his fingers have always been nimble. gentle. graceful, even. it is precisely this trait that assists him in his mastery of multiple instruments.
and his hands have always been steady, never twitching nor wavering. this aids every stroke of his pen, every swing of his sword and every tune he plays.
he’s perfectly aware of this, too. he is no stranger to intricate work; delicate actions come naturally to him.
so why on earth is something like applying your makeup so difficult? perhaps it’s the pressure of putting things on someone else’s face, or perhaps it’s the fact that it’s your face he’s working on? either way, he’s hoping with all his heart he doesn’t mess up.
kazuha’s always grateful for his blessings, but at this particular moment in time, he thanks every force of nature for granting him his stable hands, for he couldn’t possibly imagine taking up this task without it.
he picks up a brush and swirls it in a pot of pressed pigment, then delicately taps the apples of your cheeks. light floods into the room, birds chirp somewhere beyond, but he pays them no mind, the entirety of his focus occupied by the tint of rouge on your face. it makes your skin glow beautifully, reminiscent of a bright, cheerful blossom in summer, and for a moment, he’s so in awe that he forgets what he’s supposed to be doing.
“kazuha?” you call out to him, shaking him out of his captivated trance. “are you alright?”
he hums, acknowledging you. “just admiring.” he sets down the brush in his hands on the dark surface of the table and picks up another, a much smaller one with a sharper tip. he dips it into dark, inky liquid and brings it up to your eyes, the side of his palm resting on your cheekbones.
“stop blinking so much, dearest,” he taps your cheek softly with his other hand. “i’ll mess up the eyeliner otherwise.”
“i’m trying, i promise.” you say, attempting to keep your eyes still.
he grips your jaw firmly, tilting it upward for a better angle. his face scrunches in concentration as he carefully glides the brush on your eyelids, taking great care to not poke your eye out in the process. he steps back every so often, checking to see if the lines are even.
he sets the brush down, breathing a sigh of relief. “i think we’re done.” he holds up a mirror. “what do you think? have i done a decent job?”
you look at yourself for a few beats, examining every plane, every bloom of color, every painstakingly drawn line. “this is perfect,” you take the mirror from his hands and turn your face from side to side. “you’re really good at this. thanks, love.” you give him a bright grin.
“it’s nothing, really.” he smiles back at you, in his usual, serene way. “you look divine,” he means it.
“oh?” you bat your eyelashes at him playfully. “so you think i’m pretty?”
“i do,” he leans in, tenderly bringing your wrist up to his lips for a fleeting kiss. “i think you’re absolutely stunning, my dear.”
he falls silent, attentive crimson roaming your face. he takes his time and looks over each and every feature with pure adoration in his gaze. one can see it in his expression alone; it clearly betrays how much he wants to trail the tips of his fingers across the bridge of your nose, under your eyes, over the expanse of your cheek, and how badly they itch to bury themselves in your neatly done hair. though, he knows he shouldn’t— lest he ruin his hard work— and his hands anchor themselves on your shoulders.
looking through pale strands, he notices a shift in your demeanor, as soon as he does, he knows you’re aware of how deep his desire to touch you extends.
“y’know,” you take his face into your hands, gazing back with the same intensity. “i’d say you’re pretty too, but i can’t see a damn thing with all this hair over your face.”
“my…hair?” your statement comes as a surprise. he sees you take full advantage of his momentary confusion, gently batting away his hand from pushing back his hair.
“yes, your hair.” you make a show of twirling the hair, then slip it quickly behind his ear, never breaking eye contact. “there, much better.”
his eyes widen fractionally, as if in a daze, and his train of thought grinds to nearly a halt. then, he blinks. once, twice, thrice. “thank you, dear.” he recovers soon enough though, eyes closing to give you a bashful smile. “i wasn’t aware that my hair was obstructing your view,”
you smile back at him. “now that that’s out of the way,” you trace your thumbs over the tip of his nose, “goodness me, kazuha, you are gorgeous,” you murmur, moving your fingers to his lips. they part involuntarily, and he looks away, unable to meet your amused eyes. “someone’s flustered, cat got your tongue?” the teasing lilt in your voice is hard to miss. you hold his face in your hands and scarlet begins to dust his cheeks.
he clears his throat, composing himself. “thank you for the compliment, starlight.” his voice is affectionate when he finally speaks, and a fond smile returns to his face.
“you’re very welcome, love.”
kazuha’s always grateful for his blessings. and right now, when he looks at the adoration in your gaze, he thanks every force of nature for giving him the best one of all.
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I think on this fine Saturday afternoon it's a good opportunity to take a breather and remember that there are really no ethical paparazzi pictures. Every single one is inherently exploitative.
Just because photos were taken on a movie set, when someone is 'working,' does not make the practice any less invasive and creepy. Imagine just going about your day, doing your job and having some weirdo snapping pictures of you to sell without your consent for others to endlessly repost online.
There are thousands of pictures of your favourite actor online already. Plenty taken with his knowledge and consent. I'd really like to see more of them on my dash, rather than the creeper shots.
And don't get me started how disseminating these pictures directly leads to people going to said sets. What starts off as admiring how good someone looks has real world implications.
No, hanging around a movie set and disrupting people doing their jobs is not harmless fun or a way to show your appreciation.
If you hang around a movie set, you are a stalker.
Don't tell me that it's okay to take your online admiration for someone offline. You may admire him but he does not, and will never, personally know you. He will never be your friend/boyfriend/daddy. He is a stranger.
The only way meeting your favourite actor is going to happen is at a convention or maaaaaybe a movie premiere if you're incredibly fortunate. You know, places they appear specifically to meet fans (or not in the case of premieres, where the purpose is to promote a movie. Which is also completely understandable if actors don't stop. You are not owed an interaction).
Of course, you cannot help it if you randomly run into someone you admire in the wild. Even then, consider that they probably won't be all too thrilled to be approached in public by a complete stranger. It's up to you to gauge the situation, but remember there is a person at the heart of all of this.
Boundaries and respect are a kindness which deserves to be extended to each and every human being regardless of their looks/talent/fame/wealth.
Fandoms blur those lines a little too often for my liking and I think just scrutinising what you're interacting with, or what behaviour you could be possibly falling down that slippery slope towards is nice to do every once in a while.
I mean no malice with this post and it is not directed at anyone in particular. It's something I cannot help but feel strongly about because I've seen this destructive cycle time and again in fandoms over the years. It's not healthy and it makes us all a little bit more disconnected from our humanity for it...
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