#it’s different but still maintains the old charm

[nemnums]

Its so good. Its so fucking good.

#please #this is so good actually #I’m not one for reboots but holy shit #I love seeing the changes and parallels #it’s different but still maintains the old charm #ahhhhh I’m so love #bee and puppycat #cartoon hangover #frederator studios #powifried

[deliciousangelfestival]

Tears In His Ferrari || Chp 8

Character: Bucky Barnes x Farmer!Reader

Summary: Bucky Barnes, used to a life of luxury, takes on farm challenges in a bet with his father. Mud-stained Ferraris and a rustic farmhouse lead to unexpected personal growth, guided by the stern mentorship of Y/N, a farmer making his city-boy life difficult.

Theme: Fluff, Slice of Life, Heart-Warming.

Main Masterlist || support: Ko-fi

Thank you to anyone who gave a like, reblog, and left a comment. It motivated me to write more. 

Chapters: Chp 1, Chp 2, Chp 3 , Chp 4 , Chp 5 , Chp 6 , Chp 7 , Chp 8 , Chp 9 ,-

Kate cautiously stepped into Bucky's house, expecting a picturesque country residence. However, the reality was far from her imagination. The old-fashioned appearance of the house and the lack of modern amenities surprised her.

As she hesitantly explored, a sudden sensation tickled her feet, prompting her to let out a startled scream. To her surprise, it was Archie, Bucky's puppy, licking her shoes. Bucky, equally surprised by Kate's reaction, quickly intervened, "Hey buddy, are you hungry?"

The small, fluffy dog responded with an enthusiastic "Woof." Witnessing Bucky's affection for the little pup, Kate felt compelled to maintain her image as an animal lover, despite her true feelings.

Apologizing for the interruption, Kate approached Archie, attempting to pet him. However, the seemingly docile pup suddenly growled at her. "Grrrr..."

Bucky quickly reprimanded Archie, "Archie, stop it. I'm sorry, Kate. He must be hungry."

Kate, trying to downplay the situation, suggested, "No worries. Perhaps he's just scared because of my long nails. I'll cut them later."

Bucky, feeling guilty, replied, "No, you don't have to. It's not because of your nails." He didn't want Kate to go through the trouble of adjusting her appearance for Archie.

Bucky, observing Archie's unusual behavior, was taken aback. Archie had never growled at anyone before, not even at Alpine, the gentle horse.

It seemed like the little puppy sensed something different about Kate that made him uneasy. Bucky couldn't help but feel puzzled by Archie's atypical reaction.

Bucky, still taken aback by Kate's unexpected visit, gathered the courage to ask her how she found him. Kate, choosing to omit the fact that she interrogated everyone until Steve spilled the information, simply mentioned that she had been following Bucky's vlog and decided to join him.

Feeling a sense of embarrassment about the simplicity of his living conditions, Bucky hesitated, "I didn't expect anyone to find me here. This place is not exactly suitable for—"

Kate quickly interjected, trying to be humble, "Oh, don't worry, Bucky. It's a charming little farm. Luckily, there's a vacation home in the area, and my assistant has booked it for me."

Relieved, Bucky chuckled nervously, "Well, that's good to know. But farming is not as glamorous as it looks in the vlog. It's hard work."

Kate, undeterred, smiled confidently, "I'm up for the challenge. I want to experience it for myself."

Both surprised and impressed by Kate's determination, Bucky agreed, "Sure, you can join. Just be prepared—it's not as easy as it seems in the videos."

As Kate woke up the next day, she grumbled and instructed her assistant to prepare sunscreen promptly. The sun mustn't ruin her flawless skin.

She continued complaining about the food, exhibiting the opposite of the image her P.R. team had carefully crafted – that of a friendly and humble supermodel.

Kate hails from a wealthy family, and her spoiled nature becomes increasingly evident. Her assistant could only roll her eyes discreetly, well aware of the stark contrast between the public persona and the true character of the woman she served.

Kate's arrival at the farm couldn't have come at a less ideal moment – Bucky was deeply engrossed in the care of the cows, and the pungent smell filled the air. While Bucky had long grown accustomed to the farm's unique aromas, Kate found herself less appreciative.

Unaware of Kate's reservations, Bucky continued his farm duties, accompanied by Toby, who diligently recorded the day's activities.

During the live stream, Bucky dropped a startling fact, "Did you know a lot of people are killed by cows every year?" The unexpected revelation prompted a flurry of reactions and comments from the intrigued viewers.

As Kate approached, Bucky, ever the showman, pivoted to include her in the camera frame. The viewers were in for a treat – witnessing the supermodel stepping into the rustic world of Bucky's farm. The comment section erupted with excitement, questions, and exclamations, creating a lively interaction among the audience.

Amidst the commentary flood in the live chat, Bucky seized the opportunity to engage both Kate and the viewers. With a mischievous grin, he turned to Kate and said, "Looks like you've brought a whole new audience to the farm, Kate. What do you think about being a part of my little farming world?"

Kate, ever adaptable, replied with a good-natured smile, "Well, Bucky, it's definitely a change from the runway, but I'm up for the challenge. Who knew farming could be so intriguing?"

The viewers, fueled by excitement, bombarded the chat:

Viewer1: "Kate, what brought you to Bucky's farm? Spill the beans!"

Viewer2: "Bucky, you're living the dream – supermodel on the farm, that's wild!"

Bucky laughed, enjoying the banter, "Well, folks, Kate here wanted a taste of the 'farmer's life,' and here she is. Any questions for our glamorous guest?"

The questions poured in:

Viewer 3: "Kate, are you planning to start your own farm now?"

Kate chuckled, "I don't know about that, but let's see what Bucky has in store for me today."

As the trio gathered for lunch, the farm's usual serenity was interrupted by the sound of hooves approaching. Y/N appeared, her horse bringing her gracefully to the scene. Bucky, ever the courteous host, welcomed her with a warm smile, "Hey, Y/N! Perfect timing. Lunch is served."

Y/N, unimpressed by the attention, Y/N simply nodded, "My mother insisted. Hope you enjoy it."

Bucky introduced Kate, "Y/N, meet Kate. She's joining us on the farm today."

Kate extended a hand, masking her competitiveness with a friendly facade, "Hi, Y/N. Bucky's been showing me the ropes. Your farm is quite charming."

Y/N responded curtly, "Glad you think so. Enjoy your lunch," before returning her attention to Bucky.

Y/N couldn't help but suppress a laugh as she observed Kate's childish antics. There was a striking resemblance between Kate's behavior and someone Y/N knew well.

During the meal, Kate subtly tried to assert her connection with Bucky, linking arms and sharing laughs. Y/N, however, maintained an air of indifference, unswayed by the orchestrated display.

Meanwhile, Bucky focused on showcasing the meal prepared by Y/N. "Folks, today we've got Y/N's special: homemade chicken pot pie. It's become a fan favorite around here."

While eating, Bucky turns off the live streaming. Kate tried to help him by giving him ideas to make his livestream more viewers, "Here's what I was thinking," Kate began, "we could turn part of the farm into a runway for a fashion show. It would be a unique blend of agriculture and high fashion."

Bucky, trying to process the idea, raised an eyebrow, "A runway on a farm? Is that even practical?"

Y/N, not one to mince words, deadpanned, "That's the most amazing bullshit idea I've ever heard."

Toby, who happened to be taking a sip of his drink, burst into laughter, nearly choking on his beverage.

Bucky, caught between politeness and practicality, tried to salvage the situation, "Well, it's not that bad, Y/N."

Kate, however, felt a mix of embarrassment and a chill running down her spine. Y/N's sarcastic remark had a familiar ring reminiscent of the authoritative tone her father often used.

As Kate pondered Y/N's sarcastic comment and the striking familiarity of her father's authoritative tone, another puzzle piece fell into place when she recalled the food Y/N had prepared.

The taste was uncannily similar to the exquisite dishes Kate had experienced in 3-star Michelin restaurants.

It baffled Kate.

How could a farm girl, someone seemingly detached from the glamour of city life, possess culinary skills rivaling those of high-end chefs?

Author Note:

Hey friends,

If you've been enjoying the content, I've set up a Ko-fi account. Your support through tips would mean the world and help me keep creating. Only if you feel like it!

Here's the link: Ko-fi

Thanks a bunch for being fabulous followers!

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Just drop them in my ASK/SEND REQUEST box.

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[eksvaized]

Part Four [ Previous 〡 Next ]

The night was still young, with the hands of the clock barely grazing the midnight hour. You were comfortably nestled in the buzz of the bustling bar, having just finished your fifth cocktail for the evening. As the liquor seeped into your bloodstream, you felt a giddy lightness take over. Your head spun in a dizzying whirl of laughter, conversation, and clinking glasses.

The cacophony of the bar seemed to swirl around you, an intoxicating mix of sounds that only added to the euphoria of the evening. Emboldened by the liquid courage coursing through your veins, you found yourself becoming more open, more conversational than usual. Words flowed from your mouth with an ease you rarely experienced. Each sentence was punctuated with a joke that was wittier than the last. Your laughter, usually a quiet, reserved chuckle, had transformed into a boisterous giggle that echoed around the space. You were not just happy; you were ecstatic.

The recruit, a young man with a charming smile and sparkling eyes, had invited you to this pub. He, too, was having a great time, his laughter mixing with yours, creating a symphony of joy that filled the air. He had ditched his friends, choosing to spend the entirety of the evening with you instead.

The electric energy that danced in the space between you two was undeniable, a palpable force that drew you both closer like magnets. His hands were continually brushing against your side in an intimate manner, gently pulling you closer to him, or clutching your arm in a warm, secure grip. Every then and again, he would draw you in closer to whisper sweet nothings and compliments into your ear.

Initially, your instinct was to maintain a certain level of distance between the two of you, gently pushing him away in an attempt to create a physical and emotional boundary. However, as the night progressed, and the alcohol started to take its intoxicating effect, influencing your senses, you gradually found yourself drawn into the allure of his company.

You started to appreciate and even enjoy the undivided attention he was showering on you. Everything about him, from his compliments that made you feel good about yourself, to his touch that sent sparks of electricity through your body, started to become more appealing. His undivided attention was now something you were beginning to crave.

Throughout the night, you didn’t think of Ghost. And on the rare occasion when his face sneaked into the recesses of your consciousness, you were quick to brush it off, realizing that you didn’t care about him. Why should you? He was merely a friend, nothing more and nothing less. He had never expressed any sort of romantic interest in you, nor had he ever hinted at wanting anything more than friendship. But the guy sitting next to you on the barstool was a different story altogether. He was making his intentions crystal clear, with his playful, flirtatious remarks and his bold, unabashed actions, that he wanted something more from you. He was interested in you, and unlike Ghost, he wasn’t afraid to make it known.

After the recruit had gone ahead to order yet another round of drinks, your eyes wandered around the dimly lit bar. The atmosphere was thick with the scent of old liquor and the sound of murmuring voices, but oddly enough, there was no one out on the dance floor. Despite the absence of dancers and the rather terrible music playing through the old speakers, a sudden desire stirred within you. You realized you wanted to dance, and you didn’t care about the lack of a lively atmosphere or the quality of the music.

“I’m a lousy dancer, so I’d rather sit here and talk with you.” The recruit replied when you proposed the idea to him.

With a twinkle in your eyes, you blinked at him. A playful grin slowly stretched across your face. You extended your arm towards him, allowing your hand to rest gently yet deliberately on his leg. Your touch was feather light but also carried a certain firmness, your fingers tenderly squeezing the muscle of his thigh. You leaned in, the distance between you shrinking, your faces drawing closer. Fluttering your long, black lashes at him in a coquettish manner, you let your voice drop to a soft, nearly inaudible murmur, each word deliberately chosen and laced with persuasive charm. “Please,” you said. “Just one dance, that’s all I ask.”

As you observed him closely, you could discern the hesitation that clouded his eyes. He swallowed. His gaze, previously confident and sure, lowered to land on your hand, which had found a resting place on his leg. The surprise in his expression was evident, his usual charm momentarily overshadowed by an air of caution.

 It was the first time tonight that you were taking the lead, initiating a connection, rather than remaining comfortably passive. Until this moment, you had been sitting back, silently nursing your drink, and maintaining a distance. You had been attempting to keep him at arm’s length, a safe barrier between you. But now, the tables had turned.

After an extended moment of piercing silence, where the only sound was the soft, distant hum of the bar’s background music, he finally yielded to your request. “Fine,” he declared, his voice a mixture of resignation and amusement. He rose from the barstool, the leather squeaking in protest. As he stood, he extended his hand towards you and you allowed him to help you slide off the tall barstool with an ease. “But just one dance.”

 However, it had only taken a single dance with you to completely captivate him, to ensnare him in a spellbinding rhythm that seemed to pulse through his veins. The mere thought of leaving, of extricating himself from this enchanting experience, was utterly unthinkable. Especially when he could feel the gentle warmth of your arms loosely draped over his shoulders. Your body was pressed against his, a delightful contact that sent shivers down his spine, as you swayed to the beat, moving your hips side to side in a hypnotizing rhythm.

You found yourself in an intoxicating state, the effects of the alcohol coursing through your veins making you feel giddy, unrestrained, and completely carefree. Your mood was elevated, as if you were soaring high above the clouds. The sound of your own laughter rang in your ears, bubbling from your lips in a torrent of pure, undiluted delight. You danced with abandon, your worries and inhibitions discarded, lost in the wave of the music and the thrill of the moment.

Your body felt light as a feather, nimble and at ease, swaying and moving in perfect harmony with the beat as if guided by an unseen force. Dancing felt as natural as breathing, as if it were an innate talent you’d possessed all along. Your mind, usually a chaotic whirlwind of thoughts and worries, was blissfully empty. All your attention, all your focus, was centered on the present moment, the world around you narrowing down to encompass only the immediate surroundings. The rest of the world didn’t exist. It was just you and the man with whom you were dancing, lost in the rhythm, the music, and each other.

His hands, gentle and cautious, explored your body, mapping out the contours of your form through the fabric of your dress. It was these hands, and the touches they bestowed, that dominated your thoughts, becoming the focal point of your awareness as the dance continued. The sensation of his fingertips tracing the line of your spine was akin to a soft melody. Each stroke felt like a love letter, running up and down your back, dipping into valleys and climbing over hills. This soothing touch, coupled with the steady rhythm of the dance, lulled you further into a state of tranquillity, causing you to relax even more.

“Y/N.” A voice, all too familiar, reverberated through the space, yanking you abruptly back to the reality.

A bone-chilling coldness, as sharp as an icicle or as sudden as a winter gust, rippled down your spine. The raw intensity of the sensation was akin to having had an entire bucket of icy water dumped over your head. Your thoughts were still a chaotic jumble, hazy and obscured like an early morning fog reluctant to lift. But slowly, almost cautiously, you tilted your head to the side.

“Ghost.” The name slipped past your lips. You acknowledged him with a small, almost imperceptible nod. Despite your best efforts to keep a mask of nonchalance, to appear unfazed by the sudden intrusion, your mind was a raging storm, a tempest of swirling questions and half-formed thoughts.

“Come with me,” he ordered in an assertive tone. His gaze, intense and unwavering, briefly flickered over to the recruit. It was a daring challenge—a silent provocation that seemed to bore holes into the younger man’s skull.

Ghost was cloaked in his usual attire. The black balaclava, a signature part of his ensemble, hid most of his features from view. But even so, you could still discern the clenching of his jaw, the barely perceptible grinding of his teeth. It was a clear indication of his growing frustration when you chose to brazenly disregard his command, a blatant display of insubordination that he wasn’t accustomed to.

“If you haven’t noticed, I’m a little occupied at the moment,” you countered back, your tone brusque and dismissive. You shifted your attention back to the recruit, who was clearly out of his depth in this situation. The poor lad was visibly bewildered. His gaze nervously flitted between you and Ghost, clearly at a loss on how to interpret all of this. “Ignore him,” you added, your words directed at the recruit, a simple command that was meant to annoy Ghost.

Ghost’s patience, evidently, hit a roadblock at this juncture. “Get your hands off of her unless you fancy the idea of me snapping your fingers like twigs,” he threatened. His tone was low but unmistakably dangerous, leaving no room for further disobedience.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the recruit complied. His arms unraveled from around you. The warmth that his proximity had provided quickly dissipated as he stepped back, creating an immediate, noticeable distance. He whispered something under his breath, the words barely audible against the backdrop of the tense atmosphere before hastily retreating. It was clear from his actions that he was not keen on facing the wrath of a furious, masked man. Neither did he want to deal with the potential repercussions that would inevitably follow should he choose to defy him.

Feeling a torrent of frustration surging within you, you pivoted towards Ghost and planted your hands with all the force you could muster on his broad, solid chest. Your muscles went taunt. In a futile attempt to create some distance between the two of you, you tried pushing him away. But despite the exertion of every ounce of your strength, he remained unmoved, steadfast, like an unyielding stone statue.

