanks to the war."

"Don't think that would've helped, Jay," Burgie says.

"Yeah?" Snafu says. He climbs over the mess hut wall and walks off.

[cygnetofthesea]

Welcome Home, Part 1: Élite Fanfiction

This fic was inspired and dedicated to @sweetpeony200​ and the request for a Guznadia reunion in NYC. Thank you for the inspiration!! It’s not quite what was asked, so apologies for that! (Hopefully @jasminejc4525​ writes her version 👀 ) The writing ran away from me and I couldn’t help but delve into Guzman’s psyche. I love doing character studies so this was a way for me to explore the complexities of Guzman’s mind and emotions. I hope to write a second part with more of their reunion, more of their present-day interaction the day Guzman arrives. Hope this part is still enjoyable until then! <3 Part of the Moments Series.

Guzman sat still with his eyes closed, the picture of calm if anyone looked over at him, but inside his was an anxious mess. He wasn't a nervous flyer by any means as he's gone on countless trips overseas throughout his short life, but this was no ordinary flight and he was no longer that ordinary boy.

This was the flight that was taking him toward the rest of his life.

The past few months without Nadia had been unbearable. He had known it was going to be difficult but he hadn't been prepared for the constant tightness that sat on his chest. The only thing that loosened it was Nadia, talking to her, face-timing her, texting her. Every time he saw her name or face on his screen, his chest swelled with elation instead of pain.

It was with Nadia's absence that Guzman was forced to confront the pain that haunted him from Marina and Polo's death. He felt that out-of-body experience all too often, every morning waking up to a sense of loss and confusion. His sister was dead, his best friend had murdered her, and now that best friend was murdered too. It was too much for him to comprehend, his mind twirling with the reality of it because it just didn't feel real, couldn't be real.

But it was.

Every time he looked in the mirror, he saw the ashen face that became almost unrecognizable to him. He didn't know how it was possible to be still standing in the wake of all this grief.

It was Nadia who had made him feel human, who had centered him, quelled the raging storm inside of him enough to feel alive. Her simple presence felt like a balm to his soul, brought peace to his mind and combated the pain, the incomprehensible thoughts as he tried to make sense of his life.

It was with her Guzman felt like he could deal with everything. She was the tether that brought him  to life and snapped him back to reality. Guzman had always been intrigued by her, since the first moment he set eyes on her simply because of the utter calm and resolve she emitted.

She was this young girl of sixteen and yet he carried herself with a sense of resolve and strength that was unlike anything he had seen in even some adults. Even Lu, who he believed to be tough, wasn't anything like Nadia, didn't nearly compare because it was Lu's privilege that gave her that strength. She was born into a world where everything was handed to her, her every desire was at her fingertips, effortless.

But Nadia wasn't like that. Not by a long shot. She worked hard for everything, every single step she took was a battle for her because of her race, her religion, her gender, her socioeconomic standing. She had everything working against her and yet she weathered through it, pushing her way not by aggression or iniquitous means but with a quiet fierceness, a calm gait.

He had to admit, his attraction to her was instant. That had been quite unexpected in of itself and it caught him completely off guard, but it was undeniable. He was pulled in by her demeanor, completely and utterly intrigued by her. He wanted to unwrap her, metaphorically and literally. He wanted to uncover the complexities of her, what gave her that strength, what made her happy, what made her laugh. And then as soon as that thought entered his mind, he knew he needed to see it, to hear it.

What did Nadia Shana's laughter sound like? What did her smiling eyes look like? Particularly, what did her soft eyes and smile look like when it was directed at him? And when by some miracle he managed to achieve that smile, he was addicted, pulled even deeper into her. He was lost and in love before he even knew it was happening. 

If he thought it was a miracle that he made her smile, he didn’t know what to call her falling in love with him, her actually wanting and agreeing to be with him. Perhaps it was some divine intervention. Perhaps God had decided that he finally earned her love, that he had suffered enough and deserved something beautiful and miraculous. That she was meant to be his savior all along. Nadia Shana saved so many simply by existing. 

And now as the eight hour flight was coming to a close, he couldn’t believe he was going to be reunited with his miracle at long last. He felt like at any moment he would open his eyes and wake up in bed with a heavy heart full of longing and tired, wet eyes. He opens his eyes now at the thought, wanting to get the disappointment over with, but instead of finding himself in bed, he’s met with the sign that reads Fasten Seat belt. 

It flashes red just as a ding overhead sounds. 

“Attention passengers, we are now approaching JFK airport. Please fasten your seat belt in preparation for the descent. Thank you for flying Air Eropa, we hope you had a pleasant trip.”

 Guzman takes a deep breath, his sweaty hands immediately fastening his seatbelt. His heart is racing in anticipation and impatience. His leg bounces erratically as he looks out the window as though somehow he’d be able to spot Nadia from such great heights. He’s momentarily distracted by the view but soon wonders if Nadia was already waiting for him or perhaps she was still on her way. 

He switches out the SIM card from his phone for the one Nadia had mailed him a week before so that he could call her as soon as he landed. He remembered the day he saw it in their mailbox. He knew to expect because Nadia had already given him the heads up, they had been making all the arrangements for weeks at that point, but he wasn’t any less excited when he saw it. 

He had torn through the package that had her neat handwriting on it and wanted to immediately switch out the SIM cards but she had teased him it wouldn’t work. 

“An American SIM isn’t going to do you much good in Madrid,” Nadia had giggled. 

Guzman shrugged with a tilt of his head. “I know but I’m excited. I feel like I’m one step closer to you and I can’t wait until you’re in my arms.”

She had looked at him softly, a wistful smile on her face. “I know what you mean. I can’t wait either.”

Before he knows it, the plane lands and Guzman is out of his seat and grabbing his carry-on in record speed. His strides are long and fast and he feels like he’s practically flying at the rate he’s going. He can’t see anything in his periphery, his eyes ahead and only looking around to make sure he’s going to the right place. 

He calls her as soon as he can, finally putting the new SIM card to use. The phone rings for a long and excruciating minute. His heart begins to sink when he hears the click on her beautiful voice on the other end. 

“Guzman,” she says breathlessly as though she had been running. “Are you here? I just saw your flight landed.”

His stomach does a somersault, a beaming smile across his face. “Yeah, I just picked up my suitcase. Are you here?”

Nadia lets out an astonished laugh. “You’re really here? Where?”

Guzman looks around. “I’m by the Emirates line, where it says terminal 7.”

“I’m looking for you.”

His heart gallops in his chest and he sounds winded when he asks, “You’re here?”

“When you say ‘here’ you better mean JFK airport because that’s where I am now.”

Guzman spins in place, one hand on his suitcase and the other pressing his phone tightly to his ear. He can hear his own heavy breath loud in his ear.

“Yes, this is definitely JFK airport,” he laughs, looking at the crowd. He even spots a film crew on the other side and remembers how Nadia said it was a popular site for tv shows and films. That was probably why it was especially crowded and hard to see around the bodies. 

Nadia lets out her own excited laugh. “I see you! You’re wearing your green jacket, the one with the orange lining inside, the one I gave you.”

The excitement mounts inside of him, he feels like his heart would either burst out of him or he would throw up right then. 

“Yes! Yes, I’m wearing your jacket. You can see me? Where are you?”

