#thank you for leaving a request! <3

[magicshop]

mini & moni (ꈍ ᴗ ꈍ✿) for @epiphanytear [cr. namuspromised, 0613data]

"Thank you for living, breathing and being born." "He is someone I really need in my life and I hope he'll be by my side for a long time."

[plutoswritingplanet]

could you do a request of Buggy (opla) falling for Luffy’s older sister? (Adopted or blood relation, doesn’t matter) like he takes her hostage but she doesn’t seem to mind. She know she can escape at any time, but keep annoying buggy to a point where… he doesn’t see her as a hostage anymore, more like treasure? And she starts to maybe feel something for the clown?

You Started It (Buggy The Clown x Reader)

a/n: how did i know the first request will be about the clown lmao. i took some liberties when writing this but i hope you still like it <3

Warnings: Buggy Being Kind Of An Asshole, Captivity, Some Suggestive Themes

Summary: Poking the bear isn't the wisest things you could be doing in your particular situation.

Part 2.

You've memorized every nook and cranny of your shoes. The time you've spent in containment has really opened your eyes, when it comes to how little you actually knew about the clothes you were wearing. For example, your right shoe was slightly bigger, molded by your foot. You must be putting more weight onto your right leg, when standing. The hem of your shorts is made with a very close cross stitch, making them slightly sturdier and thicker. Right where the material folds, just above your knee, you've managed to pick out a small hole, the strings of abused material hung sadly and tickled your skin.

There wasn't really much to do, while being kept in a cage, in the backstage of a circus which belonged to the infamous Buggy the Clown. Well, except studying the stains on your shoes and waiting for the Captain to visit you, which he did quite frequently.

"Entertainment purposes" is the reason he declared, when you've asked him why on earth is he keeping you locked up in a hanging cage. But you weren't so easily fooled. You knew from the start, that the role he has envisioned for you to play, was that of a Hostage and Bait. So, inevitably, when your younger brother and his merry band of misfits come to save you, he'd be able to even out the score. Which was a shitty plan, in your opinion.

They've kicked his ass before, they can do it once again.

So, that's why you're here, feet dangling above the floor, as you hum to yourself. Anything to pass the time. That is, until you hear the door to the backstage open, and a familiar tone of voice calls out.

"Hostage!"

Really, how did he even expect you to stay in the dark about his plan, while calling you like this? The man was clearly insane.

Buggy the Clown stands before you, makeup disheveled as always, with his Captain's hat abandoned in favor of a striped bandana. He's excited, which is evident, by the way he can't seem to stop moving, jumping from one leg to the other, hands fidgeting at his sides.

"How are you feeling, my dear Hostage?" he asks with fake concern, and just as your mouth opens to answer, he interrupts "Ah, never mind that, I don't care."

You don't even try to hide the annoyed expression on your face.

"You can sing" he states matter-of-factly, pointing a finger right at you.

"Barely."

"Can you dance though?"

"Barely as well."

He hums in thought, pacing the floor in front of your cage. Finally, he stops, looking at you with his head tilted to the side. His eyes rake over your body, and it brings a sudden wave of discomfort to your bones.

"You'll be performing in our next act."

Again, his tone leaves no space for an argument. Still, you were never an agreeable person, smiles were more of your brother's thing. So, you straighten out as much as the cage allows you and cross your arms in front of your chest.

"Do whatever you like, my brother will get me out of here before you can say Welcome to my big show".

"Welcome to my big show" he says immediately, then, raises his finger, as if he's waiting for the entire crew of Strawhats to fall from the sky.

They don't, obviously, and he gives you a pointed look, to which you respond with a roll of your eyes.

"Besides" he turns around and opens one of the chests laid out on the table "Aren't you a bit old to dote on your younger brother so much?"

The question genuinely offends you, and as he pulls out another bandana, this one red, covered entirely with big white polka dots, your eyes glimmer with venom.

"Aren't you a bit old to play dress up?"

He turns in a blink of an eye, and with terror mixed with disgust you watch his hands detach from his body, slamming into the cage. The force of impact sends it flying right into the nearby wall, the back of your head smacks against the metal bars. The swinging of the cage coupled with the stars erupting before your eyelids from the impact make you feel dizzy.

Then, Buggy takes a step towards the cage, connecting his hands with the rest of his body, and your prison stops swinging in an instant.

"I should kill you for that" he says lowly, his blue eyes bearing into your face.

"You started it" you choke out an accusation, trying very hard not to vomit.

He stays completely quiet, just watching you for a long while, his hands slowly loose tension. Then, as if his rage has entirely dissolved, he smiles, teeth completely exposed, as his cheeks crease. God, you'd do such a better job at his make-up, given the chance.

"You're funny, Hostage" he shakes his head, and suddenly, for some unknown reason, it downs upon you, just how close to you, he's standing.

"Sing for me some more" he says.

And then, his hands push back with sufficient force to send your cage flying again. You groan at the movement, another wave of nausea almost making you loose your breakfast. When you finally have the perfect, biting comeback, he's already gone, the door slamming after him. You're alone again.

A sigh escapes your lips, as you press your forehead to the cold metal of the cage. You've already memorized all the details of your own clothes, and the room was too dark to see anything more. So, you start observing the cage. The way the light shifts up and down on the bars, the way the brown paint seems to peel away under your thighs. Then, you look up, towards the place where all the bars have been stuck together.

And then your eyebrows furrow. Because just above the ceiling of the cage, you can see something poking out. Something roughly the size of a fist and colored a pale, fleshy color. You raise yourself slightly in your seat, to get a better look, and immediately regret doing so.

It's an ear. His ear. Detached and placed right on top of the cage. That's how he knows about your singing, the bastard.

An idea brews in your brain, mischief spilling out of your growing smirk. You pull yourself up, until you can reach the top of the cage. Your arm is just slender enough to slip past the bars, and your fingers brush against the cold flesh of the ear. Before Buggy, wherever he is, can react, you snatch the ear from the top of the cage, keeping a tight grip, as it starts to jump in your hand.

Then, you take a deep breath, place the ear close to your lips… And give the most blood-curling, shrill scream you could muster.

Immediately, you hear a string of curses coming your way, and a second later Buggy bursts into the room, a murderous expression on his face. You open your hand, and the ear nearly bursts out of your fingers, flying back to it's owner like some sort of deformed beetle. The sight, for some reason, is so incredibly funny, you can't help but choke out a little giggle. Which soon becomes a quite big giggle, which in turn morphs into a full blown laughter.

You can't see the Captain through the tears of laughter forming in your eyes, so when he knocks on the metal bars of your cage, you nearly choke from surprise. He's looking at you strangely. Not quite as angry as before, but there is something else lurking behind his eyes. As if he's enveloped deeply in his thoughts, but at the same time completely present and focused on you. Your laughter dies down in an instantly, and you reach up to wipe your tears, clearing your throat awkwardly.