“I was actually enjoying myself, having a genuinely good time, but you just couldn’t bear it, could you? You just had to go and ruin it, right?” Your words were sharp, and you shot him a glare so piercing it could curdle milk before turning away.

You didn’t want to see Ghost’s face. You didn’t want to be anywhere near him. If he had decided that he didn’t want you, well, that was fine—truly, it was. Rejection was something you knew you could handle, something you’d learned to deal with. But what you couldn’t handle, what truly infuriated you beyond measure, was his audacity to spoil your evening, as if he was entitled to dictate how you spent your time.

As you began walking away, you could hear footsteps following you. It was as if every step you took was being mimicked. In a stormy huff, you burst out of the doors, allowing them to slam shut behind you. With the chilly wind of the night biting at your skin, you found yourself standing alone under the star-studded sky, the uncertainty of what do to next weighing on your mind. You felt a sense of dread creeping in, but one thing remained abundantly clear amidst the hurricane of emotions - you were suffocating, gasping for breath in the confines of the bar.

The air inside that bar was oppressive. Like a thick and heavy fog that seemed to wrap itself around you, constricting tighter with every passing moment. The atmosphere was heavy, filled with tension that you could almost taste—you craved the cool night air, yearned for it to caress your skin, to soothe your heated emotions.

“You weren’t at the base when I returned.” Ghost’s voice cut through the silence, low and commanding, demanding your attention. An attention you were hell-bent on denying him.

As you paced back and forth, you could feel his intense gaze following your every move. It was as if his eyes were latched onto you, tracking your movements with a precision that made the hairs on the back of your neck stand up. The intensity of his gaze was almost tangible, filling you with a tension that was hard to ignore.

“So, you reasoned that gives you the right to hunt me down and ruin my night?” You abruptly came to a halt. Your feet grinding to a stop against the rough asphalt. In one swift motion, you spun around to face him, your eyes ablaze with a fury that could have set the world on fire.

Under normal circumstances, when the intoxicating effects of alcohol coursed through your veins, you were the epitome of cheerfulness. Your face would be adorned with a radiant smile, and you would bask in the joy and laughter that the night brought with it. However, the current situation painted a stark contrast to your usually buoyant spirit. Your face, normally aglow with mirth, was now flushed a deep shade of red with anger. Your words were now bitter, brutally honest, and laced with a venom.

“I didn’t track you. I just came to grab a drink.” He countered. His words were genuine.

He really hadn’t known you would be at the bar. And in no way was his intention to cast a shadow over your night, or to induce any sense of discomfort or unease. But, the sight of you on the dance floor, completely immersed in the moment, held close by the embrace of another man, allowing his touch, his close proximity, it ignited a fierce and previously unknown feeling of jealousy within him. He was so consumed by this sudden emotion that he was oblivious to his own actions, to the changes in his demeanor. It wasn’t until he found himself striding towards you, his voice carrying a demand for you to follow him, that he fully realized the extent of his actions.

He was under the painful awareness that you weren’t his—a realization that gnawed at him every waking moment. He was acutely aware that the right thing to do would have been to distance himself from you, to allow you the freedom you deserved. Yet, he found himself incapable of doing so. The thought of you being with someone else was unbearable to him, a bitter pill he refused to swallow. You were all his, in his heart and in his mind. You belonged to him and only him, even though you were yet to discover this profound, unspoken truth.

“It doesn’t matter.” The words slipped out of your mouth, full of bitterness and a hint of regret that you hadn’t intended to voice. Your hands flew up in the air in a display of frustration so palpable you could almost taste it. You then ran your fingers through your hair—a telltale sign of your mounting anxiety that you had tried so hard to keep hidden.

“You had to ruin everything, didn’t you?” You accused, your voice carrying an undercurrent of raw emotion. “I came here to unwind, to escape from the suffocating hold you have over me, to breathe freely for a while.” The words tumbled out of your mouth in a desperate rush, like the uncontrollable torrents of a dam breaking, all your pent-up feelings and thoughts spilling over in a flood of hasty confessions.

You were speaking without thinking, without filtering, letting your heart take over your mind. And by the time the last sentence left your mouth, it had solidified into something tangible, something concrete, something you couldn’t just erase or take back. “I just wanted to get over you, to forget ever liking you because, after all, it is painfully obvious that you don’t feel the same way I do.”

“What did you say?” Ghost’s pupils dilated. His shock was a tangible force that seemed to fill the space between you two, making you regret your impulsive outburst. The words hung heavy in the air, a confession that you hadn’t planned to make, and now you were left dealing with the fallout.

The silence stretched on. The only sound was the desperate pounding of your heart as you mentally berated yourself for your thoughtless words. You turned away, trying to shield yourself from his reaction, from the hurt or confusion that might be mirrored on his face.

Your mind raced with what-ifs and regrets, the echo of your own voice taunting you with your mistake. You should have kept your mouth shut, should have kept your feelings to yourself. You had complicated things, made them messy and difficult when they didn’t need to be.

“Nothing. I didn’t say anything. Just forget it,” you mumbled. Turning away, you began to walk, your feet moving almost of their own accord. The last thing you wanted was for him to confirm the truth that you already knew deep down in the pit of your stomach. The truth that had been gnawing at your insides, threatening to consume you. The truth that he did not share the same feelings for you. You couldn’t bear to hear it out loud. The thought of him verbalizing it, of him putting into words the fact that he did not like you in the way you yearned for him to, was too much to bear. You knew that if he did, if your worst fear was confirmed, it would shatter your already heart into a million irreparable pieces.

You had no clue where you were heading, but the burning desire to escape your current situation propelled you forward.

A lump began to form in the back of your throat. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around your waist, holding yourself tightly as if it could somehow ease the pain. You were clutching your sides so tightly that your knuckles turned white. You forced your eyes to blink repeatedly and took deep breaths in an attempt to stifle the tears, refusing to let them fall.

But despite your earnest efforts to maintain your composure during this emotional storm, it proved to be a futile endeavour. Tears began to roll down your cheeks.

When you finally emerged from your emotional reverie, you realized that tears were still streaming down your face. A quick survey of your surroundings revealed that you had unconsciously made your way to the bus stop. The chill of the night sent shivers down your spine, reminding you of the inadequacies of your short and flimsy dress. It was ill-suited for the cold weather, providing little to no warmth. Your feet throbbed painfully, the result of hours spent wearing high heels.

Although a part of you wanted to keep pushing forward, to make it back to the base, lock yourself in your room and shut out the rest of the world, you knew that first; you needed to regain control over your emotions. You needed to steady your breath, calm your pounding heart, and collect your thoughts before you could continue walking.

After making your way across the street, you reached the bus stop. With a sigh of relief, you lowered yourself onto the worn-out bench, slipping off your tight-fitting heels to let your weary feet touch the cool concrete beneath.

The once overwhelming sensation of crying that had consumed you gradually subsided, leaving behind a hollow emptiness that echoed in your chest. Deep down, you knew that this feeling of sadness, this hollow void, was your own doing. As much as you wanted to point fingers and place the blame solely on Ghost, the truth was undeniable - you were the one who had nurtured a fruitless hope and harbored an unrequited crush on him. Now, at the very least, the painful chapter of your life is concluded. He understood how you felt, your emotions laid bare before him. And his silence spoke volumes, confirming your worst fears - to him, you were nothing more than a friend who had naively developed a crush.

 Your thoughts, like scattered leaves in the wind, were abruptly interrupted by the sound of a vehicle approaching in the distance. The rumble of its engine echoed through the silent night, stirring the tranquil atmosphere. It couldn’t have been a bus - the hour was too late for any of them to be running. You sat there on the cold, hard bench, curiosity piqued and senses alert.

With each passing second, the distant rumble grew into a more defined sound as the truck advanced, coming closer. Its blinding headlights, like twin beacons, cut through the thick blanket of darkness, forcing you to squint against the harsh light. You expected the truck to pass. But instead, to your surprise, it growled to a halting stop, its engine idling in the stillness. The door creaked open and out stepped a tall, dark figure.

“Get in the car,” Ghost commanded, his voice echoing through the empty bus stop as he approached you. His boots crunched on the gravel. You shook your head in response, your hair fluttering in the cool night breeze. “Don’t be stubborn, Y/N. Get in the car. We need to talk.”

“There’s nothing to talk about.” You responded, a scowl forming on your face. Your features hardened into a mask of defiance as you turned your head to the side, making it clear you had no intention of complying. You wouldn’t even allow your eyes to meet his, your gaze stubbornly fixed on the distant horizon.

Ghost murmured something under his breath. The words were too quiet and indistinct for your ears to decipher. In that moment, you fully expected him to simply turn on his heel and walk away, leaving you alone. However, he didn’t. Instead of distancing himself, he drew closer, closing the gap between you two. His hand, rough and calloused, wrapped around your arm. With an unexpected strength, he yanked you up from the bench.

“You either walk or I carry your ass to the fucking car.” Ghost’s words were a growl.

His face was now so close to yours that you could see the fiery resolve that blazed in his eyes. Yet, you refused to give him the satisfaction of acknowledging his threat, shaking your head in silent defiance. Your eyes never dropped from his, a silent challenge of your own hanging in the air between you.

He remained motionless for a few heartbeats longer, his stare never wavering from yours, as if he was studying you. Then, with a swift movement that betrayed his previous stillness, he stooped to lift your heels from the ground. Without any prior warning or hint of hesitance, he wrapped his hands around your body, hoisting you over his shoulder with an ease that made it seem as though you weighed no more than a sack of feathers.

#simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost x reader #ghost x y/n #ghost x you #writing #call of duty #cod #ghost cod #cod x reader #cod fanfic #cod ghost #ghost call of duty #fem!reader #ao3 fanfic #fanfic

[technologyculturedneo]

It Burns | Lee Mark

"I bet you if the roles were reversed, if I went out there and fucked another woman while you were here with our child- you wouldn't even spare a moment to listen."

Pairing. Boyfriend!Lee Mark X Girlfriend!Reader

Genre. Angst. Established couple. Break up. Lovers to ex's.

Synopsis. With your half naked pictures circulating around social media, Mark waits for you to get home to have a talk.

Warning. Minor cusses. Low-key smut. Breakup. Your heart might get broken.

Playlist. Nct Dream My first love. Literally First burn Hamilton.

Part 2: It burns: The second time around

"So dad, you finally noticed," Mark's low chortle is a result of his 9 year old son standing next to him and reaching the height of his shoulder. Looking up into his dad's eyes with sleezy cocky eyes he speaks. "You're getting old dad,"

"What, you think I feel intimidated by a short version of me?" Mark shuts his phone chugging it back into his pocket looking for some stashed biscuits in the kitchen cabinets. His sister sent him a message, but it'd have to wait as his son looks like he's ready for his late night dessert.

"I'm a better version, built differently from the ground up,"

"Boy please, you know you're built from the DNA of your mother and I," Mark plays along and moves to the next cabinet with his son still following. "Speaking of which, it's about time she gets back, don't you think?"

"Look at you avoiding the topic," He smirks once before turning serious and looking smug. "Face it old man, soon I'll take over,"

"I'm not going anywhere," Mark, with another low chuckle, finally finds the stash in a medium sized basket. "Now mum said, you'll get one, but I'mma be cool and give you 5 since you've grown a little,"

"A little?" His son pulls of a smirk causing Mark to stare at him in amusement and confusion. His son is a comedian. Mark tries to be serious but his face exposes him as someone seconds away from bursting out in a laugh. "How does that make you feel dad?

Mark leans on the counter platform while his son tries to be cool and eats from the packet of his chocolate biscuits while still dipping it in his milk like a child. Mark tries (evidently) hard to wipe the smile of his face and be serious, but he can't help when his shoulders shudder and he laughs.

"Ethan, you're 9 and I'm 24. I'm a classic, buddy you're just a remake no one asked for. A lazy cash grabber if I may add," Mark jokes maintaining his composure when Ethan, his 9 year old son, scoffs and does a 'pfft' in disbelief.

"I'm a successor. Isn't that why you and mum made me?"

"You only exist to mow my lawn for cheap," Mark gets Ethan in a headlock ruffling his hair.

"Who do you think I am? Child labor?" Ethan peeks at his dad with such smooth eyes- almost trying to charm him.

Mark ends up just looking at his son with a smile, not minding the almost so called intimidating persona. "It's called an allowance son, it's for you to know your place in the house,"

"My place?" Ethan scoffs getting back his smirk. In that moment Mark thinks to himself how he should cut down Haechan and Ethan's meeting time. Slowly but surely Mark can see Haechan in his son, and that's not something he'd be too thrilled about. It'd be fun, but Mark wouldn't be able to take his own son seriously- just like Haechan. "My place will soon be the man of the house,"

That's Mark's cue to laugh out loud standing up straight and smacking the back of Ethan's head. "Should I remind you who's in charge?"

"Dad you think those old tricks would still work on me?" Ethan stands in front of his dad with a proud and arrogant smirk. He's probably enjoying this as much as his dad. After all Ethan enjoyed fooling around with his dad- more than you, his mum. "I've outgrown you father. I'm sleeping on my own tonight. No need to tuck me. Be sure to tell mum I closed the light." And with that Ethan winks with a clicking sound leaving his lips. "I guess I should be the one telling you then, it's passed your bed time."

Mark stands in amusement, astonishment and shock. He can only chuckle to himself once Ethan is gone. Staying alone in the kitchen, Mark reminisces on the conversation he had with his son and can't help but faintly chuckle every time. Although he spends almost all his time with his son, his son always seemed to amaze him each and every single time. And tonight, he would definitely fill you in on Ethan's humor. "He thinks he has rizz,"

He takes a seat after drinking some water and checks the time. You should've gotten home by now. But for some reason it's past 10pm and you're not in the house. Mark sighs and shrugs his shoulders deciding to wait for you in the living room.

When he mentioned he had a day off today he was expecting a netflix and chill paradise with you (as he rarely saw you because of his tight work schedule) yet you were quick to exclude him from your plans with the girls and needed him to watch over Ethan. He didn't mind, he was relaxed about it too.

But when time went by and he fetched Ethan like he normally did on all days, he thought you'd be home since Ethan finished school around 4pm. You were always home around 4-5pm. So naturally the house was always vibrant whenever he came home, but this time when he came home and the house was the same as he left it- he was a little downcasted but shrugged it off and made food with his son.

Well from there on, it became a regular father and son afternoon. Which again, Mark didn't mind.

Despite his hectic schedule, Mark always tried and never failed to make time for both his girlfriend and son. And this time Ethan got a whole lot of time with his dad.

Everyone was happy.

Mark checked in on you a couple of times, to which you responded with how you were alive. Mark smiled it off adding how he wanted you to have fun.

Honestly, Mark partially felt guilty most of the times when it came to you.

He was only 16 and you were 15. What the hell could the two of you possibly know about sex? It was an experiment you both tried. Boyfriend and girlfriend. Nothing wrong there. The problem is, it only takes one time for a seed to be planted. Neither of you had condoms, and were both sure that you weren't going to be pregnant.

That's until, the bump started to form.

Although it wasn't Mark's body, he was anxious. You kept brushing it off saying that it's because you loved eating like the food hungry joyful pig you were.

But when days and months passed, and your friends jokes began to simmer down, and his friends would joke of you actually being a mum, and your parents began worrying- it was bound for you to start taking things seriously.

There's no way you were pregnant. Mark was positive and it didn't help that he was religious and kept believing that the mistake experiment you both made would not lead to a life changing moment.

You secretly went to the store with him to buy a pregnancy test. The cashier was surprised seeing you and him but you both joked it off that it was for your mum. So being safe at your house, you peed on the purple stick and both you and Mark relaxed and waited for the results. Nothing could prepare you both for the results of the test.

Mark claimed that it had to be fake and that you needed to go to the hospital. He went with you, hand in hand like the loving boyfriend he was and made sure to be more calm while you were freaking out and afraid of the results and most worryingly- your parents reactions.

There was nothing you both could do when the results came out. Your lips kept trembling. You wanted to cry- and you did cry.

You were pregnant.

Mark impregnated you.

Despite him always being the sweetest of boyfriends you could ever have asked for- you hated him. And you made sure to let him know how he ruined your life. Every word you said, every action that came after was a result of the shock you had after receiving the results. But your words were still in Mark's head. Permanently.

And to this day Mark felt partially at fault that you never had a normal teenage life. Despite your confidence you were crushed at the rumors spreading about you. They always say that the only voice that's loud is your thoughts, but actually it can also be a bunch of strangers that you don't know. Everyone talked about you.

The girl who got pregnant at 15.

The girl who dropped out of school.

The disappointment child who threw her future away.

The dumb girl who forgot to use rubber.

You were slammed with comments virtually, physically and even inwardly.

Your parents, despite the shame you brought them, stuck to your side. Even though the comments of them being unfit and unworthy ran around their own respective families...they never let you go or talked down on you. And you were thankful for that.