“I’m coming toward you. Turn around.”

He whirls around and there she was, his eyes immediately finding her. It was as though time had stopped and everything, everybody had ceased to exist and there was only her. Nadia, Nadia, Nadia….

In every scenario he imagined, he had run toward her. No matter how wild his imagination, In every single version of his reunion with her, there was running involved: he’d see her as soon as he got off the plane, waiting for him at the tarmac and he’d run to her, their eyes would meet across the the luggage pick-up and he’d jump across and run to her, they’d see each other across the airport and run to each other, colliding until they fell to the ground.

But here, in this moment now, he was stunned. He wasn’t prepared for the breadth of her beauty so close to him, just mere steps away. It was almost overwhelming, his senses anticipating her, his mind unable to comprehend that she was here, that in just moments he would be able to not only hear and see her but actually touch her, smell her, feel her, kiss her...even make love to her if she was so inclined. 

His arm falls to his side, limply holding his phone and his breath is caught in his throat as he stares at her in awe. She felt like a mirage but her sparkling eyes are drawing closer, closing the distance between them. She stops just inches away from him, a soft, achingly beautiful smile on her face that he feels his chest hurt at the sight. 

She’s the first one to speak. “Hey.”

And just like that, he’s snapped back to reality, the emotions falling over him in one fell sweep that he feels like he’d buckle under the weight but instead he pulls her into his arms, holding onto her to tether him. 

“Nadia.” His voice comes out in a choked sob and it’s only then he realizes that he’s crying.

He feels her warm body against him, soft and familiar and he finally feels what he’s been missing all along: home. 

He wraps his arms around her tightly, encasing her and holding her close as though trying to meld their bodies together. 

“Nadia.”

“Guzman.”

He buries his face in her neck, feeling the coolness of her silk hijab and the warmth from her skin simultaneously, the sensation so familiar and glorious he can’t help leaning heavily against her.

“I’ve missed you so much,” he croaks. 

“I’ve missed you too.”

He pulls back slightly and catches her glittering eyes. She lets out a wet chuckle and wipes his cheeks with both hands. “I’ve missed this face.”

She leans in and kisses his damp skin and his eyes flutter close as he kisses his eyes next, basking in her touch even as it makes him breathless. 

“Oh god, I love you.”

He lets out a ragged breath and pulls her lips to his before she can even respond, unable to hold off any longer. He needs to feel her, taste her and god, does she taste divine. He doesn’t mean to get carried away but the full weight of reality hits him: she’s really here in his arms, he’s not going to wake up because this isn’t a dream. 

He kisses her hard, cupping the back of her head as it leans back against the force of his lips. His tongue slides against her desperately again and again, needing to breathe her in, needing her taste to fill him up because he has been hungry for so long, starving for her touch and he can’t get enough. 

He wants to slide his lips against more skin, find the soft spot behind her ear that he knows makes her weak, before sliding down her throat, his tongue tracing the skin there. He wants to grip her until her clothes fall away and there’s nothing left but her skin against his.

He’s so desperate for her he feels he could weep and almost does when she pulls away with a gasp. He chases her lips with a soft whine at the back of his throat. “Nadia,” he pants, looking at her with hooded eyes. 

Her eyes are just as intense but with a shyness that he certainly didn’t have. He had no qualms showing all his love for her for the world to see. 

She slides her hand down to his chest to halt any further movement with a soft smile. “I love you too. Let’s go home,” she says.

And he wants to pull her in again, the word home echoing inside him, his body filling with elation. Home, he was home now, with her. He swallows thickly and nods against her. It takes a herculean effort to pull away from her but even then, he pulls away just enough to gather up his large suitcase that had fallen in his haste to embrace Nadia. He keeps an arm firmly around her, plastering her to him.

Nadia giggles at the gesture, shaking her head even as she stands on her tiptoes to kiss his jaw. “Is this all you brought with you? I was expecting more.”

“No, I just brought the essentials and figured Mama can ship the rest as I need them. Plus, I can always get new things here.” 

“How was your flight?” She tries to reach for his carry-on. “Here, let me hold that for you, at least. You must be tired.”

“It’s ok, I’m not tired,” he says, looking at her with a soft smile. He was still reeling but he hooks the carry-on to the suitcase and pulls them forward, keeping his arm tight around her. “How did you get here?”

Her smile turns coy as she looks up at him. This time, she was the one dragging him forward eagerly. “It’s a surprise. Come on!”

She drags him along by the hand, practically skipping with excitement that he can’t help laughing with her. They make it out of the airport and immediately he’s bombarded with noise. He’s not unfamiliar with city life being from Madrid and visiting Barcelona often, but the noise here certainly felt different somehow. People chattering in so many different languages, cars honking, loved ones greeting each other with shouts and squeals.

He barely has time to register it all when Nadia expertly weaves him past the people and cars, crossing what looked like an island to get to a parking lot. He glances behind them at the long line of taxis waiting in a line, confused.

“Isn’t that where we’re supposed to wait for the taxi?” 

But Nadia says nothing, simply squeezing his hand and continuing her trek to the parking lot. 

“Is there a special taxi here?” he asks. 

“Oh I can’t wait to see how this city is going to test your patience,” she says in amusement. 

They finally stop in front of a grey jeep, clearly an older model but still in relatively good shape. Guzman looks at it, noting that it had been recently cleaned, a shiny gleam to the impeccable paint job. He peers inside and sees it’s neat and tidy in there with soft-looking seats and a backpack in the back seat. 

He looks back at Nadia. “What’s this? Is this our uber? Where’s the driver?”

He’s looking around as though the driver was going to stride up any second when Nadia lets go of his hand and heads toward the trunk. She pops open the trunk and looks at him expectantly.

“What, am I going to be your bellhop and your driver? Get your suitcase in here.”

Guzman looks at her stunned, not comprehending what she was implying. He looks between her smug face and the car with new eyes.  He points at the car and lets out an astonished laugh. 

“This is yours? How?” 

Nadia shrugs, dusting off invisible dust from her shoulders with a wink. “I bought it.”

His eyes bug. “But, you don’t even drive?”

She brandishes a card out to him, seemingly from out of nowhere. “I do now.”

He takes the card from her and looks at it in awe, seeing her name, birthday, and picture on it, confirming that Nadia, indeed, could drive. At least according to the state of New York and if his eyes weren’t deceiving him.

“Holy shit,” he laughs. He grabs her up into a hug, lifting her off the ground. “Congratulations, baby, I’m so proud of you! You never said anything when we spoke.”

She returns his happy kiss when he sets her back down. “I wanted to surprise you. Plus, I’d have been embarrassed if I ended up not passing so I didn’t want to get both of our hopes up.”

He shakes his head lovingly at her, placing more quick kisses to her mouth. “Nadia, I’d never be disappointed in you. I’d have been proud of you simply for trying.”

She kisses his nose. “I know you would and I love you all the more for it. I just wanted to surprise you and see the look on your face just now? Worth it.”

“Holy shit,” he says again, in awe. “I can’t believe you managed all this on top of everything else. I mean, I can, but I can’t comprehend how. And the car, I thought money was tight?”

Nadia shrugs. “It’s not the easiest, but I’ve been saving up well before Columbia even happened. I always wanted a car and I always thought college would be the best time to get one, in case I ended up somewhere near home and needed to commute.”