"I've captured myself a comedian, huh?" the man leans closer to the bars of the cage, placing his forehead against them and looking at you from below "You trying to take my place as the funniest person in the circus? Hm, Hostage?"

You risk a smirk, leaning down towards him. He watches your movements with a curious expression, eyes darting all over your face.

"Yeah" you whisper "So, you better watch your back."

At that, he smiles one of his brilliantly wide smiles. This one however, seems the most honest out of every one you've seen up to this point. You try not to linger too much at the way his eyes seem to shine in the dimly lit room. Or how the stubble on his face makes his features sharper. Or even on the way his arms flex as he leans against the cage. And definitely, without a shadow of a doubt, you're not focusing on the fact, that he's standing nestled right between your dangling legs.

So, before your brain conjures up any unwanted ideas, you clear your throat again and straighten up. Buggy notices the shift in your posture, but doesn't move, instead it seems as if a lightbulb has literally appeared beside his head. Desperate to change the subject, which hasn't been even brought up yet, you wave your hand in the general direction of his ear.

"Your ability is pretty useful" you try to sound as neutral, as humanly possible.

"Oh?" he tilts his head back and gives you a suspicious look.

"Yeah, that eavesdropping thing was really cool… And slightly disgusting" your nose scrunches "But mostly cool."

He hums low in his throat, his hands slowly letting go of your cage. Still, he remains standing between your legs, your knee brushing against his prominent hip bones.

"Are there" you swallow "Any limits to this ability?"

Now, his eyebrows jump straight under his bandana, and you definitely do not like the slow smirk filling his features.

"I mean, like, can you detach your nose? Or um… I don't know, your fingernails?"

Finally he steps back, stretching his arms to the side, as if he's giving you a show, and in a way, he does. There are muscles, hidden under those circus clothes. His exposed forearms are nicely shaped, with thick veins running the length of them. You really don't mean to ogle the man, but fuck, he is handsome. In an "insane-sadistic-clown-who-is-also-a-pirate-for-some-reason" way.

"I can detach every single part of my body with no effort" he says, his smile growing.

Before you could really think about your actions, your gaze falls downward, right to his belt keeping his trousers up. Mortified, that your brain would even go there, you tear your eyes up, and with a horrified expression, look upon a face full of excitement.

Then, Buggy raises his hands to his heart, feigning a scandalized expression, which would've been funny, if you weren't currently blushing in the lovely shade of a ripe beetroot.

"I'm sorry… that's not… I didn't" your words come out a jumbled mess, and Buggy wheezes out a laugh.

"Oh would you look at that" he puts his hands behind his back, as he slowly starts to stalk towards your confinement "You know, with how sheltered your little brother is, I didn't expect you to be such a dirty pervert."

You choke on air, arms flailing inside the cage, as you genuinely are at a loss for words, You can feel your face grow impossibly hot, the heat spreading all the way to the tops of your ears. The Clown still advances, until his face is pushed right between the bars of the cage, a smile on his lips and a glint in his eye. You don't know what to do with yourself, as the man continues to laugh at your outrage.

Finally, his right hand flies from behind his back and stops right above his head. Then, as if making a show specially for you out of his unusual abilities, he lets his pointer finger remove itself from the hand. Involuntarily, you make a face, and try to push yourself as far into the cage, as humanly possible. Which, given the size of your prison, does practically nothing. The finger aims straight at your nose and presses it with slightly more force, than a friendly "boop" would.

"You started it" he throws your own words back at you, and watches your dumbfounded expression with a smile and a giggle.

Finally, he steps back, all his body parts in place, and you can breathe again at last. Then, with a flourish, he bows down before the cage, before giving you a slightly unbalanced twirl. At that, you can't help but smile, almost fondly. He's not so bad, when he isn't actively trying to murder you and your friends.

"Anyways, get ready, your grand performance is in a week" he concludes, and you sigh deeply.

So he hasn't let this one go.

No matter. A week from now, you'll be out of this place. The thought fills you with joy, and strangely, with some sort of melancholy, which you have to jot down as nausea, just to protect your own mental health.

"Hostage" the man says, as a goodbye, bowing once again, this time with fewer theatrics, and begins to walk back towards the door. "Captain" you respond in kind, inclining your head slightly.

He stops in his tracks, back turned to you, before slowly, twisting his body, to look you in the face. He wants to say something, his mouth opens and closes, and anticipation floods your stomach. But then, his lips pull back into one more smile, more reserved, more private. Now, in this rare moment of tranquility, he looks truly handsome, and your heart jumps to your throat at the realization. He gives you one last look, shakes his head at the floor, and exits with a soft click of the door.

You're, once again, left alone with your mismatched shoes and the hole in your shorts. This time, however, your head is filled with tender thoughts, one that could keep you company, until another visit befalls you.

[httyd-art-requests]

Your art is so cute :D Could you do a baby Bewilderbeast?

Of course I can, but the real question is;

Are YOU prepared to see THE most muppet looking baby dragon I've ever drawn??

Dragon #65 - (Baby) Bewilderbeast

"STOP LOOKIN AT ME WITH THEM BIG OLE EYES"

[brotherconstant]

FOUNDATION ➤ Timestamp Roulette 2x03 King and Commoner 🧡 @1st-time-caller-long-time-lurker 🧡

[thefrsers]

requested by Anon: Sam Heughan + Discover Scotland

[elmaxlys]

I know I'm kinda late so u can just ignore this. But anw can I request Fei 🥺

do we. do we know what Fei looks like?

[alyxinfact]

hey alyx! i love your artwork so much, it's been lovely seeing all of your recent drawings! could i request a feenie please?

hi fran, and thank you!!! <3

here's feenie!! wait... what's he got there? ...feenie? feenie! DROP IT!!!!

It’s Almost Christmas! 2023 - Day 15

[lemony-snickers]

@butter--peanut ficti-gram for you!

to: @butter--peanut from: @wind-becomes-lightning message: Hello my love, I mean my rival, I am currently working through the first pages of the book you are writing and am in total awe of your work!! I want to send you this little sweet thing so you can relax a little for a minute with a good fic before you dive into rewrites again! I am very happy that I met you and that we have met in person so many times and hopefully many many more times until you leave forever! (;(). Sending you many hugs!! <3 characters/pairing: kakashi hatake/obito uchiha word count: 3,646 prompt: the smell of coffee

Obito Uchiha has always hated the smell of coffee.  Freshly roasted at a fancy kissaten or poured from a grody two-day-old carafe into a travel mug, he thinks it always smells like burnt piss.  No amount of sugar or milk or cream or flavoring could ever make it palatable, and Obito will never understand how anyone, under any circumstances, could ever find themselves so desperate for an infusion of caffeine they would resort to drinking it.

