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dmagedgoods · 1 year

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There was this writing prompt in the wotr fandom, to describe why the KC loves the LI they chose, and I think I'm too late to the party, but since I didn’t post any writing for a very long time, well, I guess I just leave it here. It’s very rough and unpolished though.

"You maneuvered through the political shoals most elegantly, there is no denying it."

As always, she managed to make even a well-aimed compliment sound like a secret insult.

"You think me a usurper, don’t you, Lady Konomi?"

"This kind of candor would be inappropriate, my lord."

Her fork found its way to her half-empty plate. She ate the way she spoke: Stilted and with finicky consideration – allowing all too clear insights into her preferences and dislikes. He still had to get used to seeing her at least attempt to make use of her so-called diplomatic skills instead of only promoting them.

"But yes, I do."

A smirk played across his lips, amusement, almost delight. There it was. He enjoyed the confirmation that some things would never change.

"You must forgive me, but you ask us to put our faith, the wellbeing of this whole country, in an ambitious stranger.”

“A stranger, even now? I failed to prove myself in your eyes?” The calm amusement had not left his tone and he took a sip of his wine.

“As a military leader? You did without the slightest doubt. It is by no means my intention to disregard your impressive achievements. But to Mendev itself, with all its history and entanglements? I’m still of the belief that the successor of our dear queen Galfrey should be a member of the countries elite, not a visitor from Absalom.”

A visitor. He raised his brow.

“Though I admit, I underestimated you when we first met. I didn't recognize your skill and … determination."

"I know and love this country, Landy Konomi, and I was trained and educated for this very purpose: to rule."

"No matter the price, I assume?"

"No matter the exertion it costs."

"And no matter the tools, as it turns out. Although, observing your methods, I would have expected you to pick the one standing at your side with greater care. You want his name, I am aware, but with the reputation you gained, you could take your pick among other influential noble families of Mendev without choosing the worst rake this country has to offer."

“The Arendae name will be of immense value,” he admitted openly and in complete calmness while putting his empty glass down on the table and giving the waiter a gesture. “Barely any other name in Mendev carries the same weight.”

“This move leaves us with this dangerous wastrel on the throne you’ll share.”

“A throne he is the next in line for – without me in the picture as well.”

“A right he would never claim without you in the picture.”

“Maybe so,” The waiter refilled his glass with graceful routine and silently left them again. “And it would be a tremendous loss for Mendev and its people.”

Konomi looked at him with undisguised discontentment.

“It’s not a disguise,” she observed. “You actually have a high opinion of him.”

“The highest. Or I would never have fallen in love with him.”

“But …” A hint of genuine surprise lay on her features. “But why?”

He leaned back and crossed his legs.

“You don’t observe, I’m afraid. You think in categories and clichés, but you don’t see him. – Not even in the field you call your profession. His wit, his broad knowledge, his charm and courage, all of it allows him to disarm and maneuver political allies and opponents alike. It’s remarkable to watch and a pity he likes to disguise his qualities. Nonetheless, I love him for those remarkable features he hides as much as for this endearing mask.

I love him for the obvious things, his eloquence, his taste, his intelligence. But even those seemingly superficial things go much deeper: It feels good to be with him, it feels like belonging.”

Konomi listened attentively without interrupting him, curious for more, it seemed, and so he continued:

“I love him for his lightness that makes every burden disappear, for his humour, as dark as it will get, the offended faces of those around him who can’t even tell when he is joking and when he becomes serious, for the way he bathes in their reactions.”

“Quite despicable,” she commented.

“You think so? I cherish his skillful, shameless provocations. But even more his shining passion for life itself. He enjoys it in remarkable ways and every single day. It’s intriguing. It’s inspiring.”

A little smile appeared on his face.

“I love him for the things we have in common – in upbringing, our hobbies, vulnerabilities we prefer not to show and if we do …, well, then never easily. At the same time I love our differences with an equal amount of passion. He complements me, opens my eyes to new points of view, corrects me in anything I have been too sure about. Every once in a while, I think that he may know me a little too well.” No one before had ever made an effort to go that deep. – While, of course, he’d vehemently pretend not to. “He understands and even in cases he doesn’t …” The smile on his lips turned into sobriety while he searched the words for an emotion too big to be captured by sentences and his little speech. “He is at my side, there for me, no matter what it takes and he has proven it over and over again during the crusade.

I love him for his courage, for his deep loyalty, for the moments the good in him becomes so strong he can’t hide it, but also for those where the cruelty wins over. He wants me as I am, the inconvenient parts as well, and I want every facet of him, the bright and the dark. What we build we build together. And what scared him in the beginning of our journey became his true freedom. Our true freedom.”

Konomi stayed silent for a long time before she eventually cleared her throat. “Well, I have to admit you still surprise me. I didn’t take you for a romantic.”

The amusement was back in his eyes. “Only a chosen few are aware of this little fact.”

“In this case, I feel honored, commander.”

Something in her face – and he couldn’t quite place it – seemed softer than before. She took the menu and started to look for desserts while the waiter came and took their plates.

“And thank you,” she suddenly added, “I may reconsider my opinion about him. Slightly.”

“Please don’t.” He smiled and took his glass. “He would be inconsolable and never forgive me, I fear.”

#pathfinder wotr #pathfinder: wrath of the righteous #daeran arendae #daeran #commander x daeran #knight and dae #daeran x commander #lady konomi #knight commander salvadore #oc: salvadore #my ocs #dmagedtexts #my writing #LI prompt

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dujour13 · 7 months

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💎💎💎 georgie from sia!!

[Siavash lights up.] Georgie, my man!

Not that I have a soft spot for downtrodden tieflings or anything, haha.

I have so much affection and admiration for Georgie that I like to think we’re cut from the same cloth, even if it’s not sewn into the same pattern. It’s the little differences that are most telling.

I mean, it’s easy for the lark to sing when it’s never been caged. But unlike me, Georgie had to break free first, and that’s what makes the intention of our music different.

I use music to soothe and uplift, to help people forget their cares, to open their minds to possibility, to take wing. Like, joy is a fortress you can fly to, where you’re safe and you can fight your demons under the banner of hope.

Georgie’s songs are full of longing and struggle. It’s like cauterizing a wound—his music makes the pain sharper, but ultimately it heals. It makes people strong and brave so that they can fight their way through enemy lines to make it to that fortress.

He uses his music as a tool. I say a tool and not a weapon, because he’s the most gentle soul you’ve ever met. His music isn’t a weapon to break people but a tool to break the system, to cut through the cages and chains. There’s determination and courage in it, sometimes even rage, but it’s the rage of a kind and caring heart.

He’s more head-on than I am. His candor is totally disarming. I love that soft, honest laugh he has, and how at ease he is working with his hands and roughing it on the road. He’s simple in all the right ways. Grounded.

We’re not quite playing the same song but we’re in tune. Love that dude.

#friends' ocs #georgie #siavash #this one was so fun because i feel they're kindred spirits #i really hope i got him right #pwotr pals

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emmadarcyextra · 1 year

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Highsnobiety has posted the article on their website, along with more artistic photographs of Emma D'Arcy.🥰(Spring 2023 issue)

I am elated. I am enthralled. I have been brought a little bit closer into Emma's world. Up until this article, I have read and listened to live interviews and podcasts. Either the journalists add their own biases or they condensed Emma's words to the point where their (Emma's) words are left to interpretations and some readers do misconstrue.

The live interviews have been short and questions-specific, and if Emma is sharing too candidly with the interviewer, another question is quickly asked. There is one interview from Youtube that is an exception. There was a keen interest there. Emma's adorableness is impossible to miss in that one interview (I shared it on my social media pages)

This article from Highsnobiety is presented differently. It is intimate. Here, Emma talks candidly, and their candor is disarming. I find myself smiling, nodding and re-reading passages. Emma's mind is interesting. The way they express themself fascinates. I must read the book Emma mentioned. Language is indeed the key to everything. Communication is vital to any relationship, even to acquaintances who cross our paths. Imagine inquiring of a child, even the elderly about something they are undertaking. That can spark a conversation, where the child can learn something new or you do, or the elderly imparting a life's lesson; there's language and there's action (interaction).

I can write a five-to-ten page essay on this one article. Emma's words are reflective. They are indeed an old soul, a philosopher, a psychologist, a sociologist, an artist, a stage and tv actor, best of all, they are Emma D'Arcy, a lovely, brilliant soul.

P.S. The theater has your soul. The experience of the big or small screen isn't as thrilling or blood-pumping as the theater; it has the advantage of an immediate audience who are experiencing varying emotions; their responses are the "now" and not the "later."

Unless in England, the big or small screen is my (and your other fans) only means of seeing you perform. Please always come back to us.

Edited by me. No Repost! Please follow for more!