Mark on the other hand; He didn't get worse of a treatment as you. In fact no one even knew him to be the one who impregnated you. Except your friends and his friends, no one said a word to him. However, his parents weren't so supportive. They reprimanded him. And you know just how much Mark's parents mean to him, so for them to cast him out into the streets broke your heart.

Your parents took him in, and you both dropped out of school.

Without qualification, he managed to find work and has been working ever since. Despite Mark and his parents relationship being broken, his father was generous enough to continuously tell people that he had a son who was looking for work. Despite his father not seeing him- some of the best opportunities that came Mark's way were a product of his father's.

And with that, Mark made sure to never disappoint but rise to the table and make ends meet. For his girlfriend, his girlfriends parents, his parents, and of course the unborn child which they both chose to keep.

Mark was financially smart, so investments into right businesses, and profits in right settlements all came together and he was finally able to take care of his girlfriend and 2 year old child without being a hindrance to your family.

They never said it to his face, but he knew they accepted him into their house because you talked them into it.

But through it all, Mark never had a hard heart. He was remorseful and kept trying to make it up to you, your family and his family (who were slightly on communication terms...occassionally they wanted to meet their 'grandson' and Mark and you.)

It was awkward going from a solidly good relationship with his parents the moment you started dating, to being in whatever zone is going on between them and you. They don't hate you, but they're not saying much to you or Mark. They visit Ethan once a year and aren't that big into his life, our yours or even Mark. You don't know exactly how to feel.

But Mark doesn't wear it over his head, or shoulders...he's always....okay.

Which is why at 3am, driving back in an uber to your house where you believe your husband could be sleeping, you try not to get too worked up and panicked when noting that all your drunk texts (screenshots) and hinged pictures of you with your... You choke up on your tears and fan yourself for the tears to go away.

You told Mark you had to spend time with the girls- but really you had to resolve matters before it got out of hand. You've failed to resolve the matter, you've failed to keep it all at bay with Jaemin (a man who's not your boyfriend), you've failed in keeping Jaemin just as a secret. And now the whole of the internet has an idea that you were sleeping with somebody else's boyfriend, while you had your own. Shivering, still with tears in your eyes you look at your phone and try not to cry.

You breathe in and out calming yourself down, trying not to dsiplay emotions on your face. "Mark isn't gonna kill you. He won't get mad. You're okay, okay? Don't cry," You repeat over and over earning cryptic looks from the uber driver. But you could care less about that. Right now your mind is on the floating pictures all around social media with your best friend (the same person who released the pictures) Ryujin's caption:

Since you like meddling in people's relationships so much- why not spill a couple of your secrets too </3 Bitch who slept with my man.

Actually it's by grace, chance, luck that you and Mark stayed together. After finding out you were pregnant, some weeks passed and you both came clean to your parents. Mark was always there despite your anger, but lowkey even if you never said it out loud you were happy to always have him even in your roughest of moments. And right now, you hope that he can be understanding.

You don't want to hurt him. You don't want to break his trust. You don't even know why you kept meeting up with Jaemin when everything was just so perfect with Mark.

Paying the driver, getting out the car and stepping onto the porch of the new house Mark bought a week ago, you sigh out when seeing all the lights closed.

Walking up the drive way and using your key to open the doors, you pray in your head that Mark is sleeping.

Locking the doors, you make your way, tip toeing through the hallway, the living room and the kitchen where Mark is seated while gripping tightly onto his phone and covering his mouth tightly.

"Mark..."

"Wait, I'm getting to the best part," Mark holds his finger up with a disheartened smile on his face and a dry forced laugh leaving his lips. "He said, can you come over and then you said, my boyfriend's out, why don't you come over. And he responds with a giggling emoji saying what about your son, and you..." Mark huffs and bites on his lip shutting his eyes tightly.

When he opens them again, his clear eyes but right after blinking the glossiness of his tears sit around his eyes. But let's out another laugh. It sounds painful, heartbreaking and sad. You can only gulp your own lump.

"You said," Mark laughs lightly continuing to read on his phone. "You said his dad and him both went for a sleep over at his parents house. Come over... I'm... I'm lonely. I need you in me." Mark's face scrunches up in bitterness but a forged and forced smile stiffly remains. "He sent emojis, dirty ones. He sent a pic. You sent a pic. And then. You ask him to send the...pictures he took of you."

Mark can't help it, when the smile refuses to remain on his face and he simply bites on his quivering lip covering his eyes.

This time when his voice comes out, it's barely above a whisper, but you can still hear. Even worse because you can hear the pain laced in each and every deep rooted word he says. "Pictures in our room. On our bed. I bought this house last week, and you already invited him in? For how long?" He can't even speak anymore as the words choke up on his throat. "You said I was crazy,"

"Mark please," You quietly step into the kitchen with prayer hands while shaking your head and the tears making your vision blurry.

"You said I was crazy for even thinking it- but I saw the way you looked at him, the way you looked at my sister's lover." Mark breathes out again, a broken chuckle leaving his lips.

The guilt can't grow any higher then it is. You and Mark's adopted sister were always close since school- and when she introduced you to Mark you grew into an even stronger and tighter bond with her. So it doesn't make sense how you not only broke Mark's heart, but you broke Ryujin's trust as well.

"You didn't even have the fucking guts to tell me yourself? I'm guessing you broke it off tonight because you got caught in HD 4K - and you think you can talk your way into my arms right?"

His breathless laugh spreads in the quiet kitchen as he looks up with his eyes as glossy as ever. A vein poking on his forehead.

"You think you can talk your way into my arms because I'm such a nice guy right?" Mark sniffs and uses his back arm to wipe his eyes. "I need to get out of here-"

"Mark please don't go-" The tears slip quietly from your eyes while you hold onto him- your arms circling around his waist. "Please, I promise it's over. I didn't mean it baby, I love-"

"I fucking can't even ask you if it's true, because it's everywhere." He smiles tightly breaking free from your hug and moving back to the counter. "But I'm still gonna ask you, when were you gonna tell me?"

You try to move forward again yet he slams his fist against the counter. "Just fucking answer the question- don't touch me. Just answer it. When were you gonna tell me?"

"I promise Mark, I was gonna tell you," You pucker your trembling lips, your face breaking into an ugly cry just as you see his own tears coating his eyes again.

His eyes are on yours just for a second before he shakes his head and looks away. He sniffs and buries his face deep in his hands. "You wanna know what's worse?" He cries, but it morbidly turns into a laugh. He panes his gaze towards you, with the most broke look you've ever seen from Him. "These messages..." He covers his face before looking at you, his glossy eyes staring into your own guilty soul. "They date back to 4 years ago. You've been..." His eyes shut as the words fall out inaudibly. "Ryujin is my sister, your best friend. And you slept with him. I don't even know why I'm even believing and trusting in you when the pictures of your nudes are everywhere on my feed-"

"Mark," You words choke up as you take a step... stopping a few inches from him.

"Can you at least answer me why you did it?"

You shake your head taking another hesitant step- but immediately retreat when he sharply spins and punches the top drawers and cabinets. "Mark stop- please stop! Ethan is sleeping lets not wake him up-"

"Ethan?" Mark has to calm himself down, as he feels his emotions suffocating him. "You're going to think of Ethan now after you've just slept with another man? Fucked him for 4 fucking years behind my back and didn't have the slightest bit of remorse or even shame when sending your body- letting him take pictures of you bare and fucking you in my bed where I sleep with you, in our house-"

"I never meant for it-"

"Don't touch me, I can't-" He cuts himself off leaning over the counter only showing his back. "Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck," His curses so low. "We've been together for 9 years Y/n," His face scrunches and he bites on his lip. "And you chose to do this now? What happened? Speak to me. I need to hear your voice, please tell me that I really I am going crazy- that it's a fucking prank- because my stupid mind, body and soul refuses to believe that you cheated on me,"

He turns around and you move forward hugging him even as he pushes you off- you still attach your arms around him before trying to hold onto his hands. You try to pipe up trying to fight back on your own blurry eyes. "Mark I broke it off please don't-"

"Broke it off? Are you sure? Because the pictures of tonight, and the- the texts of your sluty conversation- the graphical back and forth nudes you've been sending- all those pictures are on the internet- everywhere- and you're telling me you broke it off? You're dressed like that and are smiling in every picture with him and you're telling me you broke it off?"

His eyes are in shock, there's sadness in his eyes. Mark who never cries looks like he's at his last straw before the tears would start rushing down. It doesn't even help that seeing you right now only takes you back to the images of tonight and how you looked like you were enjoying the feels of the man's hands being all over your body all those times.

When you left this morning, your attire of an open back- black long fitting dress with a dangerously high slit- didn't bother him. However now, after the pictures he saw of that same dress in a restaurant whereby you were smiling and confidently chatting with another man- that same dress that the man couldn't keep his hands off your legs- made his body quake with anger.

You cry and beg. "Mark please understand, it's over please just forget it. I'm sorry-"

"Online they're saying I'm insecure just because I've got a fine fucking woman, who's enjoying her life while the dad is at home with the child," Mark's lips rattle as he shakes his head in disbelief. "I bet you if the roles were reversed, if I went out there and fucked another woman while you were here with our child- you wouldn't even spare a moment to listen- you'd tell me everything that I've done wrong- you'd never forget, but now because it's you- I should be understanding? Okay? I should be... Cool with it all- that my fucking girlfriend is now accessible to anybody's viewing if they just type in your name right? I'm supposed to not make a fuss because I'm suddenly insecure that my girlfriend can go out, bag some guys, drink and party like she has no family."

You can't hold your tears anymore as they pour out your eyes, your tone in shreds as you stummer out. "Mark I love you so much, I would never-"

His eyes in sharp disbelief peer into your own remorseful eyes. "Don't even lie to me, I'm not fucking naïve!" It's starts with him thrusting his arm far back and throwing his phone against the wall breaking it into millions of pieces just like his heart- before his emotions run wild and he hits on the cabinets. "You don't fucking love me! You don't!" When he picks up the stool and thrashes it against the drawers breaking it- you step back in tears knowing that he's at his peak of anger.

"If you loved me you wouldn't have gone out there!" His voice broken with tears, broken with anger. He hammers the toaster on the floor. Knocks over the trays holding the glasses. "Behind my back! You fucking bitch! Do you even know how much we've suffered to be together!? My house! On my bed! With another man! You don't love me! How could you even! You fucking bitch do you even know how much I love you!?"

Pounds on the cabinets, still yelling his heart out making you cry as you back up. "Mark I'm sorry-"

Thuds, punches, slams against the counter, the glass cabinets. "Does any of this even matter to you?!"

"Mark Ethan-"

"4 years! Fucking 4 years Y/n!? Even you! You let him touch you for 4 years! You let him take my place for 4 years! FUCK!" Mark can't even hear- and when he breaks the glasses in one angry whip he furiously turns to you. "My parents made me chose between you and them and I fucking chose you- they didn't kick me out- I walked out of them because of you. And this is what you do? Y/n not even tw-two years? 4 years!?"

Mark grunts loudly and runs his hand over his head while looking at you. "You told the whole world how you brought a man into our bed?" The tears of anger sprawl out all over his face before he corners you against the wall. "How will you even explain to Ethan the pain you put me through? The embarrassment you put our family through? The shame- we were your legacy! We are your legacy! We fucking became family and then you-! You are my love! 4 years!"

Mark can't control himself anymore. Not wanting to hurt her as she's crying- he balls his fists and storms out the house.

Ethan, worried, anxious, shocked, sad and scared, crouches on the bottom stairs looking as his dad slams the door shut after he leaves. Too afraid to enter the kitchen with his wailing mother, he goes up the stairs quietly, gets under his covers and tries to sleep.

22 Hours after...

Your leg is shivering and bouncing up and down as you stare at your phone. Your tears still stinging your eyes. You messed up. You admit that you've messed up. That you possibly destroyed one for the best relationships you could ever ask for. You cried non stop the whole night in the kitchen, you couldn't even be quiet about it. The kitchen was in shreds with glass and broken objects everywhere. You couldn't even blame Mark for getting angry the way he did.

You felt so guilty and his reaction only made you feel even more guilty. You tried calling him, but remembered how he broke his phone. You tried calling Haechan and begged him to help you- he was just as pissed off at you the way Mark and his friends (Chenle and Jeno) were. But you still begged.

When morning came, you tried to compose yourself as you helped out a quiet Ethan get ready for school. You walked with him to school and came back home with the idea to start cleaning. You ignored all of Jaemin's calls and even blocked his number. You were also afraid to answer any of your other friends who would obviously call you out on your stupid behavior. You just cleaned with your head clouded and jumbled with thoughts.

It's not when Ethan came home did you find yourself in the living room, your leg bouncing as you stared at your phone. Ethan wanted to talk with his dad. And you just told him to change out of his school uniform and that by the time he came down, he'd talk to his dad.

But up till now, looking at the message that was sent to Haechan, you hold in your lips together as you sniff. You know he's found Mark. If he hadn't he would've called you. But since he's not calling, you know Mark's safe.

But none the less after you sent the message that you wanted to speak to Mark, you knew that that kind of approach wouldn't work.

So you type out:

Please Haechan, Ethan wants to talk to his dad Please, just this once help me out.

Ethan quietly comes up next to you with a saddened face and his hands together. You don't even know what to say except having your tears coat your eyes. Mark was right. How would you even begin to explain to him? And judging with how everything went down, you know that he most likely heard Mark's burst of anger and all the words that came out of him.

Before you can even open your mouth, your phone rings and you instantly pick it up. Your eyes double take on the contact and you gulp.

Mark's mother.

You compose yourself and lick your dry lips as you try not to cry. When you place the phone to your ear, you expect to hear his mother but... "Ethan?" Mark's voice.

You place the phone on speaker and turn to Ethan, signaling him that it's okay to talk. And he does, but his words are so heart quenching that you have to look away. "Dad," He chokes up on his tears and sniffs. "It hurts, badly."

"What hurts so bad my son?"

"My heart," He whimpers out. "I know I said my place is to be the man of the house, but I can't do it dad. I can't be the man dad,"

Mark over the phone can be heard breathing in and you can tell he's shaking his head in sadness. He tries to sound upbeat, but the words themselves aren't linking to how he wants to sound. "No buddy, don't apologize to me. It's me who was at fault, I'm sorry bud, I'm so sorry," Mark's voice is fragile, and you can hear how heavy they are. "Daddy didn't mean to lose his temper and break everything."

Ethan sniffs again and he hiccups. "Are you and mum gonna get a divorce? My friends said that when his parents broke up he started living with his mum, but dad I don't want you to leave. I don't want to be the man of the house, dad please don't leave mum, dad please come back, dad-"

"Darling put your mother on the phone." The stern yet smooth voice belonging to his mother catches you off guard.

"Yes ma'am?" You answer timidly trying to hold onto Ethan as he runs away from you hiding his tears.

"I've got 3 questions to ask you. Do you want to be with my son?" She asks off the bat.

"Yes ma'am." Your spine becomes straight as if she's right in front of you. "I love-"

"Are you willing to give Ethan up if per say you and my son had to breakup?"

"Ma'am please-"

"Are you willing to give Ethan up?" She asks more precisely. "Yes or no?"

"No, I can't-"

"What are you last words to my son?"

Your heart falls. The color fades from your face as though all the life you once had has been sucked out. "Ma'am please don't do this, I love him-"

"4 years is a long time and frankly, you put my son through a lot with your behavior and attitude. So it's either you say your last words, or I cut the call." Stiff and solidly cold is her tone to you as you cry. "You are not fit to be his anymore. You don't deserve my son-"

You hiccup, your eyes swelling up from how much you've cried. "Can I talk to him? Can I please just talk to him-"

"No."

Even before the call to cut, you can feel it in your soul. You can feel just how it painful, how it hurts and you can feel how your whole being burns.

-fin

Part 2: It burns: The second time around

#nct dream imagine #nct imagine #nct #nct mark fanfic #nct mark angst #nct mark imagine #nct mark x reader #nct heartbreak #nct scenarios #mark lee x you #lee mark x you #mark x reader #nct mark hard hours #nct mark scenarios #nct mark drabbles #nct mark break ukp #nct mark boyfriend #nct mark fluff

[llamagoddessofficial]

What if MC in the Prisoner!AU was the boys’ attorney?

@recklesslycaffeinated au where Don convinced Reader to go into law with him, lol

Mc is a defence attorney who often defends monsters pro bono. It can be difficult for them to navigate the complex human legal system, and she’s there to help.

Sans: They got along well from the start. Sans is charming, smart, and gives off such a harmless aura. Although she got the sense some of his niceness was for show, he was still helpful and polite, and he seemed really interested in the legal processes. As his defence attorney, Mc is privy to a lot of information that not many other people get to see. She digs into his old records in preparation for his trial... and she starts to see some worrying patterns. As such, despite Sans’ persona, she wisens up to what he’s really like a lot faster than her nurse & asylum counterparts. He seems sweet, for sure, but the records she’s digging through paint a portrait of a different monster entirely.