Admittedly, coffee might be a useful beverage to keep on deck in the event of poisoning, to make a person throw up.  Maybe.  He’d have to be really poisoned to consider it, and Obito sees no other reasonable purpose for the existence of such a foul liquid.

Normally, Obito is fairly adept at avoiding coffee in all its forms, but there is one occasion upon which he has little to no control over whether he’s subjected to it and that is whenever Kakashi Hatake texts him to say he’s on his way over.

It’s still relatively new, all the Kakashi stuff.  When Obito ran across his old classmate on a dating app, he’d only partially been serious when he swiped to match with him.  Mostly, Obito was curious.  He smirked when he saw Kakashi’s profile—pathetically sparse and with a picture that didn’t even show his entire face—because it was very clear Kakashi was looking specifically for hook-ups while Obito had spent hours agonizing over which photos to upload, how many of his own scars to show, and how to make an appropriately-but-not-too-seriously self-deprecating joke about them in his bio.

Online dating is a terribly complicated thing, it turns out, when half your body is marred by the mistakes of your past.

Obito had not expected to match with Kakashi in the slightest.  At best, he thought he might receive a message something along the lines of, “Fuck you, loser,” before he was blocked.

Instead, Kakashi invited him out for a drink and Obito—perhaps foolishly or at least with a dash of foolhardy optimism—said yes.

The alcohol helped soothe the awkward sting of their reunion.  They spent hours at the bar, ordering round after round, allowing the fuzziness of the booze to seep into their blood, their bones.  Cloud over all the terrible parts of their shared history they did not wish to relitigate or relive in any detail.  Their conversation remained light, easy.

Perfunctory shit only.

“How have you been?”

“Good, you?”

“All right.  What do you do for work now?”

“A little bit of everything, really. Whatever brings in enough to cover my rent.”

Kakashi cracked a grin at that and Obito turned his attention toward his beer to hide that he liked it.  There had always been something terribly magnetic about Kakashi.  Even as a kid, when they first entered school together, Obito always found himself drawn to him, desperately trying to escape his orbit with very little success.

It would take several years of distance and a decent amount of therapy for Obito to recognize the feelings of his adolescent self for what they were.  That all the jealousy and anger had been part and parcel to something else, something soft and unknowable, then.  Something he hadn’t been yet able to acknowledge or put voice to.

Obito didn’t realize he was interested in men for a long time after Kakashi was no longer part of his life.  Now, though?  It was painfully clear Obito measured every man he’d ever dated by the metric of his old schoolmate, and not one of them had ever passed muster.

So when Kakashi invited himself to Obito’s apartment after they split their bar tab, he acquiesced.  When he shoved Obito against the wall in the entryway and bruised a kiss against his mouth, Obito’s knees buckled.  When a hand shoved its way down the front of his jeans, Obito whined.

It was so easy to succumb to decades of longing.  To open the half-crushed box where he’d packed it all away and dust it off, return it to a shelf in the sunlight where he could stare at it.  Covet it.

Ignore everything else in the box except this one thing.

And now when Kakashi calls—err, texts, he never calls—Obito unlocks his front door and waits patiently for him to stride in and repeat it all again.

It’s rather infuriating if he gives himself any time to think it over.  That he allows Kakashi to wander in and out of his life like a wraith without expectation or explanation.  He comes and goes as he pleases and part of Obito hates himself for allowing it to continue.

The rest of him, though, sees it as a reward for all his patience.  For all the progress he has made since they last saw each other, broken and bruised and grieving.

Obito’s therapist tells him there might be too much history between them for any of this to work on a functional level.  But then, Obito has never really been all that functional.  At least now he has someone in his life who will touch him, make him feel good without also making him feel self-conscious of his body.

It’s complicated.  At least, that’s what he tells himself (and his therapist), so he doesn’t have to unpack the rest of the box.

But Obito knows deep down none of this is sustainable.  While he’s willing to take what he can, he’s also not a moron.  He’s willing to take what he can get and be satisfied with it; always has been.

What makes things infuriatingly more tenuous, though, is that Kakashi always smells like coffee.

Obito knows that’s probably a sign, but he refuses to read it.

It doesn’t matter what time of day or night he appears at Obito’s door, all hungry eyes and demanding touches, there is always this persistent burnt scent that lingers under everything else.  It’s pervasive.  Poisons the very air of Obito’s apartment as Kakashi swoops in without a word.

It clings to Kakashi’s clothes, his skin, his hair.  It’s on his tongue when it pushes its way into Obito’s mouth, staining itself onto his teeth.

Coffee.  Every time.  Everywhere.

And during the course of their liaisons, the scent transfers itself to Obito, sliding against his scalp and burrowing into the thick folds of his scarred skin.

The burnt piss smell lingers in his nostrils long after Kakashi departs, trailing in his wake like a vile stream, and Obito spends an inordinate amount of time in the bath afterward trying to scrub away the putrid scent and replace it with fruity-smelling body wash or the lavender oil his therapist tells him is good for promoting relaxation.

He doesn’t think he agrees, but it smells nice, so what the hell?

His therapist might also have something to say about Obito’s obsessive need to clean himself every time Kakashi leaves his apartment, but he doesn’t like to think about that much.  Each time, he convinces himself it is the smell and not their fraught and complicated history which demands another cycle of shampoo.  He dips his head beneath the surface of the water until his vision stings and blurs so he won’t imagine what his therapist’s frown looked like when he said as much during their last session.

Obito is a big boy who can make his own decisions, thank you very much.  He just wishes his potentially poor life choices didn’t come with a side of putrescent coffee bean stench.

After a brief On my way text message, Kakashi arrives this time with a soggy-looking bag of takeout and plops it on Obito’s kitchen counter.

“For me?” he asks teasingly, “You shouldn’t have.”

Kakashi rolls his eyes.  “It’s mine and you can’t have any,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.  Obito rakes his eye over Kakashi’s frame, taking in the lean, wiry muscle of it.  His posture is terrible, he looks like a shepherd’s hook the way his spine curves too much at the top.  As always, Obito’s gaze eventually finds the scar over Kakashi’s eye, traces it carefully.

Whenever he tries to touch it while their kissing or fucking, Kakashi pulls him away, tangles their fingers together or tugs his wrist down to the mattress and restrains his hand there, like it can’t be trusted not to wander.

He doesn’t like to acknowledge his scars any more than Obito likes to acknowledge his own, and Obito wonders if that is part of why they remain within one another’s terrible, destructive orbit.  Because neither of them needs to explain their scars to the other—they were together when they were earned.

Kakashi, for the first time since this all started months ago, looks unsure.  He stands in the liminal space between the kitchen and the living room, rocking slightly back and forth on the balls of his feet.  His energy is nervous.  Sizzling.  Like a crack of lightning splitting the night sky in half.

“Something on your mind?” Obito asks, trying not to let the panic he feels fluttering in his chest make its way into his voice.  It’s like there’s a hummingbird trapped in the cage of his ribs, frantic to escape.