Ceedit: Highsnobiety, Emma Zia D'Arcy, Photographer, Petros

3/21/23

#EMMA D'ARCY #Emma D'Arcy for Highsnobiety Magazine #Emma D'Arcy for Highsnobiety #Emma D'Arcy in house of the dragon #Emma D'Arcy with red hair #Emma D'Arcy for Highsnobiety spring issue 2023 #Emma D'Arcy #Emma D'Arcy David Bowie #Emma D'Arcy is inspired by David Bowie #Emma D'Arcy style #Spotify

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llycaons · 2 years

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"he means to disarm me with candor"

#stop trying so desperately to be fleabag #I swear DJ was directed to mimic PWB's speech patterns #persuasion lb

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gingerlanier · 11 months

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Book Review: Ugly by Robert Hoge

Ugly by Robert Hoge

Genre (or “category” from the requirements list):

This book is from the informational or biography category.

Target Age Group:

Ages 8-12, Grades 4-6 (LVCCLD library catalog).

Summary:

Robert Hoge tells the story of growing up with what some consider an “ugly” appearance and how he overcame his many obstacles to embrace himself and live a full happy life.

Justification:

We need more memoirs from people living with challenges like Hoge does, if we hear their story in their own words it’s much more powerful and gives them a voice.

Evaluation:

For this review, I will be evaluating language, content, and illustrations.

Robert Hoge begins his memoir with an imaginary scenario, and guides the reader through it until he ties it back to his own birth. It creates a wonderfully smooth entrance into his world, and this is perfect for kids who are hesitant to read a memoir or think it’s going to be difficult to read. His casual writing style and sense of humor make his book infinitely readable and enjoyable for all ages. He uses simple language and metaphors to tell his story, and he gives just enough detail about his experiences so readers never feel that they need to take a break.

The title of the book “Ugly” and the first chapter “The Art of Being Ugly” tip off the reader that this author isn’t going to tiptoe around difficult content, and that puts readers at ease. Hoge writes with a disarming charm that he presumably developed by growing up with a visible difference that set him apart. He had to work to get people to like him- and that charm infuses his writing. He tells a relevant story in his authentic voice, and gives readers a chance to get to know someone different from them. His welcoming story is upfront and honest, and his candor makes it a memoir that should be on the to-read list of any librarian or teacher, along with such popular titles as “Wonder”.

Keith Robinson’s illustrations are few, but they have maximum impact. Drawn with a sense of compassion and grace, they turn Hoge’s “Ugly” memoir into a beautiful story. While reading it I often forgot there were illustrations, then I would turn a page and be delighted that Robinson’s illustration was there to lighten the text and provide a visual treat. In particular, his simple line drawings scattered amongst Hoge’s school nickname list diffuses some of the tragic element and gives it a poignant twist.

References:

Hoge, R. (2015). Ugly (K. Robinson, Illus.). Penguin Random House, LLC.

Palacio, R.J. (2012). Wonder. Knopf Books for Young Readers.

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fieriframes · 4 years

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[3 images. A birthday cake. A person holding a sign. Guy Fieri holding a sign. Captions: Everybody's serious but me. Candor disarms paranoia. America, why are your libraries full of tears?]

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astrosoeur · 3 years

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the mercury signs

Aries: brusque truths, an unhindered and combative flow, enthusiastic inquiries, impassioned polemic, hasty candor of the moment, playful goading and provoking, grand words, indecent persuasions, an eagerness to impress, childlike humor.

Taurus: cemented opinions, laconic and unhurried in speech, will never admit they’re wrong, protective sentiments, warm approaches, delayed reactions, sentimentality, plain-spoken sincerity, indulgence in listening, practical-minded mentality, aversion to verbal ambiguity, devoted reassurance, comfortable topics.

Gemini: a silver-tongued flow, keen discussions, impertinent questionings, mastered cajolery, monologues, an adaptive tone, storaged facts, frivolous dissipation, unduly opinionated in everything, sly remarks, gossip and fabricated “truths”, quick-paced reasoning, verbally resourceful.

Cancer: a lachrymose tone, language overgrown with sentiment, masters of disarming, dedications, meandrous thoughts, an immersive inner world, reminiscing, tête-à-têtes, mid-conversation pauses, atmospheric storytelling, bashful reactions, delicate consciousness, confessions.

Leo: panache, unanswered questions, conversation as performance, brilliant raconteurs, baiting, revelations, language curled with humor, an indestructible morale, gilded soliloquies, white lies, lively interactions, chameleon-like expression, masterful feigning, permeating influence.

Virgo: seasoned in finding le mot juste, interesting debates, calculated ripostes, an analytical mindset, meticulous schemes, perfectionism, masters of critique, attention to detail, conversational symmetry, acridness, precise timing.

Libra: a diplomatic standpoint, flowery words, smooth persuasion, airy evasions, speaks with care, idealized sentiments, politeness, softly observant, wide perspectives, easily suggestible, gilded flattery, a lightness of spirit and humor, engaging questions, illusive deference.

Scorpio: trenchant truths, intense sentiments, secrecy, speaking in absolute terms, brooding, a leery perspective, loaded questions, great discerners of insincerity, verbally hypnotic, a dark sense of humor, overwhelming reactions.

Sagittarius: habitual intervening, bon-mots, seasoned spurring, a wandering focus, big ideas, impromptu exclamations, optimistic naiveté, overstated storytelling, unfiltered frankness, empirical wisdom, infectious buoyancy, ravenous curiosity.

Capricorn: an economy of words, focused attention, felicitous courtesies, great confidantes, formal approaches, unsentimental judgments, adopted pragmatism, advisory remarks, deep-rooted beliefs, renaissance attitudes, clear intentions, kept promises, solemnity of perspective.

Aquarius: a roundabout expression, distance, cryptic and vague statements, a mastered use of silence, erratic responses, a knowing tone, habitual wringing of concepts, conversation as play, lofty ideals, an itch to contradict, stirring influence, adopted absurdity.

Pisces: absorptive listeners, a fanciful outlook, internal monologues, overflowing sentiments, touching words, pensive silences, drifting off, boundless exchanges, lingering sentiments, dreamlike logic, recitals, a lulling softness in tone.

#mercury signs #mercury #aries mercury #taurus mercury #gemini mercury #cancer mercury #leo mercury #virgo mercury #libra mercury #scorpio mercury #sagittarius mercury #capricorn mercury #aquarius mercury #pisces mercury

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e-wills-afterhours · 2 years

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Affairs Of The Heart, Chapter 5

Chapters 1 | 2 | 3 | 4

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Hiccup's mind was reeling, both a roiling mass of thoughts and a frozen well of disbelief. His fingers trembled with joy and fury, gripping Astrid's arms, indecisive whether to push her away or pull her closer.

Her lips were agony pressed against his; soft and sweet but imbued with a venom to kill the last vestiges of his common sense. For two years, he wanted to taste her kiss again; he craved it for far too long. As an unspoken and desperate hope was finally realized, the bile rose in his throat, bubbling up as a sickening reminder of how wrong it was.

A nauseous rage rippled through him. The pads of his fingers pressed into her skin with a bruising force. He tore her away from him with a gasp of relief and guilty disappointment. He could breathe again, and he hated that. He despised himself more for resenting the parting of their lips.

"No." He muttered, staring at their feet: three boots and one prosthesis, caked with black sand. "No!" he repeated, trying to convince both of them they did not want it. Or, at the very least, they did not want to want it.

Astrid tried to reach for him, to touch his face with a tenderness that might shatter him. "Hiccup-"

"No!" He jerked away, scowling; and the proud and fierce Astrid Hofferson balked. Anger swelled inside him, feeding off the renewed energy of suppressed heartache working its way to the surface, two years too late. "You don't get to do that, acting now like you need me!"

Astrid reached up to stroke the end of her braid: a mindless habit whenever she needed something to busy anxious hands.

"I never stopped caring," she replied evenly. "That's what I'm trying to tell you. That's why all this hurts."

Hiccup could not imagine she understood the extent of the pain she had inflicted on him, and was continuing to inflict right there, on that beach. How laughable it was, then, that she claimed to be suffering too.

He scoffed, squaring his jaw. "Then, why now? Why here, when there is nothing either of us can do to fix it? You're going to marry Stefnir! So what is it about stringing me along that is so damn appealing?"

There was concentrated blame in her eyes, directed at him, as if he was the cause of everything. "I can't seem to get over you! That's my problem–mine, as much as it is yours!"

Hiccup scoffed. She wanted to be both victim and perpetrator.

"Obviously it's my problem, since I can't ever seem to get away from you!" he snapped. "I've tried, then you kept coming around and making it impossible for me to get past this; to get past us–whatever we used to be! I'm tired, Astrid. Tired of not being anything more than your entertainment!"

"Is that what you really think I was doing?" she asked, eyes alight with outrage.

"Am I wrong?"

"I don't get any pleasure from this, Hiccup! Don't you think I would've stopped it if I could? But it's you; it's everything that is so infuriatingly you!"

"Oh, I'm sorry! Let me just become someone else to make your life simpler!" Hiccup snapped.

He did not know why they continued to shout and insult when it accomplished nothing. Before the lingering ghosts of old, mutual attraction came to light, there was nothing to debate, nothing to lament. Their misery was their own, and there was nothing to be gained between them. It would have been better to remain ignorant. There were no prizes to be won for their candor now.