... But she tries her hardest to treat him well, and get him a fair trial regardless. It’s not her job to be the jury. It’s her job to make sure the jury can do their job.

Initially, Sans was sweet to her in the hopes that it would bore her and convince her he’s harmless. The last thing he needed is some human lawyer discovering his past, and stopping his ‘mission’. But... then he started getting attached. Very attached. He started falling in love. Now, he’ll do anything he can to stay close to his little lawyer- and to protect their future together, he’ll do anything to prevent her from finding out just how high his EXP really is, and how deep the rabbit hole of his past goes. 

Red: Their relationship is a somewhat fraught one. He adores her and is a relentless flirt, trying to get her to be his, meanwhile she desperately tries to maintain professional boundaries, unwilling to get involved with the head of a mob. Though she first was intimidated by him, she now just considers him a big (annoyingly charming) nuisance. They met after she defended some of his underlings and successfully kept a few out of jail, without realising just who they were working for, and now anytime it’s his turn to face legal music he ignores all the expensive lawyers his brother wants him to take and goes straight to her.

She’s so cute. He loves her. He loves how she tries so hard to paint him as a half decent guy when taking press statements, he loves the way she glares at him if he starts saying dumb things in interviews. He’s got bribes running through the whole legal system at this point, from judges to juries, he just likes being able to spend time with her during trials. 

Is he committing minor, easy-to-defend crimes, just so he can hire her as his attorney and enjoy taking up her time? Perhaps. He’ll be pleadin’ the fifth on that one.

Skull: The human-eating beast we all know and love. He has very little left in his head- nobody else would take his defence, but she’ll be damned if she doesn’t do her best to help. And despite his... reputation... she decides to take his case. The gory details of it all deeply upset her, but her aim for his trial isn’t to say he didn’t do it- it’s just to successfully plead insanity and get him placed in care instead of in a prison. Sans actually helps her out a little, telling her about how monster Souls can warp after tragedies, which she hopes is grounds for arguing that Skull was under duress and didn’t act with malice or forethought. While his case goes on, he’s held in a specialised facility. She decides to start visiting him face-to-face regularly, just to get a sense of him... tell him about how his case is going. Maybe it’ll help him, if he understands he’s got someone on his side through this.

Their meetings take place with him fully tied down and masked. Animalistic or no, he’s still legally entitled to meetings with his lawyer. Unlike his prison self, this Skull hasn’t been rotting in a cell for years- he’s fresh from his murders, just as powerful, but still sharp. Still aware. Still violent. From the very beginning, he becomes more alert when she’s in the room, he leans forward when she talks. He breathes faster when she’s nearby, and he holds her gaze until she gets shivers. 

At first, she wishes he’d say something.

Then he starts talking. And she wishes he’d stayed silent.

#llamagines #attorney au #reporter: Red- what do you have to say about the trial? #red: i think the prosecution is a buncha- #mc: [elbows him hard in the ribs] #red: -buncha nice fellas. real smart. can't wait for trial.

[fictionally-attached]

It is now becoming more and more clear to me as to why the creators of Avatar the last airbender walked away from the live adaptation.

Toning down Sokka's sexism

Sokka being sexist is as important as Katara fighting against sexism. They are BOTH products of their culture. The makers of the Netflix adaptation forget Sokka was the only boy left to protect his village. He believed it was his duty to protect the weak. When he came across warriors that were women, he felt they knew nothing. Only to be humbled, he’d apologize, and accept he was wrong. He even fell in love with one of them (Suki). Sokka’s sexism came not just from his own trauma and trying to fill his father’s shoes, but also the fact that Water Tribe culture is very strict re: gender roles. This showed that although the Fire Nation were the bad guys each nation still had its own flaws and issues. Plus, by showing a likeable main character overcoming their prejudices, it does a better job teaching people to not be prejudiced than by just having the villains be prejudiced. This plot point is a HUGE focus on Sokka's initial development. He is not just some goofy side kick non bender. He learned that his views were flawed and GREW from it. This issue is still relevant to today and not just back in the early 2000s.

2. “We had to make it a serialized Netflix drama, which meant it couldn’t just be for kids. It had to also appeal to the people who are big fans of Game of Thrones.”

I'm fed up with the common misconception that making something appealing to adults necessitates it being dark and gritty. It's an oversimplified assumption that overlooks the nuanced maturity already present in the story. This series masterfully incorporated mature themes that resonated with audiences of all ages. From the genocide of the Air Nation to instances of child abuse endured by characters like Zuko, and the exploration of sexism within the Northern Water Tribe, ATLA didn't shy away from addressing complex issues. It also delved into cultural erasure, the horrors of war, the pitfalls of autocratic governance, and the struggles of characters dealing with PTSD, depression, and mental illness. These elements added depth and resonance to the narrative. Pushing for further grimness to cater to a different fanbase would undermine the series' existing richness and maturity.

3. “We decided to make Aang’s narrative drive a little clearer. In the first season of the animated series, he’s kind of going from place to place looking for adventures. He even says, ‘First, we’ve got to go and ride the elephant koi.’ It’s a little looser as befits a cartoon. We needed to make sure that he had that drive from the start. […] We essentially give him this vision of what’s going to happen and he says, ‘I have to get to the Northern Water Tribe to stop this from happening.’ That gives him much more narrative compulsion going forward.”

Giving Aang this drive right from the start completely changeshis character. A significant aspect of his development in the first season involves transitioning from someone who simply longed for a carefree childhood to one destined to fulfill the role of the Avatar. Remember, he's just 12 years old. Aang's sense of being overwhelmed by the weight of his Avatar duties is precisely why he fled and ultimately became trapped in ice. He wasn't eager to embrace his Avatar status, and that reluctance doesn't vanish overnight. He's a child burdened with the unimaginable responsibility of saving the world and stopping an entire nation. That essence of childhood doesn't evaporate with acceptance of his fate; it remained a fundamental aspect of his character arc across all three seasons. Maintaining his childlike innocence while navigating such weighty responsibilities is central to Aang's appeal and adds depth to his character. Moreover, the numerous detours the "gaang" takes contribute significantly to world-building, a vital element that imbued the original series with its charm. Will the remake ignore all of this???

In today's media landscape, there's a growing tendency to portray main characters as almost too flawless. While it's important to have protagonists that viewers can connect with and support, that doesn't mean they should be devoid of any imperfections. Flaws are what lend characters their humanity and depth, providing them with the opportunity to evolve and improve as the narrative unfolds. When a character begins the story with flawless beliefs and actions, it leaves little room for growth, resulting in a stagnant character arc.

I'm really concerned about how Zuko's and Azula's character development will be handled in the remake. They're both quite flawed characters, especially Azula. She was portrayed as being evil, yet also struggling with mental health issues. It's important to recognize that both aspects can coexist, and one doesn't excuse the other. This complexity was depicted well in the show's final season. I hope they won't simplify or remove these traits in the remake.

And what's next? Will they remove the beloved cabbage man too?

#atla #avatar the last airbender #avatar #the gaang #aang #atla sokka #atla aang #atla rant #atla zuko #zuko #katara #atla katara #toph beifong #ATLA

[vampire-meta-knight]

Goth DIY: Altered Clothing part 1

Since some of you crafty goths were interested in seeing the clothing I've altered, I decided to compile it all in one place! I hope I can inspire your creations,give you ideas, and teach you new techniques. This will be a long post, since I've been making alterations to my clothing since high school, which also means some of these projects aren't as polished as others, since they were made when I was newer to DIY and have mistakes I've since learned from, but that's okay! Goth doesn't have to be polished and perfect, and don't let the fear of mistakes stop you from creating!

I've already done posts about the shorts and pants I've gothified, so part 1 will focus on t-shirts, camisoles, and button-up shirts. Part 2 will have sweaters, skirts, and dresses. Some alterations are as easy as adding safety pins or lace trim, and others involve more sewing. Lots of these are very beginner-friendly projects and take less than an hour. All of these items were completely plain when I got them--anything metal, lace, embroidered, or painted that you see was added by me. I'll add more about each garment in the image descriptions. As always, feel free to message me if you want better or more thorough instructions or DIY advice. I'm here to be a resource to my fellow crafters! <3

(Also, please pardon the cat hair and my hair on the clothes--I don't take perfect pictures. A couple pics are also old since those shirts are in storage so I could make room for my winter wardrobe, so you'll notice a change in backdrop and a dirty mirror.)

Let's start with t-shirts and camisoles! Use an old shirt, a thrifted shirt, a shirt from Walmart, etc.! I like to get plain unisex t-shirts from Walmart and paint on them using freezer paper stencils, bleach them, shred them, and/or add safety pins to them. The camis also came from Walmart, and I changed the necklines and added lace trim to make them cuter.

To make a sweetheart neckline on a cami, you can cut it, or you can just pinch the middle and sew it into place (I did that for all of them except the black and white one--that one ended up a little lower-cut than I meant it to, so I decided to stick with the pinching method). The lace trim I used on the black camis isn't stretchy, but still works just fine, as long as you pin it into place while you're wearing the shirt and stretch the shirt a bit as you sew to maintain stretch in those areas. Stretchy lace, like I used on the pink and red camis, works a bit better, but is harder to find. I still like pinning the lace while I'm wearing the shirt to get the placement down, but if you wear a bra, make sure you're wearing the one you plan on wearing with the shirt while placing the lace. I found it doesn't sit right with bras that fit a little differently than the one I based the placement on.

The long-sleeved Emily the Strange shirt has a neat detail, albeit a wonky one because my placement is a bit off sometimes. You'll notice two little striped triangles at the bottom. I cut slits in the shirt and added triangles of striped stretchy fabric, then sewed zippers over top of them to hide the seams and add extra detail. I also sewed the zippers on with red thread for contrast.

My button-ups are a bit more involved. I treat them like how I treat shorts--patches, lace, embroidery, pins, grommet tape, D-rings, charms, chains, oh my! The pink one is my most recent, and I'm so proud of it. All of the patches came from ToothxNail on Etsy, except the Rat King patch, which came from Katiewhittleart on Etsy. The flowers on the collar were buttons that I glued onto flat-back pins from a craft store (I used E6000 glue). Made super quick collar pins that I can remove when washing the shirt or put on something else when I want.

The orange button-up was by far the simplest. I just added lace trim to the cuffs and cropped it (it had been high-low, but I wanted to wear it tucked into a skirt and the long back was annoying me). I also added collar clips with a chain that I got at a craft fair, but that's more like styling an accessory with it than altering it, since I can just un-clip them.

The leather jacket is old and doesn't fit well, so I don't wear it anymore, but I kept it because it was my first leather jacket. Adding the sew-on studs and faux-fur trim on the neck took the longest. You'll also notice that a mouse chewed a hole in the outer shell on the pocket.

Part 2

#diy advice from your local goth #goth diy #goth clothing #goth fashion #goth #gothgoth #goth subculture #diy fashion #diy #diy tutorial #goth tutorial #crafting #sewing #mine

[kzpearce]

attitudes - kamisato ayato x f!reader

note. hai hai everyone i'm finally back! sorry this is not THAT much because all of my stories are for my original characters lmao. so this will do for now.

quick note. disclaimer that this is for female readers or afab! still second point of view, and mentioned (y/n) once only. slight tw/ mentions monthly period several times. if there r she/her pronouns typo, forgive me! but i proofread it so checked i needed to correct! thank you so muchhh <3

“Go away,” you say softly behind the locked bedroom door. “I don’t like you.”

“You’re giving me an attitude again, (y/n).” Ayato sighs as he grab the hot compress from the cabinet. He has a younger sister and he’s aware how the monthly period works, but you give him a different outcome. Ayato nearly lost his sanity. 

He also needs to deal with your premenstrual syndrome — where you are mostly easily irritated and extra sensitive before your actual period. In fact, your mood swings occur most of the time before your monthly. 

During your period, it’s lessened, but it’s still not the best. However, you love to cling. You love to hug Ayato at random times, and you somewhat act like a toddler. Despite this, Ayato loves you even more. He loves how you depend and cling to him.

When you and he were new to your relationship, Ayato had difficulties dealing with you. You were sensitive with your emotions yet somewhat insensitive with your words. If you’re having an attitude now, the old you was worse.

You fought with him, and you were not emotionally okay for several days. Ayato confronted you when the two of you calmed down and said that he was struggling to understand you. After you explained and apologized, you tried to adjust. Your mood swing attitude remains, but you’re doing better at controlling it than before. 

Ayato appreciates his family’s genes of patience because if he didn't have one, he doesn't think you and he would still be together. 

The thought of losing you makes Ayato’s stomach clench. 

With the hot compress with Ayato and the food you’re craving for, he finally knocks on the door. “Love, can you open the door for me?” The tone of his voice easily becomes soft when he calls you with your endearment. 

You don't respond. 

“Please?” Ayato adds, pleading. 

You open the door and peek. The way you look at him tells him that you’re not feeling okay. Ayato smiles softly, showing you the hot compress and your craving cheesecakes. 

“I know you’re craving ice cream more, but let’s save it for tomorrow, okay? Let’s avoid cold food to help your cramps. Is that okay, baby?” 

You push your lower lip forward and your gaze softens, attempting to hold back your tears. You open the door wide open, allowing him to step inside the room.

Ayato notices you’re wearing an oversized white shirt, only to find out that you stole one of his shirts again. He chuckles.

“Love,” Ayato sustains his o as he places the food and your hot compress on the nearest table. He wraps his arms around your figure and presses his chin on the top of your head. “Baby, you stole my shirt again.”

You hug me back and hum. “I lied when I said I don’t like you.”

Ayato kisses her head. “I know, love.” 

You rest your chin on his chest and look up to him. You curve your lip into a charming and adorable smile. “Stay with me tonight.”

“I will. I finished extra work today so I can stay until tomorrow morning.” 

Your smile fades. “Did you even sleep, Commissioner?”

Ayato presses his lips together. Woops, he thought. “Lesser hours than my normal sleep.”

“Ayato, you've barely slept six hours already.” Your eyebrows furrow, “How less?”

Ayato hums, “Three?”

“That’s it. You are really going to stay here tonight.”

A smirk tugs his lips, “You should’ve directly told me you missed me.”

“I do! But I can’t enjoy you when you’re restless,” your voice eventually becomes a whisper at the end of your sentence. Ayato can’t help but let out a hearty laugh.

“I have energy.” His smirk maintains.

“Sleep.” You glare.

“Okay, okay.” Ayato chuckles and kisses your cheek.

#genshin impact #genshin various men #ayato x reader #genshin fluff #genshin impact fluff #kamisato ayato #kamiasto ayato x reader #female reader #kamisato ayato x you #ayato x you

[heich0e]

tags: smut, f!reader, oral (f!receiving), slight exhibitionism, slight coercion (reader is reluctant but easily swayed), mentions of slightly toxic relationship dynamic, this was inspired by @andypantsx3 and @mydiluc so credit where credit is due!!, word count 2.4k, 18+ MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT

the door to the spare bedroom in your apartment (that in the past few years has doubled as a makeshift office, a storage room, and has very seldom actually hosted a guest) creaks open, and out of pure instinct you temporarily turn off the video feed from your end of the zoom call. 

"i'm bored," eren pouts, slumping against the doorframe with his hands shoved into the front pocket of his hoodie.

"eren, i'm in a meeting," you whisper, even though your microphone has been muted for the majority of the video conference (and will likely remain that way until it concludes.)

"you're always in meetings," he complains, slinking a little bit further into the spare room and closer to you.

"eren, that's because i have a job," you sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose, "meetings are part of being employed."

eren makes an indignant little sound. his lips flattening in what you recognize as offence. 

"baby, i didn't mean it like that," you say softly, remorse seeping into your words. 

eren doesn't work. he's supported by his family, old old money, and has been picking away at a master's degree for the past few years that with every passing day you wonder if he'll ever actually finish--not that you'd ever tell him that, and not that it really matters considering he technically never has to work a day in his life and he'll still have more wealth to his name than most people could ever hope to accumulate. 

you didn't grow up in a family like eren's. didn't have the same privileges and safeguards and assurances that he's had all his life. you went to university on a scholarship. worked your ass off to maintain it. fought for competitive internships that would make you more appealing to prospective employers, and graduated with a good GPA that sweetened the deal. 

you met eren in your sophomore year, though his reputation absolutely preceded him–he was well known among the students not only for his family's name (the same name on multiple buildings across campus), but his good looks and his charm made him a bit notorious. you knew he didn't take school particularly seriously, but loved partying. and after a long (relentless) pursuit on his part that spanned the better part of the fall term, you finally agreed to a date after he half-jokingly threatened to enrol in all the same courses as you the following semester (a threat which, to this day, you're uncertain was really much of a joke at all.)

and now it's been years since the two of you got together. to the point that it's hard to remember a time without him at all. 

but those differences in your upbringings, in your work ethics, are still something that the two of you often have to work through. eren would prefer you didn't work at all--or at least didn't work quite so hard, or quite so much--but you enjoy working. sure the job you'd snagged as a new grad wasn't the most lucrative position, but it was entry level at a great company and there was opportunity for advancement which you planned to take full advantaged of. it was a competitive opening in your field and you'd managed to get the job all on your own--even in spite of eren begging you to let him ask his dad to call in a favour on your behalf.

eren sees no issue in using his family name in his (and those closest to him's) best interest. you'd prefer to earn things on your own merit.

the fundamental divide between the two of you.

eren eyes you mistrustfully from the edge of your desk, still sulking from your comment. 