Kakashi shakes his head.  “How, uh… how was your day?” he asks, and a grimace follows immediately, slicing its way across his face like the dull side of a kitchen knife.

Obito can’t help it, he tries not to laugh, but it takes only half a heartbeat for the raucous noise to skitter out of his chest, setting the hummingbird free as he guffaws.  Watching Kakashi try to be normal, try to treat their interaction as if it is casual and regular, is the funniest shit Obito has ever seen.

Kakashi rolls his eyes and takes two quick, purposeful steps forward.  It’s then the coffee scent slams full force into Obito, snaking its way up his nose and into his throat.  He gags a little and Kakashi halts his advance, pausing just as his knee would have brushed against Obito’s own where he sits on his ratty old couch.

“Something smell bad?” Kakashi asks, glancing over his shoulder at the takeout he deposited on the counter.

“Yeah,” Obito says, pinching his nose closed for dramatic effect, “you.”

Still, after all the years of knowing him, of provoking him—and then missing him—Obito experiences the same swift thrill whenever he catches Kakashi off guard.  And watching the confusion blossom over his features, first in the subtle downturn of his mouth at the edges and then in the wrinkles of his nose and crease of his brow, is a glorious, wonderful thing.

“Me?  I smell bad?”

Obito rises slowly from his seat, the good side of his face pitched up in a grin.  “You smell fucking terrible all the time.”

There’s that gorgeous, adorable confusion again.  Deepening.  Pulling Kakashi’s lip toward the infuriatingly beautiful mark on his chin, carving a ravine between his eyebrows.

Obito wishes he could take a photo, blow it up, and hang it on his wall.  He knows he’s probably picking a fight—knows it’s probably long overdue—but this moment is worth the risk of blowing up the very small good thing he’s managed to unpack from his past.

Of course, Kakashi does not handle discomfort well.  Obito doesn’t need a therapist to tell him that.  Kakashi is a man who thrives on control, and Obito’s revelation has clearly thrown him.  It doesn’t take long for lovely confusion to break apart, resettle itself against Kakashi’s features as something vicious.

“Fuck you, I didn’t come here to be insulted,” he says.

Obito’s grin widens.  “But you did come here to fuck me, though.”  He chuckles, and Kakashi spins on his heels.  Before he can snatch up his takeout and head back out into the hall, Obito grabs the bag first and holds it out of his reach.

An impressive feat, if Obito does say so himself, considering they’re close in height but Kakashi definitely has longer arms.  He’s always been built like a swimmer, lanky with a broad chest and narrow hips.

“Stop being such an asshole,” Kakashi says, grabbing for the bag and missing as Obito passes it to his other hand behind his back.

“Don’t be such a fragile little flower,” Obito chides, “take a little criticism for once in your life.”

Kakashi’s face hardens and he stops trying to reach for his food, which Obito knows probably means he’s gone too far, pushed some invisible button too hard.  Rather than acknowledge that; rather than walk himself back or apologize, he simply opens the bag of food in his hands, maintaining uncomfortably intense eye contact with Kakashi as he reaches in, grabs the first food-shaped thing he finds, and brings it to his mouth.

He gags when it hits his tongue, spits it half-chewed right back into the bag without any concern for the rest of its contents.

When he glares at Kakashi, nose wrinkling, pulling his facial scars in a way that tugs uncomfortably at the unmarred flesh of his face, Obito expects to see the same sharp and acerbic glare from a moment ago.

Instead, what he finds is mirth—light dancing in Kakashi’s dark eyes as his mouth splits into a smile, revealing his perfect teeth.  Obito knows his left canine is false, but it’s hard to tell since the rest of his smile is just as dazzlingly white.  And as Kakashi tilts his head back, the apple of his throat jumping wildly in time with his laughter, he wheezes out a high-pitched, “Serves you right!” and then keeps on laughing.

Obito supposes it does, to some extent.  But how was he supposed to know Kakashi Hatake, well-established hater of all things even remotely dessert-like, would be carrying coffee cake in his to-go bag?  Obito keeps sticking out his tongue, like exposure to the air will somehow cleanse the taste from his mouth.  He must look like a frog; a big dumb amphibian who snapped its tongue out only to realize it caught a stink bug.

He tosses the bag back onto the counter, content to have it as far from his person as possible.  “I thought you hated sweets.”

“I do,” Kakashi says, finally regaining some semblance of stoicism.  “It’s for my neighbor.”

Obito frowns.  “Since when have you been that social?”

Kakashi shrugs, but says nothing.  Typical.

They stand there, awkward and unmoving, for several long seconds.  Obito can feel sweat prickling at his nape, his temples.  He has no clue what he’s supposed to say, now.

Do you still get to fuck someone after you’ve told them they reek and then spit half-masticated baked goods back into their extremely kind bag of neighborly good will?

Probably not, which is disappointing.

Is he supposed to open the box, splay the contents across his floors so they can examine all the missing pieces?  Try to fit them back together?

Obito decides that isn’t something he’s ready to do.  That whatever exists between them, now, is still too new, too fragile, to bear the weight.  One day, maybe, it will be strong enough.  But not now.

Mercifully, Kakashi clears his throat, which clears the air enough for him to ask, “Why haven’t’ you ever said anything?”

“About what?” Obito asks, realizing a moment too late that he’s fucking dumb.

Kakashi knows, too, and infuses as much incredulity into his clarification as possible, each syllable dripping with a sickly-sweet undertone of are you fucking kidding.  “You said I smell, Obito.  All the time.  Why didn’t you tell me before?”

There’s no truly easy answer.  Because of course, Obito thinks Kakashi smells like burnt piss, but he doesn’t actually.  What he smells like is coffee, which is a perfectly reasonable thing to smell like, probably.

Assuming Kakashi drinks the stuff because if he doesn’t, then what the fuck?

“I hate the smell of coffee,” Obito says finally, after Kakashi reaches out and flicks him on the forehead for taking too long to answer.  He rubs at the spot where he’s sure the gesture has left a red smudge on his skin.  “You always smell like fucking coffee.”

Obito isn’t sure what he expects Kakashi’s response to be.  More incredulity, maybe.  Irritation.  Hands thrown up in the air and then a purposeful march out of his apartment.  An annoying dissertation on why coffee is wonderful and Obito is wrong.

Instead, Kakashi grins like a very smug cat, takes a step forward and presses his forehead to Obito’s, arms crossed over his chest like the smug, self-assured bastard he has (almost) always been.

Obito bristles, mostly because the move is unfamiliar.  For all Kakashi enjoys making people uncomfortable, he typically uses his words to do so.  The proximity of him, the coffee smell and the warmth of his skin and the faint tickle of his breath as he leans close to Obito’s ear are things typically reserved for the duration of their sex and that’s all.