"I don't want you to be anyone else, Hiccup! I just want..." Astrid smoothed her hands over her hair, glancing toward the night sky.

"What? Want what? Me, to be content with being your man on the side? To act like the past two years didn't happen?"

Astrid stared at him, her gaze unwavering as it bore into him with its disarming significance."You. Hiccup, I want you." Her voice was faint and small, barely above a whisper; defeated and vulnerable in a way Hiccup was not prepared to handle. Not when that tone was wrapped in those words. "I want you to myself," she added, "and I want you to come alive again, like you used to be. You're the one I want, not Stefnir."

And there it was. The final blow laid, in the admission that she wanted him.

Hiccup could not bear the weight of his unhappiness any longer. Two years of a meticulously crafted wall between himself and his feelings crumbled in an instant. Knowing Astrid's heart made everything impossibly worse, because there was no erasing it from his mind as they trudged down their diverging paths. She was unobtainable, wanting him while she was with her husband-to-be; and Hiccup, wanting her still while he was with his future wife, whomever that happened to be. Looks of longing would always pass between them, around Berk and in the Great Hall; but they would go home to other people with the knowledge someone else was touching the very skin their fingers yearned for.

His chest tightened. For the first time in a while, he was truly vulnerable, and Astrid could destroy him totally if she desired it.

"Don't," he pleaded, voice breaking. He stepped back, shaking his head with an extended hand to keep her at bay.

"This whole thing is a mess I don't know how to un-complicate," Astrid took a step forward, advancing on him while he was falling apart.

He was unable to do anything but stare into those plaintive blue eyes, gorgeous and damning. Her hand slid over his shoulder, down the ridge of his collarbone to his chest, stinging him with its unnecessary affection.

"Don't," he practically choked, seizing her wrist to stop its lethal descent.

"I should do what's expected of me and be happy with Stefnir. I've really tried, you know. I don't have much of a choice. It was supposed to be easy for me because doing what's expected is all I've ever done, but...I just can't..." She hesitated, caught on her words. The entire world seemed to stop spinning for them. "I just can't seem to fall out of love with you."

The proverbial coil in Hiccup's stomach snapped. He could not speak; he had no more words to give. He was transfixed by his hand on her arm, and her hand on his chest. It was the first contact between them in a long while that was not repulsive, but no other touch could compare to how badly it hurt.

Astrid's other hand caressed his cheek, and his eyes fluttered closed as her thumb brushed over his skin. He supposed it was meant to be comforting, like the way she swept her searing fingertips over the angles of his face, coming to rest feather-light on his chin. She traced the old scar there. Then, that same torturous hand was gliding around to the back of his head, through his hair, with an almost demanding reassurance. Feel better, it insisted; be okay with this.

He surrendered to her, leaning forward as her touch urged him to do, until his forehead was against hers. Everything in him felt limp and expended, so he relied on the support from the same person who had beaten him down until he had no fight left. He released her wrist and placed his hand on her lower back, wanting her closer to him, for he had no more strength to push her away. He wanted to give in and be consumed by the fire.

She had always made him so woefully pathetic.

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Astrid's breath hitched when Hiccup guided her body up against him. She had forgotten how gentle he could be, especially when he had been fuming at her only moments before.

There had been a change in him–a relenting that she had not anticipated: an instant failing of his temper. She felt the tension evaporate from his body, morphing into palpable defeat. She had not intended for things to unfold that way. She had only wanted to talk to him, to explain; but then Hiccup's lips had been as wonderful as she imagined they would be, even two years later.

She should not have kissed him and she knew it.

The sluice gate opened to release a torrent she was not sure either one of them could stop now. He had thought she was toying with him; that she somehow liked all those days enduring his cool indifference and the melancholy of braiding his hair. He did not understand that it was an addiction, that she was compelled to be near him by something stronger than herself. If her presence was painful for him, then his was equally as painful for her. She could not keep herself from placing her hand on the glowing iron, burned by the fact that she was getting married ,and it was not to Hiccup. But it should have been, though it was never supposed to be.

Her hands roamed over him, exploring what was familiar and strange: the maturing form of the boyish frame she once knew well. His back and shoulders were broader, more defined, from riding dragons and a heavy blacksmith's hammer. He was solid beneath his tunic like she never would have guessed. He was still tall and lanky like the boy she initially fell for, but with the new, subtle musculature of the man she fiercely wanted. He was Hiccup, with all the unique allure of his inelegant awkwardness that kept her tethered, spinning helpless in his gravity.

She sighed, pressing her forehead against his. He withdrew slightly, but she cradled his head and held him in distressing proximity. She could sense his discomfort, see the clenching of his jaw, and feel the reluctance in his touch.

"Why?" he murmured, frayed. "Why are you doing this to me?"

"You know why," was her unsatisfactory reply; but she had already said it once: four letters of emotional condemnation. She would not explain herself a second time.

Their noses brushed as they shared a breath, hot, moist, and teeming with the energy of a gathering storm. Astrid could smell him: a combination of soot from the forge, leather, and the salt of the sea breeze that permeated everything around them.

"Hiccup," she whispered, imploring him for an equal response she had no right to ask of him.

Her head tilted, seeking the faintest contact that was jarring to the core as her upper lip skimmed across his. She felt every nerve, every fiber, thrumming with a need for another taste of him. Just one more shot.

"We shouldn't do this," he said, though his words held no real conviction. She could feel the enunciation of his words as their mouths hovered so close that the space between them was negligible. "We shouldn't..."

Then everything that was prudent and wise was lost in the way their lips melded together, firm and desperate. There was a rush of satisfaction, and Astrid hoped he felt it too; because that kiss, mutually sought, was incomparable to any other sense of fulfillment she had ever known.

She cupped his face in her hands, feeling the warmth of his skin in her palms like a promise that he would stay; that he would not recoil again.

He was kissing her back, slow and uncertain. With a conceited thrill, she realized no one else knew his lips as she did; and with a wave of shame, she knew he could not claim the same exclusivity. So, she kissed him harder, more fervently; crushing their mouths together in the hopes it would erase any traces of Stefnir that lingered there. She reveled in giving Hiccup what should've been his.

At that point, with boundaries crossed, it did not matter what was supposed to have been. After all, their people were never meant to live with dragons. Astrid was not supposed to have noticed the scrawny, fumbling boy who was never going to amount to anything great. She was always supposed to marry Stefnir–that had been decided long ago; and she should have never found a distraction from that duty to her family. But Hiccup had changed the course of everything that ought to have been, setting a new trajectory that wrested her violently from the perfect plan that had been laid out for her life. Just like that, he was at the center of everything. What was supposed to be was smothered to death by what actually was: his lips moving against her own.

She captured his bottom lip when breathing was imminent, drawing back with a parting suckle that she never felt Stefnir deserved. But he probably did. He was her intended, and he deserved it in a way Hiccup did not. Yet, there she stood miles from home, wrapped up in the attention of a man she could never be with like it was the last time. It could very well be the last time, if one of them managed to come to their senses.

It really needed to be the last time, for their sanity, for their dignity; and for the truth that it was never going to go anywhere but face-first into the dirt.

But, Odin help her. Astrid would never let it be the last time.

Hiccup gazed at her with a conflicted desire, breathing a little too heavily to be alright with any of it. His hand was still insecure and conspicuous on her back. He held her close to him, but not close enough.

She inched forward, feeling the rapturous guilt as her body fit against his with a flawlessness that insulted her scruples. Hiccup shuddered–or maybe she did–and his arms came around her in the death throes of his reservations. Stefnir faded into a distant second thought that was nearly imperceptible as Hiccup initiated another, more assured kiss.

Her hand ran through his hair; soft russet between her fingers that were no longer encumbered by false pretenses. Her other hand returned to his chest, gripping his tunic because it was the least dangerous thing she could do with it.

Somehow, she thought she could take a breath with their lips still connected, but Hiccup persisted; and everything became open-mouthed and ragged gasps. Suddenly, they had bounded into new territory, hot and urgent–and further than she had ever gone with Stefnir. The kiss was terrifying and exciting, wonderful and wrong. She leaned into Hiccup, coming up on her toes just as his knees buckled. They fell, and Hiccup caught himself. He was half-sitting, half-lying, propped up by one hand as Astrid landed in his lap, straddling him on the damp, black sand. Their position was ridiculous and compromising; perfectly shameless as if they had coordinated it.

And they did not stop. Not even a moment's pause to collect themselves.

She yanked on his clothes, dragging him up to meet her by fistfuls of green tunic. Two years of trying to behave, of trying to move on like a couple of mature adults, was wasted effort now. They had been contents under pressure, fated to explode in either screaming or colliding passions; or both, as it so happened.

Their kiss was clumsy and aggressive, too much grazing of teeth. Then Astrid found his tongue, coaxing it with a timid flick of her own. She melted into him when he responded in kind. A whimper escaped her and Hiccup sat up straighter, tightening his grip on her arms. His hold was possessive and it made her dizzy. She battled him, brushing her tongue against his in a bid for dominance; because they were equally matched in foolish desire and brazen stupidity.

