#and I feel so bad and guilty because that’s his primary love language

[muneca-lemon-steppa]

Congratulations!

Can you do “Why do you need my approval?” W/Santiago Garcia?

Thanks!

100 Follower Celebration: Don’t Be Stupid

Santiago ‘Pope’ Garcia x F!Reader

Warnings: Aggressive and Possessive Santi, language, allusions to creepy older men, bad Spanish because I’m a no sabo

A/N: Hello angels!!! I know that this isn’t my typical bread and butter but… this is my guilty pleasure and I had soooooo much fun writing this. A couple of housekeeping measures… I am a no sabo kid. To my non Latinx friends that means that while I am Latinx, and did speak Spanish as a primary language for the first 5 years, I was moved to another part of the country and lost my ability to speak Spanish. So I’m trying to learn it again. It’s hard. For my Spanish speaking sisters and brothers, give me so grace, because I am trying. Secondly, I think I have two more 100 follower Drabbles, and then we can finish Interviews for New Beginnings and the other requests I got! Love you all so much my darlings!! Have a wonderful dayyyyy - Mo 💕

Summer nights in Florida were always far too hot. It was the price of living in paradise. The heat of the afternoon's sun baked into the pavement and stucco walls now radiated back onto your thinly covered body. The surrounding water made the air far too wet, and immediately upon going into the outside air did you feel the thin film of sweat and honeyed air cling to your face, arms and legs. Summer nights were brutal in heaven.

But you would never leave it. Not for a million dollars. And neither would your Delta Force boys.

It was on these brutal nights where you tried to beat the heat and the stickiness by going out to the dive bars in Ybor City, the smaller and rowdier younger sister of Tampa. The crowds were easy to get lost in, and the music was thumping no matter where you stood; which was just the medicine you and your friends needed on a night like this.

In the back corner of such a bar, you were squished between Frankie and Santi, trying to fit in the massive and unruly Ben and Will to this too small table. "Whats good boys!? And baby girl, looking beautiful as always." Ben laughed out with a toothy grin. He was always all too happy to be with you all. And if a night out also involved a couple drinks, he was more in paradise than usual.

You laughed mirthlessly at his flirtatious jokes. He always threw one your way whenever he got the chance. You only wished that Pope would do the same.

Though you met the rest of the boys when you joined the Delta Force, you had actually known Santi since middle school. Your mom moved you both to the apartment next to his back in the 6th grade. When the creepy older men were harassing you on the way down to the school bus, Santi stepped in. And from that day on you never walked to the bus, or rode the bus alone. He kept the creeps and bullies away. You helped him with his math homework. Perfect partners. Best friends. A perfect pair. And God how you were in love with him.

You both had had your flings and boyfriends and girlfriends. But they all came and went. You were there and he was there when it eventually went to out the window. Some times you wondered if maybe he felt the same ache in his chest as you. But you pushed it to the side. He never saw you that way. He never would. You were best friends. A sister to him. It would never be more. And it never bothered you until recently. Maybe it was because you were getting older. Maybe it was because your girlfriends were having babies and in serious and solid relationships. Yet you were still here. Drinking barely cool enough beer with the Delta Force ding bats. You loved them. You loved them more than life and would and have put your life on the line for them. But you were getting older. You wanted to be seen as a woman. Not just another teammate.

Santi smirked and ruffled your head like a child, messing up the hair you had corralled into a pony tail, "Chiqitita muñeca is pissy tonight. Heat is getting too much for her."

You rolled your eyes and pushed him away. Frankie looked up from his ever present hat, "Pissed because she is stuck next to you and you won't let her up. Querida vamos. Let's get you another drink. This white boy at the bar has been giving you eyes all night and I wanna put him out of his misery."

Benny and Will whooped and laughed and your eyes widened, "Fish stop no he's not."

Frankie stood up, stretching out his long limbs and shaking his head, "He is. C'mon you haven't been putting yourself out there and it's dumb."

Frankie was right. You hadn't. In the past 3 years you hadn't even gone on a date because you were hoping, HOPING, that Santi would maybe make a move. That he would do something. But he hadn't. And you were tired of waiting. Frankie pulled you by the hand out of the booth and out of Santi's orbit. You smoothed out your cotton sundress, turning to the rest of the boys in the booth you hold yourself out to be appraised, "Yay or nay? Do I look gross?"

Will gave a thumbs up while Beni gave theatrical worshipping bows, "Hot sexy hot sexy hot sexy. Go get em tiger."

You noticed that Pope hadn't said anything, you turned to him waiting, "Pope??"

Eyes stern and cold he didn't even look up from his beer, "Why do you need my approval?"

You stomach dropped, and your face crumpled. Frankie rolled his eyes, "Coño la madre, don't listen to Pope you know how he gets when he's PMSing. You look nice. C'mon white boy is waiting. "

White boy was indeed waiting for you. His name was Connor. Clean cut. Not a Florida native which you clocked before you even made it up there. Worked in financing in downtown. Loved the Florida lifestyle but was still getting used to it. Super polite. Cute. And wanted to get to know you and buy you drinks and call you pretty. Soon any insecurity you had about Pope was miles away.

Frankie was pleased with himself, and brought back a round of beers to the table. Will and Benny were snickering in their seats, and Santi... well... Santi was fuming.

"What the fuck was that Fish?"

Smirking, he took a sip of his drink, "Que paso? No te queires chiqitita si?"

"Cabron, tu sabes quiero ella."

Benny cut in, "Hey hey hey. Don't let the gringos out man! Pope why are you getting pissed off? Nothing happened?"

Will spoke up, "He's pissed because Frankie basically delivered Chiqi to khakis boy over there."

Benny shrugged, "And??"

Will turned to him, looking as if Benny had grown another head, "And... Pope has been in love with Chiqi this entire time?? And Frankie knows that?? Benny did you get too many punches to the head or something?"

Benny’s eyes widen. The pieces fitting together. Will rolled his eyes, but Santi couldn’t care less. He was enraged with Fish. And Fish didn’t even care!! Fish knew that Santi had been in love with you for years. That he wanted you more than anything or anyone. That he had purposefully cut in on past relationships to keep you to himself. That he had building the courage to finally ask you to be his and only his. And yes here comes Fish. Delivering you to some… to some guy at a bar?

Frankie finished his beer and looked into his best friend’s eyes, “Hermano… I love you man. But you’re being a little bitch. No in fact you’ve been a bitch. Chiqi has been free and available for three years and you’ve done nothing about it. She’s clearly head over heels for you and you have been tiptoeing around it for no reason. You’re stupid. Chiqi deserves more. And if you’re angry about it you can go fix it.”

Frankie held his arm opened, lighting the way to you. He saw you laughing, your smile bright, things that he wanted to reserve for him and him alone. The things he had said were for him. The moment he saw Khaki’s hand brush up on your thigh, he saw red. He downed the rest of the beer that Frankie had gotten for him, and pushed his way out of the booth. The whoops and laughs from his brothers faded into the buzz behind him as he made his way to you.

“So… if it’s alright with you, I’d really like to take you out to dinner. Maybe next week?”

Connor was cute you thought. Not the same breathtaking handsomeness that Santi had, but Connor looked sweet. He looked honest. He would do for a boyfriend. You smiled, about to accept and give him your number, when Santi shoves himself in between you and Connor. “Oye Chiqi. Come dance.”

Connor gets up to look at you, “Hey man she’s with me relax.”

Santi turned around, “She’s not actually she came with me.”

You pushed Santi’a shoulder, “What the hell bro? Connor I’m sorry. This is Santi, we grew up together and he’s stupid protective and drunk. Santi can you please go back with Frankie I’m talking to someone.”

Without looking away from Connor Santi answers, “mm not drunk. I’m just making clear what’s mine.”

Connor looks at you and then Santi. Before he sheepishly smiles, “It was nice meeting you. I hope you guys figure things out.”

Connor walks away and you feel the rage building inside you, as Santi triumphantly turns back to you. You shove Santi’s shoulder, barely moving him, “You’re such a fucking asshole Pope. What the fuck is wrong with you?”

“Dance with me.”

“I’m not fucking dancing with you.”

He rolls his eyes and pulls you to the dance floor despite your protests, your skin burning in shock and anger where his hand clutches your wrist. You make it to the center, him hungrily grasping at your waist. You’re pissed off but also so confused at this change in temperature. Santi won’t stop looking at you. Those dark lashes attempting to hypnotize you back into his orbit. He brings his mouth to your ear, “When’s the last time you danced with me Chiqi?”

You scoffed, but brought your arms to wrap around his neck as he tugged you closer, chest to chest, “Senior prom. After Michael Vazquez left me for Torrence Sheltzer. And I stepped on your toes all night.”

He laughed, “Michael was such an idiot.”

You stay like that. The bass coursing through your body, right in time with the pounding of your heart against Santi’s chest. He was always a good dancer. Too good of a dancer, it was almost obscene the way he had you moving against him. You don’t know how long you had been spinning, and you had to rest your head on his shoulder because of how light headed you became.

“You shouldn’t have done that Pope. He was nice.”

“He was a wimp. Wouldn’t be able to take care of you.”

“What you’re going to chase away any man who comes up to me? I’m tired of being alone.”

“You’re not alone. You have me.”

“You know what I mean.”

He pulled your face off his shoulder to make you look in his eyes, “I do know. And i know what I said. You have me. You’re mine. I’m yours.”

You feel tears in your eyes. Either from the smoke, the alcohol, or the embarrassment, “Santi stop being stupid. You’re being mean. You know I love you and you’re making fun of me.”

He presses his dry lips to the tear that escapes your eye, then puts his forehead to yours, “I’m not Chiqi. I’m not. Chiqi I’ve loved you since the 8th grade. I’ve hated every one of your little boyfriends and I’ve coveted you for years. I’m not joking.”

“Then why haven’t you said anything? Why didn’t you come get me when I was right here?”

The tears fall more now. And he keep kissing your cheeks to remove them, “Because I’m an asshole. I’m a fucking asshole who was too afraid of you saying no. Too afraid of when you left. I didn’t want to lose you. But I can’t take it anymore Chiqi. I can’t take another boyfriend. I’m selfish. I’m a selfish asshole. I want you for myself. I want you to yell at me and call me stupid as long as it means you never leave my place and you never leave my side. Cmon Chiqi…. Let me call you mine.”

You stared at him. He was telling the truth. He was being raw and real and you knew that this wasn’t some act. This was Santi in his rawest form. He wanted you. You brought your hand around to squeeze his cheeks together, “I want you to take me on a date. A real one. Not the bar or the bowling alley with the boys. I want dinner that you pay for. And flowers. And for you to wear a real shirt.”

He shakes your hand off and smiles, “Tomorrow night. I take you to The Colombia. I pick you up. With roses.”

“Do I get to order flan?”

He smiles even wider, “Only if you let me feed it to you like those stupid romance books you read.”

You shove him and he laughs and pulls you closer, “Kiss me and seal the deal Chiqitita. C’mon don’t be mad. Kiss me and tell me you’re mine.”

You couldn’t keep yourself from laughing, making him work for your kiss. You finally relent, pulling him in for the best kiss ever. The best kiss of your life. Until tomorrow’s

#triple frontier #triple frontier fanfiction #santiago garcia x reader #santiago garcia #Santiago ‘pope’ Garcia #santiago garcia x you #Santiago Garcia x y/n #oscar isaac #Oscar Isaac Characters #100 follower celebration

[wickjump]

Wick, i wanna hear your thoughts on horror x cross..I’m desperate to hear someone talk about them. Idc how crazy or how ooc it is. trust that I will eat it up like it’s a million dollar steak

OH MY GOD THNAK YOU SO MUCH VIBINGTOPAZ IVE BEEN WAITING FOR SO LONG FOR SOMEONE TO ASK ME ABOUT THEM WORDS CANT EXPLAIN HOW HAPPY OKAY HERE YOU TO HERES A BIG FAT HEADCANON DUMP. i never see them outside of bsp and don’t get me wrong i love the bsp but sometimes i just want these two on their own yk? this is a bit more fanon than my normal stuff btw but i try my best ok

okok here:

when cross first joined nm and his group he was terrified of horror. he was intimidated by everyone, but horror was the most visibly scary. like there was just no ignoring the fact that this guy killed people before like he ignored it with everyone else. so for a good long while he kept his distance, and it was horror who tried to reach out first after months of never talking despite living in the same building, eating at the same table, and working under the same guy.

it was very clear that talking to cross just at all scared the shit out of him, and since horror is in charge of the cooking, he decided hey why not, and started making foods that appealed to cross as a sort of peace offering. after a while, cross realized what horror’s intent was, and slowly started to come around. he even attempted to give horror food in return (a few of the chocolate bars he had squirreled away) which solidified them as allies and set the foundation for them to develop a further friendship and relationship.

food is their initial and primary love language because it was a medium they could both work with when they first started becoming friends—horror enjoyed being given and giving food purely because he HAS it, and he’s able to make sure he and those he loves are fed, and cross had cooked with undyne alongside his brother and knows the basics of it and enjoys it. cross is literally the only one allowed in the kitchen outside of horror and nightmare, partially bc horror loooovesss him and partially because he’s actually responsible. horror makes him brownies sometimes just because he can btw. or like those chocolate taco desserts? cross loves those so horror makes them. all the time. cross does not mind he likes it a lot actually it’s very sweet

horror and cross are the epitome of i would kill for you (horror) x i would die for you (cross). they’re both very very intense but in different ways and i love that for them. cross takes blows on the battlefield meanwhile horror attacks those on behalf of cross when the other hesitates or refuses to kill (which is all the time cross at heart is a pacifist).

i also feel like they’d be big on physical touch but maybe i’m just super lonely. they’re devoted in different ways and i like that for them. they seem like big ‘kiss on the hand’ people yk what i’m talking about. like the back of your hand kiss. that. i also think they’re one of those cringe ass couples who like. do the waist grabby from behind when they’re cooking or generally working. ew cringe romance (i would die for them). neck kisses too. and biting but that tips into suggestive territory. they’d be big on that though

oh hey angst time. horror feels guilty and somewhat disturbed whenever cross mentions alphys, because of his au’s alphys incident, and it’s the same with undyne. cross was very close with both of them, more so than horror ever was despite having been alphys’ coworker at one point (after all, alphys was cross’ sister), and he feels bad because like. cross speaks so highly of alphys and undyne, but horror tore apart alphys’ mind and undyne is literally the cause of his most visible scar. he feels guilt for what he did, and refuses to elaborate on his au’s alphys and undyne for the most part because he doesn’t want to fuck cross up with the knowledge of the things horror did, the things alphys did, the things undyne did. thankfully after getting the hint that horror did not like mentions of undyne, cross stopped mentioning his undyne pretty much entirely and speaks of alphys a little bit less, and they never really elaborated on that fully outside of choppy confessions during panic attacks.

meanwhile, cross doesn’t understand why horror never visits his au, or at least his brother. because horror is ABLE to, he has his au right there, but he just… never visits? none of his family, his friends? cross would kill and die for the chance to get his au back, but horror doesn’t care for his? horror feeds them and that’s it, he doesn’t remember the last time horror just took a break to visit his family. cross would sacrifice his own life for even a sliver of a chance of getting his family back. it’s not until he fully understands how horrifying horror’s au is that he doesn’t resent him as much for it.

their clashing views and experience are hard to look past, but in the end they love each other enough to empathize with each other and the situations they’d come from. horror has issues with remembering and articulating things from time to time combined with severe migraines, so cross helps him with those. horror meanwhile gets cross to sit the fuck down and take care of himself jesus christ man because what do you mean this asshole is INTENTIONALLY starving himself. fym “i feel like i haven’t earned it lol” sit the fuck down and eat this food i LOVINGLY PREPARED. GOD. they help each other w their issues and bad habits. cross works himself to near death? okay shut up i’m going to forcibly lift you up and carry you to your room and lock you inside until you go to sleep. horror throws up after eating because he can’t handle that much food? cross is there to help him through it. i like them a lot. they r there for each other through their highs and lows.

since i hate xchara exclusion i think xchara like absolutely fucking despises horror. not because he’s evil and mean and grrr to cross, but he just genuinely does not trust horror and cannot believe that he has any sort of good intentions. xchara sort of fueled cross’ doubt about him for a while, though as time moved on and horror didn’t seem to have any harmful ulterior motives, xchara toned down on the whole ‘he is going to kill you don’t blink around him or you will die’ talk. not entirely but you know. he’s always got the ‘i’ve got my eye on you’ look whenever horror is anywhere near them but horror doesn’t know that unfortunately. he doesn’t get the pseudo brother stamp of approval. horror’s brother likes cross a lot though, especially because cross is literally the exact opposite of lazy and unhealthy and encourages self care of others (not himself, the absolute loser). like out of anyone he could’ve ended up with, horror’s brother (creeps? crooks? sugar??) likes cross the best i think.

ok speed round: cross is the type to not notice when anyone is interested in him, just at all. most frustrating months of horror’s life really. horror packs little trail mix baggies for cross when he goes out on missions or patrol. this is just cause i think it’s cute. purring skeletons, i like purring skeletons it’s my favorite thing ever and i think they should get to purr together and lay down in bed for hours on end half asleep half awake just existing together. when cross saw his very first colored sunset horror was there and that definitely furthered the at the time small spark of romance. cross, bc he’s a swap, is much more of a superhero nerd than a science nerd like horror, and they bicker over whether or not they watch a documentary or action movie. i think they don’t bicker like killer and dust do, they bicker in like. the very clearly lighthearted and cutesy way that doesn’t last long. it’s more like banter actually. gags

ok that’s it (for now…..) because i don’t want this to be too-too long. i love them and i was so so so so SO excited when you asked me this omg. i love asks like these i cannot stress this enough. ask me whatever you want whenever you want and i will answer. if it doesn’t seem like i have, that’s because it’s in my drafts and being worked on because sometimes i’m unsure or have half finished thoughts i want to put the effort in fleshing out later bc y’all deserve headcanons that aren’t half baked. anyway i will literally never get tired of this it’s so fun

#way more fanon than usual #like wayyy more fanon #but stfu i’m having fun over here #and i cannot see them in canon or canon adjacent ever probably #they’re far too different #horror sans #cross sans #horrorcross #cross x horror #horror x cross #bad sanses #sanscest #utmv

[paperbackribs]

20 Questions for fic writers

tagged by the lovely @finntheehumaneater 💜

How many works do you have on AO3? 18

What’s your total AO3 word count? 193,735

What fandoms do you write for?

Stranger Things and The Rookie

What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

A pretty flower for a pretty boy

Swift Wings and a Brave Heart

The Gift

A lavendar pin in his pocket

Clear Lungs, Full Heart

Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

Absolutely! Definitely! How could I not? Lovely people have made the effort to tell me that I'm not posting into the void and I want to do the same for them. Plus, I just really like talking to commentors: they have interesting insights, or funny takes, or simply observed something that struck them and it's always fun to talk to them. Especially with the regulars who often comment; I feel like I've struck up a friendship with them.

What is the fic you wrote with the angstiest ending?

A microfic called The Bar. It's for The Rookie fandom and in it Tim gets increasingly drunk after his addict wife stole from his home and guilty reflects how relieved he is that he never told her his secret about being a selkie.

What’s the fic you wrote with the happiest ending?

Like, all of them lol? I like to end my stories with people in love and a bright future ahead of them. Laughter and soft kisses are often how I fade out of a fic.

Do you get hate on fics?

No, but I think you have to be a certain size before you start attracting the haters.

Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

Yes, but honestly it's one of my weaknesses - it just doesn't come naturally. But in Tarnished Copper Boy it's been about trust and handing over control. In The Gift it was a reflection of pent-up, forbidden attraction.

Do you write crossovers? What’s the craziest one you’ve written?

No. But I think if I did it'd be because I'd want to borrow the other universe's magic/fantasy structure.

Have you ever had a fic stolen?

lol I hope not.

Have you ever had a fic translated?

Nah, but I did accidentally click on my bookmarks for Tarnished Copper Boy once (I forbid myself from reading bookmarks usually) and saw that there was a comment in cyryllic (?) or something. (This was a while back so I can't remember fully but) I think the comment translated to 'sweet pain.' 💜

Have you ever co-written a fic before?

negatory

What’s your all time favorite ship?

steddie

What’s a WIP you want to finish but doubt you ever will?

secretly omega Steve forced to take meds to appear as an alpha. he agrees to getting off with alpha Eddie but frequently makes sure that the lights are off and that touching only happens in certain ways that he controls. Eddie at first thinks its a reflection on him but increasingly suspects something is up until finally unravelling the mystery. there's definitely some Steve Harrington Has Bad Parents in there, but also some nuance about them genuinely wanting what's best for him.

What are your writing strengths?

I'm told dialogue and characterisation. and, honestly, that's where I have the most fun so it'd make sense that readers pick that up

What are your writing weaknesses?

description. I literally can't imagine anything in my head. have you seen that thing where ppl are asked to imagine an apple and there's a scale of ppl can see it in their head to not at all? I'm not at all. so I do a lot of online imagery research to help flesh my writing out.

Thoughts on writing dialogue in another language in fic?

I generally avoid it because because I want it to sound natural and I don't think I'll hit the mark.

First fandom you wrote for?

X-files. During reading time in primary school I'd ask the teacher if I could write instead, and tried shipping them before I even knew the word.

Favorite fic you’ve written?

A Tarnished Copper Boy. It probably has the least love compared to my other fics, but that could be because it's a very large fic and chapters reflect that too, so it may be hard to invest in weekly (or, at least, that's what I tell myself haha). But I truly put my heart and soul into it, and I simply love it.

No pressure tags: @solarmorrigan 💜

#tag games #paperbackribs writing

[princessbatears]

Not Quite Casual - Chapter 4

Casa Werewolf Series #4

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3

Pairing: Javi Gutierrez x Werewolf Single Mom f!Reader Summary: When Javi comes over for supper, you find him opening up your heart in new and profound ways Warnings: mild TUWOMT spoilers, language, discussion of child-on-child bullying and violence, some alcohol consumption, grief, discussion of parental/spousal death, discussion of fatal car accident Words: 3k

The Wolf is smug as you drive the couple of miles to Bo’s school. I told you he’s trustworthy!

As usual, she’d been right.

The earring excuse had not been smooth, especially considering the time of the morning you’d barged in. And being on the verge of a meltdown while you wandered through his house hadn’t been great, either. But, somehow, it’d turned out so much better than you ever could have expected.

Javi’s immediate, self-directed action to destroy the footage of your children had demolished your reservations about him. Then, his gentleness with you and surprisingly open response to lycanthropy had made you feel incredibly safe.

You want to be around him. You want your children around him. And you know he wants to be around you, too. His interest in you would be obvious to someone who isn’t a werewolf, but you also smell the changes in his body chemistry and hear how his heart beat quickens when you’re close. You like it. A lot.

Is that something you should be feeling guilty for?

It’s been 34 moons since Ivan. Wolf’s gentle in her reminder. We want another mate, you know we do.

Again, she’s right. A part of you will always love and grieve your late husband, but you’ve still got so much life ahead of you. You want a partner and you want your children to have a father. Maybe there could even be another baby or two.

A deep yearning rises in you, but you force it back down as you park in the primary school’s parking lot. You need to focus on Bo right now; your other desires can come later.

Being late doesn’t earn you any points with Bo’s principal or the parents of the boy he assaulted. The parents demand Bo be expelled and/or charges be pressed against him. You manage to calmly explain Bo’s side of the events, which the parents claim could not have happened because their son “isn’t a bully.”

There’s a moment when you’re certain things are going to get very bad, but the principal, who looks like he’d literally rather be anywhere else, finally pulls up a cell phone video on his computer. It turns out that another student had filmed the other boy’s vitriolic attack on Astrid before the brawl began, coming forward with it after Bo ran away.

You feel a slightly demented pleasure at watching the other parents’ faces grow sick as they witness their precious son’s cruelty. They stammer out how they don’t know where he could have learned such a thing, blah, blah, blah.

The principal ends up suspending both boys for the remaining two days of the week and threatening to expel them should such a thing happen again. No more bullying of any kind will be tolerated.

For you, it’s better than you’d hoped, so you’re grateful. You thank the principal, smile too sweetly at the couple, and walk out into the hall to wait for Bo to be sent out.

About five minutes later, a teacher’s assistant walks Bo into you. His heart is hammering and he’s got that hard set to his jaw that he gets when he’s upset.