“Wow” He shakes his head again, this time with a dull ache in his chest. All these months Nadia had been painstakingly saving her hard-earned money not just for school but for freedom, she had been studying for her permit, took her test, passed, took driving lessons and then passed that too. All of this had been happening and he had no clue. 

He knew she wasn’t trying to keep him out of the loop intentionally and his heart warmed at the thought of her wanting to surprise him but it made him realize once again how different they were. Not for the first time he wondered what she even saw in him. Would she ever wake up and realize that she could do better than him? Selfishly he prayed that she didn’t.

“You’re amazing,” he says. “So my suitcase can fit in here?”

She scoffs, “Please, it can fit at least three of the same size,” she calculates. She jumps in place and gestures to the open trunk. “Come on, stick it in there! Or do you want to check out more of this parking lot?”

Guzman pretends to look around. “Is a carnival going to pop up somewhere? I’ve heard they do that here.”

Nadia rolls her eyes and shoves him playfully. He catches her hand in his keeping her from pulling away completely. “Someone’s eager to get me home.”

“And someone’s not?” she challenges, sending him a coy look. 

Immediately Guzman throws his suitcase inside haphazardly and slams the trunk shut. “What are we waiting for? I just had a long flight.” 

He shuffles Nadia urgently to the driver's side, her laughter filing his ears pleasantly. He smooches kisses to her cheek as he helps her in before running around to the passenger side. 

The drive is long and somehow short all at the same time. Perhaps Guzman hadn’t yet become jaded from the New York City traffic and he was too amused with Nadia’s bouts of road rage to notice how long they sat on the road. 

“Did you see that idiot? You’re supposed to signal, how do you pass the driver’s test when you don’t even signal?” She mutters under her breath but he hears her anyway. 

He stares at her in bliss for a moment, watching her practiced movements. He’s never seen her drive before. He remembers the one failed attempt at teaching her on one of their dates but she had gotten too nervous with all the functions in his car.

“Why are there so many buttons, where do I put the key?” she had asked nervously, looking around. 

“This car doesn’t need a key. See here? You put your foot on the gas and then push the button?”

She had whipped around to look at him with wide eyes. “What?!” 

“Surely this isn’t the first time you heard of an automatic car?” he asked in amusement.

“Well no but I guess we haven’t been in your car a whole lot for me to notice. I don’t know about this Guzman.” 

“You’re going to be fine,” he soothed. “Press your foot on the gas lightly and then push the button.”

She does so hesitantly and oh so carefully that it’s a shock to both of them when the car roars to life. “No! No, I don’t want to do this anymore, Guzman. Turn it off, make it stop!”

He tried to muffle his laughter as he put a soothing hand to the back of her neck and pushed the engine button so it quieted down once more. 

“That couldn’t have been so scary,” he told her, rubbing his thumb against her skin all the while. He couldn’t help teasing her because she looked so cute but he didn’t want to freak her out either. 

“Um it was and I don’t want to do it again.” She moves to get out of the car before freezing in place as though it was going to blow up with the slightest movement. “It’s off, right?”

“Yes, it’s off.”

He had barely gotten the rest of the words out before she bolted out. 

That had been the first and last attempt at teaching Nadia how to drive, but looking at her now, he wouldn’t have believed she had been petrified at the thought of it just six months ago.

He wants to continue staring at Nadia but she pushes his face to look out the windshield. “You’ll have plenty of time to look at me until you get sick of my face, check out the sights.”

He obediently keeps his face forward but glances at her from the corner of his eyes. “I’ll never get sick of your face.”

But he does finally comply and takes in his surroundings, after all, this was going to be his new home. He has to admit, the pictures don't do New York City justice. He remembers seeing pictures and even videos of the highly populated city, cars stuck in traffic, people walking carelessly across the street, but nothing is quite like being in the midst of it. He is now among those people in the photos and it felt so surreal. 

It was hard to fathom that just a year ago, he had no idea what his future would look like. Had anyone asked him then, he’d have shrugged carelessly and likely joked about sitting on a beach or even sailing in the Balearic Sea or something. But never taking in the sun from New York City and certainly not with the love of his life. He knows he’s supposed to look around and be the wide-eyed tourist, and he will be, but at the moment, all he wants to do is look at the love of his life. 

He tries to be subtle about it, leaning his head back and letting it lol in her direction. He does catch sights of the bridge and the gorgeous water gleaming under the bright sunlight, but he’s more entranced by how the sun makes her look ethereal, almost unreal. Guzman was a man of God so there were moments where he wondered if Nadia was an angel meant to guide him through light. 

But then he’d really look at her, look past the beauty that rendered him speechless, and look at the person she was. She was more than a miracle, she was a person with her own hopes and dreams and he’d do everything in his power to ensure she achieves them. 

Nadia somehow weaves through the bustling roads, carefully and patiently, now that they had left what was the main freeway. They seemed to have reached an area that she was more familiar with and as he paid attention once more to the world outside, he realized it’s vaguely familiar to him too. Nadia had taken pictures on some of these roads and sent them to him, even taking quick little videos to show him the madness that would take place on the streets. They must be getting closer to her apartment—their apartment. 

He looks out the window, up at the tall building before it’s obscured from view as Nadia pulls into an underground parking space. He feels a little breathless suddenly, reality hitting him once more. This new, strange, and unfamiliar place would be his home now for the foreseeable future. All the things that he knew and was familiar with, the grocery stores, the arcades, the beaches, everything he once knew was gone. Well, not gone exactly, but would become a distant memory as he made new ones in a new place. 

There’s a small ache in his chest, a sense of homesickness but more for the innocence of youth. But as he thinks about his future with Nadia, the ache eases and he’s filled with hope and endless possibilities. He once believed he could do anything he wanted but it was more due to an ignorant cockiness he had, born from privilege. Now, though, he knew that the possibilities only existed because of Nadia. Because she was by his side, Guzman felt like he was capable and worthy enough to deserve a beautiful future.

He looks over to her with a smile, “Is this it? Is this the apartment?”

“Our apartment,” she corrects and he feels like his chest would burst. “But yes, we’re here. Welcome home, Guzman.”

[lightanddarklove]

SU - Connie's character development

I've been noticing in the SU tags that people have been pointing out that Connie should have or must have had therapy or some sort of counseling prior to future, and I agree. I've heard that others think she got limited development on screen from the later half of SU and basically all of Future, a point that is fair post Jungle Moon, but to me, it would make sense for her not to lean on Steven as much as she does before Sworn to the Sword, as she slowly gains confidence from being Steven's friend.

I'm only focusing on a few specific episodes here in an attempt at brevity (it’s definitely longer than I wanted). At some point I may reblog and add more, but I'd like to get this out there before the one year anniversary of the SU: Future finale.

At the beginning of the series, she is fairly introverted, shy but inquisitive and sensible. She doesn't show any interest in the people of Beach City until Steven protects her from the falling rocks near the temple and inadvertently traps her with his bubble. She asks questions about the townies, and writes the text of what they need on the bubble when they try to get help from Onion. When Steven's rollercoaster plan goes awry to free them, and they are knocked into the water, she is clearly very anxious. Once the chasm opens up beneath the water and they are further trapped, we see her standing up for herself for the first time, something that continues to increase in frequency over the course of the series. Upon the defeat of the corrupted Orange Spodumene, she is amazed by Steven's quick thinking that saved them.