His hands traveled down her arms with deliberate pressure, truly feeling and learning her. Astrid was too aware of his fingers and his blacksmith's callouses. Her arms were innocent expanses of flesh, but every bit of skin Hiccup touched became an erogenous zone. And they were heat: two blazing entities suffocating as they burned up all the air between them.

She was stroking him, rubbing over his chest like she was trying to ignite more sparks; stir up more friction. There would be nothing left of those pitiful, anguished teens. What would emerge from their ashes was anyone's guess. Maybe something beautiful, but likely something more tragic. The present was all Astrid could think about; not tomorrow or the next day. Not the regret, nor the mortification; not the queasiness in her stomach whenever she looked at Hiccup as she hung on Stefnir like the dutiful bride.

With much difficulty, Astrid wrenched her mouth from his. She stared into his eyes, so dark in the silver light of the evening. They both were breathless.

She could not bear to think about the humiliation to come; and though Hiccup was the only other person who would know, it was disconcerting because it was him. He mattered; what he thought, what he felt. Would he blame her? Hate her? Resent her for the heavier load they now had to carry?

"Hiccup," she murmured, moist lips brushing his cheek, "I shouldn't have...I'm sorry." Because an apology was in order, though she could not pinpoint one thing. She was sorry for all of it.

Yes, a little remorse was called for as she ground her hips down into his lap.

"This is wrong," he insisted, grasping her waist as her body rolled beneath his hands.

"I know, I know." She tilted her head back with a frustrated, hungry moan.

Hiccup closed his eyes, leaning forward until his head rested just beneath her collarbone, and his face was flirting with the valley of her breasts. She held him there, embracing him and gazing up at the unblinking, voyeuristic stars. He held onto her hips, mindful of the spikes of her skirt. She moved over him, dragging woolen leggings over leather.

"We have to stop this," he rasped, contrary to the way he pulled her closer. He mapped her contours as she rocked their lower bodies together.

Astrid wanted the fabric barriers gone. She wanted to feel the warmth of his fingertips gliding over her thighs; and his breath tickling her breasts. But that would kill them. If nothing else, that surely would.

"Hiccup, I don't want to stop," she admitted.

He had to do it. As unfair as it was, another burden was on him. Astrid could not be the one to end their tryst; to choose to submit to her conscience and be faithful to Stefnir. She had indulged too much; drank too greedily from the forbidden. Hiccup had to be the responsible one that pushed her away, rebuffing her advances for the sake of their mutual sanity.

He glanced up at her, and she captured his lips. There was no way she could not kiss him. She was not strong enough to resist him anymore.

"This won't go anywhere," he murmured between fervent pecks. "This...we're only doing more damage."

Astrid knew that, but she could not bring herself to care as much as she should. Astrid moaned against his thin lips, absorbing every last bit of pleasure from their indiscretion. She could feel his excitement, swollen and hard, against her inner thigh. The awareness of his arousal turned her blood to fire.

"Tell me to stop," she pleaded. "Hiccup, you have to tell me-"

A firm, lengthy kiss interrupted her. It was scalding.

"I won't," he told her. "I can't."

"Why?" Their mouths ghosted over one another, teasing that time.

"Because I can't seem to fall out of love with you, either." He answered.

Astrid sighed, tasting and savoring the words in the breath they shared.

"Because I'm an idiot," he added.

"Hiccup..."

She groped at his belt, absent of any higher thought as the buckle clinked enticingly.

Then Toothless warbled, and it snapped Hiccup out of his trance. His brow knitted together over half-lidded eyes, and Astrid felt his caresses falter. His eyes flickered down to her staggering attempt to undress him; and there was the shameful rush she had been waiting for: the inevitable result of throwing prudence to the wind.

"You have to get off of me," Hiccup said, common sense returning with a vengeance. "Y-you have to-"

Astrid scrambled off his lap, covering her mouth to stifle the sudden urge to vomit. She could not look at him, staring out at the black waves glimmering so benign in the moonlight. Their last kiss was still tingling on her lips, beseeching for more. She despised herself for it. What had transpired between them, so desperate and brief, was over. All that remained in the aftermath was embarrassment and the threat of bitterness to follow.

"I'm sorry." Her throat was dry and her voice, hoarse. She swallowed hard and strode toward Stormfly, eyes downcast.

She was going to flee that beach and hurry home to Stefnir. She would never go near Hiccup again; she would spend the rest of her life as the loyal wife Stefnir expected her to be. No more blurred lines, overstepped boundaries, or challenges to convention.

"Stop," Hiccup said gently, and it was a request. Long fingers encircled her wrist with the sweetest grip. "Wait."

Astrid sighed. Turning back to him, she willed herself to hold it together; to retain some self-respect. She was the instigator, and she knew it. He knew it. She had propelled them into calamity, trying to step back when it became too real, making an already horrendous situation more complicated because she was selfish.

"I'll go back to Stefnir," she declared. "I'll leave you alone. I won't speak of this to anyone. You can just-"

Hiccup kissed her, and she wanted to disappear, closing her eyes and grimacing. He had shook his head while she spoke, then boldly claimed her lips to add further insult to reason; and it was a deplorable thing, because she could only relish in it in spite of her reservations.

"I don't want that and neither do you," he replied, sounding annoyed, fed up with her hurtful vacillating.

Astrid did not know where he had found the sudden confidence to speak for them both, even if it was true.

She stepped back from him into the open arms of her renewed sense of responsibility, because it was safe there. Everything was predictable, and everything was simpler.

She mounted Stormfly, tucking her hair behind her ears with trembling fingers.

"I'm going back to Berk. No one knows I left. They'll be looking for me." She blurted out before Hiccup could argue.

She was going back to Stefnir and her parents; back to the Astrid that did as she was told: the girl that everyone could depend on. Her word was her bond and she did not give in to unrealistic fantasies.

"Whatever this is, Astrid, I'm not leaving it here."

A shrinking, but audacious part of her was glad he was so determined. That whisper of temptation wanted her to stay on Dragon Island and find out just how far they were willing to go, where they would stop, and if they could truly dissolve two years of a sullied relationship.

But she nudged her dragon with her heels, retreating into the night sky and leaving Hiccup where he stood.

----------

Stormfly returned to her stall with very little guidance. She flapped her wings and cocked her head to the side, considering Astrid with curious yellow eyes. Astrid tried not to look at Stormfly. Her dragon did not need more reason to fret over something beyond her capacity to understand.

"Good girl. Thanks for the flight," Astrid cooed, stroking Stormfly's snout before leaving the stables.

If she was lucky, she could make it to her bedroom without any further interactions. She needed to collect her thoughts and sort through all of the indecent rubbish without Stefnir or her parents adding to the pile.

But that would have been too easy; the kind of good fortune of someone actually deserving of it.

Footsteps and the eager jangling of armor captured her attention like a skittish rabbit in a snare trap. She turned around with swelling dread, recognizing that particular melody of rattling metal. She knew well the towering, chiseled frame before her eyes even met his face.

Stefnir hurried toward her, alight at the sight of her. He was impressive in the interplay of bright moonlight and shadow, flashing off his armor and defining his wealth of muscle. She wiped her sweaty palms on her tunic with a wavering smile she hoped was convincing in the darkness.

"You weren't at dinner," he said, quirking an eyebrow. "I was beginning to wonder where you'd gone."

He hugged her and she tensed, fingers curled and rigid above his shoulders. Her hands trembled and she settled for patting his back awkwardly, uncertain what feelings might be betrayed while holding him.

"I was out flying," she replied, wiggling out of his embrace without being too conspicuous. A tender hand on his chest was affectionate enough, but she withdrew it almost instantly. Her expression was placid though her insides squirmed.

"Where to?" he asked, rubbing her arms like he always did-which suddenly felt like a foreign and unwelcome contact. She wished he did not want to feel her skin. His hands were too large and assertive in a way she previously had not noticed.

"Just...around. I don't know. I wasn't paying attention." She was trying not to sound too perturbed.

His touch repulsed her more than it should. For the first time, she had another caress to compare it with.

"You should tell me before you just up and leave like that," Stefnir told her with a small, exasperated smile much too similar to a parent's mild criticism.

"I didn't realize I needed an escort."

She was a dragon rider, damn it. She'd been pioneering dangerous stunts on her Nadder before Stefnir had even named his Monstrous Nightmare.

"As your future husband, don't you think I deserve to know these things?" He tugged at the end of her braid, childishly emphatic, as if she could not understand his meaning otherwise.

"Maybe if you believe I'm doing something duplicitous?"

Stefnir chuckled, gripping her waist and pulling her flush against him. She bristled everywhere their bodies met as he leaned in.

"I know you better than that," he whispered.

He kissed her and she screwed her eyes shut, lips tightly pursed beneath his. Her mouth felt besieged, tender and abused from earlier. She wanted to shove him away, no longer accepting those thicker, rougher lips.

His hand snaked beneath her braid to the nape of her neck, holding her where she stood, frozen in place by her family's inescapable commitment to his.

Sacrificing her own desires for reputation and honor was the Hofferson way.