The TA tells you, “He’s got all of his assignments for the rest of the week.”

You take Bo’s backpack from him. “Let’s go home.” Hand resting soothingly on his shoulder, you guide him out of the building.

“Are you mad?” he finally asks once you reach the parking lot.

“No, just concerned.”

“But you were all upset this morning!” His voice trembles.

Shit, of course the kids picked up on your anxiety. Normal children know when their parents are upset, but werewolf children can sense all the changes in body chemistry, so it heightens their perception.

Pausing, you crouch in front of him. “I wasn’t upset about that, I promise. I had some grown-up things on my mind, which have been taken care of.” You don’t know when you’ll tell your kids what happened with Javi, but you definitely want them to be all together.

“How long am I kicked out of school for?”

“Just the rest of the week.” Stroking his cheek, you shrug. “We’ll make sure you don’t get behind. You can do your school work while I do my work.”

He makes a face.

“This isn’t vacation, Bo. You can’t get behind.”

“Okay,” Bo sighs.

You start walking to the car again. “You know, that other kid got suspended, too.”

He perks up at this. “Arlo got suspended?"

“Yep. I guess one of your classmates filmed him being cruel and then the fight. So, that’s some justice.”

Looking up at you tentatively, he asks, “Did you see the fight?”

You nod solemnly. “I did. And I stand by what I said last night. We need to find a way to help you deal with your feelings that doesn’t result in hurting someone unnecessarily. I’m thinking about ways. And I’d like you to come up with some things that you feel might help, too.”

Bo nods.

He’s old enough to be hunting, the Wolf chides.

The triplets have reached an age where they should be hunting during the full moon, but you’ve been putting it off by enrolling Bo and Tallulah in soccer to help stimulate them physically and mentally. Astrid gets too nervous during competitive activities, so you just make sure she runs around after school every day.

But Bo’s violent outbursts might be an indication that, in addition to the stress of losing his father and moving countries at such an early age, he needs to actually be engaging his Wolf more. And that means you need to figure out what to do before the full moon next week.

When you pick the girls up from school later that day, there’s thankfully little drama about Bo’s suspension. They make sure he’s not too upset before chattering about their own days. Tallulah proudly shares that she’s already the top reader of the class three weeks into the school year and Astrid is very concerned about a purple paint spot in her dress.

After setting them up with a snack and pre-treating Astrid’s dress, you join them at the kitchen table. “After you finish eating, I want you to clean up your rooms. Javi is coming for supper.”

All three pairs of eyes raise to you excitedly. “Can we go to the park? I want to show him my backflip!” Astrid grins.

“We’ll see if he has time” you smile. You’ve decided to see how this supper goes before telling the kids that he knows you’re all werewolves. You need to know if he can actually handle what he knows before giving them a reason to let their guard down more.

While they begin the process of tidying their rooms, which will honestly take all afternoon considering how easily they get distracted, you turn on some music and begin cooking.

There’s a thrill to preparing the meal that you haven’t felt in a long, long time. Even though this isn’t an official date with Javi, but it still feels like something not quite casual.

“My books go on that side!” Tallulah snaps from the girls’ bedroom.

Astrid’s quick to retort, “Your books take up the whole shelf!"

“I have more books!”

“But that’s more than half!” Then, the expected whine, “Mama, Tallulah–”

Without having to raise your voice, you respond, “I can either make us supper or I can referee your fight. You choose.”

“I want supper!” Bo bellows from his bedroom.

Then, you hear Tallulah and Astrid feverishly arguing in whispers that you could understand if you turned down the music, but you’re not that interested.

As the afternoon fades into evening, there’s a knock on the door. “Can I get it?” Bo asks excitedly, zooming into the kitchen.

“Not this time,” you say. There’s still enough caution in you to want to make sure Javi didn’t decide in the last eight hours that he might not be okay with werewolves, after all. “Go make one last sweep of your room.”

He pouts for a second, but your stern gaze makes him scamper back down the hall.

You walk to the door and unlock the deadbolt while leaving the chain latched to allow only a two inch gap. Javi is standing on your doorstep with a bottle of wine and three small, wrapped boxes. When he sees you, he grins. “¡Buenas noches!”

His body language is relaxed and open and there’s no indication of deception in his heart rate or body chemistry. He really is here just to have a good time.

Smiling, you undo the chain and open the door. “¡Buenas noches! Come in.”

Javi enters and bends towards you, like he might greet you with the customary air kisses, but then stops himself, looking briefly unsure. You lean in instead, pressing your right cheek to his right cheek and making the quick kissing noise in the air. He follows suit. Then, you repeat with the left.

The contact of his slightly scratchy beard and warm skin against yours sends heat through your body. You hear his heart pick up, too. The Wolf paces eagerly inside you.

When you separate, he holds out the bottle of wine. “You said you’re making cod, so I got a white wine. And these are for the niños.” He nods at the boxes.

“That’s so sweet, thank you.” Then, you turn in the direction of the rest of the apartment. “Javi’s here!” You take the bottle of already-chilled wine from him.

There’s a rush of feet as Tallulah, Bo and Astrid skid to a stop in front of Javi, all shouting enthusiastic greetings.

He grins. “These are for you.” He hands a gift to each of them.

They rip into them and are delighted to find a box of assorted chocolates. The chorus of thank yous makes him smile even more broadly.

“Can we have one now?” Bo asks eagerly.

“Just one.” You’re not worried about them ruining their appetites—it’s hard to ruin werewolf appetites—but you don’t want them bouncing off the walls, either.

Bo and Astrid grab the nearest chocolate to shove into their mouths while Tallulah looks at the back of the box, carefully deciding which flavor she wants to eat.

You lead Javi into the living room, the children trailing behind as they eat their treats. “Supper’s almost ready. Please make yourself at home. Would you like a glass of wine now?”

“I’d love one. Is there anything I can do to help?”

While you appreciate him asking, you’re not convinced this man has ever cooked a dish or set a table in his life. “Just relax here with the kids.” You turn to your little pack. “I’ll take the chocolates for later.”

The boxes are reluctantly handed over, along with the wrapping paper and bows. You return to the kitchen to put away everything and pour wine.

From the living room, you hear Javi’s sweet responses to Bo telling his suspension woes and Tallulah reiterate how proud she is of making the first spot on the reading list. He’s patient and knows how to answer in a way that will make them feel heard.

You uncork the wine bottle and pour a couple of glasses. It’s as you’re putting the bottle in the fridge that you hear Astrid saying, “That’s all of us from when we were littler with Mama and Daddy.”

“What a beautiful family,” Javi says warmly.

They must be looking at the gallery wall. A complicated rush of emotions floods you at the idea of another man witnessing your memories with Ivan. Wedding pictures, the one of him kissing your massive, pregnant belly, photos of the triplets as tiny babies, of the five of you through the first few years of their lives.

“Daddy died right after that picture was taken,” Tallulah says somberly. “A really big truck smushed his car. It was the new moon.”

Your stomach tightens at the sadness in her voice.

Javi hums softly. “I’m so sorry, cariño. I can’t imagine how much you miss him.”

“A lot,” Bo sighs.

Grabbing the glasses, you walk to the kitchen doorway and peer out into the living room. Javi is standing with Bo and Tallulah on either side of him in front of the gallery of photographs. At first you can’t see see Astrid, but then you spot her in front of Javi, little fingers hanging onto his big hand. He’s gently rubbing them with his thumb.

Something about the scene makes you want to cry. Maybe it’s how fresh the loss can feel when viewed their young eyes. Maybe it’s how sweet he’s being. Maybe it’s that there’s someone besides you to comfort your children.

You don’t move, not wanting to interrupt.

“And this is Luls and me at fútbol camp!” Bo says excitedly, jolting you out of the spell as he jumps up towards a picture of Tallulah and him this past summer at their camp.

“I painted this picture!” Astrid adds, tugging Javi towards the other end of the wall to where you’ve framed some of her favorite art pieces. She’s most pleased with an excellent rendition of a tiger.

“It’s beautiful!”

You walk over like you’d just arrived and hand Javi his wine glass. “Thank you,” he smiles, although his eyes are searching yours. You smile wider, not wanting to bring down the mood again with your own grief.

“I’m so hungry,” Bo moans, clutching at his stomach.

“Seven minutes, then we can eat.”

Tallulah finally takes her eyes off of the family portrait. “Want to see our rooms?” she asks Javi.

“Yeah! Start with me and Luls room!” Astrid, who still hasn’t let go of Javi’s hand, tries to pull him again.

You interject, “After supper, okay? Let Javi drink his wine.”

“But we’re going to the park after so Javi can see my backflip!”

You’re honestly a little surprised at how comfortable your littlest is with him. While she’d warmed up to him the night before, it usually takes her several visits with someone to want to engage with them on this level.

Turning your gaze back to Javi, you say, “I don’t know how late you can stay, but, if you have time, the children would like to take you to the park across the street.”

He lights up so thoroughly that you swear the room just got brighter. “I would love nothing more!”

The children run across the grass to the playground toys as you walk at Javi’s pace. It’s dusk and the park will be closing soon, so it’s empty of other children.

“Thank you for being so sweet with the kids. Especially about their father,” you say quietly.

“I lost my father a few years ago. Our relationship was complicated, but I understand how intense a loss it can be.”

Your heart goes out to him. “I’m so sorry.”

“Thanks. I can’t imagine losing a parent as little as they were.”

“When it happened, they didn’t really understand death yet. As they’ve gotten older, there’s been new levels of processing and grief.”

He looks at you with that endless earnestness. “That’s a lot, handling your own grief and helping them with theirs. You’re doing an amazing job.”

You take a beat to let the compliment sink in. It’s so easy to get caught up in what you feel like you’re doing wrong that you forget to honor yourself for how much you have done right. “That really means a lot to hear.”

The kids have reached the playground and are now climbing on the monkey bars, laughing and egging each other on.

You and Javi sit on the nearby bench to watch. You smile curiously at him. “You know an awful lot about me and my family, but I don’t know much about you. Aside you have a fish named Marci and no children.”

Chuckling, Javi shrugs. “There’s not much to tell. Never married, although I came close once a few years ago. The olive groves have been in my family a long time. I head the business. My younger brother, David, is an actor based in the U.S. We’re quite close, so I understand some of the bond the niños share.”

Hearing he has a brother he loves so much warms you up to him even more. “Having good family connections really is a blessing.”

Astrid yells from the monkey bars, “Javi, look!”

Javi turns his attention to her. She’s hanging by her knees. Then, she flips off, spinning through the air in a loose fetal position. He gasps, mildly alarmed, until she lands on her feet.

Grinning, he applauds wildly. “That was amazing, Astrid!”

She basks under the glow of his praise and runs to do it again.

For a half hour, you and Javi cheer on the children and chat about your respective jobs. You share that you work part-time for an ex-pat health insurance company that allows you very flexible hours to supplement Ivan’s life insurance money. He explains more about the ins and outs of the olive business and the various products made with them.

You feel such a sense of calmness around him. Not only do you not have to hide your lycanthropy, but you also don’t have to act like you have your life totally together. And it’s so, so nice.

“We need to head home. It’s almost bedtime,” you call to the kids as the sun disappears completely.

As they’re moaning about “five more minutes,” Javi turns to you. His heart rate has picked up and he’s sweating slightly.

He clears his throat. “I really like you, and I would like to see more of you. If you’re not ready or interested, I understand. But, if you are, may I take you to dinner?”

Your whole body heats up excitedly. The Wolf threatens to take over in her enthusiasm, but you manage to keep her inside by pointing out she can’t verbally answer the question like you can. “I would love to. But could we make it lunch next week while the kids are at school? I don’t have anyone to babysit. And Bo’s home the rest of this week.”

Javi beams. “Lunch it is. What about Monday?”

You smile back with a giddiness you haven’t experienced in a long time. “Perfect.”

- - -

Thank you SO much for reading this story; I’d love to hear your thoughts! 🥰

Spanish Translations/Notes: buenas noches - good evening niños - kids cariño - sweetheart/honey/darling

Javi Gutierrez Masterlist

Werewolf Masterlist

#javi gutierrez #javi gutierrez x reader #javi g x reader #the unbearable weight of massive talent fan fic #tuwomt fan fic #javi g #werewolf au #werewolf reader #casa werewolf series

[running-with-kn1ves]

I think you mat have mentioned that the Belsire makes his darling clothes! What kind of outfits does he make for them?

Technically yes! Considering The Belsire creates everything in his realm. He makes it all with ease, using the energy and rejuvenation the last soul gave him to make the world into a replica. It’ll look exactly like his darling’s home, from the creak in the door to the stains and scratches on the walls. Though, he’ll put special care into making the things that are special to his darling; it makes the creature feel comforted by doing so. His primary love languages are acts of service and quality time, so making something for his darling is how he shows he cares.

This man most definitely sews and knits; he’s had decades of time to pass-- whenever he’s not entertaining his next meal-- so he has learned at least a few trade skills. He’ll never admit to it, but The Belsire likes to put special outfits and carvings in his darling’s room. The items don’t stand out a whole lot from the other decorations and clothes, but there’s just a certain amount of uniqueness to his hand-crafted ornaments. Everything appears as a carbon copy, but if you look close enough, you’ll be able to tell the little quirks of differences. Whether it be the amateur-like stitching on a well-worn coat or the special binding on darling's favorite book, The Belsire will spend time making these things just so they’re there to witness.

The Belsire tends to keep the wardrobe the same for his darling; he doesn't want them to notice that he puts special care in a few of their items. Though, I imagine he has a secret stash of cute outfits he wants his darling to wear; whether it be specific fantasies or just cute clothes, he’ll make them all only to hide them away. He has a specific fantasy of darling being willing, and generally being eager to do as he says; in this sense, he’d love to see them in some sort of cute yet almost infantilizing outfit. It helps his ego to see his darling so embarrassed and shy, yet willing to proceed; it’s like a dream come true. But there are more pure scenarios, for example he likes the idea of time period pieces; maybe a frilly Victorian era blouse, or something flashy from the 70s.

It’s seen as a guilty pleasure for him to make these secret intricate outfits, because it’s not something he’d generally have a high regard for. If his darling were to ever find that stash, well… It would not be good. The spider-like being will get beyond furious (mostly out of embarrassment and shame), even if his darling doesn't say anything. Merely out of the fact that darling has some kind of power over him, is threatening. Even if his darling swore to never say anything, to never mention it again, The Belsire would still find some reason to lock them back down in the basement, just to give him peace of mind.

And, let's not forget, this creature will most definitely use his skills and fantasies as an advantage for humiliation. Did his darling do something bad again? Well be prepared to be dressed head to toe in pink and feathers. Even if his darling tries to use his little “hobby” against him at the moment, he can’t take them seriously. It’s the perfect chance for him to fulfill his egocentric fantasies, even if darling isn’t entirely willing. Nothing inflates The Belsire’s ego more than seeing his darling humiliated and begging to be let go.

#the belsire #belsire #the beldam #coraline #coraline au #genderswap #genderbent #coraline x reader #beldam x reader #male beldam #male beldam x reader #belsire x reader #x reader #reader insert #self insert #headcanons #belsire headcanons #beldam headcanons #yandere #yandere content #yandere x reader #fanfiction #coraline fanfiction

[refinedbuffoonery]

I + Can’t + Lose + You (5)

masterlist. AO3. 

It’s still Sunday in my time zone, so HA! I kept my promise! Anyway, this is the last chapter, so thank you all for joining me on this crazy ride. Heads up, the end is ~spicy~ but not like, explicitly filthy (it’s teenager appropriate). Enjoy! 

*****

Riley pulled into Mac’s driveway a few minutes shy of 2:00 am. Her lower back ached, her right leg cramped, and her eyes were bloodshot, but they were finally home. Thank god. Riley didn’t want to drive again for a week. She told Mac as much, earning a chuckle. 

Nearly every joint in her body popped as Riley crawled out of the driver’s seat and stretched, an undignified groan escaping her lips. As if her body was on autopilot, she drifted inside after Mac. 

The house was unbearably hot and stuffy. Dropping her bag by the door, Riley opened her mouth to suggest they divide and conquer opening the bazillion windows in this goddamn house when Mac yanked the fridge open and asked, “Beer?” 

“Now?” 

“Yes, now.” He cracked one open and held it out to her. Sighing, Riley accepted, and Mac opened another for himself. 

Riley took one sip before her bladder felt like it was about to explode. “Oh my god I have to pee so bad,” she announced, scurrying from the room. 

*****

Mac couldn’t help but laugh. He’d offered Riley a beer to stall her from immediately going to bed and to buy himself time to figure out how to tell her he loved her, and now he was going to say “I love you” in the same five minutes as her frantically yelling “I have to pee.” 

Of course. 

But it was the incredulous look on her face when she returned and realized he’d been laughing at her that sent him over the edge, unable to catch his breath as he doubled over in laughter. Riley’s pouting didn’t last long, however, and soon she was hiding her smile between sips of beer, a faint blush creeping up her cheeks. Mac couldn’t help but notice how beautiful she was in that moment, eyes glimmering with amusement despite the exhaustion making her movements sluggish and her shoulders cave inward. Even on her worst days, or under the worst circumstances, Riley exuded warmth, filling up the empty spaces in Mac’s heart like a fire lighting up a hearth. 

She was it for him—his adventure buddy, his drinking buddy, his “look up at the stars and talk about life” buddy, and his best friend all in one. The eye of his stormy life. Every look and every touch felt like safety, like home, and every time she said his name it sounded like the rest of his life. Riley knew every terrible thing he’d ever done and still trusted him anyway, and if that wasn’t love then Mac had no idea what was. 

He just needed to go for it. Take the leap and tell her how he felt. Mac was done wasting his time being afraid of crashing and burning and ruining what he already had. 

For Riley, he’d risk it all.

*****

Riley knew what Mac was gearing up to do when he invited her outside, and for the first time ever, she was ready for it. She leaned on the balcony railing beside him, their shoulders just brushing, and stared out at the city lights gleaming beneath the constant haze that filled the LA basin. Her knuckles accidentally grazed the back of his hand, sending sparks jittering across her skin. Mac mirrored the motion, and her breath hitched. Casually, Riley switched her beer to her other hand, leaving the one closest to Mac free so he could hold it. If he wanted to hold it. 

Even though he’d practically spelled his feelings out already, Riley couldn’t shake the doubt still lingering in her mind. What if he didn’t mean it? What if Mac decided he’d rather just be friends? What if, after an eternity of pining over each other, the spark between them fizzled out like a used-up match? That last scenario would break her heart more than anything else—that no matter how much they both wanted it, they wouldn’t be able to make it work, and they’d implode the same way his relationship with Desi did. 

The thought made her sick. Closing her eyes, Riley imagined crumpling the thought like a piece of paper and throwing it as far away as she could. A big gulp of beer drowned the rest of her doubts. For now. 

When she opened her eyes again, Mac was studying her, no doubt trying to determine what caused the sudden change in her body language. “Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, I’m good.” She brushed her fingers against his, intentionally this time, and he didn’t prod any further. Instead, Mac tentatively laced his fingers with hers, like they were teenagers holding hands for the very first time and not grown-ass adults who’d held hands—with each other, no less—countless times. Just as they always did, Mac’s fingers locked perfectly with hers like it was their primary function. 

The cool ocean breeze did nothing to ease the burning Riley felt every place her skin touched Mac’s. Did he feel it too? Did he ache the way she ached to wrap herself in him and never let go? Mac squeezed her hand, and for a brief moment Riley pretended he’d read her mind and answered, Yes. 

He squeezed again, and Riley lifted her gaze to meet his. “I’m in love with you,” he whispered, searching her eyes. He looked tired and terrified and a little...hopeful. Like that hope was the lighthouse guiding him home with each word that tumbled out of his mouth. “I need you, Riles. I need you in my life so badly I can’t risk losing you because I waited too long to tell you that I’m in love with you.” 

He took a deep breath. “I’m not perfect. Sometimes I’m selfish and self-destructive and get lost in my own head, and I can’t guarantee that I’ll never hurt you. But I would break every bone in my body and give my life over and over again to protect you, and that’s a promise. You’re my best friend. I trust you more than anyone else in the whole world, and you make me feel like any problem can be solved as long as we do it together. I’ve spent forever agonizing over when was the right time to tell you, and earlier today I realized I was just wasting time I could’ve spent building something permanent with you.” Mac’s voice broke. “Because I love you.” 

It was everything Riley ever wanted to hear. And so much more. 

“And if you don’t feel the same way, I get it. I’ll never bring it up—” Riley held a finger to his lips, cutting him off before he gave himself a panic attack. 

“Mac, it’ll always be you. Don’t you get that? If I could have anything I’ve ever wanted in my life, I’d always choose you. Every single time. Because, at the end of the day, you’re the person I want to come home to. You’re the person I want to share my life with. No one else, okay? You can try to push me away and keep on carrying the weight of the world by yourself, but I won’t let you, because starting today we are a team, and on this team no one has to face stuff alone.” 

Riley waited, and when Mac just stared at her instead of saying something back, she realized she’d forgotten the most important part. 

“Because I love you too.” She lifted their joined hands to her lips, pressing a soft kiss to his knuckles. “And nothing will ever change that.” 

Her heart beat so loudly Riley was sure Mac could hear it. 

“Can I kiss you?” he asked, voice hoarse. 

“Yes, but before you do that, I have one question.” 

Mac’s eyes pleaded, Make it quick. 

She teased, “You said you trusted me more than anyone else on earth, but what about the astronauts on the space station?” Mac looked like he wanted to throttle her. “Does that mean you trust them more than me?” 

He sighed, and a faint smile curled his lips. “Never. Now please shut up and let me kiss you.” Tilting her chin up, Mac cupped Riley’s cheek and lowered his lips to hers. The kiss was slow and deep and entirely too short considering what they’d just confessed. Riley’s lips chased Mac’s when he pulled away, but he simply kissed the bridge of her nose before resting his forehead on hers. “I know this is the part where we’re supposed to go have the best sex of our lives,” he said, “but I really just want to go to bed.” 

Riley laughed. “Thank god. I’m about to pass out.” Still holding hands, they walked inside, sneaking glances and grinning like idiots drunk on happiness. 

“You’re sleeping in my bed,” he announced. “The guest bed is covered in laundry that I’ve been avoiding folding for a week.” Mac frowned, like he regretted the words that just came out of his mouth. “Or, well, you can sleep on the couch if you want, but, um, I’d like it if you slept with me. But again it’s up to you.” 

Warmth bloomed in Riley’s chest. Ever since he’d jumped her while they were infiltrating that party in Monte Carlo, Mac meticulously asked for her consent. For everything, no matter how mundane. She knew he still felt guilty for throwing himself at her like that, but Riley wasn’t in any hurry to reassure him when his atoning behavior made her feel so safe and was, honestly, hot as fuck. 

“I plan on sleeping with you every night for the rest of my life, MacGyver.” 

He tensed, and Riley panicked that she’d gone too far with the rest of my life bit. But then he pushed her against the doorframe and kissed her soundly, caressing her sides, and she relaxed. He rasped, “I’d like that very much.” 

They stumbled into the bedroom, stealing kisses and sneaky glances while getting ready for bed. Mac tossed her a soft, gray t-shirt to sleep in. Not trusting herself, Riley turned her back to Mac as she shimmied out of her clothes and donned his shirt, ignoring the searing feeling of Mac’s gaze on her backside. She trudged to the guest bathroom to remove her makeup and brush her teeth with the toiletries she kept there for nights just like this—when she crashed at Mac’s, too tired to go home. 

Mac was already in bed when Riley returned, having claimed the side closer to the door. She wondered if he did that intentionally, or if his protective instinct was just that: instinct. 

The full weight of her exhaustion hit her as Riley sank into the memory foam mattress. She knew the second Mac turned off the light she’d pass out, so she forced her body to scoot to the middle of the bed in a half-assed attempt to cuddle. “Goodnight, Mac.” 

He turned the lamp off. “Goodnight, Riles.” Riley was vaguely aware of arms circling her body and a leg slipping between hers as she slipped out of consciousness. Eyes closed and tucked safely into Mac’s embrace, Riley drifted into the black abyss and forgot the world.

*****

When Mac woke up this morning, he never would’ve guessed he’d fall asleep with Riley snuggled into his chest. Never would’ve guessed they’d look each other in the eyes and say, “I love you.” Never would’ve guessed he’d wake up the next morning to the promise of banging his best friend’s brains out. 