We see her again in Lion 2, when they have an adventure on Lion that precedes their intended movie outing. Upon arriving outside the theatre, after the harrowing experience with the Robot Shooty Thing in Rose's Armory, she is discouraged, leading to Steven's frustration with messing up their original plans. Connie counters with her feeling that Steven shouldn't be involved with her, as she feels her life less interesting than his, and that her enjoyment of Dogcopter is nothing compared to the magical destiny Steven is encountering. This lack of self-confidence comes back several times until late in the series. After Steven points out that he very much enjoys Dogcopter, the Robot Shooty Thing returns, causing the duo to fight it using the sword pulled from Lion's mane. Working together, they conquer their foe using Connie's tennis moves, cheering both of them up.

In an Indirect Kiss, she clearly shows concern for Steven's glum mood, but is willing to push him a little in order to get him to open up about what's bothering him. We also see what would have likely been a romantic moment if the healing spit from their shared drink hadn't caused a sudden headache from her prescription no longer matching what she needed. After Steven excitedly goes to tell the gems about his newly discovered ability, we see Connie form some resolve in popping out the lenses of her glasses at the close of the episode.

I spent some time analyzing Alone Together for both perspectives on Kevin for my SU: Future fic, The Best Mother and Doctor I can be, but the development of Steven and Connie builds from them discussing dancing and fusion on the beach. After Steven covering his eyes at first to help Connie get more confident, the pair get into a rhythm, and eventually running circles around each other. This causes Steven to trip and Connie to unintentionally dip him in keeping him from falling. Connie's blush shows she reads the situation as romantic, but Steven smiles, seeing nothing wrong with her holding him up. In a moment of connection, they both start giggling and Stevonnie is formed for the first time. A bond is forged, their mutual consent to continue being fused through most of the rest of the episode. Once they start dancing at the rave they realize the attention on them is making them very uncomfortable, causing panic and hallucinating. Once they break through the panic attack, they stand up to Kevin when he invades their space and refuse to let him dictate how they spend time together. As these earlier episodes progress, we see both of them learning to be more confident when by each other's side.

The Return does lead into Full Disclosure, from Steven leaving a message on her answering machine thinking it my be his last chance to say goodbye. After Steven separates from his Dad in The Return, he has no human contact until Connie's call cuts into the scene in the wreckage of Homeworld's ship in Jailbreak, asking if he's ok before leading into the celebration of the Gems at the beginning of Full Disclosure. Steven's a bit astonished on the face of everything that happened in the past evening, and when his dad's van pulls up, he promises to call her back and cuts the call short. Once he sees his Dad's reaction to his harrowing ordeal, he is further hesitant to answer Connie's calls, for fear of worrying her. After a brief talk with Ronaldo, advising him that his story is one he must bear alone for normal people can't understand the burden of truth. After mulling it over and feeling she is better off without him, he declines her call. After this, Connie continues to call, but she makes her way to Beach City and is soon at his doorstep, as he tries to explain to the gems that he wants to cut ties with the humans in his life, Connie included. Pearl buys him a bit of time as he sneaks past them, and Connie tells her she's very worried. Once Connie goes to leave, she spots him fleeing, and calls out to him multiple times, questioning why he won't face her. After Steven tries to break off their friendship via text, Connie calls him, confused. Once he replies seriously, she calls out him choosing to do this through the phone, and demands he "say it to [her] face," refusing to accept losing him as her only friend if he can't do that. This builds from Indirect Kiss, where she isn't willing to let him hide his feelings or what happened that made him feel badly. Once he leaps from behind the wreckage, we see his resolve to keep her away has broken, tears streaming down his face. After she shows concern for his visible injury, and he claims wanting to protect her, she shuts that down and asks for him to tell her everything. After he explains, she makes it clear that being a part of his life is important to him, and the episode ends with Greg driving them back to the Maheswaran home.

In Sworn to the Sword we see the culmination of her bravery and resolve to this point. After Steven and Connie try to enjoy their Jam Bud snack, they're accosted by a small flock of seagulls, and Connie fends them off with her violin bow. Upon seeing this, he volunteers Connie to apprentice sword fighting with Pearl, and although both of them are surprised by this proposal, he praises Connie, and she talks of how she wants to be there for him for the dangers the future to fight beside him. Swelling with pride, Pearl agrees, and their training begins. After showing them the Sky Arena, Pearls delves into the training and hardships of battle in her past. Pearl's tutoring Connie seems to focus on breaking down her independence, and Connie's prior confidence shifts to disregard her well-being, as Garnet said Pearl had done during the war. As Connie had issues with self-esteem prior, it isn't long before she's repeating mantras of "I don't matter," to Steven's horror. This training isn't taking place over a day or two, it seems over the course of at least several weeks. Once he's determined to keep her from risking herself without a thought, he interrupts a training exercise where Connie faces stealth striking Holo-Pearls through cloud cover. He dismisses the idea that she needs to face these threats alone, and asks to fight beside her instead, which they are able to work together seamlessly. Once Pearl catches wind of the pair in the arena, she scolds Steven, declaring Connie needs to face her alone and he shouldn't be there, knocking the weapons from the duo's hands. Steven refuses to accept that he shouldn't be a part of the fight, declaring again his will to fight with her, dismissing the thought that "[he's] too important." After Pearl snaps back with a shout calling Steven Rose, she stumbles over her words and attempts to dismiss the duo. They approach her and Steven admits the reason he felt the need to tell Pearl how he felt about the training was the "you're nothing talk," which worried him. Connie posits if Pearl felt that way because of Rose's actions, but Pearl laughs it off, telling her she felt the opposite. Once she declares that their bond will only make them stronger, if they train hard together, and comes up with a new regimen as the episode fades out.   After the training Connie has received for several months Connie is asked to take part in her first mission with Pearl and Steven, which the Maheswaran family allows on the condition they take lots of pictures. Pearl guides them to a snowy area in the Great North as they seek out a corrupted Gem together. Upon facing one down, another appears, then splitting off in two directions and Pearl thinks about turning back before the duo convince her they can handle it. She agrees if they call her once they've found the corruption, as she worries about them fighting it alone. Steven and Connie track it, taking  break to warm up in a hollow tree as snow continues to fall. Steven posits possibly healing it as there are humanoid tracks in the snow along with the corruption tracks, and thinking the Gem may not be too far gone to save. Once they track it further, it has appeared to corner itself against a rock wall. Pearl checks in with the pair via walkie-talkie, which draws the Gem's attention to them. Steven tries to talk to it, but it has no significant affect. It attacks, and once it pops the bubble around the duo, they are separated. It moves to strike Steven, but Connie tries to draw it's attention with snowballs. Once it bears down on her, she freezes up and says she "wasn't prepared for this." Upon hearing Pearl speak through the walkie-talkie, her resolve returns and se snatches it from beneath the Gem, calling her for help. Jasper crashes into the corrupted Gem, shocking Connie and Steven. He regroups with her, protecting them both with a bubble as Jasper pummels the corruption, and poofs it without much struggle.  Pearl appears to help as Jasper shows off the gems she has captured, and Pearl is shocked. Jasper disappears into the snow and Pearl is relieved that the kids are ok, saying she wouldn’t have had them on this mission if she knew Jasper would be here. Connie is disappointed, feeling that she failed because she didn’t strike when she had the opportunity to fight the corrupted Gem. Pearl assures her that she followed the instructions of calling once they encountered the Gem, as she was instructed. Connie seems relieved by Pearl’s praise in the end, as they consider Jasper’s appearance as the episode closes.