As Stefnir held her, a dragon flew overhead, camouflaged against the black of night like only one species she knew of. And it was all she could do to keep from screaming.

#hiccstrid fic #hicctsird #affairs au #because I couldn't leave y'all on chapter 4's cliffhanger

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collecting-stories · 3 years

Text

Home - Steve Rogers

Summary: Steve and the reader talk about what comes after Ultron while they’re on the Barton farm. Sort of an implied relationship fic.

A/N: literally was marathoning Marvel movies today and felt like writing some cap fluff.

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“It’s kind of nice, isn’t it?” You asked, taking a seat on the tree stump in Clint’s front yard. Everyone else was inside, still getting to know the Barton family but you had followed Steve and Thor outside. Or, you had followed Steve outside and he had followed Thor.

Though the others seemed to be showing it more you knew that Wanda’s manipulation of Steve’s mind was affecting him. He’d always been good at compartmentalizing, at least in the few years that you had known him. You had been tempted to ask what the vision was but then you weren’t exactly sure you wanted to know.

“What is?” Steve asked, that edge that anyone else might’ve just interpreted as his usual to-the-point candor. But you knew better, knew that his question was also an accusation. How could you find anything nice in this rubble?

“The farm...Barton’s family.” You shrugged, “have you ever thought about having a family?” Touchy subject, you knew, but then it wasn’t really something off limits, just something you’d never asked before.

You and Steve had met the first time the Avengers had gotten together in New York. Working as part of S.H.I.E.L.D. at the time and then later for Stark. Working with Steve had come naturally, the two of you seemed to mesh better than you could’ve expected and you were grateful because it was until then that you had felt like such an outsider with S.H.I.E.L.D. Knowing Steve, being friends with him, had been a blessing in your life. You weren’t sure you would qualify what you were now as friends but it was something.

“Not sure that’s for me anymore.” Steve replied, disarming his shield and sitting down on the other stump. “I keep feeling like the fighting is over but it’s just a rest period, a second to catch my breath and then I’m back in again as if nothing ever changed. Not exactly built for peace.”

“I think built is the operative word,” you said, glancing back at the house. “They made a war machine out of a person...I don’t think they’d let you out now that you’re in.”

Steve laughed. He knew you well enough not to find offense in your bluntness. “What about you?”

Had you thought of a family? Plenty of times. “My war isn’t out there,” you replied. You had talked to Steve about mental illness, about your depression, in great detail, for long periods of time. While he was apartment hunting in Brooklyn, he’d stayed with you and your roommate and you had spent plenty of nights on the roof, talking about your lives and your friends.

“Maybe,” Steve said, catching your eye as he looked at you, “maybe with the right person it wouldn’t feel so hard.” He hadn’t really given anyone much thought since Peggy. At first it was just because he was fresh out of the ice, he hadn’t lived long enough in this new world to even think about what life would look like shared with someone. And then it was simply because he wasn’t sure what he should want. The vision from Wanda had shown him the world after the war, a mix of grotesque imagination and hoped for reality, Peggy there at his side, urging him home with her. But he didn’t know if that was what he wanted anymore.

“This war?” You asked, then smiled, tapping the side of your head, “or this one?”

“Both,” Steve replied, that easy smile hiding away whatever emotions you could see swimming behind his eyes, just barely surfacing.

“You a comedian now Rogers?” You teased, stretching your legs out in front of you. This was the long haul, or somewhere in the middle of it. This, Ultron, whatever the next thing was. It was a joke to even talk about life beyond the Avengers.

“I saw Peggy,” He finally admitted, unsure how you might take the news but wanting to explain it to you, maybe so that he could understand it himself. This feeling of immense conflict that he was having.

“In your vision?”

“Vision, manipulation,” he shrugged, “it all felt so real. We were in a dance hall and she asked me to come home.”

You stood up, moving over to occupy what little space he left on the stump. You were glad he had taken the shield off so that you could sit comfortably, taking his hand in yours and pressing your lips to the back of his hand for a moment. “I’m sorry.” You said, “It’s no comfort, I know, but I’m still sorry.”

You knew he loved Peggy, or he once had and still reminisced that love at times, but it stung to hear about her. It shouldn’t have, probably, he wasn’t yours to claim but yours were not feelings of friendship.

“I felt like I could still hear her voice asking me to come home when I stood in the doorway of Barton’s house.” Steve replied, “It’s funny, you know, it was just the other day that I saw a place in Brooklyn that I thought I might like.”

“One you can afford?” You joked, recalling how he’d complained about the soaring prices in his old neighborhood.

“It might require a roommate...a friend...” he paused, looking over at you and meeting your eyes again, “someone to share my space with.”

“Is this a proposition?” You asked, recognizing the question beneath the hesitation.

“It is.” He replied, “whatever my idea of home once was, if it was with Peggy, I’m just not certain it’s that anymore. I think the home I want now is one with you.”

It would always surprise you, Steve’s ability to be so confident and yet so unsure of himself all the time. Like a juxtaposition that felt too unusual to exist, that shy smile coupled with such a direct statement. He wanted to live with you and he wasn’t one to beat around the bush though he smiled as if he was too shy to ask.

“What would you do?” You couldn’t help the desire to sabotage the hand he was giving you, “Then you may never have any peace.”

“We would carve some out. With the right person,” he said again, leaning over to place the faintest hint of a kiss against your temple, “it wouldn’t be so hard.”

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fallen029 · 3 years

Text

Nervous

"Are you nervous?"

"No."

"You sure?"

Mira tilted her head to the side though her eyes betrayed the cute, quirky questioning vibe she was going for as they, instead, seemed rather disbelieving. It was easy for Laxus to note it these days, having fallen like most other in the hall for her typical chaste trickiness and innocuous pretenses over the years, but after being far more than just a guild member to her now for a good number of them as well, he'd begun to pick up on the little things.

Like how she seemed forever trapped in a guilelessness that didn't quite entrap her as well as she thought it did.

But this was fine, the ease at which he disarmed her now, as Mira was able to pick apart the man's own fallacies and walls.

"Yeah," he grumbled to the woman's question, but she only grinned at him, as if victorious, as she picked apart his lies with ease.

"Then why are you biting at your nails?" she asked with round eyes. "You only do that when you're nervous."

And now she'd managed to annoy him.

"Mira-"

"I'm only curious," she insisted with a little shake of her head. "Dragon."

He huffed some, his chest deflating as he finally gave her his full attention. They were in the bar, as they typically were, but Mirajane had actually found a moment to take a break. Rest. S-Class trials were, at that very moment, going on and those who hadn't been chosen were sulking away from the guild for the time being while a decent sized group was off being put through the rigorous trials and tribulations that were associated with being designated part of the elite group of mages that were Fairy Tail S-Class wizards.

Laxus had no reason to be nervous.

He'd claimed his spot many years before and, at times, wondered if he even had eventually surpassed the old geezer all together. He'd be a wizard saint, someday, he knew, or at least told himself so, and that meant that he had far more concerns than something as silly as a guild distinction.

Not when may one day have the distinction among the entire continent.

S-Class trials had nothing to do with him and, if anything, he was mostly just glad to find that bar emptied out some that day.

"It's okay," Mira assured him then though and when she reached across the table, it was to grab his hand, pulling it down so that she could caress it as she looked deeply into the slayer's eyes. "I am too."

"You are what too?" he asked dumbly, confused equally by her words as he was calmed by her gesture.

"Nervous," she insisted.

"About what?"

"The same thing as you."

"I'm not," he told her, "nervous."

"Laxus-"

"What do I have to be nervous about, huh?" Then, frowning, he questioned, "What do you?"

"Well, actually, I'm nervous about a lot of things," she said, releasing his hand, but only so she could bring her own up to her cheek and rest her head there then, as she thought. "I have a shipment of meat that hasn't come in yet and I know, this weekend, if I don't get it, that I'll have to serve meals without any meat portion and the guys will be pretty upset about that, which will affect my tips, and I've been trying to save up money for my wedding. Which brings me to my next point, I've been saving for a wedding that can't yet happen because my boyfriend is dragging his feet with proposing to me even though we've talked about it a thousand times-"

"Mira," he warned, but she only shrugged.

"The dog I look after was sick last night, too," she finished. "I'm nervous about that."

Laxus, with a slight breath, questioned, "What's wrong with him?"

"He has the shits."

And he blinked. Then narrowed his eyes while the woman only gazed right back with hers earnest and honest.

Shrugging some then, Laxus said, "If you need help wrangling him down to a vet, I could-"

"Oh!" Mira sat up then. "And I'm super nervous because my baby brother is off on the S-Class trials and I want him to preform well." Shrugging, she added, "But I'm torn, because I also want all of my friends to do well. Including your best friend. Freed."

Laxus' face fell then as he realized he'd been duped (possibly; her street dog did have a hefty amount of ailments from time to time) and only looked off once more as he remarked, "Sounds like your problem. Not mine."