It was surreal—enough so that Mac feared one blink would make it all go away. But the beckoning hand of sleep proved too strong, and Mac had no choice but to let himself be pulled under.

*****

The gentle press of Mac’s lips against hers brought Riley into the awakened world the following morning. She’d rolled onto her back during the night, and now Mac hovered over her—forearms braced by her shoulders, chest grazing hers. His thumbs rubbed gentle circles to her arms beneath the sleeves of her t-shirt. Riley groaned, not ready to be awake yet. 

Mac peppered her face with kisses. “Good morning,” he murmured. Riley would’ve melted under his attention if she weren’t so intent on going back to sleep. 

“If that clock doesn’t at least read 7:00 a.m., I am going to kill you,” she mumbled, half asleep. Mac chuckled darkly, and Riley knew she wasn’t going to get her way. 

“7:05,” he said against her lips before kissing her again. Riley cursed him and his inability to sleep in. She groaned in complaint, but the sound morphed into something else when one of Mac’s hands slid under her shirt, feeling the smooth plane of her stomach. He paused when his fingertips brushed the bullet wound scar on her left side, before resuming exploring. Riley’s eyes popped open when he finally pulled away, lying on his side. 

Riley rolled to face him directly. “Did that really happen last night?” 

“Only if you wanted it to.” Mac offered her a sad smile. If she changed her mind, Riley knew he would respect her choice and figure out how to go back to being just friends. Even now, Mac was giving her an out, if she wanted it. 

The only thing Riley wanted out of was her clothes. And Mac out of his. 

“I love you,” she said, clear and bright as the morning sunlight peeking through the curtains. “I don’t know what’s going to happen to us, whether it’s a pack of monkeys chasing us with grenades or nightmare parent-teacher conferences, but I do know that no matter how crazy or difficult life gets, there’s no one I’d rather do life with than you.” 

She could’ve sworn Mac’s eyes were watering. “Come here,” he said, low and demanding. The sound went straight between her legs. Determined to hide how nervous she really was, Riley complied, pushing Mac onto his back and straddling his hips. Mac eyed the way her shirt bunched around her hips, leaving every inch of her legs exposed. He’d gotten better at hiding it over the years, but Riley long lost track of how many times she’d caught him checking out her legs when he thought no one was looking. 

Something in her back pinched as she leaned down to kiss him, and Riley winced, moving a hand to brace her lower back. 

“What’s wrong?” Mac asked. “Do we need to stop?” 

Riley shook her head. “No. I want this. My back just hurts after twelve hours of sitting in a car, so I need you to be gentle.” 

“Okay.” Mac sat up to kiss her, sliding his hands under the back of her shirt. Calloused fingertips trailed up and down her spine. They lingered as Riley tugged at his lower lip with her teeth, drawing a groan from his throat that set her blood on fire. She did it again, and his fingers desperately gripped her sides, making her laugh into the kiss. 

Riley trailed her lips along Mac’s jaw and down his neck. Her breath hitched as his hands swept up the front of her body, stopping just as his thumbs brush the undersides of her breasts. She moaned, arching into his touch. 

Still, Mac paused at her reaction. “Is this okay?” He sounded as nervous as Riley felt. 

She curled her fingers in his wild, sleep-mussed hair. "Yes. It's more than okay." When he still hesitated, Riley guided his hands up her chest, playing up her reaction by holding his gaze and biting her lower lip. The way his hands started to squeeze and move on their own told her it did the trick. 

Slowly grinding on him, she resumed kissing his neck, determined to leave a mark on his pale skin. Mac gasped, and his hands got a little braver. Slowly, he tugged her shirt off. "Fuck," he muttered under his breath, looking at her like she was something holy. Riley shivered. Mac kissed her neck, rubbing her sides and hooking his fingers into the waistband of her underwear before hesitating again. 

“Please,” she whined. 

Mac flipped them carefully, and Riley squirmed for a few seconds, struggling to put her legs in the right place. She was usually so much better at this—sexier and suave. But Mac just kissed her cheek and waited patiently, smiling softly. 

Finally comfortable, Riley nodded. Keep going. His lips applied just the right amount of pressure as he left a trail of hot, open-mouthed kisses down her torso, and she melted under his attention. “You are so beautiful,” Mac said between kisses. 

Riley didn’t know how Mac stayed so coherent, murmuring compliments and “I love you”s and continually asking permission as he worked his magic with his mouth, his fingers, him, drawing gasps and moans and incoherent babbles from her lips. 

The tightness in her back melted into the background as he rocked into her. Nothing mattered in that moment but them. 

His movements were slow and gentle, as requested, and that made them all the more dizzying; by the time Mac sent her over the edge, Riley was gone, lost in the delicious haze of love and lust. 

She managed to cup Mac’s cheek as he found his own release. He turned his face to kiss her palm, and the intimate gesture made Riley’s heart pound—even more so than any of their previous activities did. Riley pulled him closer, using her hands to encourage him to relax and lay his full weight on her. 

“Fuck,” Riley said. “I should’ve made you my boyfriend weeks ago.” Mac beamed at the label. 

“And deprive me of the most terrifying road trip of my life?” he mocked, brushing a rogue strand of hair out of her face. 

Riley snorted. “Never. Although, next time, we do that together.” 

“Together,” Mac agreed. 

For the first time, Riley allowed herself to truly imagine what together would look like. A lifetime of it. Something permanent. 

All of it.

#beth writes #macgyver #macriley #i+can't+lose+you #macgyver fanfiction

[tartagliaxx]

RQ for your new event <3! if you're okay with it ^^ @quixoticmirror ||

kaeya please! i am INFP (mediator-turbulent) and i'm described to be very warm and pleasant/nice to be around + easy to talk to generally;;! ;w; i'm quick to praise / compliment other people like second nature ;o; and am very affectionate with good friends, especially with closer ones (and even more so with romantic partners :P!) i'm not the most adventurous person, but i'm willing to try new things with a bit of coaxing. i'm rather sensitive though, in both a good and bad way ^^;

^^^ and on that note, my primary love language is words of affirmation !

i'm usually the person a lot of friends go to for emotional support/vent/some problem solving, because I’m considered non-judgmental — and i do my best to cheer for you no matter how close or distant we are ;w;

i am introverted and easily anxious around too many people tho.. and I get easily lost and am quite an airheaded and distracted person thanks to my adhd ^^; not to mention Very forgetful and a little aimless without meaning to be. i've been mistaken as someone who looks lost at times... ^^;

i hope this helped, thank you so so much if you do it !! <33 (I am having an absolute blast discovering how to color text without crashing ,, :o)!!

no matter what everyone else says, kaeya didn't involve himself in your relationship just to boost his ego, although it is an appreciated benefit. you're too kind, too warm, too good for someone like him and having you accept him with open arms almost makes him guilty. almost because kaeya is selfish and his lifetime just didn't seem right without a hint of you. he's been labeled with many names and adorned with a hundred roses yet somehow, the compliments that slip off your lips are the sweetest treasures he could ever possess. you tell him things he already knows and he feels ascension at the tip of his fingers because your eyes — your most splendid eyes are peering up at him with utmost sincerity — and for once, he actually finds himself believing in the words that were so easy to say and yet, so hard to accept.

being with kaeya is being the last room to dim the lights at night. it's the unfamiliar but catchy song you hear from someone else's records and it's the way a butterfly's trajectory changes at the sight of a beautiful flower. it's gentle and coaxing but at the same time, it's the tingle in your nerves at the sight of something unfamiliar. it's the hesitation right before knocking and it's an adventure when you least expect it to happen. kaeya softly nudges your limits with your consent but he also understands your differences if the post-it reminders are anything to go by. you make him want to come clean but the risk of losing you too is too much for his heart to bear so he doesn't. instead, he holds you tighter in his embrace, hoping that one day, he'll be brave enough to bare his true colors and that you'll still cheer his name the same way you do now when you're sheltered in ignorance. and barbatos have mercy, he prays despite having no faith, that you'll wait for that day just as he asked you to in the hidden meaning of the lines of his own affirmations.

━━ ☆ NOTES: uwaa thanks for joining the event :DD i hope you liked it because reading through your description really made me think 'woah. this is the type of person kaeya really needs in his life.' like no joke. in any case, :(( i want to color my text too but none of it freaking matches my blog's aesthetic

━━ ☆ WANT TO JOIN?: send me an ask here!

#the poetries between us

[jjkpls]

crayons ‘dul’ (PG)

> genre : fluffy fluff, angst, comedy

> pairing : kim namjoon x reader

> words : 3.7k

> warnings : none (except a rusty quill)

>Y/N, a primary school teacher, is way too soft for the quiet, timid new child in her class. Little did she know, the adult version, who engendered this cutie, is even more charming.

> prior

> next

It doesn't take Mr Kim too long to find a way to meet you.

A week or so later, Adrianne is handing you a little post-it where her curvy cursive spells his name, with his phone number and a time. He says he'll bring Jimmy early to school in two days, to contact him if it doesn't work for you and that he cannot wait to talk to you again. This last part you wouldn't bet on the accuracy. Adrianne says he stuttered his way through a mumbo jumbo of English and another language she didn't recognize, apologizing because he didn't know how to express what he meant but from what she could gather, he was excited to have this meeting about Jimmy.

He arrives two days later, right on time. Not a minute early nor late, perfectly on time and if you don't point it out loud, you still notice it with a discreet smile.

They both look perfectly relaxed, smiling for the man and rather calm for the boy. It's funny to see him now. Mr Kim looks pretty much nothing like the first time you saw him, with the worry, the low-key panicked, agitated state he came bursting in your classroom. He looks a few years younger, with an easy grin stretching full rosy lips, dimples digging deep in his roundish honey cheeks -almost the same as his son's, you notice with delight- wearing a straight maroon coat, this time well adjusted, that's making him even taller and more elongated if possible and of which the shade compliments his complexion endearingly so.

"Hi. It's really nice to see you." You end up greeting him first, as warmly as you can.

You've been pondering over this meeting for so long, time feeling like it never ceased to stretch out and felt dreading, dreading, dreading. It was never coming soon enough and you were terrified, even if you had no reason to doubt Mr Kim's honesty, that he'd bail on you for whatever reason.

But here he is, seemingly so open to discuss and after installing Jimmy at his desk with the same tools as last time (a pile of white sheets waiting to be filled and your set of crayons) you join him a few tables away (far enough for Jimmy not to be exposed to the conversation but close enough to keep an eye on him, or more accurately, for him to keep an eye on his guardian), pressing your hands together and against your bosom to try to contain my excitement.

"As I told you last time, Jimmy is a very sweet boy. He's not doing bad with the exercises and activities, it's quite surprising -in a great way!- since from my understanding English is not his first language, right?"

"Yeah, no, it's uh- it's Korean. We just moved from Korea a few months ago, well, right before he started school. But we- my- her mother and I would try to talk to him a bit of English at home to have him pick up on the basis..."

"Oh, that's nice! Children that young do learn languages particularly easily, it's definitely beneficial for him. I can already tell."

Namjoon sends a glance his way, a fond, dad's proud one lingering on his tiny figure hunched over the desk. You can't quite tell from where you sit but it does look like he's started drawing.

"Had you planned moving here for a long time? I mean, was it the plan from the start, that's why you wanted to teach him English?"

"No, not really." The mood feels different. It switches from rather tranquil and cheerful into a very heavy, uneasy silence his deep voice hardly disturbs. There's a glint in his eyes. It's not an easy one to look at and your heart stings as the glint takes over his whole gaze hovering over his son. You understand it's something sad. Probably painful and hard to carry even for such a strong-looking, shoulder-broad grown man.

You don't want to push it. You're curious, as one gets, but too decent and you know yourself to be too soft-hearted and sensitive, for you to be snooping through sad people's luggage. But you think back about Jimmy, whose curious eyes, beautiful but wide with something reflecting like a perfect mirror what you can now find in his dad's, and you're certain that his odd behaviour must come from that.

"Mr Kim, the reason I wanted to see you," You start, voice quieter. He's startled for a second, redirecting his attention back on you, and he looks a bit guilty. As if he highly suspects, if not already know full well, where this is going. "I do meet all the parents of my students, as I told you. But in the case of Jimmy, if I was so insistent, it's that I'm really concerned about him."

His eyes draw downwards, staring at his hands. Long slender fingers fidgeting with one another, pinching and twisting a bit. I wonder if like his son, he might start crying.

"He's lovely but he cannot- he has had a really hard time uh- how could I put it?" You don't want to sound too alarmist. You know parents have the tendency to freak the fuck out for the misinterpretation of one single word. Sometimes an onomatopoeia, misplaced, send them into a raging spiral of anxiety over what terrible condition their kid might be dealing with. Not all parents are insane or simply too quick to jump to conclusions -or plain stupid. Some understand, whatever words you use. The father sitting in front of you seems worried and pained enough you wish you could protect him but you need him to understand that his situation is serious, and how important it is for Jimmy to have the tools to change now, while he still can, before he gets too old and start to take all those unfortunate coping mechanisms as lifelong terrible habits. "He's had a hard time simply being a kid." Namjoon sighs deeply. "He doesn't speak to anyone, not even me. Hardly looks at his classmates, never approaches them. I've noticed also that talking is not the only issue, any form of expression, if not made to do because it's in the course and all the other children are doing it too, he simply won't do." Mr Kim has raised his head enough for you to see him. He's troubled, upset, worried. But he seems to want to show himself more involved and you can tell he is, you can tell he cares as he listens so carefully as you explain in great details the odd incident with the papers and the crayons he refused to play with, even without a soul to watch over his shoulder.

"I feel it's a bit more than simple timidity. Or that at least, there's something significant behind this timidity. I can understand that it might be sensitive to you," You do, his eyes are screaming at you and you can't ignore them. Sort of begging for something, you're not quite sure what, you're not quite sure they, themselves, know either. It's a terrible case of a grown adult, an apparent composed grown man with a mighty balanced life, not a child anymore, actually, a dad, appearing so vulnerable and broken. It's a horrid vision. You've never been able to handle those.

"But it's in Jimmy's interest that I know a bit more. It's quite concerning. He's at an age where he's supposed to develop those skills. If we just let him be, leave him in this... unease, whatever it is, he might adopt it for a very long time until the time comes when it's become an exhausting challenge, almost impossible, to overcome.”

"I understand what you're saying." Mr Kim starts, voice low and tiny I can hardly pick up on the words. "I noticed- I mean, he's not changed that much with me. He's never been a very loud, boisterous boy, you know? But lately, he's been a bit quieter. I can see it at home, he's a bit stoic, less... expressive." You lose the man for a second. He's staring at his son longly and you don't want to abruptly bring him back to the conversation. Eventually, he does come back on his own, clearing his throat and scratching his neck. "That's- ridiculous but I even told myself the other day that I miss his tantrums. He didn't use to throw a lot of fits but sometimes he would, for more candies or something stupid like that. But he hasn't in a while."

You can't count how many times you heard overwhelmed parents jokingly wish that their kid would just turn off, stop causing scenes, stop demanding, screaming and crying out ridiculous tantrums. You remember Adrienne, saying more than once, to chastise the behaviour of one too agitated child to take a look at Jimmy, learn to be more like him, and why can't they be like him.

The thing is, a child is not supposed to be quiet.

A child should be problematic, testing, challenging. Loud and cheerful and agitated because children are like that. They are little humans just starting this whole insane experience that is Life, trying to figure themselves out, trying to figure out the people around them and the whole world along with it. They're meant to be a mess.

They're not meant to be quiet and tranquil, and bathing in a sort of slow, stoic haze. They're certainly not meant to have this expression on their face. The one Jimmy is wearing. Of deep, deep sadness. Like he's been somewhere, he's felt something, he's lost something that has left him misplaced forever. As if he's not really part of this world, this Life, or doesn't care or know why he's in it. Just letting himself float about. Embarrassed and denying all impulse that could potentially shape him and his existence.

He's only five.

"Do you have any inclination as to why his behaviour has turned into this?"

You see the gears going into labour in his head. He looks pensive, lost in a pit of thoughts he doesn't know if he can nor should share. There's a tremble to his lips, to his fingers, a telling frown to his eyebrows as his eyes very obviously decide to avoid you. The question seems to seize him like an earthquake but somehow, it's a good one. A disturbing but potentially lucky one. One that would invite him to experience something hard but liberating, something that he really needs.

Not long after you've asked the question to which you already know half of the answer, he pauses to think it over and then decides to talk. You notice the way his body slump over himself instantly, along with an abyssal years-old sigh and he starts to talk.

"5 months ago, my- his mom passed away." You hate yourself for the way you gasp, eyes wide and already blurry as if it's appropriate, as if you're allowed when you can't even imagine the beginning of their pain. It all starts making sense and you're heartbroken. You wish you didn't show yourself so reckless, sensitive but somehow naive and unhelpful.

You mouth a silent apology and condolence you notice he accepts from the way he nods, not wanting to cut him off. He's already breathless and you wonder how many more words he has in stock before the resources shut down, right before he loses it and breaks the strong persona he has to keep straight and steady for his son. How exhausting it must be. "It was hard already in Korea but I thought -naively- that if we moved here, close to her family, maybe, being around them would ease- everything out a bit. I don't know. It was stupid." He shakes his head from left to right, scoffing to himself, a hand raised to his forehead, hiding his eyes.

"It wasn't, Mr Kim. It's very honorable of you to quit everything for your son." Your words have no effect whatsoever. Unfortunately, it's blatantly obvious, he's made up his mind already. He's guilty, he messed up, and he holds a grudge against himself for this decision and nothing a dumb teacher, sensitive and half-weeping, would say could change that opinion, as destructive and inaccurate as it may be.

"It really was. It's so different here, I thought after some time it would be worth it but I think he hates it. I think he's very confused and I don't know if he's too young to feel like that, I'm not sure, but he looks like he's embarrassed about being a foreigner. Like not speaking properly. I can't even tell if he understands well or if he doesn't get it at all when people speak to him in English since he just- he can't really communicate. Even with his cousins, it's-"

Oh.

"Oh." Now that you hear him say that, it lights a small bulb hidden at the back of your head. It shines upon a whole roof-tall shelf holding all of those awkward, disagreeable memories you tend to forget actively because even reflecting on them decades later still sends a thrill of disgust the length of your spin.

It's those moments of pure embarrassment, of horrid dreading feelings that you used to be overwhelmed with as a child and this until you were not much more of a child anymore, and those memories paired with their emotions simply faded into shadows of scenes that you can only wonder if they ever were real.

You used to be filled with stupid insecurities based on very confused, distant, impossible to decipher pretend truths, sometimes, you would just feel stupid. Completely idiotic, ignorant, and unlovable. In those moments, you just couldn't dare open your mouth to pronounce a word that would give you away. Because if you did, somehow, you would end up messing up and people would laugh and make fun of you and hate you because there are so many reasons to and of course you deserved it.

Images of the little boy, hiding obviously in a corner but longingly observing his peers. Obviously terrified but curious, and most definitely desiring.

Because of course, he'd want to. Talk to them, be with them but how could he when he's not even sure he could speak the way they do.

"Mr Kim, I can tell he wants to. Even if he can't let anyone approach him, I can tell he'd like to be part of the group. That being said his fears or as you said, maybe his insecurities, don't allow him to."

"Should I- Should I seek for a therapist? He had one in Korea but I don't think he was ready for it. He just reacts very badly to strangers, especially when they try to, you know, sink into your brain and- now that we're here, I can hardly picture how that would go."

"Well, therapy is never a bad idea. It can only be beneficial for him... for anyone." You're not sure how appropriate it is for you to add this but you owe to say it. Sometimes, parents don't realize, but a child's deepest wounds are born from seeing and feeling their guardians'.

"I'd seen someone already." He explains without needing you to insist further. Seems like you're not as subtle as you thought yourself to be. "I did because- I had to. His mom and I had been separated for a while before her passing, it'd always been complicated between us and I can't lie, I did feel terribly guilty... I thought it might hurt him somehow. Maybe he could feel it and experience it too. I had to for the both of us. It fixed me but not him, so I suppose, it didn't come from that."

"Grief is... It's very complex. It comes along with a plethora of confusing, untamed emotions as an adult but for a child... It must manifest in a way we can't even imagine. I'm sorry, you don't need me to tell you that." You're a mess of stutters. Words are running away from you, the smart ones are even flying, making sure there's no way you'd catch them by the tip of the tail. You just want to ease this father's struggles, somehow. You don't know him much but you know his son, a little, and you, for reasons you don't care much to look into, deeper than simply you having a saviour complex, need to help it all resolve. They don't deserve any of it all. No one does.

It might be silly. But the thought of Jimmy, that sweet, lovely child, sensitive and precious as he is, must have a father quite special himself to have been brought up this way.

"No, it's fine. You're right." A heavy silence settles in between you. In the background, faintly, you can hear the soft rustling of the tip of a crayon against paper. You open your mouth, the fantastic memory of the other day, when he arrived late to pick Jimmy up and something you still, a week later, recalling itself back to you. He opens his at the exact same time and before you're able to utter any word, he's the one starting, "Actually, I really appreciate it. Being able to talk about it like that with someone. Since my therapist, I don't think I was able to. People only have enough tolerance for other's pain. Which I understand, it's just- hard and well, I'm thankful for you."

He stammers saying that, seemingly scrambling with his own words. The compliment is so heartfelt, like a shot from his heart directly into yours. Most of the emotions it rises probably coming from his choice of wording, maybe an error of translation, a lack of exactitude that doesn’t come smoothly. You've never heard anyone said those words to you and somehow, so unprepared for it, you can hardly handle the overwhelming burst of gratitude.

With the greatest pleasure, you jump on the occasion to bring something good to him, what you meant to say when he started first, the story about last time and how confident you are that better days are yet to come.

It brings an evident brush of light to his expression. The youthful sense he gave off when he just walked in, made of warm colours and smiles, is back. As if a weight has been lifted. As if he trusts you with his son, now wearing his hopefulness and trust and appreciation on this soft face of his, and you feel yourself blush in delight.

It’s precisely why you do what you do. Most of the times, those moments come in more subtle, almost dubious manifestations. It’s a drawing made ‘only for you, Miss’ or a kid you haven’t seen in a few years recognising you from across a hallway and beaming all his teeth your way; or maybe a present too nicely picked out and wrapped up too well to be the product of a kid’s, handed to you at the end of the year.

It's a wonderful feeling you're experiencing.

Until it turns sort of awkward. You mean, from a third party, maybe from Jimmy's eyes, it’s definitely awkward. It doesn’t exactly feel this way for you though. You're just kind of staring at each other, grinning obnoxiously. Delighted by the turns of events -even more so with the start of the conversation, which brought difficult painful shocks to an already sensitive soul, the benevolence and mutual understanding feel all the more pleasant.

Conquered by each other in a way you probably won’t be able to express very well with words if any of you tried. You see in him an ally -which is always such a wonderful feeling because as curious as it is, all parents are not always reliable allies to you, teachers- and you think he does too.

It’s just that it lasts for quite a bit. Probably too long. Until finally, the rummage going on outside brings you back to earth and school that is about to start in a few reminds itself to you.

Quickly he thanks me again, in between the bursting in of a loud, chatty-feeling Riley Donovan, and a Charlotte dragging her feet in discontent. He says something about meeting again before he’s rushing to Jimmy, whose calm demeanour has wavered when his classmates starting walking in.

It’s as heartwarming as last time. The way Mr Kim just has to lean forward to wrap his arms around Jimmy to have him melt onto his chest, face burying in his neck and tiny hands squeezing, squeezing, squeezing until the chubby fingers turn white against his dad’s neck. There’s an exchange of secret words and of gazes, special ones that wouldn’t mean much to anyone else, you believe on the moment, until Mr Kim needs to depart and does so.

The gaze Jimmy had for his dad doesn’t disappear right as the later leaves. It remains and is directed solely on you in a very peculiar way, so notable that your heart starts racing when you notice.

Jimmy who usually avoids eye contact, sometimes would look at you, if you're addressing directly to him for example and those looks are systematically made of bewilderment, maybe fear, definite insecurity. Like a prey caught in a predator's radar.