"i really didn't mean it like that," you insist, reaching out towards him. "i just meant that there are parts of having a job you can't change."

eren slinks into your grasp, letting you wind your arms around his waist and burrow your face into his tummy from your seat in your desk chair. the video call in the background hasn't made much progress since you tuned it out, so you're not overly worried about what you might be missing. 

the soft material of eren's hoodie brushes against your cheeks, and his hands cradle the back of your head to hold you against him. 

"i know you didn't mean it like that," eren hums above you, and you tilt your face up so your chin rests just above his navel so you can peek up at him. "i just feel like i never see you anymore."

"eren we see each other every day," you reply, brow furrowing in confusion. you work hybrid in-office/work from home, and with eren picking away leisurely at his masters dissertation his days are mostly spent at home "researching" (playing video games.)

"but you're always so busy," eren pouts, his large hands cupping your cheeks. his thumbs stroke the hollows below your eyes. "you work so hard."

you tilt your face into his touch, your cheek squishing against his palm. he presses a little firmer against either one of your cheeks until your lips pucker, and chuckles softly to himself -- a quiet little 'heh'.

"is your call boring?" eren asks, his eyes sliding to the computer screen in front of you where the call is continuing. 

"ah widd'l," you say, your cheeks still smushed together in his hands. he eases up his grip, brushing some hair back from your face. you sigh, turning in your desk chair and looking back to your computer. "i haven't even really said much. i never do in these meetings since it's mainly advertising and marketing execs, but attendance is mandatory for my team." 

"so you don't have to say anything?"

you hum, reaching forward and clicking on the chat box to see what new messages have popped up since you've been distracted. there are a few links in the conversation and you click to open them in a new window to review after the call concludes. 

eren crouches down beside you, dragging your chair back slightly from the desk. 

"eren, what are you doing?" you ask him, flushing as he pushes your knees apart and squeezes his broad frame in between them. from the waist up you’re dressed in normal work clothes, but you hadn’t bothered to put on proper bottoms that morning so all you have on your lower half is a silky pair of pyjama shorts (one of the perks of working from home.)

“i wanna give you head,” he says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. he reaches for the waistband of your shorts but you stop him with a hand on either wrist.

“eren!” you hiss, your eyes flickering to your screen again just to double—triple—check that your mic is muted and your camera is really properly off. it is, but it still brings you little comfort with the faces of your company’s executives plastered across your computer screen.

“what?” he asks, pouting. he rests his cheek against the plushness of your thigh. “why can’t i?” 

“i’m working. i’m in a meeting.”

“that you don’t need to talk in, and that your camera is off for,” he counters, his lithe fingers snaking up the leg of your teeny tiny shorts—he grins when he realizes you’re not wearing panties underneath. his breath is hot and humid on your skin, and the look in his eyes makes your stomach feel tight. 

“eren, i can’t—” 

“you don’t have to do anything,” he smoothly interrupts, the tip of his finger stroking softly up your slit underneath your shorts. “just let me take care of you, my professional, hardworking girl.”

eren was blessed with a silver tongue to go along with the silver spoon he’d been raised with in his mouth. you know you shouldn’t. that it would be an egregious act of misconduct to go along with what he’s saying. but before you can even think to refuse him your silky shorts are hanging off your ankle and your legs are looped over his broad shoulders, slumped back in your desk chair as eren licks long, broad stripes through the sopping wet petals of your pussy. 

“eren, eren—!“ you choke on a pealing moan, your fingers tangling in his soft hair and tugging firmly against the strands. he’s always so slow to take you apart, so dilligent in the way he presses his tongue against you, so methodical about the way that he skirts around your clit—brushing it but never giving it quite the stimulation you want—which only makes you more desperate and needy for him.

just the way he likes you.

“you taste so good,” he murmurs against your cunt, wet and sloppy as he drags his tongue up to collect your slick and his spit along it. he swallows animatedly, like he’s making a big show of it. “do you know how good you taste?”

you shake your head in a trembling little show of dissent. 

he hums. “so good. sweetest little pussy on earth.”

he dips his fingertips inside of you, letting you get just a taste of the stretch before he’s pulling them out again. he holds them up to your face so you can see the shine of fluid clinging to his skin, down to the first knuckle. 

“taste it, baby.”

he presses against your lips and you welcome the digits in. you wouldn’t call the taste sweet by any stretch of the imagination. there’s a headiness to it. a tang. something familiar to the taste that’s not unpleasant. 

eren pushes his fingers back so far in your mouth that you almost choke, but there’s something familiar in this too—you’re used to the prodding at the back of your tongue, the sudden intrusion just at the opening of your throat. he likes teasing you like this. dominating you in such a subtle way it feels like more of a game. you moan, and as your head tips back eren finally sucks hard against your neglected clit. 

your toes curl as they hover over the planes of his back, your spine bending and lifting your chest up towards the ceiling as it bows. eren slips his fingers, now soaked in your spit, back out from between your lips—leaving a little trail of saliva down your chin. eren rubs his slick fingertips against the swell of your clit, rubbing quick circles against it. 

the heat in the pit of your stomach kindles, the knot tightening in your core. 

“you gonna cum?” eren asks, pressing a contrastingly chaste kiss to your trembling thigh. “you gonna cum for me—“

“miss reader?” 

your last name shocks you like a splash of ice water across a circuit board.

both you and eren freeze, your eyes snapping to the computer in front of you. 

the call has gone quiet, and the senior ad executive is looking expectantly to the screen. 

“miss reader are you still there?” the executive repeats. 

frantically you push eren away from you, snapping your legs closed and pulling yourself up to the computer in your chair. you unmute your microphone after clearing your throat. 

“hello?” you say, your voice fluttery and flustered. “i’m here!”

the executive relaxes slightly, chuckling. “thought we’d lost you there!” 

“sorry, sorry,” you apologize, your shaking hands pressed over your eyes. “i’m having, um, some issues with my internet connection. keeping my camera off is helping but the call is still a little laggy on my end.”

the executive hums. “no worries, it happens to us all. just wondering if you have any updates on this quarter’s numbers?” 

you swallow, eyes flickering to eren who’s seated on the ground next to you, leaning against your desk with a sly grin on his face, palming at his cock through his sweatpants. 

“yes, of course,”—you nod even though your camera is still off, instinct more than logic—“the data is still raw, and we haven’t had a chance to properly analyze it yet since it’s still early, but i can forward the spreadsheet to everyone after the call?” 

you watch your colleagues all nod or make small noises of agreement from their sides of the screen.

“ok, sounds good. we’ll keep an eye out for it,” the advertising manager nods, and you see the end of his pen swivelling in the corner of the screen as he makes a note out of frame of his webcam. “now, moving onto the issue from last week’s meeting—“

you slam you mute button on once more, slumping back in your chair in relief. you toss your arm over your eyes, a throbbing between your temples the echoes the dull, unsatisfied ache between your legs. 

“good job, baby,” eren laughs, running a comforting hand up your bare thigh, fingertips kneading into the flesh. “you barely sounded like you were just about to cum.”

“eren, that wasn’t funny.”

eren pulls your chair back from your desk again, pressing a kiss to one knee and then the other. 

“i’m sorry,” he says softly, you pull your arm away from your eyes to peek down at him. he’s looking up at you with a wide-eyed, beseeching gaze. he rests his chin in the valley between your knees. “i didn’t mean to upset you.”

you sigh lightly. 

“i’m not upset,” you murmur, touching his cheek gently. he reaches up and places his hand over yours as it cups his face. “it was just stressful.”

eren tilts his face so he can press a kiss to your palm, then pulls your hand a little closer so he can press another to your wrist where your pulse pounds arrhythmically. 

“i know,—” 

eren nods as he peeks up at you through his lashes, the green of his gaze cool and comforting. the hand that’s not holding yours to his lips snakes easily between your knees, easing them ever so slightly apart. 

your breath hitches as the cool air catches on the remnants of spit and arousal that have smeared messily along your upper thighs. your stomach clenches. 

“—so just sit back and let me make it up to you.”

#eren x reader #eren x you #eren yeager x reader #eren yeager x you #aot writing #aot fic #writing

[scaredcrab]

A farewell kiss (Oneshot)

Character: ☼ Wukong x Reader

✐ Summary: Wukong stubbornness lead you to danger. You ask for one kiss before you die.

✐ Category: Angst. Romance.

✐ Word Count: 1085

Link to read in AO3: Here.

(This is JTTW Wukong, so you can imagine any Wukong you want to.)

-✐-☼-✐-☼-✐-☼-✐-☼-✐-☼-✐-☼-✐-☼-

It was the last event between you two. It happened long time ago, when everyone were camping at a mountain.

"Wukong! I-I mean... Majesty, would you really consider accepting my courting if I went to that cave with stone fruits to gather some for you to dinner?"

You two had the innocent habit of playing around, competing against each other and challenging one another. Obviously, when you were challenged, things were much more difficult for you than when he received a bet, which made everything more fun in his point of view.

Sometimes the simian would purposely lose those bets you "made him" accept, this would happen when your reward was also interesting to him. Like the countless times when you would compete a race to some point, and he would have to groom your hair if he lost. Wukong would let you have a "heads start", and somehow something in the route would distract him, causing his loss.

Since only you and him were awake to hear the conversation, he promised that yes, he would start going out with you if such gift were delivered.

Normally in this kind of challenges the Tang monk would get in the way saying how cruel it is to take advantage of people's feelings like that, and how he only wouldn't use the crown to lecture the bad monkey because you would cry every time you heard the sage's pain. You didn't want to be the reason why Wukong felt pain, and the monk respected your wishes.

"Really? Will you really start dating me?" - Your voice started to raise with excitement, and that made the people sleeping in the camp start to move.

"Shhhhhh! Yes, this old monkey can assure you that once you came back, I'm going to be your partner or whatever. Just don't take too long, or I'll have to go out look for you. Your king demands your return in 13 minutes, did you hear me?" - Despite the rude speech, his cheeks burned with the thought of you two finally getting together.

It was his manner of saying "Take care of yourself".

You knew him well, he was terrible admitting his romantic feelings since he never felt something like this before, still, it was clear that as time went on the senseless distrust he had about you got turned into a fiery love that he considered difficult to bear.

Wukong always got defensive when anyone else threatened to steal your attention, he hated it when he had to allow you to go off alone to explore any village they passed as your beauty was easily noticed by any citizen with a functioning brain, it was normal for him to have to control his anger, so he wouldn't hurt any idiot who came to flirt with you.

But as you said every time the monkey lost control and said outrageous things to people trying to charm you, "If you're jealous, don't scare others off with bad behavior, just admit that you love me, so you can tell them to go away saying that I'm already yours.".

That always silenced him, his pride spoke louder at these times, if it weren't for this dumb reluctance, things could have been different.

You were smart, but your love for him blinded you at times. You both believed that the cave was safe, not knowing that at night a dangerous creature visited the place.

Rather than getting to check you in 13 minutes, he waited a bit longer wishing for you to win...

"May I have at least one kiss?"

For the first time in the king's life, he experienced the feeling of having his mouth above someone's else lips, as he never thought this was something to be wanted before.

He doomed himself to eternal longing for the softness of that delicate touch.

Helplessly you held your fingers at the side of his face, weak digits that barely did their job in maintaining the man in place, but they could feel the warmth of the thin cascade running through them.

Slowly the thumb brushing against the sage's cheek slid from that position, losing all the heat while it gradually fell.

When the water filled eyes of the warrior got to look at your facade he saw a smile, a gentle and sweet smile, to him that moment was a sad goodbye, to you, it was your first and last kiss, a bittersweet happiness.

Your closed eyelids accompanied by the soft grin brought a vision of peace, it was like the soul were in fact asleep, stuck in a brief dream, instead of living in the realm of the death.

He was alone now.

"Wukong! Where are you?! Did you find our friend?" - The monk cried in the distance.

... His name, he would never hear you calling by his name, ever again.

Wukong remained quiet, feeling stupid for not allowing you to approach him in the way you wanted… In the way he also wanted, but never got the courage to admit.

He wanted to throw up, knowing the reason you got to that cave in the first place. If instead of making those games to be your lover he had admitted his feelings, you would still be alive in his arms.

"... Please, come back. I… I never said to you how I feel..."

Worried about Wukong, Xuanzang commanded his second disciple to go where the older student is supposed to be.

Obeying the master's commands, Bajie went to the top of the mountain and entered its cave. There lying on the floor was the lifeless body of a scary monster, alongside a broken king covered in blood with his lost love in his arms.

"You stupid monkey! Look at what you have done!" - With a broken heart, the pig insulted his older brother.

Wukong remained quiet, only giving a touch in your forehead with his, then sliding his face to give a kiss where he touched earlier.

The pilgrims were obligated to bury the poor victim, they choose a nearby tree that flourished the prettiest flowers to be the place where your gravestone would be. That night, the Earth lost part of their brightness, and the sky gained a new star.

After that, the local population says that every year at the spring is possible to see a sad event. At the top of the highest mountain of that region, next to the oldest tree located there, the Great Sage Equal to Heaven crying at this tiny tomb.

#yesterday I impulsively wrote this at 3 am #jttw #sun wukong x reader #monkey king reborn x reader #lmk sun wukong x reader #lmk fanfiction #lmk x reader #monkie kid x reader #wukong x reader

[haydenigmatic]

Lady Jasira (Jah-see-RA) Oursbar (Awrs-bɑː.)

Meet Jasira, as her journey unfolds in the intricate tapestry of court politics and familial tensions. The clash between duty and personal conviction echoes in every step she takes, leaving us to wonder where this unyielding spirit will lead her in the tumultuous realm of the eight kingdoms.

For her face claim I had i mind Rachel Hurd-Wood as laura richis, Emily Browning and then in the sketch appeared Scarlett Johansson that her voice fits Jasira actually. (I didn't include the more realistic version as I loooved how this turned out)

Main Family Dynamics:

Duke Cal (Father):

Respects her father's encouragement of pursuing passions but sometimes feels pressured to conform. She appreciates his open-mindedness but struggles to balance it with the traditional expectations pushed by her mother.

Duchess Priscilla (Mother):

The clash with her mother is a recurring theme. Jasira's independent nature and outspokenness often lead to conflicts with her mother's emphasis on reputation and societal expectations. This tension forms a backdrop to their relationship.

Raylon (Eldest Brother):

Jasira and Ray, the heir, have a complex relationship. While she respects his dedication to their father's legacy, his stubbornness and short temper irritate her. They often lock horns over differing opinions on how to handle diplomatic matters.

Quillon (Second Brother):

Jasira appreciates Quent's fierce and honourable nature, but their differing desires create tension.

Fieryo (Third Brother):

They share a warm bond. She values his ability to build alliances but sometimes questions the sincerity behind his charming demeanour. Despite this, Fieryo's affectionate nature makes him a comforting presence in her life.

Helio and Jaydon (Twins):

The twins, with their carefree and mischievous ways, often serve as Jasira's escape from the seriousness of court life. While their antics occasionally exasperate her, Jasira secretly appreciates their ability to inject joy into their often solemn environment.

Phrewenia (Young sister):

Jasira is touched by Phrewie's admiration and looks out for her younger sister. She wants Phrewie to have more freedom than she had, even if it means challenging their mother's traditional values.

Some details about her:

Memorable Quote: "The only thing worse than a person who doesn't speak their mind is one who speaks it but doesn't mean it."

When stressed, she instinctively wraps her arms around herself, a visible indicator of her inner turmoil.

Growing up, she defied societal norms, preferring swords and boyish clothes.

In her pre-teen years, her face was completely adorned with freckles. While less prominent in her teens, they still add character to her features.

Is unapologetically outspoken, expressing her opinions without filter. Her directness might be mistaken for harshness, but it reflects her honesty.

Apart from her arch-bow being a gift from her late grandfather, it has intricate carvings and symbols that tell a family story.

Has a special bond with her horse, a beautiful black mare named Shadow. The two have grown up together, sharing adventures and forming an unbreakable connection.

She finds solace in nature. She enjoys taking long walks in the woods, finding peace and inspiration among the trees and wildlife.

Maintains a small garden with a variety of medicinal herbs. She has learned the art of herbal remedies from an old family guidebook.