"Oh, it's not a problem. Laxus. To be nervous about such things." Sighing, she said, "It means that you care. About them. To be nervous for someone else. I want them all to come back, knowing that even though they can't all be the winner, at least invigorated and ready to start right back at training and trying their hardest to, eventually, be that winner. It's an honor to be nervous on someone's behalf. I'd gladly take all of Elf's nerves if it meant he could put all his focus into the trials right now."

Laxus snorted. "Yeah, well, bully for you. Freed can take care of his damn self. I don't need to worry about him, like you and your loser brother."

"Behave."

Snorting, the man looked off before saying, "I'm not worried. Over Freed. Or anything."

"Fine. Not worried then." Mira had lost some of her jolliness at the slight her boyfriend had sent towards her absent brother. "But you are thinking about it. Aren't you? Even just a little? He's your best friend. I would at least think-"

"I'm," he insisted to her with a finality in his tone he usually reserved for literally anyone who wasn't his demon, "not nervous about the S-Class trials. Or worried. Or concerned. Alright?"

Sighing, she looked off for a moment, considering the slight surge of people that had come in in the last ten minutes or so and weighing in her mind whether or not her break was officially over. Not quite ready to let it go though, when her eyes drifted back to her boyfriend, it was with another set of words on her tongue.

"If you're not nervous about the trials," she began in that tone and it was enough, just on its own, to make him regret coming into the hall that day, "then that must mean that you're nervous about something else, so what is it? Huh? Is it that you've been seeing someone else?"

"Mira, what?"

"Some other woman, is it, then? Who is she, Laxus? Huh? Don't think that I wont' make a scene here, right now, in front of everyone, because-"

"What are you-"

"-if you don't tell me what it is that you're so nervous about, then I have no choice but to assume that you're cheating on-"

"I'm nervous for my friend, alright?" And he usually wouldn't take such a tone with her, but he did then, snapping some, out of aggravation and, maybe it was a trick of the lights, but the woman could have sworn she even saw a flick of his fangs as the vein on the side of his head bulged and his eyes darkened. "I want him to be S-Class with me and I'm worried that your stupid brother or one of those other idiots will get it over him. Or that...that… He'll fuck it up himself. Is that what you want to hear? Huh?"

No.

The other people around the guildhall did not.

But they had, quite clearly, heard nearly every word of his little outburst and, feeling all those eyes on him now only made the man growl louder. He was primed for a retreat, storming off and staying away from the hall for a few days, until he could stomach a return without smashing in the face of the first person who questioned him.

Mirajane, however, wasn't going to let this happen.

Because, yes, she had been very happy with the explosion of information that had just fallen out of the slayer's mouth. She'd only been prodding at him her entire break. For it to result in such a satisfying revelation meant it hadn't all been for not.

"Awe," Mirajane giggled, clapping her hands at the slayer's misery. "You guys are just such good friends, huh, dragon? You feel a lot better, don't you? Getting that off your chest?"

"No," he told her with the same candor that he'd just exposed himself and his nerves to the entire guildhall. "I feel worse."

"Well," Mira hummed as, job complete, she got to her feet once more, she offered, "I feel better. Isn't that all that matters?"

"Demon." The moniker was more of a proclamation than an endearing term. "You're evil."

"I love you," was her purest of explanations and she meant it too, he could tell, as her deep blues flashed a bit of hurt. "Helping you admit your feelings for your friends is how I show that."

"Yeah, well," he muttered under his breath, "then you need to find new ways."

Laxus took off that night, before her shift was finished, but that was fine with the woman as she'd more than begun staying most nights at his apartment.

When she arrived, he was flicking through an old atlas, comparing it to a current map. Something for a job, was all he grumbled to her when she lightly questioned, and Mira let his tone go because, well, she had been rather insistent before, at the bar, and all things considered, he hadn't outright acted a fool.

Just mostly.

"If Elfman doesn't make S-Class," she did whisper, eventually, over dinner that night and she saw the man roll his eyes, thinking she was trying to goad him back into a conversation, "I'll cry."

Grunting, he only continued to stab at the steamed vegetables at his plate, never rightly bringing them up to his mouth, but not quite ready to admit, when he insisted in a huff that he be the one to make them, that this was a bad idea.

"Of course," she hummed again, "if he makes it, I'll probably cry then, too."

"Mira?"

"Yes?"

"I already told you what you wanted to hear," he told her plainly. "What else do you want from me?"

"I'd like you to make a big emotional plea again," she replied back with the same amount of flatness that it almost made the slayer recoil. At the sight of it though, she broke some as, with a giggle, she admitted, "I'm just talking, dragon. About my baby brother. Who wants this so badly-"

"If he wanted it badly, he'll come back S-Class," Laxus told her as, with a shake of his head, he went back to stabbing at his vegetables. "If he doesn't, then that means he didn't want it badly enough."

"Well, I'm not saying that to him, if he comes back not S-Class."

"Yeah, I figured."

"And I'm not saying that to Freed either."

"That's fine," Laxus told her. "I will. He knows where to go to hear the truth."

"A little kindness will get you a lot in life, Lax," she replied, but he only shrugged some.

"Won't get you S-Class," he retorted and, well, the next morning would finally put the entire conversation to rest.

Cana had never looked prouder than herself and, that night, never gotten drunker, than when she was finally, after wanting it for so long, so much, to find herself on the same Fairy Tail tier as her father.

He was there, Gildarts was, having been hanging around for a few days, prepared for this, and she seemed rather annoyed by all of his attention, shoving at the man's face any time he tried to hug her, but betraying her annoyance by the glistening in her eyes, every single time he, also drunkenly, announced to those amassed how proud he was of the guild's newest S-Class member.

His daughter.

Mirajane was caught as she always was, between dismayed at the heartbreak evident on the faces of those who weren't victorious and the one who was. As she comforted both Elfman and Natsu over their losses, she did take note, across the bar, of where Freed was very stoic and graceful in his defeat, but still being comforted in their own ways, by his two friends.

"Who wants to be S-Class anyways?" Bickslow questioned. "When you can be part of the most elite team in all the lands?"

"I would," Ever admitted under her breath though, still, she patted at Freed's shoulders sympathetically.

It was as they stood though that all three felt it. It had been looming, after all, the entire time. The presence of their most highly viewed mentor, Laxus, who came out of hiding, down in the game room. He'd been down there transferring his nerves into some rounds of pool, but Cana and Gildarts very loud commotion had finally caught his attention and he found himself not welcomed to the celebrations of the member he'd most desired.

At his approach, both Bickslow and Ever took a step back. They too had disappointed the man in the past, but never quite in such a grand fashion. Freed was primed to take the gold this time around, only to lose out to the guild drunk and Evergreen couldn't help but to glare over at the other woman, hating her more, even, than Titania, just for that day only.

Laxus came to a stop before the trio, eyes on Freed, and the rune mage forced himself to meet the gaze of the other man. It was just as he was beginning to open his mouth though that he caught sight of Mira, over at the bar, staring very pointedly his way and he took in a breath, instead of speaking, reconsidering his words before he was unable to take the back.

His gaze didn't soften, not exactly, but Freed was almost surprised when, instead of being reprimanded, he was welcomed with a pat at the shoulder from the man, as well as a slight grin.

"You kicked Elfman's ass, at least, right?" the slayer asked to which the other mage bowed his head a bit.

"Well, we did find ourselves across from one another and I found myself moving on while he did not, but-"

"All that matters."

"L-Laxus-"

"You'll want it more, next time," he told the other man simply. "After getting so close."

"Yes." And he balled up his fists then, Freed did, nodding his head at the man as he insisted, "I will!"

It was a celebration that night, not a pity party, as Cana was far from someone that anyone could look down upon (especially not with her father there, intent on making certain this didn't happen) and it was a good night.

For everyone.

The night peaked though, for Laxus, when towards the end of it, as he sat up at the bar drinking with the still far too giddy Gildarts, listening to the man go on about all of where he'd been (with some praise for his little girl sprinkled in there), Mirajane appeared at his side. The slayer originally thought it was to refill his mug, which he held up to help her with this, but instead of leaning down to fulfill this request, the woman instead pressed a kiss to his cheek, lingering long enough for Gildarts to giggle at the man.

"Mira," Laxus questioned with a bit of a rosiness to his cheeks as the woman rightened and did, finally, begin to fill his mug with golden ale once more. Such public displays were hardly their style and the man raised his head then to question, "What was that for?"

"I just like it when you're nice, dragon." She even giggled. "I like it a lot."

But the night was busy and she was being called off again, across the bar, which left the still somewhat blushing Laxus and grinning Gildarts.

"You caught a good one, Laxus. Proud of ya."

"Shuddup."

"No, seriously." And Gildarts glanced over his shoulder then, to the table where his daughter was plying herself with barrel after barrel while her guild members, all so thrilled by her accomplishment, sat nearby, happily congratulating her. "I fucked up. You know. Once. With the only one that mattered. Sometimes you don't get second-chances, man." His serious tone faded though as his face contorted in a smile that didn't seem to stretch right across it as he said, "Unless you're like my Cana! No need for second-chances; she's all S-Class!"

"Yeah," Laxus snorted, "she just needed fourth and fifth and sixth-chances."