But now those eyes, the round, dark wonders are lingering with something utterly different. A stillness that hits so differently. You're not sure if you are seeing things, if it’s wishful thinking. If it’s you now watching through the lens of someone beyond enchanted, purely content from the newfound trust and confidence and inspiration.

When you free your class for recess, you have confirmation that something has changed. You have no idea how he did it without you noticing but as you turn your back to the door to face your desk -and your chair, which your legs are dreading to have you throw yourself on- you see the perfect tidy pile of your crayons laid carefully on top of it. A few papers are sitting next to it, less than you gave him.

It’s ridiculous, embarrassing to an extent you would never tell that moment out loud but you end up jumping on the balls of your feet, clapping your hands together like a stupid seal, squealing before grabbing the stack of crayons and pressing it to your heart.

A/N : thanks so much for having waited for me so patiently; as always, lots of love send your way, thanks so much for reading, i hope you enjoy it :)

#btswriterscollective #networkbangtan #thekimlinenet #bts fluff #bts angst #bts fanfic #bts drabble #bts scenario #namjoon fanfic #namjoon fluff #namjoon scenario #namjoon drabble #my writing

[noethicalconsumptionunderdisney]

Just saw your delightful post about Laex’s houses and I wondered how you would sort the rest of the family ? Also , @wisteria-lodge wrote a post about Gryffindor / Slytherin that would probably interest you .

Holy shit, I am so sorry this is getting back to you so late, anon!  This got lost in my Drafts and I totally forgot about it until I was recently trying to dig some stuff back up and got slapped in the face with this.  So even though this is months and months (and two Sorting essays lol) later, let me try to answer this the best I can:

(Links to Alex, Justin, and Max and their respective essays, so I don’t have to repeat myself)

Everyone else (...that I bothered to sort at least) below the cut:

All of the other Big Characters:

* Jerry Russo: Slytherin/Ravenclaw.  

Slytherin Primary- He broke off from the wizard world and chose a normal life because he met The One, and figured that being mortal was worth it if it meant being with her, going against what was expected of him from his community, and everything he’d believed about himself in order to do it.  

I also do believe he’s ambitious to an extent about his sub shop-- he certainly seems to care the most about whether it does well, and we know he cares a lot about his family legacy from how upset he was when it seemed that legacy would end (the times the kids might all lose their powers, that time they almost lost their lair).  Beyond that, he doesn’t seem to give much thought to the world outside his family, or even to his long-lost sister, who’s likely been kicked out of his inner circle, so I don’t think saving the world has ever really been a huge priority for him like it is for the kids.

Ravenclaw Secondary- One reason he makes a really good teacher is that he knows and remembers most of the spells the kids need to learn.  What he doesn’t remember, he can always look up in a spellbook, which he has a ton of.  He also has a lot of various magical trinkets that he’s collected over the years.  Plenty of them have value in terms of teaching, but I really do think most of their collection is because he thinks they’re neat.  This is also probably why they have a subway car as part of their sub shop, so that he would have a reason to use it, and therefore have a reason to have it.  

(You could argue Hufflepuff Secondary in regards to how he invests in his business, but even there, he likes to cut a lot of corners and doesn’t seem to feel particularly bad about doing so, as long as he doesn’t get in trouble for it.)

* Theresa Russo: Hufflepuff/Gryffindor.  

Hufflepuff Primary- She could be Slytherin too but I keep circling back to how much she cares about the traditions and cultures she left behind, and how, while she is happy in the life she has with Jerry and her kids, she’s still genuinely sad about losing that connection.  I also think about it in terms of her difficult relationship with Alex, how she calls her mija, how she pushed so hard to give Alex a quinceañera (that she didn’t want), how she was upset that Alex was failing Spanish, and how out of her depth she is with the wizard world.  

It has to sting a bit that her husband’s world, which she has no real connection to outside of him and the kids, has such an impact on everyone’s daily lives, while her world kind of gets left behind, either because the kids aren’t as interested, aren’t as exposed, or because she has to keep her extended family away from her immediate family so that magic doesn’t get exposed, how she has to follow the rules of a world she doesn’t even like that much.  Or perhaps she doesn’t like it because she’s lost so much to it.

Gryffindor Secondary- The Movie in particular solidified this one for me, just the way she gets curious about magic and Jerry and Max’s journey even though she thinks they’re strangers, dives headfirst into it despite Jerry worrying about letting a mortal be part of the adventure, and how she sees a parrot turn into a human, who is clearly Bad News, walks right up to her, and tells her all the shit she’s been put through and why she needs that stone.  

There are great moments from the show, too-- the ones that stick out to me are her talking back to the van Heusens when she knows damn well they’re vampires, and her getting Alex to teleport her to Megan’s so she can stand up for her kids’ right to have their powers, powers she doesn’t even like most of the time.  She definitely has a temper, and it’s usually played for laughs, but I also think it fits because she’s an incredibly brave person, and while there are definitely times when she runs away scared, more often than not she’ll stand her ground even in times of danger (and probably a few times where she maybe should’ve been more careful...).

* Harper Finkle: Slytherin/Hufflepuff

(Note: I like to think of this one as the Best Friend sorting, because it’s used a lot with Main Character’s Best Friend (and the Girl Friday, but this is Disney Channel so that’s not as common here), and because that combination tends to make for some pretty damn good ones.)

Slytherin Primary- I think it’s very possible Harper has a Hufflepuff Primary Model here, because it took me some thinking and rewatching to decide this, but nah, Harper’s best friends with Alex for a reason, and it’s not out of, like, the goodness of her heart or whatever.  Harper does like being part of things -- she enjoys being part of the Russo family, she enjoys being in clubs in a way Alex doesn’t get, she was excited to be invited to Gigi’s tea party because she thought she was being included in their “high society lady” rituals -- and she likes doing the nice, kind, good thing, but on the occasions where she does act purely in her own self-interest, she doesn’t feel the least bit guilty about it.  

We see this side of her more in seasons 3 and 4, but as early as season 2, we see her taking advantage of Cupid’s arrow making Justin fall for her even after Alex informs her of the situation (and only starting to hate it when she gets tired of his clinging, not for ethical or compassionate reasons), happily accepting the ribbons that make Alex’s Gryffindor squirm, because “it’s about time she got some appreciation,” and deciding she’ll continue to work for the vampires that just tried to eat her and her best friend because she “kinda needs the job” (honestly, mood tho).

Hufflepuff Secondary- More often than not, it seems Harper is taken advantage of rather than the one taking advantage, though, and I think this is why.  Working hard makes her feel good!  Being dependable makes her feel good!  She’s upset when it’s revealed that Alex used magic to help her win at everything she tried when she was little, and that she’s actually bad at those things.  She cares about earning her accomplishments, not just getting them.  She has a perfect attendance record and she cares about it a lot.  And that’s the core of what a Hufflepuff Secondary is: show up every day, and try as hard as you can.

She also prides herself on her moral support.  She’s generally willing to drop everything to help Alex and the thing she got the most furious with Alex for saying was that she was a bad friend.  This ties back to the Slytherin Primary thing, but I think it has a lot to do with how much work she puts into everything, and how much work she does for Alex, when Alex won’t do her own, and she doesn’t even mind doing it, maybe even likes doing it, as long as she gets credit for her dedication.  Luckily, Alex does appreciate her as a friend, even if she doesn’t show it as often as she probably should, and has her moments where she’ll come through for Harper too.

* Juliet van Heusen: Ravenclaw/Gryffindor.

Ravenclaw Primary- She goes against her natural instincts to hunt humans and instead sticks to animals as the more “ethical” path.  Granted, she was given a soul by her parents, which both helps her blend in better and might be what leads to her more ethical behavior, but I do think her Ideals are something she chose to live by, rather than something that was given to her, and I think part of why she likes Justin is that she connects with him intellectually, so I lean Ravenclaw for her Primary.  

Gryffindor Secondary- She tends to be pretty forthright and brutally honest a lot of the time.  She tells her parents she’s dating Justin by just... shouting that she likes him and then running back to tell him, she answers Zeke’s question about a horse-drawn carriage by implying that she killed them (for context, he’s a mortal), and she motivates Justin to win by bluntly telling him she’ll have to break up with him if he loses his powers.  She’s restrained enough to keep her vampire secret, but... not very restrained outside of that.

* Mason Greyback: Slytherin/Gryffindor.  

Slytherin Primary- His main motivation seems to be Alex, and he’s very singlemindedly dedicated to her most of the time.  The only times I can think of where he isn’t focused on her is in that first episode, when he wants to paint dogs, and only gets focused on her when she casts a spell on him, and in that moment where he sees Juliet again and confesses his undying love (oops).  He says afterwards that werewolves are “very loyal,” and I think based on the episode where we meet Mason’s parents, we can infer that that means “loyal to their own,” as they don’t like him dating a non-werewolf.  They might not include Alex in their definition of “their own,” but Mason clearly does, and puts her above everything, even citing her as his main motivation to “stay good” against Gorog’s influence.

Gryffindor Secondary-  For his impulsivity and temper, yes, but also for his dedication to Big Romantic Gestures, which I think are the ultimate Gryffindor Secondary love language.  Not that other Secondaries can’t perform them, but I think with Gryffindors it’s more likely to be a regular thing.  He tries to be more subtle in the apartment arc and it comes out more passive-aggressive, and then he ends up Doing The Big Thing anyway, like breaking the elevator in desperation or running to Bermuda to save Alex.  Even the big sculpture he makes Alex for their anniversary earlier that season, while it does take a lot of time and effort, there’s still this element of just throwing yourself wholeheartedly into something and focusing exclusively on the thing until the thing gets done (to the point of neglecting everything else) that feels more to me like Gryffindor Secondary’s battering ram than Hufflepuff Secondary’s slow and steady tortoise.

...+ a few others I thought were relevant:

* Zeke Beakerman: Ravenclaw/Ravenclaw.  To his own detriment, even: when he runs for president against Justin, he ends up voting... for Justin, because he really thought it through and Decided that Justin would probably be the better leader.  (And then retracts it because he’s morally opposed to Justin not voting.)  It’s played for laughs, but I think that does show he puts ethics before himself (and... possibly before reason.  Such are Idealists, lol).  He also likes to gather a lot of obscure knowledge and hobbies such as clogging, collecting skills because he finds learning them fun.  Ravenclaw, through and through.

* Stevie Nichols: Gryffindor/Slytherin.  Perhaps a much more stark example than Alex on both sides: more unscrupulous and more mischievous on the Slytherin side, more committed to her Cause and her Ideals on the Gryffindor side.  They bond over their shared Slytherin-ness, naturally meeting in detention because where else, and I actually think their shared Gryffindor is what ultimately comes between them- Stevie wants to convert Alex to her Cause, Alex freezes her and lets her die (maybe?) because she believes her Cause is evil.  Because unfortunately, sharing the same emphasis on Ideals and method for determining them, doesn’t always mean you’ll have the same ones.

* Rosie: Slytherin/Slytherin.  She lies to Justin when she meets him, saying she’s a wizard, when she’s actually an angel, and it doesn’t get much better from there.  She turns her wings white around Justin and acts good right up until she has him, then she starts influencing him to turn bad, so when it’s revealed she’s an Angel of Darkness, he’s too far gone to be upset.  But that Slytherin loyalty works both ways -- while his Slytherin loyalty to her made him do bad things and join the Angels of Darkness, her Slytherin loyalty to him made her convince Alex to save him, because she’d fallen in love with him for real and wasn’t okay with Gorog disposing of him once he’d outlived his usefulness, and that caused her to turn on Gorog for good, and then For Good, when she rejoined the Good Angels.  Just as she was the one who turned Justin to the dark side, she’s the one who turned him back to the light, and I think they were able to have this influence on each other because of that shared understanding of Slytherin loyalty.

... And I think that’s more than enough for now!  It’s been fun to think about all this, and even better to finally share it.  Again, sorry it took so long, but hope you enjoyed!

(P.S.: Btw, totally agree on that Gryffindor/Slytherin post-- it fits Alex so well (though definitely more the Jack Sparrow/Lovable Rogue variety).  I’m glad you see it, too!)

#Anonymous #no ethical answers under capitalism #sortinghatchats #wizards of waverly place #hogwarts houses #house sorting #wowp analysis #character analysis #not a sorting profile but in some ways harder #long under the cut #(very very) #jerry russo #theresa russo #harper finkle #juliet van heusen #mason greyback #zeke beakerman #stevie nichols #rosie wowp #harry potter #(sorta)

[qqueenofhades]

Could you expand a bit on the "death of expertise"? It's something I think about A LOT as an artist, because there are so many problems with people who think it isn't a real job, and the severe undercutting of prices that happens because people think hobbyists and professionals are the same. At the same time, I also really want people to feel free to be able to make art if they want, with no gatekeeping or elitism, and I usually spin myself in circles mentally thinking about it. So.

I have been secretly hoping someone would ask this question, nonny. Bless you. I have a lot (a LOT) of thoughts on this topic, which I will try to keep somewhat concise and presented in a semi-organized fashion, but yes.

I can mostly speak about this in regard to academia, especially the bad, bad, BAD takes in my field (history) that have dominated the news in recent weeks and which constitute most of the recent posts on my blog. (I know, I know, Old Man Yells At Cloud when attempting to educate the internet on actual history, but I gotta do SOMETHING.) But this isn’t a new phenemenon, and is linked to the avalanche of “fake news” that we’ve all heard about and experienced in the last few years, especially in the run-up and then after the election of You Know Who, who has made fake news his personal brand (if not in the way he thinks). It also has to do with the way Americans persistently misunderstand the concept of free speech as “I should be able to say whatever I want and nobody can correct or criticize me,” which ties into the poisonous extreme-libertarian ethos of “I can do what I want with no regard for others and nobody can correct me,” which has seeped its way into the American mainstream and is basically the center of the modern Republican party. (Basically: all for me, all the time, and caring about others is a weak liberal pussy thing to do.)

This, however, is not just an issue of partisan politics, because the left is just as guilty, even if its efforts take a different shape. One of the reason I got so utterly exasperated with strident online leftists, especially around primary season and the hardcore breed of Bernie Bros, is just that they don’t do anything except shout loud and incorrect information on the internet (and then transmogrify that into a twisted ideology of moral purity which makes a sin out of actually voting for a flawed candidate, even if the alternative is Donald Goddamn Trump). I can’t count how many people from both sides of the right/left divide get their political information from like-minded people on social media, and never bother to experience or verify or venture outside their comforting bubbles that will only provide them with “facts” that they already know. Social media has done a lot of good things, sure, but it’s also made it unprecedently easy to just say whatever insane bullshit you want, have it go viral, and then have you treated as an authority on the topic or someone whose voice “has to be included” out of some absurd principle of both-siderism. This is also a tenet of the mainstream corporate media: “both sides” have to be included, to create the illusion of “objectivity,” and to keep the largest number of paying subscribers happy. (Yes, of course this has deep, deep roots in the collapse of late-stage capitalism.) Even if one side is absolutely batshit crazy, the rules of this distorted social contract stipulate that their proposals and their flaws have to be treated as equal with the others, and if you point out that they are batshit crazy, you have to qualify with some criticism of the other side.

This is where you get white people posting “Neo-Nazis and Black Lives Matter are the same!!!1” on facebook. They are a) often racist, let’s be real, and b) have been force-fed a constant narrative where Both Sides Are Equally Bad. Even if one is a historical system of violent oppression that has made a good go at total racial and ethnic genocide and rests on hatred, and the other is the response to not just that but the centuries of systemic and small-scale racism that has been built up every day, the white people of the world insist on treating them as morally equivalent (related to a superior notion that Violence is Always Bad, which.... uh... have you even seen constant and overwhelming state-sponsored violence the West dishes out? But it’s only bad when the other side does it. Especially if those people can be at all labeled “fanatics.”)

I have complained many, many times, and will probably complain many times more, about how hard it is to deconstruct people’s absolutely ingrained ideas of history and the past. History is a very fragile thing; it’s really only equivalent to the length of a human lifespan, and sometimes not even that. It’s what people want to remember and what is convenient for them to remember, which is why we still have some living Holocaust survivors and yet a growing movement of Holocaust denial, among other extremist conspiracy theories (9/11, Sandy Hook, chemtrails, flat-earthing, etc etc). There is likewise no organized effort to teach honest history in Western public schools, not least since the West likes its self-appointed role as guardians of freedom and liberty and democracy in the world and doesn’t really want anyone digging into all that messy slavery and genocide and imperialism and colonialism business. As a result, you have deliberately under- or un-educated citizens, who have had a couple of courses on American/British/etc history in grade school focusing on the greatest-hit reel, and all from an overwhelmingly triumphalist white perspective. You have to like history, from what you get out of it in public school, to want to go on to study it as a career, while knowing that there are few jobs available, universities are cutting or shuttering humanities departments, and you’ll never make much money. There is... not a whole lot of outside incentive there.

I’ve written before about how the humanities are always the first targeted, and the first defunded, and the first to be labeled as “worthless degrees,” because a) they are less valuable to late-stage capitalism and its emphasis on Material Production, and b) they often focus on teaching students the critical thinking skills that critique and challenge that dominant system. There’s a reason that there is a stereotype of artists as social revolutionaries: they have often taken a look around, gone, “Hey, what the hell is this?” and tried to do something about it, because the creative and free-thinking impulse helps to cultivate the tools necessary to question what has become received and dominant wisdom. Of course, that can then be taken too far into the “I’ll create my own reality and reject absolutely everything that doesn’t fit that narrative,” and we end up at something like the current death of expertise.

This year is particularly fertile for these kinds of misinformation efforts: a plague without a vaccine or a known cure, an election year in a turbulently polarized country, race unrest in a deeply racist country spreading to other racist countries around the world and the challenging of a particularly important system (white supremacy), etc etc. People are scared and defensive and reactive, and in that case, they’re especially less motivated to challenge or want to encounter information that scares them. They need their pre-set beliefs to comfort them or provide steadiness in a rocky and uncertain world, and (thanks once again to social media) it’s easy to launch blistering ad hominem attacks on people who disagree with you, who are categorized as a faceless evil mass and who you will never have to meet or negotiate with in real life. This is the environment in which all the world’s distinguished scientists, who have spent decades studying infectious diseases, have to fight for airtime and authority (and often lose) over random conspiracy theorists who make a YouTube video. The public has been trained to see them as “both the same” and then accept which side they like the best, regardless of actual factual or real-world qualifications. They just assume the maniac on YouTube is just as trustworthy as the scientists with PhDs from real universities.

Obviously, academia is racist, elitist, classist, sexist, on and on. Most human institutions are. But training people to see all academics as the enemy is not the answer. You’ve seen the Online Left (tm) also do this constantly, where they attack “the establishment” for never talking about anything, or academics for supposedly erasing and covering up all of non-white history, while apparently never bothering to open a book or familiarize themselves with a single piece of research that actual historians are working on. You may have noticed that historians have been leading the charge against the “don’t erase history!!!1″ defenders of racist monuments, and explaining in stinging detail exactly why this is neither preserving history or being truthful about it. Tumblr likes to confuse the mechanism that has created the history and the people who are studying and analyzing that history, and lump them together as one mass of Evil And Lying To You. Academics are here because we want to critically examine the world and tell you things about it that our nonsense system has required years and years of effort, thousands of dollars in tuition, and other gatekeeping barriers to learn. You can just ask one of us. We’re here, we usually love to talk, and we’re a lot cheaper. I think that’s pretty cool.

As a historian, I have been trained in a certain skill set: finding, reading, analyzing, using, and criticizing primary sources, ditto for secondary sources, academic form and style, technical skills like languages, paleography, presentation, familiarity with the professional mechanisms for reviewing and sharing work (journals, conferences, peer review, etc), and how to assemble this all into an extended piece of work and to use it in conversation with other historians. That means my expertise in history outweighs some rando who rolls up with an unsourced or misleading Twitter thread. If a professor has been handed a carefully crafted essay and then a piece of paper scribbled with crayon, she is not obliged to treat them as essentially the same or having the same critical weight, even if the essay has flaws. One has made an effort to follow the rules of the game, and the other is... well, I did read a few like that when teaching undergraduates. They did not get the same grade.

This also means that my expertise is not universal. I might know something about adjacent subjects that I’ve also studied, like political science or English or whatever, but someone who is a career academic with a degree directly in that field will know more than me. I should listen to them, even if I should retain my independent ability and critical thinking skillset. And I definitely should not be listened to over people whose field of expertise is in a completely different realm. Take the recent rocket launch, for example. I’m guessing that nobody thought some bum who walked in off the street to Kennedy Space Center should be listened to in preference of the actual scientists with degrees and experience at NASA and knowledge of math and orbital mechanics and whatever else you need to get a rocket into orbit. I definitely can’t speak on that and I wouldn’t do it anyway, so it’s frustrating to see it happen with history. Everybody “knows” things about history that inevitably turn out to be wildly wrong, and seem to assume that they can do the same kind of job or state their conclusions with just as much authority. (Nobody seems to listen to the scientists on global warming or coronavirus either, because their information is actively inconvenient for our entrenched way of life and people don’t want to change.) Once again, my point here is not to be a snobbish elitist looking down at The Little People, but to remark that if there’s someone in a field who has, you know, actually studied that subject and is speaking from that place of authority, maybe we can do better than “well, I saw a YouTube video and liked it better, so there.” (Americans hate authority and don’t trust smart people, which  is a related problem and goes back far beyond Trump, but there you are.)

As for art: it’s funny how people devalue it constantly until they need it to survive. Ask anyone how they spent their time in lockdown. Did they listen to music? Did they watch movies or TV? Did they read a book? Did they look at photography or pictures? Did they try to learn a skill, like drawing or writing or painting, and realize it was hard? Did they have a preference for the art that was better, more professionally produced, had more awareness of the rules of its craft, and therefore was more enjoyable to consume? If anyone wants to tell anyone that art is worthless, I invite you to challenge them on the spot to go without all of the above items during the (inevitable, at this rate) second coronavirus lockdown. No music. No films. No books. Not even a video or a meme or anything else that has been made for fun, for creativity, or anything outside the basic demands of Compensated Economic Production. It’s then that you’ll discover that, just as with the underpaid essential workers who suffered the most, we know these jobs need to get done. We just still don’t want to pay anyone fairly for doing them, due to our twisted late-capitalist idea of “value.”

Anyway, since this has gotten long enough and I should probably wrap up: as you say, the difference between “professional” and “hobbyist” has been almost completely erased, so that people think the opinion of one is as good as the other, or in your case, that the hobbyist should present their work for free or refuse to be seen as a professional entitled to fair compensation for their skill. That has larger and more insidious effects in a global marketplace of ideas that has been almost entirely reduced to who can say their opinion the loudest to the largest group of people. I don’t know how to solve this problem, but at least I can try to point it out and to avoid being part of it, and to recognize where I need to speak and where I need to shut up. My job, and that of every single white person in America right now, is to shut up and let black people (and Native people, and Latinx people, and Muslim people, and etc...) tell me what it’s really like to live here with that identity. I have obviously done a ton of research on the subject and consider myself reasonably educated, but here’s the thing: my expertise still doesn’t outweigh theirs, no matter what degrees they have or don’t have. I then am required to boost their ideas, views, experiences, and needs, rather than writing them over or erasing them, and to try to explain to people how the roots of these ideas interlock and interact where I can. That is -- hopefully -- putting my history expertise to use in a good way to support what they’re saying, rather than silence it. I try, at any rate, and I am constantly conscious of learning to do better.

I hope that was helpful for you. Thanks for letting me talk about it.

#history #long post #anonymous #ask

[op-peccatori]

The Spider and the (Butter)fly | MLQC Lucien | Kinktober: October 20th

Prompts: Deep-throating || Roleplay || Object Insertion 

THE THIRST IS ALIVE! Submission number 5 for @alloveroliver​’s Kinktober celebration!!!! 

Fandom: Mr Love: Queen’s Choice

Pairing: Reader/Lucien

Rating: 18+

Word count: 3700

Warnings/tags: explicit smut and language, oral sex, deep-throating, fingering, role-play, teacher and (college) student 

a/n: I forgot they were role-playing halfway into it. also I made a moodboard!!

You stand outside the office, eyes squeezed shut and folders clutched to your chest with nervousness.

There aren’t many people in the building at this time, but it isn't completely deserted. There are students who pass you by, some flashing you sympathetic smiles and others not seeing you at all. A professor looks quite puzzled at the sight of you. 