Has a bodily mark (tattoo) that spans from her collarbone to the end of her left side rib, a rite of passage in her culture, signifying her transition into adulthood.

Her mother is adamant about securing a prestigious marriage alliance for Jasira. However, Jasira is determined to choose her own path in matters of the heart. This clash between familial expectations and her desire for autonomy creates a significant source of tension.

#if game #if wip #interactive fiction #ro's #oc intro #tbotd #the blood of the dragon #jasira

[chicoca]

Did you know that i have your heart in the garden?

Chapter one: amore mio aiutami /ao3

song: amore mio aiutami–piero piccioni

Warnings: Use of a degrading word

Words: 5.5k

Nina De Rosa -Daughter of Don Tommasino De Rosa and Valentina Parisi. Little sister of Simone, Florentino, and Calogero. -Born December 27, 1925 in Corleone, Sicily. You are an artist moderately recognized in Sicily. Since you were a child your poems and paintings have been praised by your family. Your mother, a writer with an anonymous signature, has instilled art in you. Being the only daughter of the Don, you have been spoiled and supported in all your passions.  You meet Michael (Michele) Corleone in the winter of 1946. He is welcomed and protected by your father after murdering two men in The United States.

Read masterlist for summary and playlist <3

The little snowflakes danced in the air in front of his eyes. His tensed body, his hand still feeling heavy, and the pain in his face kept him fatigued. The travel had made his mind a nest of noise. The sound of the wind, the sea, the voices, and the constant click clack. For a moment he thought he lost himself there. That’s how he felt after everything. So rushed, in the darkness of his boarding, only a man with a scar on his right cheek kept him company. His name was Emmanuele, a Don Tommasino’s capo, the man in charge of taking him to Sicily. They didn’t talk much, only what was necessary until they reached the small private airport run by “The Families”.

Similar to New York. Sicily was controlled by four main families; Quintana from Corleone; Indelicato from Palermo; Pentangeli from Partinico; and De Rosa from Bagheria–Corleone. Three of them were close to the Corleone family, mainly due to the alliances made by Vito. However, with Don Tommasino De Rosa the friendship was much deeper. Vito, a man of great values, always maintained his devotion to his friend, who helped him in his revenge and gave him and his family shelter in his homeland.

Michael must have been five years old when he met you for the first time. He wouldn’t remember you. You were just a baby in your mother’s arms, recently baptized. With your pompous dress and your blessed head, they named you goddaughter of Vito. At the celebration the children played, the adults drank and chatted pleasantly, and Michael remained silent near his father. You were close, you babbled charming your aunts, and you squeezed your godfather’s finger in your fist causing him to smile. 

It was the only time you crossed paths, like two complete strangers who never thought about each other again. Until that winter, when Michael’s life began to change in a way he thought he could escape. Ambitions were left behind, because Sicily received him with the cold filling his entire body. The only thing he could think about was home, about returning, even though he knew it would be impossible. Now in solitude he refrained from letting himself be carried away by fatal thoughts. He concentrated on being rational, on getting to Don Tommasino’s house and finally resting a little bit. 

Emmanuele took him in a car along uphill roads, entering a city of ancient architecture that immediately caught his attention. So different from his home, it caused a knot in his chest that he ignored in the face of the wonderful views. Snow covered the cobbled roofs of the houses, it made a small path on the side of the street covering the grass. Going uphill, Emmanuele told him that they would enter through the forest where Don Tommasino’s house was located in a wide rural villa. Michael stuck his head out the window admiring the cold green vegetation. He could see the small booths with armed men. They continued until they reached a guarded gate, upon recognizing Emmanuele the men opened it, revealing a big house. Michael didn’t show how amazed he was by the place. With a large garden that disappeared into a stone path at the back, the house was in the center of a captivating nature.

They got out of the car, where some soldiers approached to take out the little luggage that Michael was able to bring with him. Sally had little time to gather a couple of shirts, a pair of pants, and a belt. Still, he was grateful to have his coat in the face of the weather he encountered. He could feel the humidity of the plants sticking to his skin along with the snow that fell lightly on his hair. Fortunately he didn’t have to wait too long for the front door to open, inviting a homely warmth that he followed behind Emmanuele.

Inside a captivating melody sounds like a warm welcome that calmed his body a little. The entrance had a large room with a fountain in the center and a large staircase that leads to the second floor. Behind it a window looked out onto the back garden where he could see a table and a couple of people. From the hallway to the left, where the music was coming from, a man with a cane appears who smiles openly at him, extending his arm to wrap him in a side hug. Michael could feel the light squeeze of his hand against his back, feeling his weight fall gently on him. With two pats he separated to grab his shoulder.

“Michele! You have grown so much, boy. Let me look at that face… I’ll call Taza, you need to treat that” He gestured, moving his open palm pointing at his face. Emmanuele at his side just looked at them “I’m very sorry about your father. I wish him my best blessings. He will recover soon” Michael smiled at his words.

“Don Tommasino, I thank you very much for receiving me… Molto grato (I’m very thankful)”.

Don Tommasino hugged him by the shoulders, leaning lightly on him, and made him walk to the back to exit through a door that led to a terrace. There the wide views showed part of the city from above, although everything was covered by vegetation.

“I appreciate your words Michele. Because of the great friendship that I share with your father I give you shelter… Una casa (A house) You will be protected, Michele. I have sworn to your family that” Michael sat in one of the chairs, under the roof unlike the soldiers that guarded the place. Don Tommasino sat next to him “I like winter, you will like this place in the cold”.

Michael only thought about the summer and how at that moment he would be home again. He already missed everything. He felt the tingle of a sadness that penetrated his soul. At the same time, fatigue did not allow him to feel anything other than an emptiness. As if he was incapable of feeling. 

“Mi piace l’estate (I like summer)” He said.

“Amerai l’estate. Anche se immagino che speri di tornare per allora (You will love summer, although I suppose you hope to return by then)” Michael nodded, sighing lightly.

“My italian… Il mio italiano non è cosí buono (My italian isn’t so good)” Don Tommasino laughed a little and patted him on the knee.

“Don’t worry about it, they will understand you. But you could practice it” Michael nodded again.

“Michele I recommend you use another name here” Said Don Tommasino

“I could use Andolini, my father’s enemies don’t know his last name”.

“Maybe it’s risky, but it works. We have a lot of Andolinis here” Don Tommasino assured

Suddenly, he noticed three men approaching from the side of the house. Don Tommasino quickly stood up to receive them. Two of them were armed with luparas and were wearing light jackets. Something unsuitable for the cold, thought Michael.

“Benvenuto Michele (Welcome Michael) I’m Armando Fusco, consigliere of Don Tommasino, a pleasure” The man shook his hand in greeting and continued to introduce the two men who accompanied him “These are Fabrizio and Calo, your bodyguards assigned from Emmanuel. They are loyal to the family, so feel comfortable” Emmanuel at his side nodded before his men.

Fabrizio smiled broadly at him and squeezed his hand in a cheerful greeting.

“America, America… Quanto è bello lì, eh? (How nice it’s there, eh?)” Calo, next to him, laughed at his friend and sat in front of Michael. Getting a little snow on his head, he didn’t seem to care.

“Vuole essere portato in America, è il suo sogno (He wants to be taken to America, it’s his dream)” Calo said towards Michael.

“These men have the job of protecting you. Don’t hesitate to ask them anything” Don Tommasino said, leaning on his cane, Michael could notice how one of his legs was tilting loosely “Now let’s eat something. Armando, please tell Calogero that I want to see him” With that, Michael got up to follow him into the house.

Following his pace, since Don Tommasino walked slowly, Michael held his hands behind his back and admired the place again. Noticing his observant gaze, Don Tommasino spoke.

“They shot me in the legs, kid” He pointed his cane at his shin “I saw you look at me, it causes curiosity… Always observant, Michele. You were like that too when you came here years ago, remember?” Michael nodded, matching his steps. They were walking towards the hallway where the music was still playing “You were very little, always near your father”.

His thoughts inevitably turned to his father, still having the image of his body in the hospital bed. He felt that if he concentrated enough he could feel the skin of his father’s forehead  under his palm, in the caress he granted him when he promised to take care of him. He can still see the small tear that ran down his cheek when he had to leave him. The wave of sudden worry filled him for a second, barely letting him breathe. Without contact, he only had his own hopes as consolation.

“Amore mio, amore mio. Il… boy, Michele, è già arrivato? (My love, my love. Has the boy… arrived yet?)” A feminine voice called from the kitchen, where the aroma distracted Michael enough to notice his hunger. 

Inside, the warm lighting opened the way to a large kitchen with a dining room included. At least ten people were able to sit comfortably at the table. All made of varnished wood. The kitchen had a lot of furniture and a counter that gave views outside. The woman, Don Tommasino’s wife, Michael assumed, approached, wiping her hands on her apron.

“Michele, my wife Valentina” Don Tommasino presented, making a gesture so that they would greet each other. Michael accepted the small hug and the kiss on the cheek. Suddenly she looked at him with concern.

“I’m sorry, Michele. Being raised in America, you won’t be used to it” She said in a slow english that Michael patiently understood.

“My father has raised me close to our culture. Siamo italiani, non pensare di offendermi (We are italians, don’t think it offends me)” Michael said quickly, the woman nodded.

“I have lunch ready. Meat well cooked the way my husband likes it. Take a seat, Michele… Our sons will be arriving soon, Tomy” Valentina moved to the kitchen to start preparing.

Don Tommasino sat at the head of the table and motioned for Michael to sit nearby, to his left. Michael sat comfortably, crossing one of his legs and leaning back.

“Where is Nina? She won’t have lunch with us?” Don Tommasino asked, thinking you would be in the house by now.

“She’s in town with Carolina, they’re buying shoes” Valentina responded with a shrug as she tossed the salad on the counter “She will probably eat with her” She said in english, as a courtesy so that Michael would understand.

“When she arrives let me know. I want to talk to her”.

Michael didn’t pay much attention to the conversation. He got lost in the food’s aroma and in his numb body. The only thing that brought him out of his little state was the voice of people approaching. In front of him three men, one in a police uniform and two in civilian clothes, entered, greeting the couple effusively.

“Mama! Che profumo delizioso (Mom! What a delicious aroma)” “Delizioso, ho fome, Mama! (Delicious, I’m hungry, Mom!)” “Papa, come va il freddo con quella gamba? (Dad, how’s the cold with that leg?)” 

The men greeted their mother with a kiss, hugging her affectionately. One of them, the older, came up to greet his father and then looked at Michael shaking his hand.

“Simone De Rosa… You the guy from La America?” Michael nodded “Good, good, I know some english so don’t worry”.

“Parlo anche un po’ italiano (I speak a little italian)” Michael responded, aware of the other men approaching to greet him. Behind them Valentina brought the dishes.

“I’m Florencio. How was the arrival, eh?” Said the shorter one of them. The uniformed man also presented himself “Calogero” He said, shaking Michael’s hand after his brother.

“These are my boys, Michele. My daughter isn’t here, unfortunately, you will meet her later”.

“That girl Nina, tsk, tsk, tsk” Simone clicked his tongue “She’s been so busy these days. I’ve barely seen her” He complained while receiving his plate. Michael also received his, noticing how the brothers quickly began to eat.

“You have to understand her. With everything she has to do, we will see her very little” Said Valentina while sitting to the right of his husband.

“Your sister is doing something that none of you would do” Don Tommasino said as he poured the wine. Michael asked for just a little.

“We can’t do it, we are men” Said Calogero causing a disapproving look from his mother.

“We will not talk about your sister at the table. What she does she will discuss it with your father. Enjoy your food, you were hungry” She said, indicating with her fork.

“Well… Michele, tell us about America” Florencio seemed interested in Simone’s request.

“Better ask him something specific, boy” Said Don Tommasino while drinking his wine. Michael observed them with attention while eating.

“Come sono le donne? (How are the women?)” Asked Calogero causing laughter among his brothers “Scommetto che sono piccoli, magri, come nei film (I bet they are small, skinny, like in the pictures)” “Belli, sono belli! (Beautiful, they are beautiful!)” The brothers seemed to talk to each other without addressing Michael. 

“Non potrei dirtelo (I couldn’t tell you)” That caught their attention, Michael continued eating.

“Non può? Cosa non può? è un finocchio? (Can’t? What can’t? Is he a faggot?)” Calogero said jokingly to Simone. However, his brother looked at him seriously and then looked at his father.

Michael didn’t feel offended about it. Understanding the man’s mentality he simply wiped himself with a napkin in silence. Don Tommasino, on the other hand, felt deep shame at his son’s behavior. Valentina blushed with the same shame and looked at her husband expectantly.

“Excuse my son, Michele. He is usually rude, something that embarrasses me. Please ignore his words… Calogero, we’ll talk later” With a passive tone of voice but with a hard gaze he continued to reprimand his son.

“Don’t worry. I have a brother just the same… I don’t have any comments about women, because it’s not an interesting conversation for me. They will be beautiful, for sure, as there will be many in other places” His monotone tone and expressionless look didn’t give Calogero room to make another comment. 

Florencio, accustomed to his brother’s slips, drank wine and after swallowing he spoke.

“Old Frankie, how is he? Still under Clemenza I must assume” Michael tilted his head in interest.

“Yeah. Frankie, Frankie. We are good friends of Vincenzo. It has been a long time since we heard from him in La America” Simone said, taking the salad to serve himself in big portions.

“Yes, he continues under Clemenza, dedicated to the family” Don Tommasino clinked his glass with Michael’s and then raised it.

“For the family and the dedication… I want to make something clear to you three. Michele is my protégé, he is under our care until he can return safely to America. I know you know but I’ll repeat myself. I want total discretion, only those close to us can be aware of his presence. No one else will be told his name or anything about what is happening in New York” The brothers nodded at their father’s words.

“What about Quintana?” Asked Florencio.

“What about them?” Asked Don Tommasino.

“Our bond isn’t strong yet. The war is over but the tension continues. If they find out about Michele they can use it against us” Simone replied.

“They aren’t friends of the Corleones. They never wanted to establish any ties” Calogero added.

“Don’t worry about them. They won’t be a problem. Leandro as underboss will have the privilege of stopping anything. He knows what’s best for him” Don Tommasino said as he finished his plate “Now let’s give Michele some space. Love, can you ask Emilda to take him to his room? I need to go to my office, Calogero come with me”.

Don Tommasino slowly left the dining room accompanied by his son. His two eldest sons got up and said they would go outside. Valentina called Emilda and picked up the plates while Michael wiped his nose with a napkin.

Emilda appeared and kindly took him to the second floor where his room was, at the end of the hallway with a perfect view of the stream and the garden. His luggage was already on his bed, and after thanking Emilda he closed the door. 

Finally alone. The first thing he did was take off his coat, leaving him in his dress shirt and trousers. Having the need to bathe, he went to the bathroom connected to the room. There was a long bathtub, long enough for him to lie down without any problems. He slowly took off his clothes, leaving himself completely naked. Waiting for the tub to fill with water, he went to look in the mirror where he noticed his paleness and deep circles under his eyes. But what caught the attention was his injury.  

His skin was covered in a purple hue. The swelling on his jaw had gone down a little but it was still painful. In the night he felt it more, the pressure on his head when lying down made the pain intense. It provoked a rage that dissipated quickly when he remembered that McClusky was dead. A feeling of resentment that was only calmed by his committed revenge. He almost thinks about his father but stops as he presses his fingers against his broken jaw. He didn’t like how he looked even though he had seen several men who arrived in Sicily had injuries 

The pain was a sensation already learned, almost purifying. The war hadn’t made him a stronger or wiser man. Sharing with men who died at his side didn’t make him more sensitive. It was fear that still disturbs his mind when he remembers the pain. And it isn’t a physical pain, it’s a pain of the soul, as if his heart were going to shrink until it disappeared. It was fear that made him learn. And now, with the latent pain on his face, he could only ask God that nothing would happen to his family. He would pray for it until he returns, he knows it when he sees that his injury would take too long to abandon him.

Noticing that the tub is already full, he slowly gets into it, covering his body in the warm water. He immediately feels his muscles relax against the surface, almost feeling like he’s sinking. Letting himself go, he takes a deep breath to submerge his head under water. Stretching his legs and using force with his hands to keep him from floating, he stays down holding his breath. It’s almost cathartic. 

He holds on until he can’t take it anymore, getting out of the water quickly, overflowing the tub and wetting the floor. He runs his hands over his face without noticing that he is crying. He sinks again, and repeats that over and over again until his body becomes limp. Then he just looks at the ceiling without thinking about anything, letting everything happen until he almost falls asleep in the cold water. If it wasn’t for the soft touch of the door he would have fallen asleep lying there.

“Signor, Don Tommasino vorrebbe parlarle (Mr. Don Tommasino would like to speak to you)” Emilda’s voice wakes him up enough to sit in the tub.

“Andrò presto Emilda, grazie mille (I’ll go soon Emilda, thank you very much)” He heard her footsteps go away, he waited until he felt the silence to get up.