"What did you say? Eh? Laxus?"

And when Gildarts turned his head then, his face had contorted into something far darker and Laxus found it best to just sip his beer in silence for awhile.

They left together that night, Laxus and Mira did, the man a bit drunk and the woman, who'd worked the entire night away, stone cold sober, but it was fine, as she seemed high on something else.

"I'm so happy," she insisted to the man. "For Cana. It almost washes away how badly If eel for Elf."

Almost.

She was twirling and skipping that night, slightly before her boyfriend, and he only watched her for a few moments then before speaking.

"Maybe," he offered with a bit of a shrug, "he could come out with me. Elfman could. And we could train some times. To get him ready for next year."

And she stopped dancing then, Mira did, to look over her boyfriend as she instead flel into step with him. Slipping her arm into the crook of his, she snuggled up close to the man who, even drunk, only rolled his eyes.

"You're so sweet, Lax," she assured him as the man only groaned. "When you wanna be."

Even though his reaction seemed the exact opposite, slowly, Laxus was learning that, maybe, he always wanted to be.

#Miraxus #Mirajane Strauss #Laxus Dreyar #Cana Alberona #Gildarts #Freed Justine #Fairy Tail #Fanfiction

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rainbowsky · 3 years

Note

Hiii new turtle here! I was wondering if ggdd have expressed what their favorite movies/series are. If not, what movie/series do you think would best represent their personalities individually and as a couple (barring cql ofc). Sending love amidst these trying times. <3

They have both separately talked a bit about some of the shows and movies they've watched, but I haven't seen much about their 'favorites'. I know they both love Spongebob, One Piece, and the movie The Joker.

In terms of what represents them best... I'd say as a couple definitely Spongebob. That show has all the sweetness, silliness and chaos that they bring as a couple. And they do have the total Spongebob and Patrick vibe going on.

Individually, GG has always reminded me of a handsome, daydreamy, gallant, brooding Ghibli protagonist. Intelligent with emotional depth, creativity and kindness, and capable of achieving great things. A humble legend. I'll give GG The Wind Rises, with a bit of Totoro thrown in.

For DD, I'd give him Lord of the Rings, because he is in many ways like a hobbit to me. An unusually tall, handsome hobbit LOL. Simple, sweet and innocent (and appreciates good food 😅), but often underestimated by the unobservant who fail to grasp that he's actually fierce, clever and valiant, with an indomitable spirit that is determined to walk his own path. Has that rare ability to disarm social conventions through his guileless candor, unintentionally but charmingly revealing the absurdity of most human interactions.

#ggdd forever #ask

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halfwayinlight · 4 years

Text

Title: Sunrise Rating: PG, maybe bordering into PG13 Fandom: Star Trek TNG Pairing: Will Riker/Deanna Troi

also for an partly inspired by suggestion from @cleverdistraction

Will Riker can’t help but notice, for the thousandth time, that Deanna always smells good. It’s not only that she’s female. He has to give it to women because they do tend to smell better. And it’s something more than fragrances or lotions. More than the sandalwood oil he once gave her. It’s not even some fragrance from Betazed.

There’s something that’s intrinsically her going all the way back to when they first met on her home world. Something that has lingered into the years on Enterprise together. And whatever it is, it’s intoxicating. He could spend his whole life trying to figure out what it is.

She talks to the fish in the aquarium in her quarters. Deanna knows her fish and can distinguish each of them from the others. Will knows that she named them after various characters from stories. They aren’t stories from Betazed. Because most of their stories are told telepathically, and the names don’t always have a spoken equivalent. Most of them are named things like Calamity Jane, Butch Cassidy, Bonnie & Clyde, Annie Oakley, Paul Bunyan, and Old Blue.

He’s also caught her talking to Picard’s fish, Livingston, in the Ready Room. He’s not really sure if the captain named the fish, or if Deanna named it.

Some time ago he even woke one morning to hear her chatting softly to her plants, the orchids in particular, as she watered them. It had been an early morning after a late night when they were both too overly tired to sleep. They had shared a few drinks, synthenol for him and hot chocolate for her, and fallen asleep on her couch somewhere past zero two hundred. Her voice was soft and lilting as she murmured encouragement to the temperamental flowers and ran her finger lightly over their leaves. It was downright cheerful for someone running on five hours of sleep.

Something inside his gut had turned into mush at the sight and sound. And she had frozen for a long moment. Suddenly reminded he was there and acutely aware that he was awake. Even in the dim light, he could see her neck flush. And she moved about the rest of her watering rounds that morning in silence while Will felt disappointed that she had stopped and tried to fake that he was asleep again.

She’s gentle and tender, and he’s the biggest sucker for Deanna Troi with kids. When Alexander was on board, he couldn’t fault Worf for being so drawn to her. Or fault Alexander for not minding spending time with Deanna. The younger children on board adore her, and more than once he’s needed to consult with her about something and inquired only to find she was in the learning centers and indulged himself.

Somewhere around the incident with Clara Sutter he realized that children open up to her for the same reason why adults do—because of her compassion and her candor. They light up around her and vie for her attention. She is willing to crawl into their world and see things from their perspective. They clamor after her, and more than once she’s been late to lunch or dinner with him because several refused to let her leave. Her patience with them and for their stories seems fathomless. She gives each one her undivided attention in turn. And their trust in her is the purest thing in any galaxy.

It occurs to him, time and again, how great a mother she would be. Still might be. And that little spark of hope hits, all the times he’s half wondered if they might have had a family. What could have been between them. What still might be someday. The mom she might be. The mom she was. And, in a way, still is. He’ll never forget her radiant smile when Pulaski nestled Ian into her arms. Or the resonant grief Ian left behind merely a day or so later.

Their bond at that time wasn’t what it had been. But he’d felt the resonant ache a room away for days and weeks. He’d had to pull her from duty because she wanted nothing more than to bury herself in work. But she needed to grieve. And she couldn’t lie to him about it because he felt the hurt like phantom limb pain.

She is private in grief. He let her have her space for the first day, but he came by at night to urge her to eat something. She picked at things for days. Even chocolate was hard to get down. Will spent more than one night on her couch, and sharing a bed and holding her in hopes she would sleep. A few times he found her curled in a chair and lost in her own thoughts. Sometimes asleep in her bed or the sounds of a bath running. It took time to ease back into Starfleet routine again. She slept with the little blanket they’d sent her back to her quarters with Ian bundled into. Slept with it for weeks at least. She still keeps it in the bottom drawer in her restroom. He found it once by accident when she had been released from sickbay after one incident or another and he was searching for her robe to make her more comfortable.

Her empathy can be her undoing in moments… but it is a truly a gift. She embodies it well. He and Geordi might have had a chuckle at Barclay’s supposed Goddess of Empathy. But Will knows how much Barclay missed. It’s not about emotion for its own sake. It’s about her acceptance of all emotions. Her willingness to be present with the crew in all feelings. To examine them and sort through them in a meaningful way.

Deanna Troi has challenged him and pushed him. He’s a better person, a better first officer, and a better man because of his various relationships with her. And she is his Imzadi in the deepest sense. The first to see all that he is as a person and accept it. Accept all of him, strengths and faults. And sometimes he’s still not sure how to process that.

She’s said things to him that no one else except a superior officer could get away with saying—and even not always something an officer should say to him. But even the hardest words to hear have not been untrue. Another of her gifts is seeing people for who they are. And sometimes letting them know she sees who they are even when they try to delude themselves. He’s had those moments.

He’ll always be grateful she saw the alleged mighty Kyle Riker for who he was. And so neatly disarmed the figurehead that had always loomed in Will’s mind. Parents are complicated, and she understands that as fully as he does.

Deanna Troi a deeply passionate person. The most passionate person he has ever met. And that’s probably saying a lot. Will has spent more than his fair share of time on Risa. The Risians know a lot about pleasure. But it’s not the same thing. With Deanna it’s more than the physical. There’s something intoxicating about her that he could spend his whole trying to unravel.

And right now he doesn’t want to unravel anything. Because she smells good in the middle of the night, wrapped around him like a Markonian vine. Her limbs are tangled with his, and she sleeps against him, almost wedged under him at times. Will worries vaguely that he’ll smush her. And when he first admitted this one night as he tried to shift her out a bit, she’d given him a small grin and kissed him gently and worked her way right back to where she was.

Other nights, she’s content to be spooned against him or sprawled half across his torso. He’ll contort into uncomfortable positions simply to hear that damn murmur of contentment she makes before she falls into deep sleep. Eventually his discomfort wakes her, and she’ll mumble an apology and gods, why didn’t he just tell her his leg had pins and needles before they’re both asleep again.

Deanna Troi is a blanket hog, especially in his quarters. Because he’s an Alaskan through and through and likes the crisp cold. But her blood runs warmer, and his favorite Betazoid hybrid is forever seeking warmth and her creature comforts of warming oils and her favorite sheets from the fibers grown in the Loneel Valley. And Will Riker considers himself lucky as hell to fall asleep like this, and he’ll give up more than half of his blanket to keep her warm. Because that drowsy smile he wakes up to is his favorite sunrise.