Technically, you shouldn’t be here. But, the thought of going back home with your failure terrifies you and you have to at least try to avoid that. So you’ll stand here for the next two days if that’s what it takes, and use whatever weapon is available to you. 

With a quick glance around, you whip out a compact mirror to check on the state of your lipstick, deciding it was a good idea to forego the highlighter after all.

The echo of his footsteps reaches you before he does, and you look up at him with a sheepish smile. “Professor!” He blinks at you, giving you a quick once over, the suspicious glint in his eye immediately giving way to comprehension. . You keep your expression innocent, even as fear makes your heart dance to a terrible tune.

“Ms. ___. Still here?” he asks. His expression is neutral, but slight exasperation bleeds into heliotrope eyes. His dark hair stands out against the pale walls, his thin lips pursing at having to delay his departure for the day.

“Yes, Professor. I was uh, wondering if I could talk to you about something,” you say meekly. Your eyes remain glued to his cap-toe derbies, still a shiny black after the long day. It says a lot about the man himself. You have never seen him lose his composure, not even when a student tries their best to get under his skin - which is uncommon. Most students adore him, or as you like to put it, they're happy to linger in his web. You can't blame them.

There's an intimidating man behind the smiling eyes. Brilliant and charismatic yes, but there's an unnerving quality to him, in your opinion. Being in his presence, on your own, is intoxicating. It always leaves you on edge, feeling guilty for the filthy thoughts it brings. You glance up at him for a moment only to see him peering down at you, eyes cloudy with tiredness behind clear glass.

He nods and goes into his office, closing the door behind him. You wait for a whole minute before it opens again. 

“Come in.” You watch him take a seat behind his desk as you walk through the door. His office is always clean, his things stacked neatly and in their places. His jacket is draped on the back of his chair, leaving him in a simple white button-up, sleeves rolled up to the forearms. You’re very aware of your own carefully selected outfit, the makeup applied with painful precision, the confidence you weaved with your own tongue in anticipation of this meeting. He barely gives you a look, however, and it leaves disappointment swirling in your stomach. “Take a seat.” 

You hurry to do so, sinking down into the chair across from him, the safety of his desk between you both. The first two buttons of his shirt are popped open, and you have to put more effort into not staring at the patch of milky skin than you'd like to admit. A glimpse of his collarbones is enough to dry your mouth, and you curse yourself. 

“I’m so, so sorry, Professor. I know it’s getting late–“ He waves of your words with a careless wag of his hand, and your eyes dart to his long fingers before you exercise some of the self-control you pretend to have. 

“Yet, you’re here anyway. So, what can I do for you, Ms. ____?” He laces his fingers together and rests his chin on them. You’re struck silent by the exquisite picture he makes, for a long moment. 

“It’s about my grade,” you say weakly. He does not look surprised at all. “Professor, I’m not the first student to come talk to you about this, I know. But I really, really must ask if you can reconsider.”

“I understand, Ms. ____. However, maybe you should’ve studied harder instead of giggling during class with the captain of the basketball team. Perhaps then you wouldn’t have to be here, hmm?” He doesn’t even look at you, seemingly studying an open file in front of him. 

You sputter, a mortified blush painting your cheeks. It’s true, you usually partner with Kyle in his class. Cute, funny, charming Kyle who always tries to make you laugh and succeeds most of the time. But to think Professor Lucien has noticed it enough to point it out like this...it’s embarrassing, yet something to consider. Once you're home.

Ugh, and he’s getting snappy. Maybe it was a bad idea to try this now. It doesn’t seem like it’s going to be any easier to convince him just because the man is tired. 

“It’s just – I did work really hard on this assignment. I don’t understand how I...” 

He sighs heavily at the flustered response. “It’s not the end of the world. You still have time to make up for it.” 

“But Professor, it's still going to affect my overall–“ He snaps the file shut. 

“I’m sorry, but there’s nothing I can do. Just work harder next time.” The tone of finality freezes your heart. You feel lost, scrambling to think of something, anything to persuade him.  How do you convince someone like him? Unfazed, poised, formidable are the words thrown around when he's the topic of conversation. You're an average student barely passing his class. The idea comes to you in a burst of desperation, something you laughed at when Willow suggested it as a joke, something you only dare to think of in daydreams, where he usually comes to you with seductive words and clever fingers as his primary weapons. You never do resist too much even in those reveries, always too quick to drop your skirts, eager to feel him touch you where you allow no one else.

But you’ve come here with a plan; if you think back to all the times you’ve caught him looking at you, it doesn’t seem that ridiculous. You know the difference between wishful thinking and reality; there's no way you imagined the cold glare flashing on his face when he saw you giggling at Kyle's antics, his lingering stares when you wear that white sundress. Or maybe you’re just flattering and digging yourself a cold grave...but it’s worth a try. 

Your back straightens, shoulders rolling back in an effort to relieve tension.

“Nothing?” The way his brow cocks should be branded as illegal. 

“Ms. ___?” 

“There’s really nothing I can do?” you ask, voice dropping low and suggestive; you bite your lip, gazing at him beseechingly. He swallows, following the motion and you smell blood. “I'll do...anything you ask, Professor.” 

“Ms. ___.” His voice is sharp with a warning. But he hasn’t asked you to leave. His eyes grow darker, framed by inky bangs and square frames that he takes off to fold and place on his desk.

“Professor Lucien, please.” You stand up, eyes wide and all too ready. “Just-I’ll do anything, I will! Whatever you want.” 

He looks at you slack-jawed, your breath quick and anxious. You’ve crossed a line, you know that. But will it get you what you want? The question of what you really want grows more muddled with every second, distorted by the flashes of darkness slipping past his composure and your own desire.

He watches you from beneath thick lashes. “Anything, you say?” You nod with slight hesitation. “Do you realize what you’re suggesting?” 

“I do.” 

His eyes slip down to the bare skin of your thighs before he, with visible effort, shifts them back to your face. “Ms. ___, I understand that you’re desperate. It makes us do stupid things. Which is why I’ll forget this ever happened. Now, leave before I...find myself less inclined to be so kind.” His eyes close in a clear dismissal. But he doesn't look angry, he looks like a man who can barely control himself, barely restrain himself from touching something he shouldn't.

He’s going to have to let you be the judge of that.

Nodding to yourself, you don’t say a word as you walk to the door, your thoughts assembling in place like a round of Tetris that you’ve just won. You hear him sigh and lean back in his chair, thinking you've come to your senses. You don’t say a word when you turn the lock, your heart pounding in your chest, the want now outweighing the desperation. 

There’s a heavy silence in the room, punctuated by more glimpses of something wild behind his mask.

“Alright then. Come here.” Your stomach clenches at the command; his pupils are blown, his hand patting his thigh. He rolls his chair back to put some space between him and the desk as you walk over to him, this time to stand in front of him. Your knees brush his. “Sit.” 

He parts his legs so you can sit delicately on his thigh, his hand coming to rest on your waist. Neither of you looks away from the other. You feel as if you’ve walked into the spider’s web, ready to be consumed. 

“You’re a lot bolder than I thought, Ms. ___,” he murmurs, husky enough to send flashes straight to your groin. The smirk curving along his mouth is knowing, and your hand curls over his shoulder, broad and real. "I never took you for a risk-taker."

“I’m...sorry, Professor. I had to try,” you say, timid and unsure but privately turned on. You’re entranced by the effect his low chuckle has on his face, squirming slightly on your seat.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you. But he doesn’t do anything. His other hand just rests on your leg, rubbing small circles into your skin, your mind going into overdrive at the touch. “Just pleasantly surprising. Tell me...are you really that desperate for a better grade?"

You can't bring yourself to form a response.

"We could find another way. Or maybe, just this once, I could change it..." he suggests, withdrawing his touch, much to your displeasure. "You're a hard-worker, I know that."

"No! No, Professor, I...I want to. Work for it. Like this."

"I see." He looks pleased by your hidden admission.

You adjust yourself on his lap, watching him watch you. He's patient as he weaves a net of desire around you, but you don't feel trapped. He waits for you to make the first move, the butterflies in your stomach fluttering chaotically at the thought of finally touching him.

Your hand cups his cheek, thumb tracing a sharp cheekbone. It traces the slight curve of his lip, and then you lean in, breath stuttering as you press your lips to his chastely. And again and again, in light brushes - it feels like the slow rush of a sweet drug, a fog settling around your thoughts before his fingers tangle in your hair, and his tongue begins to chart the lines of your mouth. You moan and your lips part to invite him in. You taste coffee and something that is very intimately him, flicking your tongue against his with increasing enthusiasm. His arm winds tighter around your waist as he holds you to him, plundering your mouth with more greed than the pirates of legend. 

You have no thoughts to spare for grades, only for ways to make him touch you more.

"You taste so sweet, Ms. ___," he breathes, hot and damp on your lips. Your teeth graze his lower lip in response. 

He turns you around so you’re facing the desk, now sitting between his legs, his firm chest pressed to your back and buries his nose in your hair. He inhales deeply, a low sound hitting the back of his throat. Your legs are wide open, falling on either side of his, his arm around your stomach strong to keep you upright against him.

The vulnerability crawls in, at your legs spread wide like this, the Professor's body moulding itself to yours, caging you in his arms.

Professor Lucien tugs down the neckline of your top low enough to unveil your breasts, adorned with baby pink velvet that he clearly fancies if his pleased hum is any indication or the curious swipe of his finger against the soft material. He fondles a breast experimentally, just to hear you moan, and pulls it out of the cloth. A roll of your nipple has you arching into him with a whimper, your ass dragging against his crotch. You don’t miss the quick suck of his breath, the helpless buck of his erection into you before he’s back in control. 

The tiny crack in his composure thrills you, makes you want to turn around and roll your hips until you make him come in his pants, until he calls you by name and all the other sweet nicknames you've imagined him saying. You know you can. But you’re not in charge here, you remind yourself. The soft but lethal brush of his fingers on the inside of your thighs help with the reminder. 

“Tell me, Ms. ___, did you select this outfit just for me?” he asks, voice surprisingly even, his breath warm against the shell of your ear. His hand caresses the soft curve of your waist, relaxing you. His hand bunches up your skirt carefully, and you jerk in his grasp when he cups your mound. “Shh. No need to be nervous. I won’t hurt you.” His palm grinds into you and your hips buck away, but you have nowhere to go. “I asked you a question.” 

“Ah, Professor. I...I thought you might like it,” you admit with flaming cheeks. He laughs into your neck, nuzzling it gently. 

“I do. Very thoughtful of you. And convenient,” he purrs and you’re confused for a second. “So you like being a little tease, do you?”

“I-Professor-“ you whimper, struggling harder when he presses firmly on your clit, just for a second. He sighs deeply next to your ear, faux disappointment evident in his exhale. 

“Use your words, Ms ___. Do you enjoy tempting me, testing the limits of my control in every class? Tormenting me with little peeks of the temptress you keep hidden?” 

"No, no..."

"Liar," he breathes, his tone more wicked than angry. "But I'm flattered you went to such lengths just to have an excuse to do this."

As an accompaniment to the disclosure, his finger slips past velvet and slick folds at the same time his other hand covers your mouth, muffling your loud cry at the intrusion. He fingers you deftly, a long finger sliding in and out of your tight heat as you squirm and moan on his lap. “Pretty, pretty girl. You’re so wet already. How often have you thought about this?” 

He plays you like a devoted musician, a tireless conductor to the orchestra of your combined passions. It’s a delicious burn, and you want to share the sheer agony of it with him. The second he slides a finger into your mouth, intent on imitating the one down below, your lips latch onto it. You suck softly, tongue caressing and gliding, his soft groan needy and weak in your ear. Arousal thrums through you harder, the power you have over this extraordinary man making you tremble, giving you strength and ideas.

“Professor –“ you moan and he bites the lobe of your ear, another finger sliding in to torment you.

“I’ve thought about it too, you know. Bending you over my desk, taking you, tasting you, marking you.” His voice is gruff with desire and you moan incoherently as his fingers curl, rubbing your velvety walls roughly. You clutch at his wrist helplessly, tilting your neck and widening your legs to give him more access. All you can do is come apart in his arms, inch by inch, your fingers twitching with the urge to help him get you where you need to be. Once again displaying his ostensible talent for telepathy, his thumb presses down on your swollen nub. "Unraveling you."

You can just barely process his words, the pleasure coiled so tightly it's on the verge of combustion, aided by his thumb working your clit slowly, then furiously as you rock frantically into his hand. Your orgasm bursts with blinding stars behind your eyelids, your body bowing and writhing as if you can barely fit in it, before you go boneless in his arms. “Brilliant. That was beautiful, Ms. ___," he coos, fingers sliding out of you, settling your skirt back in place. Your head tilts back to lean on his shoulder and you watch him lick his fingers clean with a satisfied smile. His erection is hard against your ass, and you want to touch it, spoil him. 

“How do I taste, Professor?” you ask, your smile coy.

The answering look in his eyes is predatory. “Divine.”

Turning to face him completely, you end up straddling his thigh, and the firm pressure of muscle against your sensitive sex sends something electric climbing through your veins. It scrambles your brains for a moment and you have to pull yourself together, allowing him to place a lingering kiss on your lips.

“Professor,” you plead. He looks like...well, like someone who just spent some time with his mouth glued to yours, with messy hair and your favourite lipstick on his mouth. It’s a good look on him. “Professor, tell me what to do.”

“Are you sure?” 

"Please. I want to touch you, please you.” You palm the bulge at his crotch, delighting in the way he hisses. Your mouth quirks up before you continue. “I’ll work hard. I’ll be a good student.” 

Lucien swallows heavily. “Get on your knees.” You’re more obedient than you’ve ever been in your life, slipping off his thigh to kneel between his legs. “Unzip me.” He lifts his hips to help you out, and you’re embarrassed to feel how your mouth waters when you pull his briefs down to slip his cock out, licking your lips at the sight of the glistening tip. 

You look up at him through your lashes, your finger tracing a line down his shaft.

“I've wanted this for so long, Professor,” you whisper before giving a slow lick along his length. And it's way better than the fantasy, you think, pulling the head into your wet mouth, your tongue circling and rubbing. He groans, petting your head gently.

“Alright then. Hands behind your back.” Your eyes fly to him in surprise and he gives you a lascivious smirk. “This isn’t a reward. You’re working for something here, sweetheart. You need to work hard.” You try to nod as best as you can, clasping your hands behind your back. “Good girl. Now put that mouth to good use.” 

Each bob of your head slides his swollen cock deeper into your mouth, your tongue running up and down the stiff length. You find joy in each hiss and grunt you manage to coax out, pleasure in every praise he showers upon you. Your jaw aches but you soldier on, determined to see your unruffled professor break. He looks far from it right now, the vein on his neck popping and his muscles coiled with iron, barely holding onto the leash he keeps himself on.

“Deeper,” he rasps. You try to relax your jaw,   tensing up when his cock brushes the back of your throat. The next slide of your mouth on him is slow, trying to get used to the sensation. Your eyes water and he smiles fondly at the sight of you struggling. “Need some help, baby girl?” You whimper and he reaches over to cup the back of your head, twisting your hair around his hand. He murmurs a warning softly before he snaps his hips into your mouth and you gag, spit running down your chin as he starts fucking your mouth with swift thrusts, cursing and praising you in turns. His eyes glaze over with the force of his pleasure, the breathy sounds escaping him lewd enough to fuel a hundred wet dreams. “Good girl.   Relax your jaw. Yes-yes, just like that. I’ve spent hours thinking about fucking your pretty mouth, you know? It’s better than I ever imagined.”

The sound that leaves his lips when you cup his balls is obscene, and your scalp stings from how tightly he pulls your hair. Your tongue massages the underside of his cock, and you swallow, pulling him deeper. He gasps, a filthy curse escaping and you're going to remember it forever. “I’m – coming.” You brace yourself as he stills deep in your throat and comes in heated spurts. His thrusts get weaker as he keeps coming and you choke as you try to swallow all of it. Lucien pulls out of your mouth, nimble fingers hurriedly pumping the last of his seed out onto your lips and chin instead of inside your occupied mouth.

You’re still coughing when he hands you a glass of water, pulling you up and back onto his lap as you drink gratefully. He wipes your face clean with wet tissues, thorough and gentle, and you lean against him, drained. His fingers massage your scalp tenderly, pulling a content sigh from you.

“Hmm. I believe that’s an A+,” he declares, making you laugh and wack him on the shoulder. He kisses you gently, achingly slow, breath mingling as his face hovers close to yours. His expression is open, affectionate, his eyes soft with love and contentment. Your lips still feel raw when you kiss the underside of his jaw, curling up in the enclosure of his arms with satisfaction seeped into your bones. “Are you okay?” 

You can’t hide a smile at his concerned tone, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. He tilts his head to brush his lips at the corner of your mouth, your cheek, your temple. “Mhm. Just tired.” 

“Let’s go home, baby girl. I’ll cook.” 

#alloverkinktober #mlqc #mlqc lucien #mlqc fanfic #mlqc smut #mlqc xu mo #mlqc x reader #mr love queen's choice #mr love: queen's choice #love and producer

[mystic-kitten-writer]

Limerence [M] ︳28 2/2

Pairing: Zuko x OC

AU: Adult-Verse

Genre: Romance, mainly fluff with smut, and if you squint hard enough - you’ll find some angst.

Rating: SFW

Words: 7900+

Notes: Stay healthy and safe everyone❤

Masterlist ︳ 28 1/2  ︳ 29

❤ Buy me a coffee? ❤

Limerence: (English/n.) the state of being infatuated with another person. The moment their eyes locked they knew - the flames within him twisted while the water within her turned. It was a connection, a connection that would lead to love, adventure, and drama. 

Parastin

(Kurdish/v.) protection.

AN: Part 2/2

~ Ying Yue Jiang ~

             Humming.

            The low vibrato of someone humming into my ear, their hand caressing my face and down my neck. Their touch was gentle, like how one would soothe a newborn child, filled with adoration.

            My lips curved upwards to the gentle tune, a tune that I knew all too well. With closed eyes, my head tilted to the side, eager to feel more of that sweet-sweet touch. I could get used to this…

            “Babe?” a voice droned from above.

            The huskiness of that voice, tone low and coarse, and immediately, I rose – Zuko.

            My chest heaved, wheezing, as I tried to scan my surroundings.

            The furniture, the walls, the way the sunlight seeped inside – we were in our bedroom. With fisted hands, the blankets underneath my fingers squeezed into my palms. I was jumbled, and as if my growing fear was evident, a pair of hands gripped my shoulders.

            I whipped my face to the side, and a wave of relief washed over. “You’re good- you’re safe, babe, relax.” Zuko cooed, his hands running along my bare arms. My breathing evened out, melting into his touch as I studied his expression.

            “What happened?” I gasped, throat parched, struggling to speak.

            Zuko’s face was white; stress lines present as he sat on the bed with me. He looked like he walked to the spirit world and back, all the while battling a thousand demons at once. “You passed out. I couldn’t catch you, you hit the ground and-”

            Passed out?

            I remembered.

            We were fighting, I felt dizzy, and I couldn’t move-

            “Why didn’t you say anything? We could’ve stopped-” Zuko ranted, a bit of frustration in his voice as he scolded. His words were jumbling together, his emotions getting an edge over him – Zuko’s cool and calm demeanour wavering.

            I knew Zuko wasn’t actually mad with me – but that didn’t change the fact that he was bothered. With guilt coursing through my veins, I lowered, my hands cupping my head as I tried to piece together what had happened.

            The way the ground underneath me shook, the sky spinning. The numbness that overcame my body. It was something I’ve never felt before; it felt like death.

            “I-I didn’t feel ill. It came out of nowhere…” I muttered - wincing. It felt like I was trying to breathe through sandpaper.

            Water I need water.

            And as if Zuko could tell I was struggling, a large glass was pushed in front of me. My eyes lit up, grabbing the drink enthusiastically as I chugged — the cold liquid dripping down my neck, groaning between chugs - relief.

            Zuko’s hand rubbed my back, sighing as he watched me empty the glass in seconds, and placing it off to the side. And with a semi-hydrated throat – I finally felt like I could speak without choking.

            “How long was I gone for?” I grumbled. Answers. I need answers-

            “Almost an hour. We brought you here; the nurses looked over you-”

            “Nurses?” I blurted, and Zuko nodded wearily.

            A pregnant pause fell between us.

            The tension in the room, you could slice it in half. But it wasn’t tension in the sense of anger – but more so…disappointment? Worry? The way Zuko’s eyes shifted side to side, unable to hold his glance on me. “Zuko…” I hummed softly, grasping his hand that fell over my lap – skin soft to the touch. “What’s wrong…?”

            And with that mere question, Zuko broke.

            “I was so fucking worried,” Zuko exclaimed, hissing under his breath. Zuko’s hands balled up into fists, the veins in his neck bulging as he swore. “I knew something was off, but I kept ongoing. I should’ve stopped-”

            “Zuko!”

            My hands gripped his face, forcing his gaze to fall over mine. He’s taking the blame – he blames himself. “This isn’t your fault. I should’ve spoken up; I didn’t know better.”

            “But I knew better.” Zuko scowled, pulling away, shifting his line of sight away from mine. And it was that gesture that made me re-think everything, because if there was one thing Zuko always did – it was maintain eye contact.

            Somethings not right.

            I could feel it.

            “Zuko…what are you hiding.” I blurted. His amber eyes widen, taken aback from my question as he faced me. “What makes you think somethings wrong?”

            “I know that look – you’re hiding something…what is it?” I annoyed, trying to study his body language. The way Zuko held his breath longer than needed, or the way Zuko cracked his fingers under my gaze – all signs that he was nervous about something.

            “Do you feel guilty about me passing out? Is it something the nurses said-” And the way Zuko stiffen at the mere mention of nurses had me flinching. “What did the nurses say Zuko?”

            Zuko frowned, his hand caressing my face once again, fingertips grazing my skin. “Nothing love…” he said breathlessly, and I shook my head – he’s lying.

            At this point; I knew Zuko like the back of my hand. His lips were pressed tight, the wheels in his head turning furiously. Even the way his fingers caressed my skin, they weren't touches to comfort me, but more so himself. “Remember, I’ll always protect you. No matter what happens – I got you. You can rely on me.”

            My brows pinched together, trying to wrap my head around his words. He isn’t making sense. And as I opened my mouth to speak, trying to pry into Zuko’s thoughts, a soft knock caught our attention.

            The door gradually opened, a towering man making his presence known.

            Dressed in scarlet robes with a clipboard pressed against his chest, he strolled in. I scanned him, Zuko nodding his head and the man bowing. He wore a cross on his arm, his beard shifting as he sent me a smile.

            “Imperial Consort Ying Yue – glad to see you’re doing all right. You gave us all a bit of a scare.” The man chuckled, rambling forward. I smiled softly; he’s a doctor.

            “How are you feeling? Any pain? Soreness?” The man spoke, leaning against the bed frame. His eyes skimmed over my body briefly, trying to look for any evident signs of discomfort, and I shook my head. “I feel…fine.” I blurted, not trusting the words I spoke.

            It wasn’t because I was lying, but because I was telling the truth.

            For someone who supposedly passed out on the beach, I didn’t feel sick or in pain. I felt good as if wakened from a nap – minus the being extremely thirsty part. I was more bothered at the feeling of sand between my toes than everything. Gosh – I need to take a bath – I stink of sweat and feel sand in places sand shouldn’t be.

            The doctor nodded, not at all astounded at my words. “That’s good to hear. May I ask, did you feel at all ill before you collapsed? Experience anything out of the…ordinary?”

            I could feel Zuko’s gaze falling over me – curious to hear what I had to say.

            “Dizziness. Black spots flooded my vision, and I felt cold, almost numb…” I whispered, frowning as I remembered the pain. It was atrocious, a feeling I never wanted to experience again. A shiver ran up my spine, remembering the numbness. I felt like I died – a part of me ripped out.

            The doctor nodded at my words before clearing his throat. “I’m not your primary doctor, but I was able to obtain general information regarding your health…” The doctor started, words trailing off towards the end.

            “And…” I inelegantly spoke, waiting for the doctor to continue.

            I saw the way the doctor tentatively stared at Zuko – almost frightened to speak. I gazed at Zuko, realizing that I was no longer grasping his hand.