He couldn’t feel the passage of time, or even register his body temperature. The only thing he did was dry off and change into the few clothes he brought, and went downstairs to go to Don Tommasino’s office.

The office was very different compared to his father’s office. Where it was dark there, here was a large window that showed trees in the background. There was Emmanuele, Armando Fusco, Simone, Florencio, Calogero and other man Michael hadn't meet yet.

“I hope you had a good rest Michele. Come in, sit down” He closed the door behind him and sat in one of the chairs in front of the desk. Behind Don Tommasino was the unknown man, staring at him with such intensity that Michael couldn’t help but look back at him “Andrea smettila di disturbare Michele (Andre stop bothering Michael)... Don’t mind him. He just arrived and he’s very paranoid. Perfect for the job, eh?” The men laughed and Michael could tell that there wasn’t tension in the room. That made him feel more comfortable.

“You liked your room, Michele?” Don Tommasino asked. Michael nodded. 

“Anisette?” asked Armando while pouring the cloudy liquid in small glasses. Michael accepted the glass and drank it along with everyone else.

“Well Michael, I called you because I want to tell you what a couple of things will be like here. We usually go to different areas of Sicily, meetings and things like that to maintain ties. Most of the time you will stay in the house with Fabrizio and Calo, but you can also go out to Palermo, once a week, you just have to not be identifiable. When I’m not here my men will be. Also my wife and daughter are always here too. The family visits us sometimes so you can meet them, if you don’t mind” Michael interrupted.

“Of course not” That made him smile.

“You are a good boy, Michele. Now let’s go out, it wasn’t that serious if you thought it was” Michael denied with his head while getting up.

“Hey! Papa! Are you in your office?” A female voice could be heard from outside, your voice.

“My beloved Nina, let’s go out so I can talk to her” He said as he walked with his cane towards the door. Michael could hear how you greeted each other in the hallway, your voices slowly drifting away behind the door.

Inside the men finished their drinks and got up to leave. Andrea, right hand of Don Tommasino and one of the capos, shook his hand in a firm squeeze that was intended to intimidate him. Michael appreciated the gesture, assuming that Don Tommasino’s safety was the man’s priority, he thought that this loyalty would be useful in the future.

When he left the office he noticed that the brothers De Rosa were still talking while they walked to the garden. Behind him Andrea told him to follow them because Don Tommasino loved sitting on his terrace, even if it was cold. As he moved forward he could hear your melodious voice, and like a song, he felt almost trapped in the curiosity of knowing what you were saying.

“... No, no papa, guarda. Oggi sono arrivati gli inviti, dobbiamo mandarli domani. Mi sto organizzando benissimo, credimi. Fidati e basta, andrà tutto bene (... No, no dad, look. The invitations arrived today, we have to send them tomorrow. I’m organizing this very well, believe me. You just trust me, it will be fine)”.

“Ma la mia vita, non sarà presto? (But, my life, won’t it be soon?)”.

“Ay papa, sta andando tutto bene, non preoccuparti (Ah dad, everything is going well, don’t worry)”.

“Sì papa, la ragazza sa quello che fa (Yes dad, the girl knows what she’s doing)”.

As he approached he noticed your back. Your figure covered by a long dark coat. He could only appreciate your dark hair and the movement of your hands. In front of you Don Tommasino looked at you attentively, with his eyebrows furrowed despite your words. Your brothers around you also listened but only Simone gave his opinion. Before Michael could make any gesture to indicate his presence, Andrea spoke.

“Signorina De Rosa, buon pomeriggio (Miss De Rosa, good afternoon)” That made you turn around.

If somebody asked Michael how silence is caused, he would have to answer that the body can only be immobilized with an overwhelming emotion. He could feel it in the impact of your eyes. But what a beautiful view that Sicilian winter brought. With cheeks flushed from the cold and eyelashes with little snowflakes. He didn’t know if it was just because you were beautiful or he had definitely gotten lost in your gaze. The tired body already forgotten was left behind the beating heart that deafened him. 

Michael found himself standing with his heart beating faster than normal. He felt dazed and the blood boiled in his body. He could intensely perceive everything. He felt like he was in another world. He was struck by lightning. Don Tommasino, looking straight at Michael, could notice it, but he remained silent. The well-known lightning attack.

For you, the first time was a blast of warmth. Because of the open door and his presence, the light that illuminated his bruised face reflected a unique shine in his eyes. And what eyes! A deep brown that caught you like a careless prey. You’ve never seen eyes like those. So full of a story that you wanted to discover, an innate need to know everything that captivates you.

The silence was broken when you noticed that he brought his hand to his nose. Due to the blow, his sinuses were damaged. You knew that because your brother suffered the same thing due to a fight. Taking a handkerchief out of your coat, you approached him and offered it to him. A pale pink fabric with delicate embroidery that carries your perfume. Michael looked at the handkerchief and slowly accepted it, pressing it to his nose, immediately feeling the sweet aroma. 

“Ciao Andrea. Sei Michele? Da New York? (Hi Andrea. Are you Michael? From New York?)” You asked, taking a step back, slightly losing the feeling of his closeness.

“Yes Nina, he’s Michael. Michael, my daughter Nina” Don Tommasino said, in the background your brothers talked.

“Buon pomeriggio, Nina… Grazie per il fazzoletto, io… I will return it to you after washing it (Good afternoon, Nina… Thanks for the handkerchief, I…)” Michael spoke english not knowing how to continue in italian. You smiled and with a gesture you denied.

“Don’t worry. I have more” You replied, he didn’t push it.

Still in awe of his eyes, you couldn’t help but take in everything, as if he were going to unexpectedly leave your sight. Michael wasn’t far behind, even with your handkerchief pressing against his nose, more because of your perfume than his rhinorrhoea, he looked at your face trying to engrave it in his memory. 

“Well, I hope you like poetry Michele… Nina keep him company, Armando has a couple of things to discuss with me” Said Don Tommasino as he saw how his consigliere waved his hand from inside the house.

For a man with a cane he moves around quite a bit, Michael thought. Now with a bit of confusion in his eyes, he took a seat waiting for you to do the same. You, instead, watched your father walk until he disappeared on the way to his office. With your brothers talking to a couple of your father’s workers, you noticed that Michael was waiting for you. With a little shyness you sat in front of him, and remembered your father’s words.

“What about poetry?” He asked you.

“Oh! I’m a poet and a classical literature teacher. He’s quite proud of it, that’s all” Michael noticed how you squeezed your hands and rubbed them.

“Poet, how interesting. How do you write it?” You didn’t know if he was really interested in talking about it, but like any other enthusiastic person, when you had the chance to talk about what you love the most, you couldn’t contain yourself.

“I couldn’t explain it. It's just. Mmm… It flows from me, you know? You don’t have something like that?” You asked.

“Something like that?” He took a moment before continuing “I don’t think so, what emanates from me doesn’t cause any art” That intrigued you.

“And what emanates from you?” If he could answer honestly he would. But he saw a very pure curiosity in your eyes.

“Some things” He said, looking away from you to admire the garden. The snow was no longer falling, however, the place was still covered in white. 

“You are quite a mysterious man, don’t you think?” You said with a smile that almost caused him to imitate you, but he remained expressionless.

“I don’t think so. You are an artist, though…” You looked at him inquisitively “You are more likely to share your thoughts”.

“That 's true. I have always been a transparent woman”.

“Just like your brother” He said, looking at Calogero.

“Oh, you already met him, eh? Don’t mind him, he’s always had a sharp tongue, always getting in trouble” You pointed at Michael’s jaw “Someone broke his jaw one time, for insulting a Quintana”.

“What did he say to deserve that?” He asked, leaning against the chair, looking comfortable in his clothes. 

“He said some things about Don Quintana’s daughter, may she rest in peace. It was very unpleasant. My mother slapped him when he arrived” Michael nodded. Your brother looked like the kind of man who made those mistakes.

“Is he a lieutenant?” You quickly denied at his question.

“He is a carabiniere. He likes to be one, he always wears his uniform” You both looked at him from a distance. Calogero was adjusting his sleeves while laughing at something Florencio said “Are you a lieutenant?” Michael looked at you again.

“I’m a marine” You raised your eyebrows at his response.

“You went to war? For America?” You asked, resting your chin in your knuckles. Michael lowered his head a little.

“Yes”.

“Your father supported that?” You noticed how his gaze intensified.

“No, he didn’t like the idea very much. But he couldn’t do anything against it, not at first” You wanted to ask him more, so you didn’t stop. Now feeling more comfortable you relaxed your posture.

“He did though” You assumed “You have medals?”.

“Yes, I have some” His calm voice contrasted with your animated one. 

From the outside it seemed that only you were paying attention. But Michael, from his passivity, was completely focused on you.

“Did you leave them in America? I’ve never seen one. Why do you have them?” You almost thought he was getting bored of your questions, but he smiled as if he remembered something good.

“Extreme bravery beyond the call of duty” The tingle of remembered adrenaline kept his smile on his face.

“So that emanates from you… Are you an altruist?” Michael thought deeply about your question, before he could answer you talked again “I know what you did in New York”.

“Do you? And what does that answer to you?” He asked, wanting to know what you would say.

“I think you are… Many men kill in the name of their Don, even sons kill for their parents. But one thing is to kill and another thing is to accept what death entails. You are here, very far from home. And when I look at you I know that this isn’t what you would want. That’s why I think you are” Michael took your words in and nodded slowly, he didn’t think the same.

“And you’re perceptive, I guess” That made you smirk a little.

“I usually observe everything, it helps with writing”.

“What else helps you?”.

“I have a place, a special one. It's outside, passing that fence, see?” You pointed where the stream disappeared between the trees “There I write and read, I go when it’s not so cold”.

“Why that place?” It encouraged you that he asked you so many questions. 

“It’s beautiful, it’s like it’s from another world. Sometimes, when the sun goes down, the leaves create some rays that reflect in the water. When I look at that I get inspired” You brought your hands to your chest, squeezing your palms. Oh you wished it were summer.

“I-...” Michael was suddenly interrupted by a voice calling your name. He could notice your eyes changed in the way your eyelids moved.

Recognizing that voice you stood up awaiting his presence. From the side your brother Simone appeared with a tall man in a fitted and expensive suit. Michael saw how he approached you, taking your hand to give it a soft kiss.

“Michele, this is Leandro Quintana, my fiance” The only thing Michael could notice was how you didn’t look him in the eyes again.

CHAPTER TWO

#al pacino #michael corleone fanfic #michael corleone au #michael corleone x oc #michael corleone x reader #michael corleone #the godfather au #the godfather

[beansidhebumbling]

An Examination of Cruelty and Other Such Failings

Nezriel Exes

Her dress was still crumpled where it had been thrown haphazardly the night before, the red silk a symbol of a passion that had burned in the wee hours of the morning with little regard for any sanctity her Mama upheld in Nesta once.

Before.

Before him. Before touches too hot, eyes too knowing, teeth too sharp; Before Nesta started to worship a different god, a crueller one, maybe. All gods were cruel but Azriel... he was a lesson in the what happened when one cared more about the sum than the parts; the breathing, human parts.

Her own breathing felt painful now, the beginning of a stress headache burning at her eyes and pulling tight on her skull. Az. No. Azriel. Not Az anymore, not to her, breathed deeply, steadily, like an innocent. Nesta snorted to herself, a liar even in his sleep.

How very him.

***

The light seeped in through gauzy, white curtains, Mor’s hand no doubt, and Nesta was stricken by how his face, beautiful in the age it was beginning to show, in crepey lines and hollowness, was softened by the dappled, yellow light. Maybe not all age she noted, on a closer look, comforted that her examination would remain a solitary pursuit by the metronomic movement of his chest. The purple shadows pressed into his eyelids, his naturally chiselled face looked just the wrong side of gaunt..

this was not quite the face she loved.

***

She was under no illusion that she had changed since they parted. An argument, a fracturing, a break-up. Words too small for a hurt so big. So explosive, and bitter, and brutal. Her frame softened and wider by the Gilmore Girls diet she’d been following, by the stress that’d been mounting. It was hard to mind herself the way he had.

Hard when three square meals had never been on a list short enough to receive attention, let alone fruit collected from markets in hemp net bags, prime rib-eye wrapped in grease paper, endless variations of nut butters organised on his ridiculous, Italian marble condiment station. Meals he plied her with, spoiled her with, until she allowed herself to grow comfortable with Az Azriel wanting to mind her in ways she could not, did not herself.

Stupid, stupid Nesta.

She should have known better. Comfort was yet another luxury she couldn't afford.

She never felt comfortable anymore.

***

He had not looked different in the dim hazy light of the bar. He had looked as well-maintained, manicured, and handsome as was expected when you had an extensive home gym, Peloton a given, and La Mer hand cream on tap. While his eyes burned from across the bar, the patrons gathered to celebrate Feyre and Cassian’s engagement utterly failed in their roles as buffers, he had looked as he always did.

Intense, consuming, heart-breakingly beautiful.

Even as some horrid part of herself noted with disdain that her thighs chafed against each other, rubbing in softness, in a way they hadn’t in the time before. That the women he’d surely slept with after she walked, probably blonde, probably charming, probably utterly lovely, would never dare to allow such a thing.

His hunger for her had thickened the air around her, had made her think of the unread texts sitting too heavy and tempting, weighing down her inbox, that had led to her blocking his number. Of the new Instagram account he had made. The man who was invisible to social media for so long, who had waxed lyrical to her time and time again of the black hole of energy it was made of. The man who huffed a laugh into her drying hair as she had pushed back,

‘Yeah, yeah, old man. Now let me scroll and fall into this hole in peace’.

The man who was now first to like any photo she was tagged in on Elaine’s, Eris's, even Rhysand’s account.

His request to follow her remained unanswered.

Even gods could change apparently.

Even gods could lose.

***

Her eyes caught the time on his digital clock, bringing her back to herself again. The red numbers flashed a warning,

Move...

Move.

Move!

Avoid confrontation.

Azriel had always risen before seven, one of the things bald men with podcasts attributed his success to. She couldn’t afford to stay any longer in reverie, to let him coax her back. Especially when no small part of her craved it. 

She turned away from him and his pretty, peaceful face, to wriggle her way out from the tanned arm laying on her hip, gripping at her, even through the thick coverlet. While doing the overly familiar dance of collecting strewn underwear, wriggling her way into the tight red slip, she looked at him and her chest tightened just a bit more. Because there he lay, half of a once-great love, vulnerable and searching, seeking her across the expanse of the mattress.

This was why she couldn’t even steal his shirt, an infinitely more comfortable walk of shame look. She couldn’t because she knew he’d take any reason to talk to her, to knock on her door. She couldn’t hand him a legitimate invitation in the form of a crisp Brioni shirt.

 She wasted no time brushing her teeth, with her toothbrush found in the sleek, mirrored cabinet. Her pink toothbrush still kept like some sad, weird shrine to their intimacy. She knew she'll dwell on that later.

She made her way to the door of his room, steps light and well-versed in their terrain, leather jacket thrown over her shoulders, purse, and thrifted, white, slingbacks in hand when the sound of his breathing changed.

Fuck.

***

She stilled on instinct, heart dancing, as he pushed himself upright in a way that was so fast it was almost comical if his dark eyes didn’t arrest on her, narrowing as he caught her red-handed in her escape.

Heart beating too fast, mind moving too slow she went to speak a few times before,

‘Sorry, didn't want to wake you. Keep our mistakes private, right?'

She was aiming for light but the awkward laugh at the end was undercut by how her voice cracked mid-sentence.

Was that hurt that flashed on his face before it was cold and shuttered once more?

He was out of the bed, brazen in his nakedness and upon her before she’d finished, his big hands, cupping her face, and a voice so rich, still gravelly from sleep, retorted,

‘Oh Nesta, not a fucking chance sweetheart. If you think you’re leaving this room after last night, after a mistake,’

the last two words sharpened and thrown back at her like arrows,

'you are being as delusional as I was five months ago. I was wrong. I was wrong to let you go. And believe me I've atoned for my sins, but I will not stand for you calling this a mistake. I won't watch you sneak away from a room we should share.'

Those brown eyes were deep pools of sincerity and regret. Gods repented in this strange, new world it seemed.

The next words were spoken so softly, almost to himself,

‘I can't. I can't. If you want to hurt me, at least let me hear your voice as you do so, let me look on your face as you break my heart once more. Stay with me and do as you will. I can tolerate anything but your absence.'

Shaking his head as if to refocus, he smiled, a pitiful, broken, best attempt at one, with eyes that roamed her face, gorging on all they had missed, before saying,

‘Come back Nes.'

'I thought I was a distraction.'

She sniped.

She remembered still.

He winced.

There, she thought, first blood in a new fight. Though God knew they'd spilled plenty here before.

***

The pulse of arousal that pierced her was sharp and strong and she hated that this was the most alive she’d felt in months. That she yearned for this fight, has been since she talked herself into approaching the bar last night, lying to herself that all she was doing was fulfilling a craving for bottom shelf vodka and coke.