Kakashi doesn’t like being close to people.  Obito understands why, respects the boundary for the most part.  He nearly topples backward trying to maintain any semblance of space between their bodies.

Then Kakashi rasps almost alluringly against his ear, “I own a fucking coffee shop, you dumbass.”

It occurs to Obito in that moment he has never bothered to ask where Kakashi works.  Their first meeting at that bar replays in his mind and he recalls Kakashi asking him what he did for a living, but Obito had gotten distracted by his momentary embarrassment and never returned the favor.

He groans loudly, leaning his forehead against Kakashi’s shoulder, which jostles as he chuckles at Obito’s expense.  Obito snorts, a short, half-hearted attempt at that self-deprecating humor he has so perfected over the years.  “Figures I’d fall for someone who smells like my least favorite thing.”

He pulls away, flustered and embarrassed.  The heat of his face is probably enough to warm that coffee cake like it’s fresh from the oven.  Obito wonders suddenly if the cake came from Kakashi’s shop.  Wonders where the shop is and what it’s like inside.

If they serve anything other than fucking coffee.

Kakashi’s fingers are rough against Obito’s jaw as he pulls him in for their first kiss of the day, but the kiss itself is gentle.  He doesn’t open his mouth, isn’t as greedy or demanding as usual.  And Obito relishes the temporary softening, the tender moment offered to him.  He clings to Kakashi’s shirt and tries to breathe as little as possible so the coffee stench won’t invade his nostrils.

Though, he must admit, at the moment, he cares a hell of a lot less than usual.  Because Kakashi’s kisses are delicate and coaxing, one hand skimming over Obito’s scars with a carefulness that makes his chest ache.

A carefulness he has never experienced before, not with anyone, and especially not with the man he knows deems himself responsible for their existence.

Obito pulls away first, finally in such desperate need of a full breath he can’t hold out any longer.  He doesn’t pull far, though, just enough to let his lungs expand without restriction.  And when his eyes meet Kakashi’s, the light in them is still there, less twinkling and steadier.

A porch light welcoming him home, peeling away the shadows to reveal safety and comfort.

“Let’s take a bath,” Kakashi says quietly, grinning.

Obito has the decency to laugh.  It’s a convenient enough sound, anyway, one which hopefully drowns out the erratic thudding his chest.  The hammer beat of a heart only now realizing Kakashi didn’t run away when Obito said he was falling, didn’t put up the cool partition Obito is so used to running up against every time he tries to open up, to be opened.

To drag the box out and bring its contents back into the light.

The tub is not large enough for two grown men.  Not really.  But they Tetris their limbs into the basin as well as they can, tangling together like brambles—perhaps just as prickly—and laughing at their own foolishness in unison.

“It’s smells like a department store in here.”

Obito splashes the scented water at Kakashi, who squints and spits.  “I need all the eucalyptus and lavender I can get my hands on to wash out your coffee shop’s stench.”

Kakashi leans back against the tub with a serene smile and closes his eyes.  “You should come visit sometime,” he offers and Obito knows it’s no small thing to be invited into Kakashi’s life even such a minor way.  He looks up to wink at Obito through the steam of the bathwater.  “Maybe not on roasting day, though.”

“You couldn’t pay me.”

His therapist will probably still tell Obito this is an unhealthy attachment at their next session.  But Obito thinks today is a step in the right direction, at least.  A limping movement toward the honesty that comes so hard to them both.

Maybe they can figure the rest out together, peel back all the layers and scars until they are raw and open to each other.  Until they can repair all the marks of their shared past, their fractured future.  Maybe.  Someday.

Obito likes the idea that his past and his future might yet be able to exist together.  That one day there won’t be any dusty boxes he has to carry around, regrets and secrets stuffed between tabs of moldy cardboard.  He likes the idea that maybe he and Kakashi can unpack together.  Build a bonfire afterward and burn away all the shit they no longer need to hold onto.

The smoke would smell better than coffee, at least.  And as long as Kakashi agrees to take a bath when he comes over, Obito thinks they just might be able to make this work.

[laudsimogen]

This Hunger, It Isn't You (Ch. 24 - Final)

Read on AO3

It didn’t take long between both groups to mow through half of the remaining killers. Imogen and Laudna went with Adiris and Anna, while the others continued on their own, occasionally setting off another earthquake in the distance. They tried offering each killer the chance to surrender and leave the Entity, but none of the others seemed cognizant enough to understand them, let alone consider the option. Imogen counted eight kills without a hitch, but the process had been too easy for too long, and she spent the last few kills waiting for the other shoe to drop.

The Fog seemed stiller than usual when the voice came.

There you are, the Entity said, and Imogen froze at the sudden sensation of another being in her head. It voice sounded both feminine and masculine, and it hurt like a lance through her head.

“Imogen?” Laudna turned when she realized Imogen had stopped walking. “What’s wrong?”

You have been quite a pain to me, girl, the Entity continued. I have been saving my strength for you. You don’t really think you can escape, do you?

“It’s the Entity,” Imogen whispered. “It’s talkin’ to me.”

Laudna stiffened. “What is it saying? Are you all right?”

You know, child, my world functioned flawlessly before you came. It was beautiful, but you have destroyed it. I tried to be patient and kind. I gave you time to rethink your decisions. But you have taken so much from me, and now I must take from you.

“I—I don’t know,” Imogen said. “It’s stronger than we thought. And it’s pissed. I don’t know what it’s gonna do.”

The ground shook again, but this time, it wasn’t accompanied by the Fog’s pained scream. It spread from an epicenter behind them, and Imogen whirled around to see for herself what she suspected was happening. Their group had stayed close to the campfire, picking killers off from around it and waiting for the next realm to take its place. Now, the ground cracked and crumbled and fell into darkness in the same familiar way, but this was different.

Imogen could only stare in horror as the campfire disappeared before her. Some survivors ran to its perimeter, escaping to the shadows before they could fall, but others were swallowed by the void. By the time the dust settled, nothing remained of the campfire except a large, empty hole.

Sanctuary and healing are privileges you have ruined for everyone, the Entity said. Cease your actions now, and I will not go further. Continue to destroy my  property, and I will ensure you are destroyed with it.”

The presence vanished, and Imogen let the air out of her lungs, panting and trembling in its wake. She barely registered Laudna approaching her until a gentle arm linked through hers and another wrapped around her waist. “Imogen,” she said. “Are you all right? Did it hurt you?”

Imogen shook her head. “I’m fine,” she said. “It’s not finished, though. It’s gonna try and get rid of us if we keep goin’.”

Laudna glanced at Anna and Adiris, then back at Imogen. “Well, do you…do you want to stop?”

“No.” Imogen straightened up, grateful for Laudna’s calming touch. “I wanna finish what we started. It can’t be allowed to keep imprisoning people like this.”