After Jasper is freed in Super Watermelon Island, she poses a significant threat to the Crystal Gems, and now that they’ve encountered her in the prior episode, Pearl and Garnet set off to track her down. Amethyst watches over Steven and Connie and tries to distract them around Beach City, to keep their minds off Jasper. As the duo is playing in the water with Amethyst overseeing them, Jasper looms out of the water with a corrupted gem. As Amethyst faces off against Jasper, Connie and Steven fuse, and Stevonnie fights the corrupted gem while riding Lion. Amethyst is quickly dispatched and the fusion faces off against Jasper, defeating the corruption and saving Amethyst. Jasper gets away, but Stevonnie revels in their victory, despite Amethyst’s discouraged demeanor. When Steven and Connie unfuse, they are cheerful and Connie seems to have a confidence boost, which shows her competence that holds up through most of the rest of the series.

In Mindful Education, we see one of the last distinct shake-ups to Connie’s character up until Doug Out, which mostly just forms a stronger bond with her Dad. Steven and Connie are fusion training with Pearl and Garnet, and during their battle with Holo-Pearls, a distracting memory shakes Stevonnie so much they unfuse. Steven goes to comfort her as she runs out of the Sky Arena, and convinces her to talk about it to try and help. Upon hearing that she feels badly for accidentally hurting someone at her school, Garnet approaches them, suggesting a training option that may be help. The pair of fusions meet on the beach and are guided through meditation on how to work through their feelings about Connie’s most recent hard memory. In it, we see Connie bump into a boy at school and react suddenly by flipping him over her shoulder from his arm as a defensive reaction. Mortified, she flees and the memory ends. With breathing exercises, she is able to let the memory go, and we cut to another day where they attempt to train again. Once again, memories distract Stevonnie, but this time the thoughts come from Steven’s perspective. They reminding him of recent his battles with Bismuth, Eyeball Ruby and Jasper, causing the fusion to be overcome with tears and backs up to the edge of the Sky Arena, falling without warning. After they tumble over the edge, they unfuse and Steven is still overcome with emotions. Connie reaches out to him and tries to assure him that despite how badly he’s feeling to have to tackle these memories, he can’t run from them for good unless he faces them. Eventually, as they fall, they fuse again, and the memories pass, helping calm them enough so they can slow their decent.

[holycatsandrabbits]

Tollense, an original serial romance by Dannye Chase, Chapter 1

A history professor falls in love with his best friend, a 3000-year-old vampire.

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

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Chapter 1

1993

Professor Liam Beyer was born a decade after the deaths of the last soldiers to fight in the US Civil War. Thus, he was not expecting to meet a Union Army veteran in his 4 o’clock symposium on the Battle of Antietam.

Liam noticed the man as soon as he walked in, and not just because it was odd for a member of the public to show up for a faculty lecture at the university. No, the man caught Liam’s attention because he was distractingly handsome. Literally, Liam was distracted enough to drop his pen onto the overhead projector, causing a giant shadow to loom over the map of Maryland on the screen behind him, as if a third army had materialized there in a dense offensive line.

The man was of average height, with a slender build. He had dark hair in a short, modern cut and wore a pair of jeans and a white t-shirt with a faded label. He looked like he might be thirty, which was about the age Liam was, and so Liam did not immediately assume that the man had seen action in the Civil War. But there was something faintly strange about him, just in the way that he walked, light on his feet like a dancer, but stepping firmly, without a dancer’s well-practiced grace.

“General Lee,” Liam continued, in a slightly strangled voice, “of the Confederate Army, was, of course, outnumbered, but the battle was Union General McClellan’s to lose. Had he understood how superior his force was, had he taken more risks, he might have been able to deal a decisive blow to Lee’s army as it retreated. In fact, McClellan’s performance at Antietam was part of the reason that President Lincoln later removed him from duty.”

Liam put up a transparency of a white church with peeling paint, standing alone on a grassy rise. “On September 17, 1862, 7,650 soldiers died at Antietam, making it the bloodiest day for Americans in history. Two days later, a man named Alexander Gardner took some of the first widely-seen battlefield photographs of dead soldiers. Some were awaiting burial, and some were still lying where they fell. It was very difficult at the time to take photographs of battles themselves, as the technology involved careful treatment of glass negatives, and that was nearly impossible under battlefield conditions. But the dead do not move, and these photographs were so clear that when displayed in New York, family members recognized their fallen sons.”

Liam put up a transparency of one of Gardner’s photographs, young men lying on the ground in an oddly perfect line. The unknown man looked away.

oOo

Liam had grading to do after his symposium, but he walked to the campus union to grab a sandwich first. He was definitely not expecting Handsome Unknown Lecture Man to appear out of the crowd and drop into the seat opposite him. Liam was very proud that he did not choke on his bite of ham and swiss.

“I hope you don’t mind,” said the man. “I enjoyed your lecture. My name is Kurt.”

Liam put his hand out to shake. Kurt’s touch was faintly cold. “Liam,” he said.

Kurt cocked his head slightly to the side, as if assessing him. “I know. Liam Beyer, 27, assistant professor of history, specializing in battles. Is Antietam your favorite?”

“Um— one of them. I did my dissertation on it. On McClellan, specifically.” Liam felt slightly odd about the fact that this stranger knew who he was, but of course, it was all publicly accessible information. “Are you a Civil War buff?”

“Somewhat.” Kurt leaned back in his chair. “Antietam, god. I remember Bloody Lane— that’s what they called it after. The road was sunken in because so many wagons had gone by over the years. It was like trying to fight your way out of your own grave trench.” Kurt spoke with a faint accent that Liam could not place, something that seemed to shift from one place to another.

“You talk like you were there,” Liam said, smiling. “Are you a reenactor?”

Kurt gave a sharp laugh. “No. You?”

“I’ve been a technical advisor. It’s nice to meet other people who share my strange obsession.”

“Those pictures you showed,” Kurt said. “Photography is such a bewitching art. Those boys are long gone, but remain ever present in death.”

“You know, the war helped make Spiritualism popular,” Liam said. “It was so hard on the families back home to lose contact with their soldiers, not knowing what happened to them, or when, or where. They couldn’t bear it, and turned to mediums.”

Kurt smiled, and it made his bright green eyes sparkle with amusement. “Have you ever been to a seance?” he asked. Liam shook his head. “Most I’ve been to were quite boring,” Kurt said. “But every once in awhile—”

“That sounds like a good story.”

“I’ll tell you sometime.” Liam’s brain was already far too occupied with how attractive he found this poor man, and that was probably why the sentence sounded more like a salacious promise than it really was.

“So what do you do?” Liam asked faintly, crumpling his empty sandwich wrapper. “Are you a student?”