            Zuko leaned forward, fingers interlocked over his lap, face free of any expression. While his face may be void of emotion – Zuko’s eyes spoke tons. He was anxious; almost pleading with the doctor to just stop talking. And the doctor’s eyes continuously shifted between him and me; debating with himself.

            Watching them in awkward silence and knowing that they knew something – the something being about me, drove me insane. My curious mind was already swarming, and the fact that these secrets were about me was the final push. “For spirits sakes – can someone just tell me what’s wrong?” I partly shouted under my breath.

            Zuko heaved a sigh, rubbing his chin exhaustedly, unable to face me during my outburst. The doctor, on the other hand, focused on me, swallowing hard. “There’s no easy way to say this.” The doctor spoke - restlessness lingering in his voice. His chubby fingers danced along the clipboard he held, before speaking.

            “You’re weak Ying Yue. Your body can no longer handle your chi-”

            “W-what?”

            “Babe, it’s not as bad as it seems-” Zuko blurted, hands grasping mine and trying oh-so-desperately to put me at ease. But, it was Zuko’s over-supportive gesture and the doctor shifting his weight side-to-side that caused worry to seep.

            “I-I know I’m not exactly fit, but that’s why I’m training…to get better, to get my chi under control…” I muttered, trying to understand what the doctor was trying to imply and pushing away the fact that he said I was weak. Something I’ve heard from far too many people for far too long.

            But the doctor rubbed his beard before exhaling profoundly once more, “Let me rephrase this – it appears that your spiritual side and your physical side are no longer working together.” And the blank look on my face must have spoken wonders because the doctor blew once again.

            “Physically, you’re strong Ying Yue, and your chi, it’s tremendous. However, it seems that your chi is overwhelming your body at the moment.”

            “But isn’t that why I’m training…?” I asked, confusion in my voice.

            What are they trying to get at? I already knew this information, so why are they walking on eggshells around me? Tiptoeing around the truth? To my surprise, Zuko spoke up, the grip on my hands tightening. “That’s the thing – it turns out you got a lot more bent up chi than we expected…”

            The doctor flipped the clipboard under his arm, hands-free as he began speaking, “Think about it like this. Imagine a waterfall, the water being your chi. The waterfall can only handle so much water at once. Too much water and it begins to overflow, destroying the waterfall in the process…”

            It clicked.

            My body can’t handle the amount of chi I got bottled up. The dizziness, the numbness - it was my chi crushing me from the inside-out.

            “Ying Yue, I encourage you to train.”

            “B-but that’s what I’m doing-”

            “From the very basics…from the ground-up, if you get what I mean...”

            I shook my head in disbelief. The basics? Is this man insane? We have Azula and Mai, and only the spirits know who else is working with them - ready to hurt Zuko. And if they lay a single hand on Kiyi- my breathing hitched just thinking about it.

            I can’t lose any more people that I love; I can’t- I can’t just do nothing.

            “But what I did today, it was barely anything- I-I didn’t even push myself,” I argued, Zuko grimaced hearing the desperation in my voice. The doctor scowled, shaking his head, “For you, it may seem like nothing – but your body is saying otherwise. If you take your time, in a year or so you’ll be fine-”

            “A year!?” I cried, lip trembling. A whole year? This man expects me to wait a year?

            “I can’t wait a year; I’m not going to sit around being babysat!” I huffed, infuriation consuming me. The doctor rolled his eyes at my decree, rubbing his beard, tone no longer as lenient as before, “You have guards, there is not a single reason for you to lift a pretty finger of yours.”

            My eyes widen, hearing the back-handed comment. I shoved Zuko’s comforting hands from mine as my back straightened, blood boiling, “I refuse to do nothing – to hide behind others, have them risk their lives!” I hissed with narrowed eyes.

            I was sick and tired of having to prove my worth to people. What’s wrong with being nice? Was being kind and having feelings a sign of weakness?

            “They’re guards for a reason – that’s their duty.”

            “They’re people – not something disposable. I’m not going to use them as a shield.”

            “Well, unfortunately, you don’t have much of a choice Ying Yue.”

            “No, there needs to be something else-”

            The doctor crossed his arms and sneered, “The fact of the matter is you’re weak. And if you continue pushing yourself, you’ll end up killing yours-”

            “Enough,” Zuko shouted.

            Zuko’s hand rose into the air, cutting the doctor off with narrowed eyes. I didn’t even grasp how riled up we have gotten, our voices brash, borderline shouting.

            Zuko stood tall, his posture straight, hands balled into fists. He may appear put-together, but the way Zuko clenched and unclenched his fists said otherwise. “If her condition worsens, or I have any requests, I will send a guard. You are dismissed.” Zuko spoke, straight to the point, tone plain.

            The doctor heaved a sigh, pressing his clipboard against his chest before nodding. “Take care, and rest, it’s for your own good.” And with that final statement, the doctor left – a painful silence filling the room once again.

            Zuko ran his hands through his hair, exhaling with his eyes closed. His fingers combed through his tresses, frustration lingering under every heavy breath of his. My head dropped, staring meaninglessly at my lap.

            Weak - that’s all I’ll ever be.

            “Babe, let’s get you washed up. Get you cozy so you can relax.” Zuko hummed, his hands running along my hair and back. His tone was soft, almost a whisper, and I merely shook my head in agreeance, too weak to speak. A merciful sigh escaped Zuko, and I didn’t need to look at him to know the look on his face – pity.

            A damn ‘pity case’ – that’s what Mai said to me…and she’s right.

            I swung my legs off the bed, standing upright, Zuko’s hands hovering over my body just in case. I felt lifeless, all sense of motivation gone. Because at the end of the day, what was the point? I’m just damn arm-candy.

            “I’ll be quick,” I muttered under my breath, walking towards the bathroom door, but I could hear Zuko’s footsteps ghosting from behind. “I’m fine, Zuko – I don’t need help,” I muttered, looking over my shoulder. He winced, rubbing the back of his neck awkwardly. “The water; I have to heat it for you…”

            My head dropped.

             “Oh…”

            I can’t even run my damn bath without help – that’s how utterly pathetic I am.

            I let Zuko sweep by, the sound of water filling the tub bouncing off the walls. Zuko leaned over the edge, hand dangling as his fingertips warmed the tub with ease. I stood there with slumped shoulders, taking a good look at Zuko for the first time since I rose.

            He was still shirtless with a pair of slacks from when we were duelling. Sand stuck to Zuko’s broad back - his raven hair conveniently hiding his face. Zuko let his long fingers twirl in the water, before abruptly flicking his wrist. Zuko spun, “It’s ready, you okay to be by yourself?”

            I nodded, pushing the loose strands of hair back - hands trembling.

            Zuko stepped forward, raising his hand and hugged my cheek. His damp fingers danced along my cheekbones and to my jawline. “I love you; we can get past this…a year while fly by.” He droned.

            I bit my lip, not daring to speak, my voice gone.

            Instead, I grasped Zuko’s hand, pecking it softly with a forced smile. Zuko’s thumb ran along my lips, sighing, before letting his hand fall. His warmth was gone and was soon replaced with the sound of the bathroom door shutting closed – alone.

            Stripping myself of clothing, the sand-covered pieces fell onto the ground soundlessly. I carefully crept to the tub, easing my way inside. The heat of the water engulfed my body, muscles relaxing in seconds. The water moved around me as I sat, pulling my legs up to my chest, arms cuddling my knees.

            And it was then I noticed I was holding my breath the whole time.

            Because I could feel it; the giant lump in my chest, my quivering lips, eyes pressed shut. Don’t cry, Yue. Don’t you dare fucking cry- But I couldn’t help it.

            And I sobbed.

            My nails dug into my skin, nearly drawing blood as my head slumped onto my legs. Tears spilled down my face; useless.

            I can’t do anything.

            I can’t run my bath without help – let alone fight.

            And remembering the way Zuko looked at me before he left crushed my soul. The soft smiles, his gentle touches caused the aching in my chest to worsen. “G-gosh Zuko. Y-you can do so m-much better than me.” I cried.

            Zuko deserved the best, anything short of perfect wouldn’t be good enough. And knowing that he’s wasting his time with me – risking his position, made the overwhelming sense of guilt tear me apart. Me – Fire Queen? I scoffed at myself between choked sobs, hands moving from my legs to my head, digging at my scalp out of frustration.

            There wasn’t a damn thing about me that screamed Fire Queen. But the more I thought about it; one face kept popping into mind – Mai. As rude as she was to me, she was perfect. I wasn’t good enough for Zuko, and she knew that right away.

            Mai was right about me from the very start.

            The sound of my tears hitting the bathwater was deafening in this empty bathroom. My tears alone filling the bathtub to the rim. The more I thought about how imperfect I was, the harder it was for me to breathe. My chest was feeling far too small, every breath a struggle between sniffles.

            Mai was strong; she didn’t need to rely on a bunch of people to protect herself. She didn’t cry every time she got frustrated. I bet if Zuko and Mai took some time to sit down and talk things through, they could’ve easily patched things up.

            When you think of a Fire Queen, you don’t think of me; some nobody crying in a bathtub alone. You think of someone powerful like Mai. My hands dropped from my head, eyes fluttering open and taking in my reflection from the water.

            Nose puffy, eyes swollen and red.

            I’m a mess.

            All that time, Zuko took, helping me gain confidence in myself, making me want to bend again – it was a waste. And the worst part is I still remember the bright smile on Zuko’s face as we trained together. We were having fun.

            At that very moment, Zuko was proud of me, genuinely enjoying himself. It was a moment that I would cherish forever because Zuko viewed me as an equal fighting partner. Someone whom he could train and spare with. And the scariest thing about it all was I was happy.

            For the first time years, I was delighted to bend. There was no sense of shame or guilt; I was bending, and it was exhilarating. And it was the closest I have ever felt to my mom since I lost her.

            But, just like that, it was all gone – all because of me.

            Because I’m too damn weak, too fragile - a damn flower.

            My hands frustratedly wiped my face, remembering Kayto’s nickname for me. Of all times to think of him, I think of him now? But I couldn’t help it, he called me a flower, and he was right. I was fickle, a delicate little thing that was easy to trample and destroy.

            Gazing at my tear-stained face, sniffling as I embraced myself, anything to make the sadness go away as the reality of the situation settled. I was vulnerable – unable to bend freely, to protect myself.

            It could take at least a year for me to heal, and if that’s the case, I can’t let Zuko waste his time with me. Spend his resources and time protecting me. I can’t do that…I’m not fit for him. I never was, he needs someone strong like Mai.

            Not me.

            My eyes shut, bawling silently.

            “Babe, sorry, I knocked a few times, but I have some towels and clothes-”

            My body stiffens, eyes wide as my head snapped to the direction of the door. Zuko’s voice trailed off, his body rigid as he gazed at me. And if I thought I was really crying, another wave of tears hit me the moment our eyes met.

            Desperately, I tried to hide my tear-stained face from Zuko, but he didn’t give me a chance. I could hear his heavy footsteps against the cold flooring before the water in the tub splashed everywhere, and then warmth.

            Zuko grabbed me in one fluid movement, cradling me into his chest.

            “I-I’m so sorry.” I sobbed, shaking my head, trying desperately to pull away. This was not supposed to happen – but Zuko’s grasp on me tighten, tugging me closer, his fingers tangling themselves into my hair. “Don’t you fucking dare say sorry,” Zuko whispered into my hair, trying to ease my cries.

            But the tears kept on falling, hiccupping. Being in Zuko’s arms, I relished in it. As much as I wanted to pull away, it was pointless. I couldn’t do it – I couldn’t dare pull away because I wanted to be in his arms. I just wanted him to hold me like how he usually does, and almost instantaneously my breathing evened.

            “W-why?” I sniffled into his chest.

            Zuko sighed, tugging my face into the crook of his neck, his lips brushing against my head. Small chaste kisses pressed against my forehead as I snivelled. “Why what? Why are you crying by yourself when you have me to cry on? I would like to know the damn answer too.” He muttered.

            I sniffed, letting my hands fall over his chest, feeling his skin raised in a few areas – old wounds that have long healed and now scars.

            “I’m so frustrated with everything!” I shrieked into his chest.

            Zuko pulled away slightly, my face suddenly all too visible to him. Zuko brushed some strands of hair away from my face, and I could only imagine how puffy my eyes were now after my new round of tears. “I know the feeling, love…welcome to the story of my life,” Zuko mumbled, hands cupping my face, thumbs rubbing faint circles along my cheeks.

            “I-It’s like we take one step forward a-and then we take ten steps back!”

            “The doctor…he upset you, didn’t he?”

            “It’s not the doctor; it’s me. I’m mad at myself.”

            Zuko sighed, giving me a small smile as he looked down at me, “But why? Nothing changes, love. We train but take it back a notch. And I’ll take a few extra precautions until things settle-”

            “But that’s the problem! You shouldn’t have to do any of that.” I groaned in irritation. Zuko frowned, the grip on my face suddenly tight as he kissed his teeth, “I do have to. We’re a two for one special babe, and I know you would do the same thing for me. You’re the future queen, and anything less would be foolish.”

            “Zuko – I’m not fit to be queen. I’m not strong or a leader. I’m crying in a bathtub!”

            And to my utter surprise, Zuko chuckled. I can’t believe he’s laughing at me right now. His chest rumbled underneath my hands, the grip on my face loosening as he bore a smile. “You honestly think that you’re weak? That because you don’t run headfirst into battle like some damn savage you don’t deserve to be my queen?”

            I shut my mouth, unable to think of anything because hearing him say it loud – expression light-hearted made me relax ten fold. And as I opened my mouth, trying to utter something, Zuko shushed me with his fingers.

            “Yue, I’ll be honest - I had tons of suiters. All of them warriors, born in royalty, and powerful. But they all lacked one thing.”

            “And what was that?” I muttered, his fingers still pressed against my lips.

            “Empathy.”

            My hands rose, wiping the remaining tears from my eyes.

            With one last sniffle, I studied Zuko’s expression – love. His eyes were full-blown, glowing as he smiled at me tenderly, “You’re right babe, you’re not going to be a leader or some warrior anytime soon. And it’s not because you’re weak, it’s because with you in rule, by my side, there won’t be any need for mindless wars or battles.”

            “You really…think that?” I hiccupped.

            Zuko rolled his eyes, flicking my forehead without warning and causing me to whine in response, “For fucks sakes- You’re the only person in the world who can make enemies friends. You managed to make me somewhat tolerate Kayto, the damn asshole who I’ve despised for years. Fuck, you somehow got me to sit in a far-too-small of a bathtub, cuddling you!”

            And Zuko was indeed right.

            Zuko sat in the bathtub with me, fully clothed and saturated. How in the world did he even manage to fit in here with me? A small giggle escaped me at the sight of Zuko, noticing that while the tub was plentiful for me, Zuko was undoubtedly squished. “And don’t get me started on the guards and maids.” Zuko groaned.

            “What about them?” I asked, voice slightly strained from all the crying.

            Zuko scoffed, kissing his teeth as he crossed his arms, “If someone came right now, trying to kill us both. I can say, with certainty, they would save your ass first before me. You have them wrapped around your finger.”

            “Oh, be quiet. We know that’s not true, you’re their Fire Lord.”

            “Pft, that may be true, but they’re way more loyal to you than me.”

            I laughed softly at his words, watching the way the water rippled around us as we spoke and smiled. The water was starting to get a bit chilly, no longer hot as before. How long have we been here for? And as I studied my horrid appearance, a single finger titled my head back, forcing my gaze to fall over Zuko once again.

            “A year will fly by babe; just me and you…”

            “I know…thank you,” I whispered.

            No amount of words could explain how thankful I was at the moment. How badly I just needed to cry out my frustrations with Zuko right by my side. I don’t think people realized how great of a listener Zuko was, and maybe it had something to do with him being raised by Iroh.

            Zuko smiled, poking my nose light-heartedly. The lopsided grin he shot me, I already knew he was thinking of something silly. “You know, in a really fucked up way, it’s kind of a good thing you gotta wait a year.”

            “And why’s that Zuko?” I asked, puzzled- genuinely intrigued by his statement. Zuko laughed, shooting me a sheepish grin, “Because if I'm honest, you really did kick my ass out there. Gives me a year to sharpen up my skills.”

            My eyes widen, heart fluttering at his words. He viewed me as an opponent, someone who could challenge him. I bore the silliest smile, leaning forward, “So I guess that means I win the bet?” I pestered.

            Right away, Zuko snorted, hands falling behind his head, “I beg to differ.”

            I laughed at his tone, hands hugging my knees to my chest. Goosebumps rose on my skin, the water starting to get the better of me. The water rippled around us as I shifted, trying to bring my naked legs closer to myself for warmth. And it was watching the water drip down my knees that had my eyes widen, and taking in the obvious.

            I’m butt naked right now.

            Zuko is in the bathtub with me.

            Oh my gosh-

            The blush that radiated throughout my body was enough to heat the bath once again. How did I NOT clue in before? So lost in my self-pity, common-sense left the damn window. And to make matters worse, I could hear Zuko chuckling to himself, his oh-so-famous smirk plastered on those sinful lips. “What you thinking about over there, babe. You look like a cherry-tomato.”

            I pushed my hair forward, trying to seek out some form of decency. And the more I frantically tried to cover up with my tangled hair, Zuko laughed, enjoying my flustered movements. “Is someone suddenly shy?” Zuko teased, shifting in the water before standing straight.

            Water poured from the fabric of his slacks, bits of sand and dirt starting to float to the top as he moved. "Oh shut up you damn pervert!" I whined, biting my lip between small giggles. Because while it was embarrassing on my end, even I had to admit, the whole situation was amusing. Only I would manage to get myself in such a position.

            Zuko outstretched his hand towards me, chinning for me to grasp it, “Let’s get out, it's cold and dirty. I’ll draw a fresh bath for us.” My hand gently rested over his, Zuko’s fingers gripping my wrist.

            “Us?” I repeated, an eyebrow raised.

            “Babe. If you think I’m gonna wait outside, soaking wet, while you take a nice hot bath you have horribly misjudged my level of niceness and gentlemanliness.”

            I grinned at his words, shaking my head as I let Zuko pull me upwards with ease. My feet struggled to find a steady footing, toes pressing harshly against the tub. And just as I found my footing, body no longer swaying in the water, Zuko tugged.

            I yelped, falling into his chest, face smushed as I held him for dear life. “Zuko! What in the world-”

            His hand hugged my head, fingers running along my hair as he planted a soft kiss on my forehead. His lips were curved upwards against my skin, his warm breath casting away the cold in my bones. “I promise no funny business. I just…want to hold you…”

            And I let him - because sometimes a hug is the best medicine.

              “Are you certain Fire Lord Zuko? It is no problem for us at all.” A maid insisted, watching over me with a mixture of relief and concern.

            The moment we finished our bath and changed into fresh clothing, I was bombarded with hugs from the maids. Their arms wrapped around me with cries of bliss - not at all caring that they broke every royal protocol in a matter of seconds. All formalities were dropped, their eyes scanning me up and down to make sure I was indeed safe and intact.

            And while I was most certainly taken aback by the amount of love I was receiving, I hugged them all. They were sweethearts, all caring and I was lucky to have such people near me.

            “Rest assured; we’ll be fine. Please, enjoy the rest of your evening.” Zuko spoke with a smile. The maids looked at each other with weary looks, before finally letting out a long huff. “If you need us, please, don’t hesitate. Any hour, we are ready to serve.”

            “Thank you – really. For everything, you’ve made this whole trip a breeze.” I spoke, hugging the cup of tea in my hands as I leaned against the kitchen counter. The maids blushed with glee, giving us a final wave before the door shut closed behind them.

            I stole another sip from my warm cup of tea, savouring the fruity flavours that bloomed with every gulp. The hues of orange and magenta that painted the interior from the setting sun seemingly matched the burst of flavours that I drank. It was scrumptious; I definitely need to ask the maids what kind of tea this is.

            “It’s quite windy out there tonight,” Zuko spoke, running his hands through his hair.

            He lazily strolled towards where I stood, reaching forward for his cup of tea. I nodded at Zuko’s statement. It indeed was gusty, the trees in the far distance swaying aggressively. Even the sound of the waves, it was rougher, not nearly as calm. Strange…maybe a storm is coming soon? “You okay babe?” Zuko droned, his free hand running along my neck, pulling me out of my thoughts.

            I smiled, letting the cup slip from my grasp and onto the counter, my hands resting on his chest instead. The cotton fabric was soft to the touch, and as I let my head rest on his pec, I could smell detergent – fresh out of the laundry.

            “You should sit down, love, get a bit of rest. It’s been a long day…” Zuko droned into my hair. I giggled at the way he played with my hair; it was an odd pleasure of his it seemed. He always managed to get his fingers tangled into my locks, letting his fingers run through the strands whenever we embraced.

            “Yeah…but I kinda-wanna bake. I’m pretty sure I own those big arms of yours tonight to mix some batter.” I grinned, letting my hands slid down his torso, and loop around Zuko’s waist. My chin rested against his chest, feeling his heart beating as I looked up at him lively. Did Zuko grow? He seems taller – I don’t remember being this short.

            “You see love, I would agree with you, but the thing is, you didn’t win the bet.” Zuko snickered, stealing a sip from his tea. I pouted, letting my fingers play with the hem of his shirt, feeling the smooth contours of his back underneath my fingers. “But you said I kicked your butt.”

            “You kicked ass - yes, but that doesn’t mean you win.”

            I laughed at Zuko’s logic because even he couldn’t stop the silly grin on his face as he stole yet another sip of tea. I could tell, based on his breath, that the tea he drank was not nearly as sweet as mine. Green tea maybe?

            “How about we say I win and I show just how beautiful you are.” Zuko purred, his head leaning over mine, hand leaving my hair and trailing to my lower back. He licked his lips dangerously slow, grazing against mine with heavy-lidded eyes.

            A coy smile played along my lips, my hands wander underneath his shirt, nails grazing his skin, “Convince me.” I purred.

            “I thought you’d never ask.”

            Zuko dove to my neck without a moment to spare, placing sweet butterfly kisses. I gasped softly, head resting on his shoulder as he nibbled, tugging and licking the sensitive skin. Without much thought, his name slipped through parted lips, only to have Zuko groaning against my skin.

            As my eyes were about to flutter shut, ready to submit to the pleasures I was experiencing, I noticed something. The trees outside were rustling, branches seemingly flying off with such force. It was weird, almost like-

            “Zuko…” I moaned, trying to think straight between the sinful kisses Zuko left on my neck and the trees outside. He groaned, signalling me to speak. With much will power, I swallowed back a lustful moan, “W-when is Aang and Sokka supposed to arrive?”

            I could feel the annoyance in Zuko’s kisses as he grunted, clearly not wanting to think of his two best friends in a moment like this. But the more I watched the way the trees moved, it was odd. The winds outside, they were dominant – yes, but not enough to send branches flying. And from what I know, Earthbenders can’t move greenery…

            “Sometime tomorrow, why?” Tomorrow?

            “Is there a chance they can arrive tonight?”

            “Technically. If they rode Appa here non-stop, they could, in theory.”

            Could that mean- “Zuko, I think Aang and Sokka may be here.” I blurted. The sweet kisses on my neck stopped, Zuko looking up at me with a puzzled look. “Well, love, I better hurry, because my baby here needs to be taken care off.” My cheeks redden, Zuko smirking as he watched the way I quivered at his words.

            I mean…if it is them, they seem quite far in the distance…we can have a bit of fun. “Let me put down this tea before I make a mess.” Zuko chuckled, and as he reached over to place the cup on the marble counter, I gasped.

            Blue.

            “Zuko.” I hissed, hands gripping his t-shirt roughly. Zuko’s eyes widen, still holding the cup in his hand as I tugged him forward in fear. His face scrunched up, studying my expression with narrow eyes. Blue flames. I could see it in the distance.

            The gust of winds intensified, flickers of blue illuminating and contrasting heavily against the warm-tones of the sunset. Blue ambers floated in the sky, the winds picking up the ashes. Something is burning the trees. But blue flames? Could it be-

            “What’s wrong love? Are you hurt-”

            “B-blue flames. I see blue flames.” I whispered, watching with dreed as another burst of fire cut through the sky. As the words spilled from my lips, a sense of disbelief hit me to the core. A cold chill ran down my back, and the sound of ceramic hitting the floor caused me to shriek.