“I know,” Laudna said. “It feels like it would be a terrible waste to stop now, and I—I don’t want to go back to how things were. We’re so close.”

“We’re not goin’ back,” Imogen said. “We’ll finish as fast as we can and hope it can’t do anything else before then. We only got a few left, right?”

“I believe so,” Adiris said. “I think, besides Anna and I, there are about five more. It should not take us much longer.”

“All right,” Imogen said. “Let’s go.”

The mood hadn’t exactly been light and airy before, but now nobody even spoke as they moved toward the next realm. Everyone was tense, and Imogen’s chest felt so tight she could hardly breathe. They may not make it, after all. She’d tried so hard to have hope this whole time, if not for herself, then for Laudna, but it all felt so naïve now. The Entity had been too quiet. She should have known something was wrong sooner.

“Darling,” Laudna said quietly. “I know this isn’t quite what we expected. But are you sure you’re all right?”

Imogen paused. No, she wasn’t all right. Anything that happened to anyone was her fault, and now, with the campfire gone, there would be no reversing it. The Entity was right. Nothing had changed in this place for hundreds or thousands of years, but in a matter of months, everything had changed because of her. And that included a lot of pain and death.

“I’m okay,” Imogen said. “I just wanna get this over with.” She kept her voice even, but she was sure the wetness in her eyes betrayed her.

“Oh, Imogen,” Laudna said. “It’ll be over soon. And no matter what happens, I’ll be right here with you.”

“I know,” Imogen said. You know, when I started plannin’ to escape, it was just because I didn’t wanna be here, she continued mentally. But now I want so much more, and I’m terrified of losing it. I don’t wanna die, Laudna. Not yet.

Laudna stopped to look Imogen in the eye. I won’t let that happen, she said. I promise I’ll do everything I can to keep you safe.

Imogen wanted to reply that it wouldn’t matter anyway if anything happened to Laudna, but their next opponent was coming into the picture. Stay back, she said, and she stepped in front of Laudna, electricity crackling in her hands as the killer drew closer.

She should have asked Laudna to stay put where nothing would hurt her the moment the campfire was destroyed. She never wanted anything to happen to Laudna, never wanted her to be hurt or feel pain, but now fear gripped her like a vise as she realized that if Laudna got hurt, she couldn’t be healed. And she still had no power to defend herself with. Imogen couldn’t let anything touch her; she couldn’t.

The Blight was fast, but it wasn’t fast enough to reach them before Imogen’s powers and two of Anna’s hand-axes took it down. It, like most of the other killers, hadn’t expected its prey to fight back.

It was easy. It hadn’t even come close to hurting them. They were one killer closer to beating the Entity. But as they left the Blight’s land to crumble behind them, Imogen’s nerves only amplified to the point that she felt sick.

The feeling grew when she heard their other friends make another kill, too, and they ran back into each other as the available land shrunk. The next two kills went by just as quickly, and for just a moment, with only one realm left outside of the Red Forest, Imogen hoped they would make it. She hoped the Entity had been bluffing, and that it couldn’t actually do anything to them. She hoped they would escape and find each other and live out their lives together. She wanted it more than anything, and maybe, maybe if she let herself hope for it, it could happen. But she wasn’t betting on it.

So when the Entity spoke this time, halfway through the last realm, she all but resigned herself to defeat. A sharp pain like knives through her flesh came with it that forced her to her knees.

I did warn you, the Entity said. Its presence sank into the spot between her shoulder blades and pulled her head back by the hair. I have the strength to kill two. You will watch your friend suffer first.

Imogen watched as Laudna gasped in pain and her knees buckled, hitting the ground hard.

“No!” Imogen cried. “No, please—please don’t hurt her. I’ll stop. I’ll do anything. Just let her go.”

“Imogen, don’t—”

Laudna’s voice broke off as the Entity’s invisible grip closed her airway. Imogen’s eyes watered, but she couldn’t move, couldn’t do anything to help.

You would do anything? The Entity laughed. You have proven yourself untrustworthy. You expect me to believe your lies?

“I swear!” Imogen pulled against the Entity’s grasp, but it didn’t budge. Tears streamed down her face as Laudna struggled to breathe, and while Ashton and Fearne knelt down next to her, they couldn’t do anything, either. Orym whispered something to Ashton, who stood up and hurried away, but Imogen couldn’t tear her eyes away from Laudna long enough to notice. “Anything,” she said. “I’ll do anything.”

If you really mean that, the Entity said, if you would truly do anything for this one, then you would replace what you have taken from me? You would stay here and hunt, loyal only to me? You would lose your relationship with the Witch to save her?

It was desperate. It was desperate and dying, and Imogen wished she could take advantage of that, but she was desperate, too. Laudna was dying. And she would do anything to save her.

“Yes,” Imogen said. “Yes. I’ll do it. Just let her live.”

As you wish.

Laudna gasped as air flowed back into her lungs, and a wave of relief washed over Imogen. There was always the possibility that the Entity wouldn’t uphold its end of the deal, but it seemed to want a new killer more than it wanted to kill Laudna, and that was all that mattered.

“Imogen?” Laudna’s voice was hoarse and weak. “Are you—are you all right? The Entity—what just happened?”

Imogen shook her head. Tears continued to spill over her cheeks as a dark fog enveloped her, electricity sparking and coursing through her veins without her consent. I’m sorry, she said in Laudna’s head. We can still finish this, but I’ll have to go with Anna and Adiris. I love you.

“Wait.” Laudna stumbled to her feet. “What do you mean?” Imogen? What do you mean?

Imogen couldn’t reply before she was whisked away by the Entity as another earthquake started up. There was so little land left, Laudna could easily see it on the edge of the realm they were in: a new one forming, with grassy plains and a farmhouse and barn, all bathed in an eerie red light. Laudna’s stomach turned as she realized what had happened.

“Did she just—”

Anxiety rose in Laudna’s chest as the others murmured to each other about what to do now. She racked her brain for some solution for this, for some way to reverse the Entity’s bond, but she came up with nothing. The campfire was gone. Imogen couldn’t die and come back. She was stuck.

“Hey!” Ashton reappeared on the horizon, running toward the group. Laudna didn’t know why until the ground quaked again, and Ashton waved them away. “Run!”

Laudna was still trying to process Imogen’s new situation, and she didn’t run until Ashton reached her and grabbed her hand to pull her along. They released her when they reached the Red Forest.

“What the hell happened?” They looked across to the new realm. “Is that—”

“It’s Imogen,” Laudna choked out. Dark clouds swirled in the red sky, and lightning struck every few moments. That was Imogen’s nightmare, wasn’t it? And now her only options were to stay in it or to die. “I have to find her.”

“She is the last one now,” Adiris said. “I’m sorry for what you must do. Take us first, then go to her and say your goodbyes.”

Laudna shook her head. “We can’t—we can’t kill her! We have to find another way. There must be another way.”