“Not at the moment. Just a fan of history. Of battles, actually.” Kurt leaned forward a little. “Liam, would you mind if I came to your office tomorrow to talk more? I have some questions and I think you might be the one to help me answer them.”

“I— of course.” Liam told himself that he agreed solely because he liked to talk about history with people, and that it didn’t matter whether or not said people were ridiculously attractive.

Kurt smiled at him again. “Until tomorrow then.”

On his way out of the dining hall, Liam was stopped by a student with a question about an assignment on Gettysburg. “I didn’t want to interrupt your dinner,” she said.

“Oh, it would have been fine,” Liam told her. “We were talking about the Civil War ourselves.”

The student gave him a confused look. “Dr. Beyer— weren’t you eating alone?”

oOo

In the end, Liam decided that as he’d never dreamed up a handsome man in quite so much detail before, that the student had been mistaken and simply had not noticed Kurt’s presence at Liam’s table.

And yet. There really was something very strange about the man. Liam couldn’t quite pin it down, just that there was a disconnect between what Liam was seeing and what he was feeling about him. For example, Kurt appeared to be thirty, but Liam would swear he was older. Kurt had looked perfectly natural at dinner, but it had also seemed like he didn’t quite fit in with his surroundings. Like if you’d taken a photograph of him at the table, he would have been slightly too bright, out of focus, or without a shadow.

Kurt’s knock on Liam’s office door finally came around eleven, and Liam was, he realized, far too happy to see him again. At first, nothing about the visit seemed terribly odd. They discussed Antietam again, then traveled forward to the Somme, and then much farther back, Megiddo and Kadesh. Kurt seemed to know less about those battles, Liam noted, but he was quite familiar with things taking place after Thermopylae in the 5th century BC.

It was easy to talk to Kurt, especially about interests they had in common, and as the conversation went on, Kurt seemed to relax a bit, which made Liam do the same. The day before, Liam had thought Kurt moved without grace, but that wasn’t exactly right. Kurt had a different kind of grace, a fluidity of small movements instead of large ones, an artistry shown in the fluttering of fingers while the rest of the man kept entirely still. The emphasis on such small motions seemed to draw Liam in, narrowing his focus away from his surroundings and onto his visitor. But at the same time, Kurt had such an air of other about him, that it was almost like Liam was looking at him through beveled glass, never quite getting the whole image at once.

However, Liam’s sense of ease around Kurt vanished entirely when another student knocked on Liam’s door with a question about an assignment. That in itself was perfectly normal, but during the whole time that the student was in Liam’s office, she didn’t speak to Kurt or apologize for interrupting their conversation. She didn’t give a single look to the chair that Kurt occupied beside Liam’s desk.

When the student had left, Liam leaned back in his chair, trying to fake the calmness that he no longer felt. “All right,” he said, watching his visitor carefully. “You want to tell me why I’m the only person who can see you?”

********

READ FROM THE BEGINNING: You are here!

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Updates Fridays on Ao3 and DannyeChase.com (rated E), and Tumblr (rated T)

Want to create fic, art, or other works based on this series? Please do! Just dm or tag me.

My previous serials are for Good Omens: Mr. Fell's Bookshop and Love's Endless Light

My Carrd

[chunhua-s]

FOR THOSE WITHOUT THEIR SOULMATES ➽ HAJIME IWAIZUMI x READER

requested by: @aiiishiiiteru

➪ hmm mayhaps i could request some iwa fluff 👉👈 (ofc hehe), mmm maybe of him finally being able to confess how he feels to his best friend or anything fluffy with iwa please mwah 😚

genre: fluff

soulmate au: among the general population, only a select handful are born with soulmates. how do those without find love?

warnings: uhhhh this is my first time writing for iwa and i hope i did well for my darling wife nona 🥺 this reader insert will be neutral in appearance since it’s a request!

hajime iwaizumi isn’t one of the chosen few who are born with a soulmate. there’s no writing on his body, or special birthmarks, and he doesn’t hear whatever song his imaginary destined partner listens to. but that doesn’t stop his heart from racing whenever he thinks of you.

the you who put the stars in his night sky and danced under the moonlight with everything made of joy and happiness and unadulterated laughter. the you who sang the graces of the morning sun to him and played melodies of lavender meadows, where he could lose himself in everything that you had to offer. thoughts of you spin his world on its axis and pulls it along to a sweet tune that he can’t get enough of — the tune is every single word that falls from your lips, he latches on to them and drinks them up like the gospel itself. he considers, more than once, whenever he gets lost in your starlit eyes as you excitedly laugh about whatever you’re telling him; this must be what it’s like to have a soulmate. it must be the way your eyes shine with mirth and joyous laughter, the way it all sends bolts of electricity through his body. each and every part of him wants to hold you for longer than he’s allowed to as your best friend, and there are nights where he pictures himself crossing that blurred line and stepping into your court to kiss your hands, your cheeks, your nose and your lips. he’s hungry for everything that you’ll give him, but he hesitates, locks his hands in metal binds and ties them around his heart because he’s so afraid that if he does step into your court, that you’ll step away and put a divide between you. hajime iwaizumi loves you too much to consider losing you on his feelings, and so he seals them behind his lips and never dreams of showing them to your eyes that shine like midnight stars.

he exhales on a heavy breath, his body falling back into his mattress as the sappy kdrama’s credits play on. next to him is you, laying on your stomach to turn around and look back at him with a familiar grin that forms crescent moons on your eyes.

“so??” you urge eagerly, “what’d you think??”

he sighs once more, gazing at you from his comfortable place on his bed with his hands folded behind his head. he tries to ignore the fluttering of his heart at the sight of your smile, though it’s a losing battle as he sees you waiting for his answer. “i think,” he begins, lets his word hang in the air for dramatic suspense before he grins teasingly, “that you’re a hopeless romantic if you really enjoy stuff like this.”

he easily catches the pillow that you chuck at his head, his grin growing wider as he takes in your look of mock offense from his words. “it’s true!” he laughs, “it’s not like it’s anything new— you’ve always been like that!” he watches the way that you push your lower lip into a pout and tries his best not to let his heart run out of his chest. hajime iwaizumi wants to keep his affections for you a secret, but you make it harder for him to do so without even trying.

“well i take pride in my hopeless romantic lifestyle,” you huff, groaning with the effort it takes you to sit up and face him, legs folded beneath your body and arms pressing down into the mattress.