            Zuko swore under his breath, the cup slipping from his hand as he swiftly pushed me away from the shards that now littered the floor. But he paid no attention to it, turning on his heel as he sprinted to the window. And the moment another burst of fire came into sight, he froze in his spot. The hairs on the back of my neck rose because I saw the fear and anger that consumed Zuko, “Shit.”

            “Zuko-” I gasped, reaching forward and grabbing his arm. Zuko looked at me, face stone-cold, “The wind, it’s Aang. It has to be him-we need to help them; they may be in danger.”

            “Stay here. I’ll be back.”

            “Zuko,” I shouted, pulling him back as he tried to escape my grasp. He stopped, lips pressed thin, concern written on his face. “you can’t go alone, she’s dangerous. You know that. I’m going.”

            “No, you’re staying here. You need to rest, you’ve been on your feet all day-”

            “Zuko, that’s my family in danger.”

            His expression softened, and the sound of trees falling in the far distance added more stress on our shoulders. With a heavy sigh, Zuko grabbed my face, pressing his forehead against mine. “Fine. I’ll notify the guards. Stay here until I get you.” I nodded at his words, watching him sprint out of the house and shutting the door. And in turn, I stared out the window.

            Blue flames.

            I’ve never seen such a thing, and if it were under different circumstances, I would dare say it was beautiful. It was a rarity in itself. But I couldn’t push away the gut-wrenching uneasiness that lingered.

            That was Zuko’s sister – a painful reminder of his past. And I could tell by the look in his eyes that as much as he disliked her, that was still his little sister. I shook my head, pushing away the thoughts of the internal battle Zuko was probably facing at the moment. If only I could take that pain away, give him some relief.

            Stripping my gaze from the window, I turned on my heel and headed to the kitchen. The glass glistened under the sunset, and I grabbed a broom to pick up the glass shards. The last thing we need is glass on the floor when we come home.

            Tea was splattered everywhere, and I spotted a teabag amongst the shards. I was right – green tea. I crouched, dusting as much glass as I could into the pan. And while I eagerly swept away the glass, I could vaguely hear the sound of footsteps.

            My brows pinched together, standing hesitantly as I looked out the window. A few guards were sprinting across the sand, disappearing into the treeline with such speed and purpose, and my heart sank. He wouldn’t-

            The broom slipped from my hand, hitting the floor as I sprinted to the front door, only to bump into a guard. His eyes were wide, giving me an anxious smile as he bowed towards me, “Good evening Imperial Consort Ying Yue, what may I assist you-”

            “Where is Zuko?” I snarled, fists balled up by my side.

            The guard’s Adam’s apple rose and fell as he swallowed heavily, sweat starting to build up along his forehead, “U-uh, F-Fire Lord Zuko went out. H-He’ll be back; he needed to check on-”

            I lost it.

            My hands gripped the man's collar, shoving him against the railing of our cute little house. I didn’t have time for stupid games. “If you want your head to stay on your neck, I advise you tell me now.” I threatened.

            A pathetic cry left the mans lips, nodding his head frantically as he pointed towards the treeline, “He left with the guards. He knew you needed to rest after everything-”

            “I’m going to KILL THAT MAN,” I screamed, letting go of the poor guard as I ran down the porch steps. Sand snuck it’s way into my house slippers as I stomped wrathfully. My blood boiled and the urge to slap Zuko and throw him into the waters was far too tempting. They couldn’t have gotten far. Maybe a few minutes ahead of me?

            “Please, Imperial Consort, don’t leave! Fire Lord Zuko will kill me!”

            “Not if I kill him first,” I shouted over my shoulder, kicking the sand underneath my feet.

            First; I’m going to give a big hug to Sokka and Aang, and then I’m going to drown Zuko.

 ~ Fire Lord Zuko ~

            I don’t know why I thought Azula’s flames would be the same after so many years.

            And I also didn’t know why I pictured Azula looking the same from years ago.

            Because even though I saw her in person just a few days ago, a part of me wished that it wasn’t true. That what I saw that day was just a dream, and that she was still my little sister from all those years ago.

            A psychotic bitch - yes, but nevertheless, my sister.

            Sokka shouted stridently, warning Aang as Azula shot another disk of flames. The heat that poured out of her attack and the sound of branches soaring into the sky brought me back to reality. They needed help.

            And as soon as Azula started running towards Aang with a murderous look, I jumped from the ledge.

            The fires from my hands grew in size, hurling my arms back before thrusting them forward. A wave of flames erupted, stopping Azula from moving, and jumping back instead. My feet planted onto the ground with a thud, hunched over as rocks dug into my shoes. The wall of flames kept Aang and Sokka at bay from Azula – for now.

            “Zuko!” Aang shouted, running towards me with a look of relief. Sweat beaded down his face, his staff toasted from re-directing Azula’s burst of flames. “You guys are okay?” I asked, standing straight and squaring up my shoulders.

            “I can’t think of a better place to be other than here,” Sokka grumbled, panting heavily. I grinned at Sokka’s sheepish comment, adjusting the grip on his sword as he stared frustratingly at Azula.

            The area which we stood, it was destroyed. Azula’s flames abolished everything. Every tree, flower, and even the grass, burnt to a crisp – if Yue were here, she would be devasted.

            “Zuzu, I was waiting for you.” Azula purred, brushing her ponytail back with a mischievous grin. My eyes narrowed, watching her movement. Her feet were firmly planted on the ground, and while her posture seemed relaxed, I could see the way her eyes studied our movements. She was crazy – but not stupid.

            “Where’s your girlfriend Zuzu? It’s quite rude of you to not introduce her to me yet.”

            “What do you want Azula?” I sneered, don’t play her games. She crossed her arms, tilting her head to the side as she smiled. A smile that was so strained it had me on edge, “You know what I want Zuzu.”

            “I don’t.”

            “Oh, but I think you do.”

            Her hands began to uncross, cracking her fingers as she stared at me. This is bad-

            “Sokka,” I grunted, my eyes not wavering from Azula. Sokka glanced over at me, nodding quickly, “What’s up?”

            “Go to the forest – west. Lead them.” Sokka’s eyes widen, before smiling, “And this is why you’re Fire Lord. Always a step ahead.” Azula’s eyes narrowed, watching as Sokka sheathed his sword and began running to the forest line.

            I got here faster because I went east, but the soldiers, I directed them west to scout out the area, make sure there weren’t any rogues. It would take them longer to get here, but if Azula is indeed by herself - we could trap her. We could end this now.

            Azula’s eyes watched how Sokka ran, her face scowling. Her feet were ready to sprint after him, only to be stopped by my flames. She clicked her tongue in annoyance, hissing as she abruptly faced me. “You think you and your little friends are so smart. But you forgot, I don’t need to be close to kill you. I can do this-”

            Her arms twisted, fingers pointing straight as she twirled her hands in front of her.

            The sky above us began to roar, my heart pounding in my ears. She’s going shoot lightning, she’s going to kill Sokka.

            Sokka froze in his spot, eyes wide with the realization that there was no way he could protect himself. And I sprinted, my hands moving forward, getting into position to re-direct the lightening. But as I ran, watching Azula twist her wrist one last time towards Sokka, I realized - I wouldn’t make it.

            Azula outstretched her arm, everyone holding their breath – expecting the worst. And as her fingers straighten, sparks flickering from her fingertips something flew past her.

            Azula screamed.

            A long spear was embedded into the ground, red painting the tip of it. Azula held her hand to her chest, scowling in pain. But I didn’t care about her; I was focused on the spear. It wasn’t normal. No - it was blue, clear yet it had a strange glow like crystal…

            Almost like-

            “Princess!” Sokka shouted. I turned on my heel; breath hitched as I took in what I saw. There she was, in all her glory, my one and only weakness – Ying Yue.

            She stood tall, her hand raised high above her, water flowing up her arm – another spear of ice forming into her grasp. Her golden eyes ablaze as she stared at Azula with a vengeance.

            “Just the person I was waiting for.” Azula snickered, eyes narrowing towards Yue, completely disregarding the rest of us. And it was then it hit me – this is a set-up.

            Azula was using us as bait.

Copyright © 2019 Mystic-Kitten, inc. all rights reserved. No reposting, modifying, or translations of any kind allowed. Thank you for your cooperation.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Avatar characters portrayed in this story besides Ying Yue Jiang, Lia, Kima, and any future creations.

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[artifactseeker-myr99]

So my best friend insists on gifting me something for Christmas and literal hours later I finally caved and told him I’d be happy with a plushie because I knew I wouldn’t get out of this unless I give in to his puppy dog eyes since gifts are one of his primary love languages

He responded “if I find something” so I went and dropped two specific plushies (no links or anything, just what the “models” are called)

And now I’m feeling guilty and worry about sounding fake in my initial vehement rejection and insistence he doesn’t need to gift me anything…

I even told him it‘s our love languages being different and me being mindful of him treasuring gifts, while I personally don’t really care for gifts at all and will feel shitty if I don’t/can’t honor a gift properly

I already feel bad because I haven’t finished my hand-made gift for him yet, despite him knowing he will get a 20x20 framed cross-stitch motive (presumably part-reason why he is so insistent on a Christmas gift)

So yea, gifting-culture is exhausting, the pressure tied to receiving gifts more so than finding/picking out gifts for people

[timehealsfanfictionbka]

Time Heals....Chapter Fifty- One Pt. 2

Robyn leaned against the counter, sipping on a beer, quietly watching as Chris was cooking. She sighed and Chris smiled over at her, “what’s the matter, Baby?”

“Oddly. Nothing.”

“So me pushing you was a good thing?”

“I’m not quite ready to say that yet but it wasn’t the worst thing you could do.”

Chris chuckled as he sprinkled a seasoning mix over the broccoli he was sauteing, “you never could give an inch.”

“I’m stubborn. Sue me.”

“I’d rather- never mind. You ready to eat?”

“Don’t never mind me like I wouldn’t figure out the quip you was about to say.”

Chris shook his head with a smile, “I’d never try to get something over on you.”

“Yea right.”

Robyn pushed away from the counter as she set her beer down, “want me to set the table?”

“I was thinking we’d eat out on the back porch. The sunset looks pretty.”

“Ok, Mr. Romantic. You don’t have to do this, you know? I’m not fragile and gonna burst into hysterical tears.”

“I would never expect that.”

“What you trying to say?”

“That I’d expect you wanting to argue with me more so than start crying about this. Your go to emotion is irritation not sadness.”

“I’m not that bad.”

“I didn’t say you were, I’m just saying what I’ve experienced with you.”

Robyn rolled her eyes and she moved to the cabinet to grab the serving dishes. Just as she set the plates on the counter and reached up for the cups, Chris moved behind her and wrapped his arms around her waist, “you know I love you right.”

“Never doubted it.”

“Good. Long as you know it.”

Robyn giggled and playfully pushed back against him. Chris pinched her exposed thigh, “don’t start nothing, won’t be nothing.”

“Well what if I want it to be something?”

Chris sighed into her neck before nipping it gently, “later.”

“Now if I bite you back, don’t be in here crying.”

“Don’t leave your teeth imprint and I won’t. Took a whole week for your imprint to disappear from my chest.”

Robyn chuckled, “chicken.”

“Cannibal.”

“Says the man who loves to eat me.”

Chris choked on his words as he started to laugh. Robyn shook her head as she grabbed two glasses from the cabinet and stood them up on the plates to carry it to the back porch, “hurry up and put the food in the serving dishes. I’m hungry.”

“So...what you think?” Chris said as he cut into his chicken.

“It’s really good, Babe. Thank you.”

“Not a problem. Honestly, how are you feeling?”

“I feel ok. I don’t think it’ll really hit me until later.”

“True. You don’t have to tell me everything if you don't want to. I know that was really private moment for you.”

“I think what’s most important is Michael didn’t hate me for any of this. I just felt so guilty being in love with you knowing you as long as I have and knowing that I married him when I did. I just felt like maybe I wasn’t being fair or all there with either of you.”

“What do you mean?”

“How could I love you the way  I did yet marry Michael and love him the way I did.”

“Because me and Michael are not the same person. Clearly we each spoke to a different part of you and it lasted for however long it was meant to. Michael was what you needed then and I’m what you need now. For all we know, I could’ve ruined your life worse than I already did had we been together back then. It’s the same way with Tiana. I loved her in my own way and she’s nothing like you.”

“I guess.”

“That doesn’t make either relationship more right or wrong than the other. And if Michael had lived and I had kept my big mouth shut, we’d probably both still be married and living life as is. Only difference between that happening and what’s happening now is we wanted something different. Something different that we could only find with each other. I have no guilt about that.”

“I can understand that.”

“I think you’re being so much harder on yourself than anybody else is. If Michael didn’t think you would be ok, I’m sure he would’ve held out much longer but he probably didn't want to hold you back. That’s love, Bajan Girl.”

“I see why he sent you back to me.”

“What?”

“I told him that I think he sent you back to me on purpose. I could never understand why he wanted me to contact you in those final weeks but it all makes sense now.”

“You think your husband played divine matchmaker?”

“I don’t know about a matchmaker but I think he knew I needed you and you needed your daughters. The rest was left up to us.”

“I needed you too, Robyn. It wasn’t just about the girls.”

“True. I don’t know where you would be without me.”

“Oooh shots fired.”

Robyn laughed as she rubbed the back of his hand. Chris turned his hand, palm side up, and held her hand in his, “I needed this peace. You can find sex and lust and fun anywhere but this peace is unique. I don’t want to live a life without this.”

Robyn squeezed his hand then let go to brush her hair out of her face, “getting real sentimental out here, ain’t it?”

Chris laughed, “and there’s the shield.”

“I don’t have a shield. I just need a break from being emotional for a while, that’s all.”

“Uh huh.”

“Don’t do that, Chris.”

“I’m not doing anything. So what do you want to do now?”

“What you promised me earlier”

“Later.”

“No. No. I want my bite now.”

Chris chuckled as he leaned his head back, purposely showing the elongation of his neck, “come here.”

Robyn walked over to him and straddled his lap, “I don’t even want to get undressed.”

“Right here.”

Robyn nodded her head as she moved her fingertips under his shirt.

“You want to bite me that bad?”

“I want to fuck you that bad. Biting is optional, at least it used to be.”

“You weren’t like this years ago.”

“I wasn’t fucking you years ago either so how would you know?”

“You have a point.”

“And you have a dick. And I would like to ride it now.”

Chris spread his legs, which in turn spread Robyn’s legs. Her hands went to his zipper, pulled it down. She reached into his boxers, pushed them down. His dick plopped down. Not quite hard but not quite soft either. It was heavy and distended far enough from his body that she wouldn’t have to do much to get it where she wanted it.

She lifted the t-shirt dress, that she had changed into, over her hips. Chris tugged her panties to the side and she grabbed his dick to sit on it. Chris groaned as she swallowed him whole. Something was different. He didn’t know how he knew but he just knew.

“Robyn?”

“No condom, Chris.”

“I know but-”

“How’d you know?”

“I don’t know but your body language feels different.”

“None of that either.”

“Why?”

“Why not?”

“Even though-”

“We’ll get there.”

                                             ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Chris watched her sleep. Her chest moved up and down at an even pace. He placed his hand on her heart and let it move with it as it beat. He wasn’t prepared for this. He wasn’t even sure this was the right thing to do but at the same time there was nothing left to do. He slid his hand into his pocket, grabbed the box for a moment then let it go. He thought about her dream. The dream that sent her sweating and thought maybe all of it wasn’t from her past.

“Chris Baby, what are you doing?” Robyn murmured softly.

“Just looking. You’re so much nicer when you’re asleep.”

“Oh shut up.”

Chris laughed as he ran his finger down her arm.

“Babe, come here.”

Chris moved to lay on top of her and Robyn reached down into his pocket to grab the box, “how’d you-”

“I know you Chris. There’s no way you didn’t already have one somewhere on your person. Don’t do this because of this moment. I just want to enjoy this transition without worry. Can we do that? Please?”

“Robyn.”

“I love you but I don’t want to feel pressure. I just want to enjoy this. I want to have this peace before we bring something else into our lives. Can I please have this peace for me?”

Chris kissed her lips, “I-”

“Chris, when I am ready I will put this ring on my finger. You don’t even have to ask me, ok? But you have to trust that I will be ready. Can you do that?”

“I can do that.”

“You promise?”

“I promise, Baby. I promise.”

Robyn tossed the box onto the nearest nightstand and kissed his lips. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders as she pulled him closer for them to make out. The ring long forgotten, Chris kept kissing her and rubbing against her. The sheets falling away from her body. He settled his pajama clad bottom in between her legs. She was hot. She was wet. She was ready and it gave Chris an idea.

“Can I put a ring somewhere else on you?”

“What?” Robyn whispered as she pulled back from him.

“Can I put a ring somewhere else?”

“Like where?”

His knee grazed her pussy and her eyes widened, “you want to pierce my clit?”

“Will you let me?”

“Chris, I don’t know.”

“Just thinking about rolling my tongue around it is giving the biggest hard on of my life. I swear it’ll be for both of us.”

“Are you serious?”

“Dead.”

“You really gonna be ok with letting some stranger get between my legs and pierce my clit?”

“I’ll be there to watch. And to test it out.”

“I can’t believe you just asked me that. And I can’t believe I’m saying yes.”

“Yes? You’re gonna do it?”

“Yes, I’ll do it but you gotta get pierced too.”

“Where?”

“Nipples.”

“Both?”

“Both.”

“Robs, I don’t-”

“No nipples, no clit.”

“Whew...ok, I’ll do it.”

“Deal?”

“Deal.”

“You know when I agreed, I didn’t think you meant right now,” Chris murmured as they pulled into the parking lot of a tattoo parlor.

“I’m down for whatever but you’d quickly change your mind on me.”

“I wouldn’t renege like that.”

“Tell that to somebody that doesn’t know you. Come on, Mr. Brown.”

“Are they even open?”

“For me they are.”

“What?”

“My primary tattoo place. It’s by appointment only and the owner opens whenever I call. She’s awesome. You’ll love her.”

Chris frowned as he saw the door of the building open and a short dark skinned women stand in the doorway, “that’s her?”

“Best artist and piercer in the state. Don’t be nervous. She’s gentle.”

Robyn turned off the car and took off her seat belt. They climbed out the car at the same time. Robyn rushed over to the woman and gave her a huge hug, “Hi Destiny.”

“My pretty Bajan girl. You finally gonna let me see the magic.”

“Don’t start flirting with me. This is Chris,” Robyn reached her hand out for him, “my boyfriend.”

“He’s cute, Mama. Should’ve brought him around sooner. Nice ink, Chris.”

“Thanks. Nice to meet you, Destiny.”

“Very nice to meet you, “ Destiny flicked her tongue and Chris noticed it was pierced and split. His brow raised and Destiny laughed, “I split and pierced it myself. Hurt like hell but nipple piercings are easy and quick. Come on in, my very adventurous friends.”

They followed her inside and Chris stared around the shop. It was spacious. Very clean. Smelled sterile, almost like a hospital. Destiny kept them walking further down a hallway until they entered a room that resembled a doctor’s office.

Chris nodded in approval as Destiny started moving around her work table, “nice place.”

“Thanks. Top place in the state. Never had an issue so don’t worry. Hygiene is what I’m best at. So who’s first? Nipples or clit?”

“Nipples. Chris will probably be quicker.”

“I did always like them fast. Come on, Christopher. I’m assuming that's your full name.”

“It is.”

“Have a seat on the bench. Need to examine what I’m working with. Shirt off.”

Chris took off his shirt and handed it to Robyn. He looked at her then at Destiny and Robyn rolled her eyes, “No.”

“No what?” Destiny asked as she adjusted the height of her chair.

“He wants to know if we’ve been together.”

“What? Oh no, my husband would kill us.”

“Husband?” Chris sputtered out.

“You thought I was a lesbian? Oh Sweetie, ain’t a woman in this world sweet enough to make me switch sides. I just like to flirt with her because she’s pretty. Your woman has been untouched by these skillful hands.”

“Sorry, I just-”

“It’s ok, I’m used to it and I kind of like to play on it to be honest. Been married 17 years. Two babies, twin boys. Makai and Malcolm,” Destiny replied as she gestured towards the two photos on the wall, “that’s how I met your beautiful girl here. At a Mommy and three class.”

“Mommy and three?”

“Special class for moms of multiples.”

“Oh cool.”

“You must be Erin and Erica’s dad.”

“How’d you-”

“The face shape and the facial expressions. Very distinctive, plus I’m an artist, I notice everything.”

“Oh.”

“Though I’m disappointed I could never get Ms. Robyn to let me re-pierce her nipples, I’m glad for the new territory.”

“If I consider having kids again, I don’t want to keep taking them out,” Robyn replied

“It’s only for a few months to a year. If you had just came back in after you finished breastfeeding, I could’ve easily slipped your rings back in and it would’ve been no problem. You waited until they closed up,” Destiny said as she went to the sink and washed her hands before slipping on black gloves and prepping his nipple area.

“Ok Chris, your nipples are fairly average sized so the normal ring should be just fine.”

“Have you had to use different sizes before?”

“I’ve had it where I had to use a tongue ring because the area was so big. Yours should be quick and easy. The first one tends to go the fastest, the second one you might actually feel it. You ready?”

Chris took a deep breath, “rea- Oww!”

Destiny laughed as she slid the ending ball on the end of the bar, “that trick always works.”

Robyn giggled as Chris frowned. He went to touch it and Destiny slapped his hand, “your hands are dirty. Don't infect my work.”

She sat down and prepped the second area, “how are the girls doing?”

“They’re doing pr-OWW!”

Destiny chuckled as Robyn doubled over in hysterical laughter, “I’m glad you didn’t actually shoot up off the bench.”

She twisted on the second ball then carefully cleaned both areas and loosely put medical tape over them, “I figured you don’t want to walk outside shirtless so this should protect them from catching on your shirt. You can get dressed. Ms. Robyn, your turn.”

Robyn hissed as she sat down in the car. Chris glanced over at her as he settled in the driver seat, “you ok, Baby?”

“I think I just came on myself.”

“What?”

“I am sensitive as hell. I think I just came on myself.”

“Oh my God.”

“I can’t believe I let you convince me to do this. I cannot be at work like this.”

“It’s not that sensitive.”

“Dude, everytime I move my leg, it fucking throbs like I just had a major orgasm. I know what I’m feeling.”

“Well Destiny said it’ll take some getting used to. My nipples actually feel pretty decent.”

“Well good for you. I’ma be in my office having unwanted orgasms for the next 8 weeks.”

Chris chuckled, “just call out, I’ll stay home and help with the girls while you heal. You might feel better in a week or two instead of 8 weeks.”

“We can’t have sex.”

“I heard that unfortunate news.”

Robyn laughed, “this was your idea, should’ve thought about it.”

“I did. I didn’t expect it to happen tonight. Thought I had a little bit more time to fuck before we did this.”

“I didn’t want you to chicken out on me.”

“Whatever. I have a question.”

“What?”

“You really never got with Destiny?”

“Chris, get your mind out of the gutter. We make inappropriate jokes, I just let the woman pierce me for God’s sake but we have never gotten together. I don’t do girls and you know that.”

“I mean-”

“Listen, I’d do some things for you but threesomes are always and forever out of the question.”

“But-”

“And no you couldn’t watch either. And neither could another girl. Bring it up again and you won’t see this piercing for more than 8 weeks.”

#chrianna #timehealsfanfiction

[jolienjoyswriting]

You Want to Kiss Me?

"You Want to Kiss Me?," a semi-immersive Shake fan fiction story.

If you've never heard of "Shake," then I don't blame you.  Most people learned of the series of slot machines through the Team Fortress 2 map, "Wacky Races," and even then, they only know about (Live) F.K. and his song, "Give Me!"  But, as you might have guessed, there are more characters than the robotic DJ and more song than "Give Me!"  One character, in particular, is Nadja, the pop idol who may-or-may-not be a vampire. (I mean, I think she is, but her wings keep changing color, so…)

This story I've written is about someone who's a huge fan of Nadja, and gets the chance to actually meet her!  Who's the lucky someone?  Well… it's you, if you want it to be.  That's right.  I actually decided to write a "Character × Reader" story.  Why?  Partly because I was writing too many stories and chapters with my namesake, Joseph, but mostly as a change of pace – an "experiment," if you will.  So, yeah.