“Why don’t you go ahead and find her,” Orym murmured to Laudna. “We’ll meet up when we’re done here. We don’t have to make any decisions yet.”

Laudna nodded. “Okay,” she said. She trembled as she stepped toward Imogen’s realm, knowing what her friend would say when she found her. She would want to make the sacrifice. Imogen didn’t want to die, but she wanted to end the Fog more. And Laudna wasn’t sure she’d be able to convince her otherwise.

Did she even have the right to try? If it were her—if she were the last cog in the Entity’s machine, if she were faced with being trapped in her nightmares for eternity—she would make the sacrifice, too. But selfish as it was, the thought of losing Imogen now felt unbearable. She’d been through so much, but she didn’t know if she would even survive the pain of that loss.

Orym’s words rang in her head: we don’t have to make any decisions yet. They didn’t have all the time in the world, but they did have some time. Right now, all that mattered was finding Imogen.

It wasn’t hard. She sat in the barn at the epicenter of the storm, knees tucked up with her hair swirling around her in the excess electricity. She held a knife in her hand, the weapon the Entity must have granted her, and held it against her throat.

Fear washed over Laudna. “Imogen, don’t!”

Imogen looked up at her, face wet with tears. “I can’t,” she said, and she drew the knife across her throat. It glanced off as if her skin were marble, and she dropped the knife into the hay on the floor. “I didn’t want y’all to have to do it. But you’ll have to.”

“No,” Laudna said. She crept up to Imogen, her own hair slowly standing on end as she got closer, and knelt down beside her to take her hand. “We’ll think of something else. We always think of something else.”

“I don’t think there’s anything left,” Imogen said. “I’m so sorry, Laudna. I just didn’t know what to do.”

Laudna swallowed. “What do you mean? This isn’t your fault; the Entity did this.”

Imogen was silent for a moment. “I agreed to it,” she said quietly. “It was gonna kill you. This was what it wanted, so I made the deal. I couldn’t let you die.”

Laudna’s chest hurt. She wanted to be angry; she wanted to scold Imogen for being willing to make Laudna suffer through the same pain she’d made that decision to avoid herself. But as painful as it was, she couldn’t be mad. Not at Imogen. So, she drew Imogen into a tight hug, ignoring the small jolts of electricity that shot through her skin.

“If you want to go,” Laudna said, her heart breaking at her own words, “you don’t have to go alone. I’ll be here.”

“I don’t want to,” Imogen said. “I have to. If I stay, the Entity could rebuild this whole place with enough time. I don’t want anyone else to ever have to go through this.”

“I know.” Laudna petted Imogen’s hair back, moving the tear-soaked strands out of her face. She felt tears gathering in her own eyes. “You’re so good and brave, Imogen.” She paused as her throat began to close with grief. “I don’t want to say goodbye.”

“We don’t have to.” Imogen burrowed her head into Laudna’s chest, where she could feel the slow, steady beat of her heart. She could stay there forever in Laudna’s arms, and she guessed she wouldn’t have to leave them, anyway. If she had to die, that was where she wanted to be. “Can we stay like this?” she said. “I just don’t wanna see it coming.”

She’d died so many times before, but somehow this felt different. It wasn’t about the pain. It was knowing she was leaving Laudna behind, knowing she would never see her smile or hear her laugh again, knowing they would never find each other and get a little house with a garden together. It hurt more than any death she’d experienced.

“Of course,” Laudna said. One more earthquake signaled the fall of the Red Forest, and her arms tightened around Imogen. The others would be there soon, and then it would be over. Laudna would hold Imogen, of course, of course, but she couldn’t lay a hand against her. It would have to be one of the others.

They filed into the barn several too-short minutes later, silent and aware of the weight of the situation. Ashton sat on one side of them, Orym on the other, and Fearne and Chetney knelt down across from them.

Ashton met her eyes, the question as clear on their face as it would have been if they’d spoken it: Is there any way to fix this?

Laudna shook her head and choked back a sob. She had to be strong for Imogen.

It wasn’t easy. Chetney took the responsibility, unusually solemn as he chose a weapon from those they had pilfered from the other killers. Something that would work fast, with as little pain as possible.

Laudna couldn’t watch. She closed her eyes and touched her forehead to Imogen’s, whispering I love yous in her ear, and only let the sobs rip through her when Imogen stopped breathing in her arms.

Imogen didn’t feel the blow. All she felt was Laudna’s cool embrace, the touch of her skin, the warmth of her presence. She didn’t know she was gone until she was suddenly back, violently alive, gasping on the ground.

It was confusing. First, she thought it had been a sloppy kill, and that she was still in the midst of dying, but that wasn’t the case. Things faded when death approached. Now, yhough, they were becoming sharper and clearer. She could feel a breeze on her skin, and she couldn’t see for a moment through the blindingly bright light that shone through the treetops. The sky between the leaves was blue. Birds sang in the boughs.

“Imogen?” Laudna’s worried face appeared over her, and a hand came to rest on her cheek. “Imogen, darling, I’m here. I’ve got you. Are you all right?”

Imogen covered Laudna’s hand with her own and glanced around to take in her surroundings. Her friends were gathered around her, most at enough of a distance to give her space, except Laudna and Fearne. She didn’t know where they were, but the world was alive. The Fog was gone.

“What happened?”

“It worked,” Laudna said with a watery smile. “Your realm collapsed, and we wound up here. With you. Fearne brought you back; we didn’t know if it would work, but you’re back now. It worked.”

Imogen stared at her for a moment. Was this real? It seemed too good, like it must be the Entity’s last sick trick. Is this real? she asked mentally.

It’s real, Laudna replied, and the music of her voice in Imogen’s head was enough to solidify the sentiment.

She couldn’t wrap her head around it. She was alive. Laudna was alive. There was no Fog, no threat of the Entity finding them, no trials, no killers. This was the real world, and now they could breathe.

She didn’t know whether it was the fresh air, the fuzziness in her head post-death, or simple joy, but Imogen suddenly lost all inhibition and pushed herself up on her elbows to catch Laudna’s lips in her own. She didn’t have a chance to regret the impulse before Laudna leaned into it, desperately kissing her back as if she’d been wanting this for as long as Imogen had.

And she had been. Laudna thought she would be nervous to kiss anyone, let alone someone whose presence she craved so deeply, but she wasn’t. It felt right, and soft, and wonderful, and the feeling lingered when they parted, her head buzzing with giddiness.

Ashton cleared their throat. “You two better get a room before this goes any further,” they said lightheartedly, and they smiled down at Imogen. “I’m glad you made it. Wouldn’t have been the same without you.”

Imogen’s face flushed deeply as she sat up the rest of the way, but she couldn’t bother giving any mind to the embarrassment. Not when her life had suddenly flipped from being over to just beginning. “Thanks,” she said. “Me, too.”