“oh yeah?” he rumbles with a chuckle on his lips. his gaze softens in something like a sleepy daze that causes your heart to flutter in your chest. he looks handsome like this, you think; he looks at you as if you’re the most precious thing in the world, and it causes the affections that you’ve been fighting down since high school to stir around inside your stomach and threaten to pour from your lips. iwaizumi’s right about you — you are a hopeless romantic, and you’re hopelessly in love with your best friend.

you pout, feigning annoyance as you turn your head away with a ‘hmph!’ hajime’s quick to recognize the beginnings of your pettiness and shuts it down quickly by wrapping his arms around your midsection, pulls you into his chest as your laughter rings out inside his room. he revels in the sound of it as his fingers dance around your sides, drawing more sounds of innocent happiness from you as you topple on top of him. “what was that?” he hums over your giggles, easily thwarting your playful resistance and turning you over on your back. he straddles your lower body with his legs and resumes his attack. “still wanna catch an attitude with me? hm?”

tears form on your eyes from your laughter as you push at his stomach, admiring the hard feel of his abs in the back of your mind as your cheeks begin to redden with all your giggling. “i wasn’t—” you gasp, “i wasn’t having an attitude!”

iwaizumi paused momentarily, allowing you to catch your breath beneath him. your face is flushed and your hair’s a mess; your lashes are wet with your joyful tears as you desperately swallow what air he’s allowing you to. the thought that comes to him is intrusive and causes his mind to hit against a sudden wall: you look absolutely blissed out.

he recognizes the danger and quickly tries to withdraw, moving to lay next to you instead of straddling your waist as naturally as he could manage. “uh-huh, sure—” the words are lost on his tongue, stolen by a moment of surprise when you suddenly push against his shoulders, climbing on top of him with vengeance gleaming in your eyes. confusion sounds dull beneath the sound of blood rushing through his body when your hands try to mimick his earlier ministrations on his sides, though as he recognizes what you’re trying to do, he grows a smug grin when your own smile falters slightly.

“huh?” you sound out. your fingers pause when you don’t get the reaction you sought for. there’s no panic or uncontrolled laughter that comes from the man beneath you, no pleas for mercy like you imagined hearing. there’s only hajime’s wide lipped smile that’s full of all the confidence that you’ve seen on the court, when he knows a set comes directly to his open palm for him to steal a victory. “huh??” you complain again.

“(y/n),” he smirks, propping himself up on his elbows, pretends that his face isn’t as close to yours as it appears to be in that moment. he feels the hunger and yearning for you turning in his chest like giant waves against the ocean cliff, but for these few seconds, hajime iwaizumi wants to be selfish. he wants to believe that the light shining in your (e/c) eyes isn’t just an illusion; that the reflection of the years he spend pining over you isn’t just a figment of his wishful imagination. in this moment, hajime can pretend that you love him too. he realizes too late that his broad grin has melted into something tender that pulls at your heart, and his next words come out on a whisper that he’s so scared to let out, for fear that it would break the fragile air that had settled around the pair of you. “i’m not ticklish.”

“you’re not?” the question you give to him is redundant, though every intelligent thought has long since faded from your mind, leaving behind nothing but the sight of the boy you love looking up at you as if gravity’s pulling him into you. right now, the green colour of his eyes are like emeralds in the darkness of his room, the light from his laptop causing them to glow so beautifully that you forget how to breathe. when your mouth opens, you’re certain that he can hear your heart crying out for him beneath the breaking in your voice as you breathe out a helpless “oh.”

the world slows, trickles until it stops, leaving the both of you in a pocket of time where the only thing that the only thing you hear is your hearts beating in tandem. the bump, bump, bump that bounces from your chest to his, the rushing of blood that sings on ballads and romance melodies, his eyes that pull you in and tangle you up in red strings, it’s enough to overwhelm you and drown your senses. it’s so much, it’s too much that it causes your eyes to sting behind unshed tears that blur his face beneath you. you don’t know why he’s leaning forward, but you don’t think too much of it when you meet him halfway — you can’t think about how’s of why’s when your lips are touching his, just like you’d imagine them doing so many times before. you feel your world tilting on its axis and something explodes inside your chest, your entire body feels as if it lights up with an all consuming flame as his mouth moves against yours. your breath vanishes on winter’s winds and leaves you desperate for air, desperate for more of him when your hands reach out for his face to pull him even closer. everything you’ve felt, every moment you’ve spent loving him is poured out from between your lips and he drinks it up like a man whose walked through the desert, like you’re the oasis that he’s been reaching out to for so long that the taste of you burns him deliciously. his heart sings your name in praise and glory when he pulls away from you, and he finds himself wanting so much more from you when he catches the sight of (e/c) fire that burns on embers in your eyes.

“oh...”

he can’t fight the smile that takes over his face at your weak voice. it’s hard to build his thoughts into anything comprehensible when he’s struggling to breathe again, basking in your weight on top of him and his arms locked unto your waist. your gaze on him is dazed, as if you’re wrapped up in a dream, wrapped up in him, and you look so perfect, so unreal, that he wonders if it’s a dream. “oh,” he echoes; his voice sounds deeper and rumbles with something that makes your body tremble. you burn with the feeling of it, you let it erase logic from your mind as you melt into his searing gaze.

“so, uh,” you stutter, “are we—” the words trap themselves inside your throat, hiding behind your lips as if speaking them would break you from this moment in time and cast you out from an illusion you don’t want to wake up from.

iwaizumi lifts one hand to hold your cheek, he runs his thumb across the reddening skin and smiles when your own hand comes up to hold on to him. the picture is so tender, so sweet and filled with the love that the both of you feel for each other; here in his room, nothing exists outside of the both of you, your world becomes iwaizumi and (y/n). “do you want to be?” he asks you gently. he hopes that you don’t notice the way he holds his breath and anticipates the words that you’ll say next, fearing that he’ll hear a rejection despite the way that you’re looking at him right now as if he held your heart in the palm of his hands.

he feels his breath escape on a single sigh when you nod, tears glistening in your eyes as you squeeze his hand. it’s so surreal to him, how within these passing seconds, he’s suddenly acquiring everything he’s ever wanted. it’s as if he only blinked and you’ve somehow become his on a single breath, and it causes his head to spin, he feels as if he’s been swept off his feet and tumbles past the softness of his mattress. he’s holding you so closely, the world in his hands and he can only laugh when you press your lips to his again. everything feels right, as if it’s all slotted into place around him and built a universe out of star-kissed dreams and galaxies that shine brighter than the sun. you are his galaxy, the woman who spins his world on its axis and pulls him into her each time.

he decides, as he holds your body and falls with his devotion, that even if he doesn’t have someone’s name printed on his body, or even if there’s no red string that connects him to someone halfway across the world, that he wouldn’t want a soulmate if it wouldn’t be you.

⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

tadaaa!!! so i added a small twist to the original request to add it to the soulmate universe but for the most part i stayed true to it! writing for iwa like this made my heart a lil softer for him ngl 🤧 nona you have excellent taste in men. honestly iwa would be such a sweet boyfriend — i picture him as a place of comfort and someone who would always be there no matter what, like i don’t know how to explain it but.......... he’s quietly reliable? he won’t always declare it like someone like daichi or asahi would, but you’re always aware that he’ll be there for whatever you need him for, like he reminds you in small ways without actually meaning to push that point. he reassures you without trying to!

this is part of a series, so please send me an ask or dm if you’d like to be apart of a taglist! i’m currently taking request for haikyuu characters and soulmate au’s, so please come and leave your requests for those as well! thank you for reading!  ♡

taglist: @nishiya-is-baby @aiiishiiiteru

previous: wakatoshi ushijima | next stop: atsumu miya!

ps: even if the next spot is taken by a character, you can still send in requests! don’t be shy :D

[mst3kproject]

The Monster of Piedras Blancas

At some point I realized that I'd done an awful lot of fishman movies on this blog, so I decided I needed a tag for them.  I chose #it's beginning to look a lot like fishmen, after a rather amusing musical version of The Shadow over Innsmouth that you can find on YouTube.  Most of them are less fun than said video, and this one very much so.  It qualifies itself for MST3King by featuring Forrest Lewis from The Thing that Couldn't Die, Don Sullivan from The Giant Gila Monster, and Jeanne Carmen from Untamed Youth.