Enjoy "your" time with Nadja the Vampire Diva, y'all~! (I know I did.  :D)

Word count: 3,533 – Character count: 19,385 Originally written: April 19th, 2019

After watching your favorite musician, Nadja the Vampire Diva, in concert, you find yourself in her presence at your favorite hangout!  Will you let this rare chance slip by…?

Nadja, "Shake," and related characters and concepts created by and © Daito Giken

    “I wasn’t surprised when you noticed me…  I stand out of a crowd!”     That’s how you caught my eye…     “I’m glad I took a chance with you.  You’re good.”     That’s how you captured my heart.     “But… be honest.  You want to kiss me?”     And, that’s where things got really complicated with you… Nadja.

    I’ve been a huge fan of Nadja ever since she debuted over in Japan, a few years back.  I practically fell in love with that pop idol the first time I saw her!  The focus in her eyes…  The sweet, playful smile on her face…  That cute little fang!  The way her long, deep-pink hair swayed whenever she moved, and the grace of her dance steps…  Yeah, she might have dressed like a typical pop star, wearing those bell-bottom pants and that skimpy tank top that accentuated her more… “womanly” features, but I knew she wasn’t shallow and empty, like all the others.  She’s a fan of her fans…  I guess that’s why I took the chance that I did.

    It all started when I went to one of her concerts.  She was playing in the states for the first time ever!  Not only that, but she was playing right here, where I live!  I had to get a ticket to her show!  It wasn’t cheap, though…  She was practically sold out within the first couple of hours!  Still, I managed to reserve a seat at the stadium.     It… wasn’t a great seat – I had to use my phone’s camera zoom to actually see her.  But, oh man… the way she moved…!  It was like she cast a hypnotic spell on the crowd… or maybe, that was just me.  I know I was completely focused on her as she sang one of her hit songs, “Vampire.”  Hee…  That vampire character she plays when performing is really charming.  I remember being pulled into her world the first time I heard her song… at least until she said: “I wanna suck your blood.”  What a way to get my attention!

    Anyway, after an absolutely great three-hour performance, Nadja told the crowd she’d be signing autographs for her new album outside the stadium.  I tried to get one, but there were just too many people.  She had to leave before even half of us got an autograph.  I guess a pop star, like her, must keep a really busy schedule…  It was disappointing, but I was still pretty amped from the show, so I went to my favorite out-of-the-way hangout.  I didn’t expect what happened next…

    “Vampire’s Kiss, please.”

    Not five minutes after I’d gotten some food, I heard a voice ordering that strangely-named drink.  When I looked over at the place’s bar, I went wide-eyed!  Sitting right there… was a lady with long, deep-pink hair and a matching tracksuit.  Could it be her…?     There was no way a girl like her could have been there, I thought.  It wasn’t a popular place full of popular people…  It had to be a case of mistaken identity.  That’s what I thought… until she started looking around.  No, there was no mistaking that playful smile, those beautiful, hazel eyes, or that little fang of hers.  That girl sitting there?  She wasn’t just “some girl…”

    She was Nadja, the Vampire Diva.

    I’m not sure how long I was sitting there, staring… but it had to be long enough for her to notice.  Once she got her drink – some deep red thing in a martini glass – she slid off her seat and casually walked my way in that lovely, feminine way she moves, one foot in front of the other with swaying hips.  I immediately looked away.  However…     “Herro…”     She quietly greeted me, her Japanese accent seeping through her words.  She was quick to cough and correct herself.     “I mean… ‘Hello.’”     Something about the way she spoke made a shiver run down my spine…  I’d had dreams where Nadja spoke to me… dreams where we hung out or went on dates…  But…     “May I join you?” she politely asked.     She was there.  Really there!  Standing not even a couple paces away from me… talking to me…!  Me…!!  I was way too scared to speak!     “You look nervous…” she noted.  “You’re sweaty and shaking.  Are you okkee?”   �� Her Japanese accent slipped back into her words, making her question sound somewhat stiff.  Even so, I couldn’t bring myself to speak.     “Well… I’m gonna sit here…”     My body tensed.  I didn’t dare look, but I could hear her slide into the booth where I sat.  Thank God she was sitting across from me.  I probably would’ve had a heart attack if she’d sat next to me!

    “Nervousness is bad for the brood,” she started before fixing her misspeak.  “Bad for the blood, I mean.  It makes you feel tense and bad!  You should relax!  I won’t bite…”     I couldn’t help but be reminded: they called her the “Vampire Diva” for a reason…     “I kidding!” she merrily giggled.  “But seriously, if I making you nervous, I can go.  I just notice you looking at me…  Am curious…  You seem harmress.”     She was right about that.  I was too nervous to harm anyone!  As I listened to her talk more, though… I found myself becoming fixated on all the little quirks with her words.  Nadja’s songs have a lot of “Engrish” in them – which is to say, they sound kind of clunky, sometimes.  I never considered that Nadja, herself, might not be fluent in English…

    “Mm…”     That noise got my attention.  Nadja sounded… disappointed?  I willed myself to look her way… only to blink in surprise.  She was looking out the window, completely ignoring me.  I also noticed the look on her face.  She seemed… lonely.  I suddenly felt guilty…     “This always happens…  I keep forgetting, fans aren’t friends.  Boke desu…”     She shrugged a little before faintly smiling.     “You know me,” said the pop idol quietly told me.  “You’re nervous.  Okay.  I probably shouldn’t be here, anyway…  Maybe, I just wanted to take a break, but… okay.  This is the life I chose.  This is something to keep in mind…”     The lady turned my way… only to blink from behind a pair of dark-tinted, rosy sunglasses.     “You stare, again…”  She narrowed her eyes… then, suddenly, she gasped!  “Did I upset you…?!  Oh, no, sorry!  I talk to myself but sometimes, I don’t notice!  I–”     “No,” I simply told her.  “No, I’m just…”     As I trailed off… I couldn’t help but start laughing.  I’m not sure why, either…

    “Nani?” Nadja asked, cocking her head to one side.  “What’s so funny?”     “The way you speak…” I started to say.  Before I could explain what I meant, though…     “Ha… how dare?!”     She shot me a glare and puffed her cheeks.     “I try to speak English hard,” she said in a raised voice, “but English is a very difficult language to speak!  You have many words that mean so much!  Yayakoshī!!”     I knew she was genuinely mad at me… but for some reason, I couldn’t keep myself from laughing more!  There was something kind of cute about her temper flaring, I guess…

    “Boke!” she shouted as she stood from the table.  “Kaerimasu!  Hmph…!”     As she turned to leave the booth, I stopped laughing.     “Wait-wait-wait!!” I called.  When she shot me another glare, I quickly told her, “I-I’m sorry!  I didn’t mean to upset you!”     “I-I’m not upset…!  Boke!”     I could see the tears forming in the corners of her eyes.  I didn’t just make her mad…  I hurt her feelings too!     “The way you speak isn’t funny…” I tried to explain with a frown.  “I’m just nervous and… I guess… kind of surprised you don’t speak better English…?”     Even without her death-glare, I knew that was the wrong thing to say…     “Nadja,” I told her, “I didn’t mean to upset you.  I really-really didn’t…!  I…”     I had to pause.  I was starting to feel nervous, again.     “Your face is red,” the pop idol noticed.  After a moment, she asked, “Do you… like me?”     She nailed it on the head.  All I could do was nod…     “So… why are you so mean…?!”     “I just–”     “If you like someone, you are kind to them!” she exclaimed, practically scolding me.  “I like you, so I'm kind to you!  You like me?  Be kind!  Jōshikidesu – it’s common sense!”     “Nadja–”     “Do not treat girls badly and–”     “I think your accent is really cute and I love the way you speak…!!”     “Nani…?!”  She paused before asking, “Na… nani tte itta no…?”     When I gave her a confused look, she quietly translated herself.     “Wh-what did you say…?”     “I said… ‘I think your accent is really cute and I love the way you speak…’”  I looked away before adding, “I think it suits you…”     When I glanced back up, I noticed Nadja was scowling… not a good sign.

    “I am trying to learn English,” she told me as she slowly returned to her seat.  “Real English.  Not the… the… what is it…  Japanese word: shōgakkō– p-primary school!  Yes, real English and not primary school English.  Very difficult-desu…”     “You’re doing fine– uh… you’re doing well, I mean?  Um… doing good!”     “See!  That’s what I mean.”  She retrieved her drink, finally taking a sip before telling me, “Three words for the same word.  ‘Fine,’ ‘well,’ ‘good.’  Japanese are much easier.”     “‘Is,’” I corrected as I skittishly looked her way.     “See…?!”  The girl pouted at me.  “English is hard…  Nihongo wa kantandesu…”

    After sitting back down, Nadja ran a finger around the rim of her martini glass, idly staring out the window, again.  I think she was still upset with me…  She might’ve been upset with herself, though.  It seemed like this whole “English” thing was getting her down… so, I decided to break the ice.

    “I really like your songs,” I told her.  When she glanced my way, I added, “You’re the best thing to come out of Japan since video games!”     She stopped playing with her glass and continued to look my way without turning her head.  It was kind of uncomfortable…     “You rike video games?” is the next thing said.  When I nodded, she asked, “Like what?”     She laughed when I told her my favorite game genre, but it was a good kind of laugh.     “I also like those,” she said before focusing on me.  She was smiling… a good sign.     “What kind of games do you like best?” I asked, keeping to the topic.     “Dansugēmu – dance games!” was her cheerful answer.  “I love to move my body!”     I blushed, imagining her playing a dancing game.  Then, before I could stop myself, I told her… “I bet you’re really good at them!”     “I’m not good at them!” she said after a hearty laugh.  “Sooo bad!  But they are fun.  Sometimes, I wish I could always dance my days away…”     Nadja paused, looking in a random direction.  When she turned back toward me, her eyes were half-closed and she wore a sweet smile.     “I want to play with you…” she said in a soft tone.  I knew what she meant, but it still flustered me to hear it…

    “So… did you watch my show?”     I blinked when she suddenly changed the topic.  After a second, I nodded.     “You were awesome!” I told her.     “I have good… um… bakkuappudansā?”  She paused to think.  “‘Backup dancers?’  They help me look good on stage!”     I thought about telling her I didn’t even notice the backup dancers because I couldn’t take my eyes off her.  I didn’t think she’d appreciate it, though.     “Hey, are you going to eat that?”     “Huh?”     I blinked, again.  Nadja was looking at me… but pointing at my food.     “Haven’t eaten, before,” she explained.  “It looks good.  Can I…?”     The pop idol didn’t need to ask twice.  I was quick to offer her some.  A second later…     “It looks better than it tastes.”     She rubbed her mouth, then offered a friendly smile.  She didn’t like my favorite food…     “You’re probably used to eating more fancy stuff, huh?” I commented as I took a little bite.  She just shrugged before speaking.     “I have to watch what I eat.  The manager got angry when gained weight…  Boke.  Can’t live with tomato juice, alone!  Well, I can,” she corrected, “but I hate it!”     Despite the seriousness of the statement, she still wound up giggling.     “Sometimes… I want a chocolate cake!  Or-or, bananapafe!  Or… sometimes…?”     I tilted back as Nadja leaned over the table, getting right in my face.  Then, with half-closed eyes, she whispered…     “Buraddiimīto.”

    It was hard to swallow as she told me that.  When she returned to her side, I started to ask her what she meant… only for her to explain herself.     “Medium-rare, tasty, big steak!” she excitedly told me.  “And, potatoes… baked twice!  Makaroni to chīzu…!  Chokorētoburaunī…!!  Mmmmm…!!”     Nadja dreamily gazed into the distance, imagining all that and possibly more.  I have to admit, it was weird to see someone getting so excited over such “normal” foods… which means she probably didn’t get to eat those very often.     “Being a pop idol diva sure is hard…”     Nadja snapped out of her food hallucination and blankly stared at me.     “‘Diiba…?’” she… repeated?  “Dōiu imidesu ka– um… what does that mean?”     “‘Diva?’” I asked.  When she nodded, I told her, “Famous lady celebrity.”     “Oh.”     She paused to sip her drink.     “What were we talking about, before food?”     “Oh, uh…”  I flustered a little.  “I was just saying… you were really awesome, tonight.”     After seeing her have a food fantasy, I was feeling a little more comfortable with her.  So, as casually as possible, I told her…     “I couldn’t take my eyes off you…”     Calmer or not, I still had to look away after saying that.  When I glanced her way, she looked taken aback… but was quick to smile that pretty smile at me.

    “It’s not normal, tonight…” she said before finishing her drink.  “I don’t usually go out, so I ran away from my manager.  Came here.  Saw you staring…”     I blushed a little.  She didn’t sound bothered, but I still felt embarrassed…     “I wasn’t surprised when you noticed me…  I stand out of a crowd!”  She laughed, then sighed.  “I’m glad I took a chance with you.  You’re good.  But… be honest.”     I looked up… only to blush even more.  Nadja was looking right at me with a soft, patient sort of smile, her little fang shining in the lights.  I was about to ask her what she meant, when…     “Do you want to kiss me?”     She said that.

    I wasn’t sure how to answer or if I even should.  What kind of question was that, anyway?  Why would she ask me that…?  She couldn’t know that I had a crush on her…

    “Bad baby, can’t you see…?”     The diva quietly and slowly sang to me as she rose from her seat, eyes half-closed and a constant smile on her face.     “Can’t you see…?  Can’t you see…?”     I couldn’t see much of anything, honestly.  My vision was getting blurry form how hard I was blushing!  Nadja, for whatever reason, was giving me a private performance of one of her songs… except it felt like less a performance…     “Hey, baby, can’t you see…?  You’ve got to kiss me…”     And more like an actual request…

    “Oh, will you find me… find me… find me…” she cooed as she sat down next to me.  Then, as she drew closer, she softly sighed, “Oh, will you find me… to… hold… me… tight…?”     I couldn’t believe what was happening…  Nadja, the Vampire Diva, had put one hand on my shoulder and had her gorgeous eyes focused on mine!  As she drew nearer, her voice quieted and her eyelids lowered, little-by-little…  Was she… was she serious…?

    My brain tuned out as her siren song continued.  I wasn’t sure what was happening, anymore, but I knew one thing…  My wildest dreams were coming true… and I wasn’t even conscious enough to be a part of them!  How frustrating…!

    “I wanna suck your blood…”

    I gasped, my body shuddering.  Everything came back into focus and in an instant, I was aware of my surroundings, again!  I was also aware… that Nadja had done something to me.  Something I never imagined she would ever do…

    She bit me.

    My breath came in long, slow pants as I watched the girl lean back and sit up.  She was brightly smiling and seemed like she was… giggling?  Hesitantly… I reached up and touched my neck.  Nadja had bitten me… but I couldn’t feel any blood.  It didn’t hurt, either!  Had she bitten me…?  When I looked back over at her, she was wiggling and giggling even more.     “Just kidding!” she said, sounding calm as ever.  “I will never hurt my fans!”     “Y… you…”     A cold chill shot through my body and I rubbed my neck, again.     “You bit me…?”     Her smile faded, immediately replaced with a look of deep concern.     “A-are you okkee– did I bite too much…?!  I-it was just a joke!  G-gomen'nasai!”     She sounded like she looked: panicked.  I was still in shock, though… which is probably why I ended up telling her…     “I’ll never wash my neck, again…”

    “W… wh…?”     Nadja… was stunned.  Then, after a moment of wide-eyed staring, she started laughing!     “B-boke…!  You scared me…!  I thought I…”     Even though she was laughing, I could see tears welling in her eyes, just like earlier…  Before I could tell her not to cry, she was already shaking her head and rubbing her face.     “It was a bad joke,” she said between nervous laughs.  “Because you like me, I…”     “I’m serious, Nadja.”  I felt myself smile as I told her, “I’m never gonna wash my neck ever again!  I… th-that ‘vampire’s kiss’ you gave me…  I’m… I’m…”     Slowly, her smile became a smirk.  Then, she simply told me…     “Your face is red.”     I couldn’t do much other than nod.  She had that effect on me…

    Before long, we both calmed down… but neither of us was terribly talkative.  Nadja was back on her side of the booth, looking out the window while I quietly finished my meal.  I’m not sure what she was feeling, the reason I stayed quiet was because I was worried I’d say something stupid like “I love you,” or something.  Can you blame me?  I was excited!  Not only did I get to see her in concert… but I got to hang out with her… and she gave me a “vampire’s kiss…!”  My head and heart were swimming with joy!  What a night… what a night…

    “Arigatōgozaimashita.”

    A short while later, we left my favorite hangout.  As we stepped out of the doorway Nadja got my attention with that.  When I turned her way, I noticed… she was bowing.     “Wh… wha’–”     “Thank you for treating me kindly,” she said as she stood back up.  “It was fun!”     “I… I didn’t do anything, though.”  I blinked as I told her, “We just hung out, and–”     “Thank you for a fun time!  Ah!”  Her eyes went wide.  “I don’t even know your name!”     Huh.  She was right.  So… I told her.     Nadja repeated it with a smile that made me shiver with happiness.     “I’ll remember that name,” she said.  “Um… heeey…”     My head went to the side.  Nadja was rubbing her arm and looking… unusually shy.     “Tazunete yurushite… but do you want to… what’s the– ‘hang out,’ again?”     I couldn’t help but smile.  She really was nervous…  Then again…     “I-I’d love to.”     So was I.  It wasn’t every day that I got to hang out with my idol…     “Oh!  S-sayoka…?!  Okkee!” she exclaimed in her Engrish accent.  Then, after she took a moment to calm back down, she pulled a phone from her pocket.  “Terefon nanbaa?”     She couldn’t seem to stop smiling at me.  Have to admit, it was infectious.     “S… sure!  It’s…”     I told her my cell phone number and she was quick to enter it.  When she typed a few more things, I blinked and watched.  What was she doing…?     “Huh?”     I got an answer shortly after.  The phone in my pocket was buzzing.  When I answered it, I noticed that Nadja sent me a short message.  It was kind of odd, though…     “‘Look up…?’” I read aloud.  “What do–”     As I did, Nadja leaned in and pecked me on the cheek, stunning me.     “Arigato…!” she excitedly exclaimed before saying my name.  I slowly touched where she kissed… only for her to take my hand on both of hers and whisper, “Seriously.  Thank you…”     I had no idea what to say, so… I just nodded.  That got her to laugh, at least.

    “Guddobaiii!” the pop artist cheerfully said as we parted ways, that night.  She had somewhere she needed to be, I guess.  As we exchanged waves in the moonlight, I could swear I heard her whisper something sweet, but I knew it was just my imagination.  We only just met and were barely starting to be friends, by that point.  Still… it was a nice thought.

    “‘Thinking of you…’” I quietly repeated with a smile.  “I’ll… be thinking of you, too!”

#fan fiction #Daito Giken #You Want to Kiss Me #commercial characters #Shake #Nadja #original characters #you #slice of life #romance #Reader x

[theyearoftheking]

Book Thirteen: Christine

Here’s the list of things I accomplished instead of reading Christine:

Watched To All The Boys 2: PS I Still Love You (adorable)

Re watched To All The Boys I’ve Loved Before (still adorable)

Voluntarily worked out. Gross. 

Napped. A lot. Like mono, or narcoleptic levels of napping. Sooo much napping.

Perused all kinds of new adult/romance novels on Kindle Unlimited.

Downloaded several of them.

Felt guilty reading them instead of Christine.

Picked Christine back up.

Promptly took another nap. 

Wash, rinse, repeat. 

It’s crazy how I went from my new favorite Steve book, to my least favorite Steve book in about fifteen minutes. To put it mildly, Christine was the biggest pile of horseshit I’ve ever suffered through. And as someone who used to spend her summers at horse camp actually cleaning up horse shit, I know my shit. 

Christine is a corny, love-at-first-sight story between a boy and a junker car. Being married to a man who is happy driving a Kia Rio, this might as well be a foreign language novel. Arnie Cunningham sees Christine (a rotting 1958 Plymouth Fury) parked in Roland LeBay’s front yard and becomes obsessed in a single-minded way. He has to have her. Everyone around him, including his best friend Dennis tells him not to buy the car. But, of course Arnie buys the car. He becomes single-minded in his obsession with fixing up the car, and begins pushing people away from him, instead wanting to spend time with Christine. 

Shortly after Arnie purchases Christine, LeBay dies. Arnie and Dennis go to his funeral, and Dennis ends up having a long chat with Roland’s brother and finds out Roland’s daughter choked to death on a burger in the backseat of Christine; and his wife later committed suicide in the car. Oh, and Roland was a real asshole, and no one seems sad he’s dead. Bad juju, y’all. 

Arnie keeps working on Christine, and his personality starts changing. He keeps referring to people as “shitters” and he’s wearing a back brace... both things LeBay was guilty of doing. Dennis is low-key suspicious. But then Arnie gets a girlfriend; the beautiful and intelligent Leigh Cabot; and Dennis becomes low-key suspicious and jealous. Up until this point, Arnie was a nerd with horrible acne who girls didn’t pay attention to. But now his acne is clearing up, he’s looking older... and he’s snagged himself a girlfriend. Things are looking up for ‘ole Arnie.

Then shit gets crazy... anyone who insults Arnie or Christine; ends up meeting a violent end, courtesy of Christine, driven by the ghost of LeBay. And then Leigh chokes on a hamburger inside the car and almost dies, because LeBay has inhabited Arnie’s body, and he has no idea what the Heimlich maneuver is. Guys, I’m bored just typing up this review. This book was so repetitive... people wrong/insult/hurt Arnie and they end up as roadkill. Over, and over, and over again. Arnie continues slowly turning into an old man unable to pick up on a current cultural reference, and singly focused on his car. This just keeps going on and on and on until Dennis finally puts us (and Arnie) out of our misery when he uses a septic truck to crash Christine into tiny little pieces, and LeBay’s spirit tries to get back into Arnie’s body while he’s driving his mom’s station wagon, and he dies. The end. 

I’m just going to give Steve the benefit of the doubt, and assume he wrote this during his cocaine days. Because only someone high on drugs would think this is a quality book. Quite frankly, it’s a pile of (un)happy crappy. 

I even tried my hardest to look at the theme of obsession, and see if I could tie it back to our most modern obsession: our phones. Mine is sitting next to me as I type this, glaring at me very judgmentally. And on a certain level it works: social media and our phones impact our relationships the same way Christine impacted Artie’s relationship with Leigh. It can lead to feelings of neglect, jealousy, and abandonment. And maybe social media can even go insane, and run down thugs in the middle of the night. Okay, that was a stretch. Kind of like this whole book.

We did have one random Wisconsin reference, to Marquette University. The book is set in Pennsylvania, so I did a Google search, and there is no Marquette higher education institute in PA, so I’m claiming it as a WI reference. “Lenny stubbornly went about having the great year he needed to have if he was going to get the athletic scholarship to Marquette that he lusted after...” Go Lenny, I’m sure your parents are very proud of you. I keep pushing my daughter back into soccer in the hopes she’ll score an athletic scholarship. At this point I’d just better be saving up therapy money for the issues she’s going to have surrounding her Tiger Mother and soccer. 

One Dark Tower reference... two if you count the fact the villain is named Roland. I mean, this could be one of the other worlds other than his primary one. But I seriously hope not. Roland deserves better than a relationship with a murderous car. “We were like two reluctant gunslingers approaching each other.”  

God, I’m glad I’m done with this book. 

Total Wisconsin Mentions: 14

Total Dark Tower References: 9

Book Grade: D

Rebecca’s Definitive Ranking of Stephen King Books

Different Seasons: A+

The Shining: A-

The Stand: A-

The Dead Zone: B+

‘Salem’s Lot: B+

Carrie: B+

Creepshow: B+

Danse Macabre: B-

The Gunslinger

Firestarter: C+

Cujo: C-

Nightshift: C-

Christine: D

I wish I could say I’m pumped about my next book, but it’s Pet Sematary. Ugh. Double ugh. But I’m going to take a few deep breaths and remind myself The Talisman and an elementary martini are both waiting for me in just a few more reads. 

Oh and hey! Are you a fan of Steve like me? I highly recommend checking out ka-tet 19 for some sweet merch. I ordered a few pieces on Saturday, and was decked out in my Dark Tower awesomeness by Tuesday. Super fast shipping, and great quality products. My Gunslinger hoodie is really cozy. 

Until next time readers, Long Days & Pleasant Nights,

Rebecca

#christine #ka-tet 19 #stephen king #constant readers #dark tower #yearoftheking