She'd been to enough therapy since to know she was on shaky ground. She was envisioning the frenzied fighting and fucking to come, a sickening thrilling deja vu, when he kneeled.

Legs buckled like a broken puppet.

A script change.

Tears streamed from eyes filled with such anguish she felt her own swell in response as Azriel cried,

'Never a distraction. I was stupid, a liar and a fool. I kept telling myself that, telling you, because the truth terrified me. You were, are, and always will be everything to me.'

Tugging at his curly fringe, a nervous habit of his, he continued.

'I thought if I believed that, that you were a distraction, I'd find a way to survive even if you left me. Instead it drove you to walk and I found out none of it mattered. There were times in your presence I thought heaven might exist. Your absence, however, confirmed hell is real and it lives in the empty space you once filled beside me.'

Her skin felt like a live wire. Girls like Nesta Archeron didn't get love confessions from exes, they got bad credit and a therapy bill.

Or they had until now anyways.

'How do I know you've changed? All the time you made me feel full never compensated for what you took when you hid me from your friends, when you called me a...'

The word was too hard to say.

She resorted to examining the crown molding as Azriel waited a beat then answered carefully.

'You can't. I'm asking you to trust me knowing I have no right to. I love you Nesta. This is all too late. I know that. Believe me. I'm going to win you back. I swear it. You leave today and I'll find a way tomorrow or the next day. I had sworn to leave you be but looking at you now, I know you feel it too. I just hope someday you'll see it as a blessing too.'

***

When she leaves she feels his eyes following her to the taxi.

In the coming weeks he sends gifts - antique books, red dahlias, mix tapes of songs he thinks she'll like.

When she gets a text from a new number she does not block it.

When she visits next time, she brings her suitcase with her.

Because she understands.

The only craving she has ever had was for him.

As has been the case since she first started working for him, they were drawn together, they both knew this on some level.

That they were unbreakably bound to each other by gods so cruel.

Maybe crueller than him.

Maybe crueller than her.

Somehow.

#nesta #azriel #nezriel #acotar #angst

[rottenprincessshura100]

Chapter 141 Recap and Notes

We start off with a mysterious figure coming out of a black void. The figure is worse for wear, and we see a gloved hand and a flash of a polka-dotted ascot. This is Mephisto returning from the in-between space he was trapped in.

We think he's speaking to Yukio to wake him up, but this is another bait and switch. Mephisto just found Rin and brought him back from...somewhere.

We see a bleak future in the last chapter, and I was sure all our favourite characters died, as a matter of fact, I think they were dead. Bon is clearly suffering from a horrible head injury that was not survivable.

But in this new timeline, they are alive and well. Something happened that saved them all.

It was a lucky charm.

A lucky charm Shiemi gave her friends all the way back at the Christmas party in chapter 89. But how the fuck would Shiemi know the exwires would need this kind of divine protection in the future?

Was the Christmas Party Shiemi a different Shiemi? Perhaps, one from the future? Or were the charms all a sleight of hand by Mephisto and a product of his meddling?

Or is it just a big fat coincidence? I don't know.

One thing is for sure, Mephisto was also surprised they weren't dead; the future he saw had them pushing up daisies, Rin is all alone and the world was in shambles.

One thing we do know the world can't be saved unless the exwires survive.

And we all know that Rin and Shiemi are made stronger by having close friends and family to support them. This manga is all about those kinds of relationships and how the strength of Kinship is important.

So there's more to this narrative we don't know about. Shiemi, maybe, has secrets. Or she teams up with Mephisto in this current timeline. Goes back in time...anywho...it boggles the mind, right?

So, back to Mephisto.

He is the one that finds Rin, and brings him back on his umbrella, winged familiar, which is now some sort of creepy horse.

But we have a problem, the Rin Mephisto has in tow....isn't right. The rest of our beloved characters are acting as expected (well except for Shura), but Rin is not himself.

He's talking and acting like the Rin from the future. He has no smile for us, no happiness at finding his friends alive. The sight of Shiemi barely brings magic to his eyes. He's weary and broken.

The question is...is he Rin from the future?

OR

Does Rin have time/space powers like Mephisto? Does he have the power to see future visions through lucid dreams? Punch holes through space/time?

Well, we already know he can.

He started doing it back in chapter 109.

And to add to the mystery, Mephisto knows. Whatever has happened to Rin, it's a secret for the time king to unravel. That look speaks volumes.

Moving on.....

The knights of the true cross are all still alive, Lightning, Shura, Shemihaza, Neuhaus, and Osceola.

But Shemihaza is tired, Satan has taken all of her power, and the world is being destroyed. She wasn't able to maintain the "Enpeira" , a magical force field.

She is only alive because Amaimon risked his life to save her, and I gotta say, his new look is metal as hell. It even freaked Mephisto out a little bit.

The Grigori is in shambles.

Mephisto and Shemihaza are too weak to carry on. They must rest to continue the battle.

Shemihaza leaves Shiemi with her authority, but the rest of the exorcists refuse to team up with her. They write her off as an untrained child, and when they do, Shiemi's old fears and lack of confidence creep back in. Luckily, the rest of her exorcist friends push through the crowd.

We know that they will stand by her.

Sheimi's friends are her power.

-----------------------

Other Notes

------------------------

Knight of the True Cross is polarized.

Most exorcists believe this is the end of the world, and we start to see what the future holds, with humanity and the knights of the true cross divided.

Satan:

Satan is acting like a Sumerian-era Amaimon. He will rampage the world until he can be somehow sealed or somehow tamed. The exorcists must take on his heart.

But Shemihaza was only powerful enough to seal Amaimon's destructive power and was one of the lowest-powered demon kings.

How on earth can Shiemi take on Satan?

She has Rin....the other heir of Shemihaza. Can two Shemihazas take down Satan...maybe.

But is "taking down Satan" the wrong idea. Was Amaimon tamed or loved? Why does Amaimon work selflessly for Shemihaza?

Why does he call Shemihaza his wife? (Quick edit...I meant bride) These questions need to be flushed out.

#blue exorcist #mephisto pheles #ao no exorcist #ane #blue exorcist theories

[skeletonpunching]

Buddy Daddies animation director interview

Interview with Sako Soichiro (character design and chief animation director)

Interviewer: Enami Katsumi-san was in charge of the original character drafts for "Buddy Daddies", but they had to be redesigned for the purposes of animation. What did you pay particular attention to at that time?

Sako: Enami-san is a prolific illustrator, and I was familiar with his style; I wanted to bring out that stylish dynamism which is both cool and endearing. And on top of that, the series has a strong comedic element, so I aimed to maintain the original coolness and charm while simplifying the designs for a comedy anime, and creating room to play around with them as much as possible. I focused on having the expressions not be stiff - and of course, I was aware that the designs had to be very mobile and fluid, in preparation for the action scenes.

Interviewer: What did you focus on when creating the "buddy vibe" and sense of visual balance between Kurusu Kazuki and Suwa Rei?

Sako: Director Asai gave instructions that there should be a clear "contrast" between Kazuki and Rei when they were side by side, but I myself also wanted to emphasise the differences between the two. It’s not just their personalities that differ - Kazuki is a bit stocky, while Rei looks lanky and has awful posture. I aimed to bring out that disparity in their appearances. And when adding (Unasaka) Miri to the mix, if we had been true to the real proportions of a four-year-old child, her face should really have been bigger. But if so, whenever Kazuki and Rei were carrying her or holding hands with her, she would just look like she had an enormous face. (laugh) In order to avoid that, we had to tweak Miri's height and bodily proportions every episode.

Interviewer: Did Director Asai have any specific requests apart from that?

Sako: Yes, about the facial expressions. Rei's facial expressions hardly vary at all, but Miri is a carefree character whose expressions change all the time, and Kazuki, who's always fussing, also has quite dramatic reactions to things. The director told me to ensure that breadth of variation. So the series fleshed things out from the original designs, and we came up with all sorts of new expressions. Especially with Miri - basically, I just wanted to make her cute. A kid who just can't sit still and is always running around causing trouble... that's how you could describe her, but in the end, her expressions are the saving grace. "She's so cute, I'll let it slide" - that's what I was going for.

Interviewer: Was there anything you were especially mindful of throughout this process?

Sako: Naturally, I felt like I had a duty to "draw Miri cutely", but as for the buddy duo, I wanted a clear contrast between their coolness and their total hopelessness. I was very careful to keep a distinction between how I portrayed their work mode and their regular mode. That contrast is especially pronounced for Rei. He's usually slouching, which brings out a height difference between him and Kazuki, but when he's on the job, he stands up smartly, with his back perfectly straight. With such a drastic change in his appearance and bearing, even though he's still the same character, I basically drew him like a different character entirely. In the second half of the series, there are some scenes where he has his hair down in regular mode, but he's carrying around some of those work-mode feelings; in those scenes, I paid close attention to his emotional state in order to depict those fine differences.

Interviewer: This is also an action-heavy series; how did you approach the characters' motions?

Sako: There are action setpieces pretty much every episode, and of course I was determined to make those cool, but the scenes of daily life also took a surprising amount of effort. Especially for Miri - she has very few stationary cuts, or still frames where only her mouth is moving. There are lots of scenes where she's constantly in motion, or delivering lines with her entire body. Just that alone was a lot of work to animate. I guess that's what happens when you prioritise making her cute - not in a "doll-like" way, but in a way where she's free to frolic and move around, and gets away with anything because she's cute... Come to think of it, Miri was probably the one we spent the most time on. (laughs)

Interviewer: From the episodes that have aired so far, which scenes left an impression on you?

Sako: Episode 3. Rei, who doesn't emote much, becomes conscious of his role as "papa to a child" for the first time, and he displays expressions and emotional upheaval that we've never seen from him before. I had a lot of fun depicting that. Rei hadn't exactly closed off his heart, but that's the point where he starts to gradually accept Miri as family. I'm very attached to the scene where you can sense that change. The main subject of this series is "buddies parenting", and I think this is where it all really begins in earnest.

Interviewer: What do you think is the appeal of the characters in "Buddy Daddies"?

Sako: Kazuki and Rei both have rather heavy backstories, but through the process of parenting, their feelings towards Miri and the ways they treat each other change, bit by bit. And because of that growth, your impression of the characters also evolves over time, and you rapidly find yourself charmed by them. I think it's interesting to see how things build up across the episodes. In the second half, some of their emotional changes and development call for expressions that weren't included in the original character designs; I personally enjoyed drawing those.

Interviewer: And what are your thoughts on Kazuki and Rei respectively?

Sako: It's just plain fun drawing Rei in action. Even apart from his facial expressions, there's so much you can convey from his movements. Rei's personal drama is a key ingredient in the last part of the show, so I wanted to portray his coolness in an appealing way. I think Kazuki is essentially a forward-looking character, but he's also a little aloof; I like how he's caring but not naive. He's not just a character with big exaggerated reactions - there are some darker shadows in his past, and that sense of loneliness you get from him is very compelling. I wanted to depict those subtle nuances in his expressions.

Interviewer: So, do you have a personal favourite character?

Sako: If we count the minor characters - there are some characters I got to design myself, but they're all the mean-looking old men in the assassin trade. (laughs) I had quite a lot of fun designing them. I really love Enami-san's more understated characters, so I wanted to incorporate some of that sensibility into my work... I figured that the protagonists are always flailing around in a slapstick way, so what happens if we cram in a whole bunch of serious old men too? There are some vicious characters, but I think their inclusion in a comedy-flavoured series increases the tension and raises the stakes in a good way. In that sense, I really feel like this is a remarkable series where the characters cover a whole spectrum of tones.

Interviewer: Please tell us what you think are the selling points of this series "Buddy Daddies".

Sako: Enami-san's characters are very charming, but as an animator, I'd also like to give a shoutout to the wonderful colour design and background artwork. The colourists produced all sorts of palettes, and the art department created incredibly stylish and tasteful backgrounds; it really enhances the overall appeal of the series. Also, it's a minor detail, but I think the fact that Kazuki's meals look so delicious is all thanks to the production staff's hard work.

Interviewer: Finally, please give a message to everyone who is looking forward to the rest of this series.

Sako: It's probably being watched both by actual parents and by people who have never parented, and my guess is that each person is finding something different to relate to. I think it might be fun to rewatch the series from that perspective - imagining what it would be like if you were a parent. The story goes through ups and downs, and I hope you're excited to find out how it all wraps up. Please do watch to the very end.

#buddy daddies #buddy daddies interview

[animehouse-moe]

Monthly In the Garden With My Landlord, Volume 1: Surprising Charm

Based on the just the synopsis, I'd say I was curious about this series, but I don't know if I was ever fully sold by it. Because of that, I'm very glad that I ended up picking it up regardless, as there's a lot of charm and energy that this first volume brings, making it a series centering around adult romance that I think quite a few people will enjoy, and for quite a few reasons that I'd love to illuminate.

Let's start with the idea of the story. Asako Suga is a manga editor that was just dumped by her girlfriend, leaving her in an apartment full of memories and firsts that are tied to her now ex. Because of that, in a spur of the moment decision she decides to move into a house that's being rented for pennies on the dollar and seems to have nothing wrong with it. That is, until she moves in and finds out that her 19 year old Landlord, and ex-idol, is living there with her.

I think it's an idea that a lot of people could be turned off by, but here me out on it. It's actually really fun, and well executed. Asako, and Miyako (the ex-idol-now-landlord) have just the right balance of comical and shallow traits as they do deep and impactful ones.

Sure, Asako might be a sucker for a pretty face, and that might have played into sticking around. But, she's more than that. She doesn't immediately fall in love with Miyako because she's pretty, but rather she struggles to maintain an appropriate amount of distance from this young adult, largely because Miyako struggles to be an adult.

And really, that idea itself opens up the story so much.

Asako and Miyako struggle to form deep relationships with people. Asako falls under the stereotype of being suckered in by looks, and Miyako is in the position where looks is all that people care about. Neither are able to directly connect with someone and form a deep and emotional bond, not even in the romantic sense necessarily.

I mean, the manga itself addresses that as Miyako takes to calling Asako onee-san a whole bunch, which perfectly highlights their beginning relationship. Miyako relies heavily on Asako, while Asako is babying Miyako.

The idea of romantic feelings is present, don't get me wrong, but it's absolutely an undertone to the pair forming a deeper relationship that extends past superficial tendencies. Because of that, I really hope that in future volumes they struggle with the expression of those feelings and they struggle with how it changes the shape and form of their relationship.

Anyways, let me share my love for the art. It's got a very light feeling, but that doesn't diminish the feeling of it or the detail in any fashion. It's still very present and strong, but it's not not got a heavy lineweight or strong shading or lighting and whatnot. I guess you might call it "flat", but I don't really think it's a bad thing.

I think the only thing I could really complain about is the environment art, since there isn't too much of it, but that's par for the course with a lot of manga these days. What's good though is that the mangaka fills that vacancy very comfortably. Subtle screentones that fill gaps, intelligent paneling and focus, and mindful layouts that work to really fill panels and use negative space. It's not anything incredible, but it does plenty to be aware of the gaps in backgrounds.

I think most important though is their willingness to break molds. They really don't restrict their characters to the confines of panels, routinely breaking out from those lines or existing entirely separate from them, or even having them partially cut off from them.

Speaking of characters, these designs are really damn good. The level of detail and uniqueness they carry is really great, and something that I think can be very rare to see.

Just look at the smaller details, Miyako's eyes are a different shape to Asako's (which are then also different to Hatomori's, who is a supporting character). Then look at the noses and mouths as well. Asako generally has a more squared off mouth, while Miyako's is rounder. Similarly, Asako has a more prominent nose while Miyako has overall softer and rounder features, but has larger/more prominent eyes.

It's really great design language that is very rare to see in a lot of series these days.

Even better is the expressiveness of these designs though. Character acting has a prominent role in a series like this, and Yodokawa's designs work wonders in regards to that. They work great both in terms of subtle and extreme moments, which creates a really nice feel to both ends of the first volume.

Also, the design sense and posing? Absolutely sublime. Yodokawa really has considered everything about these characters. Asako tends to wear more plain and "typical" outfits, while Miyako brings more energy and style, and all of Miyako's outfits are just so pretty.

Really, there's not much of an end to how much I enjoy the various pieces of this first volume. There's so much that I'm not doubt leaving out a considerable bit of charm and quality from this post, so I really recommend people give the manga a try. It's promising to bring a much more friendly and positive adult romance story, but not without depth or emotion. The art is endlessly engaging and fun, very stylish and well utilized, and the characters are such a treat. Just read it if you can.

#monthly in the garden with my landlord #Maitsuki Niwa-tsuki Ooya-tsuki #毎月庭つき大家つき #yodokawa #yuri manga #yuri #girls love #gl series #gl manga #shoujo ai #manga review #manga recommendation #manga reccs