Some lonely people feed the birds or stray cats in their neighbourhood. The lighthouse keeper of Piedras Blancas doesn't have any of those, so he feeds the fish monster that lives below the rocks.  As long as he does this, it only occasionally kills people when they wander into its territory, but trouble begins when the grocer fails to save enough meat scraps to satisfy it.  Soon the hungry beast is lopping heads off right and left and draining the bodies of blood!  The local constable thinks he may have a homicidal maniac on his hands, but marine biologist Fred identifies a shed scale at the scene as belonging to a Diplovertebron, a beast thought to be long-extinct.

Diplovertebron is an actual creature with its own Wikipedia article and everything. According to said article, it was a lizardy sort of a thing that lived in what is now the Czech Republic three hundred million years ago, and was around half a meter long.  It's a very obscure and not terribly threatening animal, and I have a hard time imagining why the writers chose it, of all extinct creepy-crawlies, to be their monster's ancestor.  It doesn't even have a very interesting name. 'Diplovertebron' is quite technical-sounding and has too many syllables to roll nicely off the tongue.  Why not pick something that at least sounds scary?

The Monster of Piedras Blancas is a bloated, sedate movie.  It knows that movies need breaks between the actiony bits... but its actiony bits have no real action, and the talky scenes it inserts to space them out are deathly dull and contribute almost nothing.  There's a bit where two characters discuss a victim's time of death in great detail, taking into account things like a spilled bottle of ink, that would have reduced Joel to tears.  It almost becomes a joke when Fred and the Doctor discuss the minutiae of Diplovertebron scales, while the constable sits there growling impatiently at them.  When even your characters think the movie is too slow, you have a problem.

Everything that might possibly be exciting takes place off-screen.  This is fine and even expected during the 'building suspense' parts – of course we don't see the deaths of the fishermen or the grocer. The bit where we first see the entire monster, when characters open a walk-in fridge and it lumbers out holding a severed head, is honestly pretty well-done.  After that, however, we should finally get to see some monster-eating-people scenes... but since this is yet another stupid rubber fishman suit a la the She-Creature, all it's actually capable of is slapping a few guys and then fleeing.  It supposedly kills a couple of gun-toting rednecks, but the fight happens elsewhere while the audience watches Fred and the doctor fart around in a cave.  We don't see the monster again until it inevitably kidnaps the lighthouse-keeper's cute daughter at the climax.

The severed head is pretty plasticky and looks nothing like the guy it supposedly came from, but an effort was made and I respect that. There are veins sticking out the bottom of it and a really creepy bit where we find it in the monster's lair with crabs crawling over it.

As the movie draws closer to its climax, the men in the town sit down and have a good think about how they're going to defeat it. They know they can't overpower it, and it seems to be reasonably intelligent, so they've decided they're going to have to outwit it. Their big plan for doing so is... throw a net over it.

I expected this to fail spectacularly, but what actually happened was even dumber.  I will not spoil the last thirty seconds of this movie for you, because it's funny as hell, but let's just say that fishmen are like pumas – if you ever meet one in real life, you can just push it the hell over.

As you might have guessed, Lucy is only in this movie so that she can be saved from the monster and can kiss Fred as the words the end appear on the screen.  The only interesting thing about her is a brief moment of stunning misogyny.  She comes running to the doctor to tell him her father has had an accident and needs help – and before going to do so, the doctor makes Lucy take a sedative. Her behaviour was not in any way hysterical or unreasonable.  A little reassurance would have done the job just fine!

This scene suggests that the townspeople don't think very highly of Lucy, and there are other bits that tell us she's probably supposed to be at least ten years younger than twenty-nine-year-old actress Jeanne Carmen.  On the other hand, they seem to think she's capable enough to look after her injured father alone and with only a locked door to protect her from the marauding monster.  Then again, if they didn't, it couldn't carry her off to be menaced.  Yet again, a movie's leading lady is a plot device rather than a character.  This seems particularly true of fishman movies.  Think of the Creature from the Black Lagoon series.

As I mentioned upfront, I have seen a lot of fishman movies.  This is the fifteenth since this blog's inception!  I thought there were a lot of bigfoot movies around, but if you check the tags you'll see that fishmen outnumber him two to one!  This brings up an interesting question – namely, why?

Why fishmen? Sea Monsters have a long and fascinating history that includes not just the classic serpent and kraken but such things as savage merpeople, scaly pig-fish covered with eyes, and according to one sixteenth-century map, very large Yorkshire terriers.  Then along came the 1930s and the popularization of the Loch Ness Monster as plesiosaur, opening up the range to prehistoric sea beasties.  Why not one of those?

I'm guessing the answer is 'because they're expensive'.  Those would require puppets and stop motion and other special effects.  A guy in a costume is much cheaper to build and operate.

Okay, but even if you have to restrict yourself to human-shaped monsters, there are plenty of those, too!  There's the aforementioned merpeople, but also vampires, werewolves, zombies, mummies, and their ilk!  Dracula and Frankenstein are both in the public domain!  And make no mistake, people have made lots of movies about those... but they have also made a whole lot of movies about fishmen!  Why fishmen?

The answer, most likely, is that Creature from the Black Lagoon came out in 1954 and it was huge, being one of those movies that requires an entire separate Wikipedia article for its cultural impact!  The tidal wave of other fishman movies that followed it are like the glut of monster-on-a-spaceship movies that followed Alien, or the fad for teenage slasher movies in the 1980s, or those cheaply animated direct-to-DVD movies that cluster around every Disney and Dreamworks release.  A fishman movie had made money, and now everybody was lining up to milk the scaly, mucus-coated cash cow!

That was a terrible mix of metaphors right there.  Yuck.

There's also something uniquely horrifying about one of the genre's major tropes – the fishman's interest in human women.  This, too, began with Creature from the Black Lagoon but as we've seen it carried over into other films – Bog and Creatures from the Abyss are notable examples (and then there's The Shape of Water). In The Monster from Piedras Blancas this idea is present in that the monster kidnaps Lucy instead of just killing her like it did every other human it met, but it's not emphasized the way the monster's interest in Kay was in Black Lagoon. Fish are proverbially cold and slimy, and the idea of sexual contact with one is almost reminiscent of necrophilia unless you have some very specific interests (see previous parentheses).  The fishman's lack of genitals make it that much more disturbing.

So now that we've sorted that out, my final question about fishman movies is this: could a fishman beat bigfoot in a fight? They're both big, broad-chested creatures that movies like to outfit with claws, teeth, superhuman strength, and bad tempers.  I think it would depend on where the battle happened.  If they're in the water, then the fishman has a clear advantage – bigfoot can drown.  If they're on land, things are a little more even.  The fishman's slime would make him difficult to hang onto, but if his gills dry out he'll have a hard time breathing.  Bigfoot's fur gives the fishman something to yank, but his large feet make him hard to knock down.  It might depend on whether or not the fishman is venomous.

Why hasn't anybody made that movie?  Picture it – dozens of fishmen swimming upstream to spawn, and bigfoot dragging them out of the water to eat like bears with salmon!  I'd absolutely pay for exorbitantly expensive theatre popcorn if it meant I got to see that on screen!