“What now?” Laudna said. Her hand lingered on Imogen’s arm, seeking the warmth that reminded her this was real. Imogen absentmindedly took it in her own hand and threaded their fingers together, her violet scars providing a sharp contrast to Laudna’s pale grey skin. She thought it might be the most beautiful thing she’d ever seen, besides, of course, Imogen herself.

“We find out where we are, I guess,” Orym said. “And then…I don’t know.” He laughed. “I’m dying to eat something. It’s been so long.”

“I’m dying for a fucking drink,” Ashton said.

“A nice bed,” Fearne added. “With sheets.”

Imogen and Laudna exchanged a fond smile. “Sounds like we need an inn, then,” Imogen said. “Anyone got any money?”

“Oh, please. Where do you think I got the diamond to bring you back?” Fearne began picking coins out of her hair and tossing them into a pile on the ground. “The Entity didn’t check here when it took my things. Dumb bitch.”

“Do you need to rest for a bit?” Orym asked Imogen.

“Yeah, if that’s all right,” Imogen said. As much as she wanted food and drink and a warm bed, who knew how far away that might be? Right now, she just wanted to lie down and look at the trees and the sky and feel the warmth of the sun on her skin.

She lay back down, and Laudna lay beside her, resting her head on Imogen’s chest. She’d be lying if she said she wasn’t still shaken by what she’d thought had been Imogen’s permanent death, but she could relax now. Imogen was safe. Her chest rose and fell slowly beneath her head, and a stray lock of lavender hair rested over her shoulder. Laudna reached out to twist it between her fingers, marveling at the way the strands shone in the sun.

Her own hair was still limp and lifeless, like the rest of her. She’d hoped before that if they escaped the Fog, her body would go back to normal, but she wasn’t too upset about it. After all, she had friends now who didn’t care what she looked like. And she had Imogen. This was the only body Imogen had ever known, and she still loved her, and that was enough.

How’s it feel? Imogen asked in her head. You were in there longer than most of us. Is it weird to be back?

A little, Laudna said, but it feels incredible.

Imogen could tell through their open connection that Laudna was talking more about her than about the real world, and warmth spread in her chest as she tucked her chin to kiss the top of Laudna’s head.

Yeah, Imogen said. It does to me, too.

[ladyzayinwonderland]

🌱

[vhagarlovebot]

hello, besties! i’m here to say that being an adult is fucking exhausting. i’m currently looking for a job— like desperately looking for a job, and also looking for roommates because the ones i have are moving out. so, as you can see, i don’t have the time or the mental capacity to write right now. i hope you understand and wait for me :( i swear i’m going to be back as soon as all of these things are solved. 🥺

thank you all for your sweet messages and good wishes, it’s everything i need right now! gonna be back soon. 💗✨

[balladetto]

notes for link's to make a home of this body verse ( mostly for me to keep track of things ).

he does end up getting biggoron's sword again and really appreciates it! his preferred blade up until a certain incident. the gilded sword seems about the length of the master sword so would probably stick around in his inventory? in any case, is the one he reaches for more after that.

unsure if he has to become a squire or gets knighted via special treatment, but keeps some connection to the royal family. whether he rooms in hyrule castle or finds his own place elsewhere will be flexible in most plotting.

still travels, just in shorter stints than his globetrotting post-mm and much less aimlessly. is more comfortable in having a homeland to return to. the stability in having a place at all to come back to helps where it mostly felt like something to run away from in the first 80% of the world: unmoved.

proficient in sign language! will exclusively use this with strangers and acquaintances, leans on it with friends he verbally speaks with. facilitates his communication lots, especially when he's not in the mood or headspace for using his voice.

slightly better with verbal speech. still quiet though, and has really grown into Thinking A Lot as opposed to returning to the comparative chattiness of his kokiri forest years ( lmao you thought main verse link was meandering with his thoughts [I HOPE YOU DID, THAT'S THE INTENT—]? wait until you see this old fucking man ).

now some level of literate! reads better than he writes, this counts for all stages of life. with friends and other loved ones, still prefers being read aloud to.

remains the same about touch. there are generally more people he's better about it with, but the levels of that will vary for each person. plot-dependent, really.

ace. demi who vibes like he's aro for all that he thinks about romance in any depth unprompted ( which is never ). tentatively open for shipping because i am uncertain of anyone outside of one person who'd want to, though i must stress that it may be the slowest ever burn. from childhood friends slow burn. seriously, guy does not fall in love so much as he sinks into it at such a pace that it doesn't consciously register to him that he's there. the likeliest to accidentally confess anything and have any Oh. moments after that.

wanted to talk about the transformation masks here. but i realise i have to talk about them in the context of the main verse first...

has compartmentalised every single feeling related to navi and her departure without actually processing a lot of them and deems it sufficient in "coming to terms with her". he has not come to terms with her. he has actually come to terms with her even less than his childhood self ( in that he thinks it's all very fine and that he's totally okay with never seeing her again and never getting that closure and so what if his feelings of being Too Much for anyone have intensified since then and so what if his issue with intimacy probably stems from this and. and. and. stop looking at him ).

[qqtxt]

[🍬] update!

hi lovelies! i was just updating the 500 followers mini fics masterlist and i just wanted to let ya’ll know that i’d be closing the requests end of tomorrow! so for those who want to throw in an extra thing or two, you still have time to send them in but i figured it’s best to close it so that i can actually wrap it up and continue with the other works i have in mind to continue after this event!

the next event will probably come when we hit another milestone, so worry not! (or even without a milestone, i might have another event like this based on another prompt list!) but i just want to be able to close the requests in some way so i can put a stop!

requests will be closed end of tomorrow, 24th of feb 12:00AM, malaysia time.

you can refer to this masterlist to avoid requesting for something that’s already requested! (duplicates will not be written!)

[httyd-art-requests]

For pride times tm could I request an agender flag/pride Sandbuster perhaps? [Also its great to see requests open again!! I absolutely adore your art!!]

EXCELLENT color choice for this dragon! [Thank you so much! ^^ Glad to have you here]

Dragon #99 - Agender Sandbuster

[junosmindpalace]

Hi!! I saw that you write for Saiki K, but it's been a while since you have. So i wanted to know, do you still write for the show? And if you do are ur requests open? ^^ If not thats fine!!! Just wanted to know.

Hi there!! I absolutely still do write for Saiki K ! i just haven't received any requests related to it hence the lack of content (and also because i've been a little out of the loop in regards to content...)

my requests are CLOSED for now, and i'll be putting a notice on my pinned in a bit, just because its pretty full and i'd like to finish the ones i already have before taking some new ones :) feel free to write a request regardless, however!

[writing-whump]

45 chapters in before the Reveal even happens. I think everything is set up enough lol. Anything else that needs to happen before? I got a few things I want to start and then get to the Truth, Aftermath and Isaiah's collapse and Recovery