#star trek tng #imzadi #otp: imzadi #will riker #deanna troi #my messed up space cinnamon nugget rolls #space queen #counselor troi #commander riker

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guileheroine · 4 years

Text

strange hours

a huan/tahno (legend of korra) commission for @random-stuff-enjoy!, an extension of this drabble (1.5k)💚 / ao3 / ♡ commission a ficlet!♡

Huan had leapt off the little couch the moment Tahno stumbled in, the sight of his face evaporating all the careful thoughts of his next sculpture from his mind. His roommate had a deep bruise over his cheekbone, stark against his pale skin.

Huan swallowed his heart back into his chest. “What happened?!” When Tahno only gave him an evasive shrug, he snatched his wrist, alarm still rising.

At that, Tahno furrowed his brow. “Come on, it’s just a scratch. What, you’ve never seen a little street rumble?”

Huan crossed his arms, heart still pattering under them. Well, no, he hadn’t. No one in Zaofu ever went around having tussles in the open no matter how much they’d had to drink. This was the first time that Tahno had come home to this dinky flat in such a state, and Huan, his own head roiling, didn’t know whether to be glad he’d moved in.

Mom had provided him one of the many bedrooms in her rented apartment here, and even offered to pay for one of those swanky Four Elements suites if the first prospect was too stifling, but part of him knew this was his call to experience life amongst the starving artists of the big city.

Tahno, he would never admit to fitting that bill. But he did - and when he had mentioned offhand that he was looking for a roommate, that day they met at the wedding on Air Temple Island, Huan jumped at the chance. A washed up ex-probender in a jazz band! The drama of it all. But it hadn’t taken long for Huan to end up with doodles of Tahno and his damn coiffure in the margins of his sketchbooks.

The ambient lighting for the brainstorming session made the shadows on Tahno’s face even droopier. Beneath them the skin was peaky, his eyes tired. Huan’s fist curled with the urge to cup his bruised cheek, soothe the skin.

“Let me see,” he said coolly, exhaling his panic. “My mom taught us a lot about healing techniques.”

A hint of skepticism entered Tahno’s vacant expression at that, like he wasn’t sure that necessarily translated to any actual capability on Huan’s part.

Huan wished he’d just humour him. Now that he’d leapt to Tahno’s side, he began to feel conscious of the fact that it would be very easy, right now, to come off as overbearing, if he didn’t already. It wouldn’t be the first time someone accused him of that. Usually he’d scoff at the notion, but with Tahno — in the current quiet of the room, which provided his roommate little else to be distracted by — Huan was very aware of the attention he’d just demanded for himself.

Part of him wished he’d just let Tahno go to bed, and part of him reveled in the exhilarating trepidation.

“I… How did you— ” He began, then mentally shook himself and hardened his voice. “Sit down, come on.” First things first.

Tahno gave a shrug that shouldn’t have signaled acquiescence, but somehow did - all of his body language always felt vaguely noncommittal. But after a few months of him lurking around in the same apartment, Huan had figured out how to read its subtleties, and now did so automatically.

Rolling the shoulder he’d shrugged, Tahno came and slumped beside him on the couch.

“I’m gonna get some ice,” Huan said, then rose, biting his cheek, and left him there.

He should probably have made some talk while he pottered about for the ice and some of that aloe ointment from home that he knew he had somewhere around here. It was one of those things he’d never expected to actually need, throwing it in the back of a drawer he couldn’t recall - but it looked like the occasion to treat some inflammation had finally come. Mom had always kept huge pots of the plant around the grounds - they dominated the walkways, sculpture-like themselves - and she could have hour-long conversations about them with her horticulturist, so it must’ve been good stuff. Who knew, maybe this would… What, impress Tahno?

Huan was embarrassed to have had the thought, and pretty much annihilated it in its tracks. Anyway, here it was - he stretched his fingers for the tube of ointment, ice pack cradled in his other arm, and made his way back to the couch.

Tahno was sitting with his eyes skyward, blank. The fog of impenetrability that was always about him seemed particularly dense tonight. Probably, he was preparing to deflect Huan’s attempts to probe him for answers about what had gone down. It wasn’t exactly that Tahno was hard to pin down — more that whatever he let on about himself seemed to come about despite his best efforts. He was protective of himself.

Huan could see it, because he knew something of that sort of pride - the sort that was stubborn and not without bitterness. It’s not like either of them were easy to get to know. It was the kind of thing he’d only admit at an hour like this.

Maybe it was the same for Tahno, and the fog would thin with a bit of prodding. Huan wrapped the ice pack in one of the thin towels he used while painting, grabbing it off the shelf beneath the coffee table, and shaking it to unfold it. Usually this place was a mess, but he had tidied up as part of the prep for this evening’s brainstorming session, and the lack of cups strewn about definitely contributed to the night’s cool, new ambience.

“Ice.”

Tahno’s ears pricked and he sat up, not without a wince. “Oh, thanks.”

If he was startled when Huan held it up to the bruise himself, he didn’t show it much. He just swallowed, as Huan gently pressed the ice pack to his cheek with a hand that he mentally willed not to falter.

For a second, Tahno’s eyes closed in relief. The weariness about him evaporated when he did, like his eyes had just been waiting for the opportunity to fall shut.

Then Huan coughed. He felt weird sitting there, sort-of touching Tahno’s face in silence. “So… How did you even get like this?”

Tahno opened one eye at that, and some humour that Huan hadn’t expected glimmered in it. He bit the inside of his cheek again.

“If I tell you, will you promise not to bite my head off?”

Huan forced a laugh. Again, he was surprised when Tahno returned it with a scoff of his own. If he was blushing, it’d be impossible to tell in the dim light, so there was that. Before he could think of something to say, Tahno took pity on him.

“Fine, fine. I’m sorry I scared you.” He paused, and when he spoke again he sounded candid, but not reluctant. “We were just at a bar. A couple of those losers down Razorbill Row - they’re Rabaroos fans and there was that match tonight. You know, some of them still think it’s funny to rag on the Wolfbats, like we didn’t make the game in our day— Normally I wouldn’t give them the time of day, but…”

Huan couldn’t help but be skeptical about that final part, and the way Tahno trailed off affirmed the feeling.

But anyway, he had never been to that part of town. And he decided he probably never wanted to go. It lurked vaguely in his imagination as exactly the kind of stylish yet seedy Republic City neighbourhood that gave the city its dusky allure — but in an abstracted sort of way, like he’d want to channel an impression of it in a sculpture or painting from a very safe distance.

Tahno — one look at him made it clear he was right at home in that kind of place. Hence his enigmatic appeal, Huan had figured.

The silence was stretching; he could tell because Tahno’s eyes lingered on him as if in reminder, and the awkwardness crept in again.

“Were they, like, trying to taunt you?” He said all too quick, and gestured vaguely, “Whoever… did this?”

He couldn’t have come out with a more stupid question, obviously. He averted his eyes, put the ice pack down, and busied himself uncapping the ointment, all his focus pointedly in his own lap.

He heard Tahno sigh, oblivious. “It’s just kids, you know… got a few too many drinks in them. Demons.” He bristled again, making it quite clear he wasn’t making them any excuses.

“So did you, by the looks of it,” Huan said. He was relieved to get some higher ground here, and hopefully Tahno wasn’t going to feel too provoked by it.

When he looked up again, Tahno was combing a hand back through his hair, placid and unruffled again. “Just a scuffle,” he said, finally cracking a cool smile. The ice seemed to have done its job. The way he flashed between rare candor and cool indifference — Huan struggled to keep up.

He said nothing, but pressed his lips together, clenched his stomach, and dabbed at Tahno’s cheek with the aloe gel.

“They’re a scrappy bunch down there. You’d fit in, you know.” Tahno said, eyeing him with that biting mischief.

Huan pressed his lips tighter, a smile and a scowl fighting beneath them. The scowl winning, to be frank. It wasn’t too hard, in all honesty, to see why someone might want to sock that face. But it stirred up a different impulse in Huan, at the end of it.

“What, you scared? Have you ever been to a real bar before?”

“I’ve been to a bar,” Huan snapped so quickly that he revealed the lie.

“Aha,” Tahno drawled. The laugh was good-natured though. Then he hissed in bliss at the coolness of the ointment, and Huan wasn’t sure if he hated him for making such a disarming sound without warning. “...So, you want me to take you?”

“Where?”

“Down Razorbill Row.”

Huan had to admit the idea held some appeal when he put it like that, though maybe that was just the hour and his sensibilities would return when he woke up in the morning. He’d certainly feel a lot more - well, comfortable was one way to put it - if Tahno took him there. Although he was pretty sure things would go south quick if Tahno fell in danger of fancying another scuffle.

“Come on. You’re always holed up in here.”

Huan was starting to feel defensive for real now. “I- I’m working.”

“On your art, huh?” Tahno clicked his tongue and said it slowly, like he was testing the waters. “Well. Maybe it could use a little inspiration from out there… if you don’t mind me saying.”

Huan waited for the blind affront to subside. Then he considered it. Maybe he didn’t mind. He wiped the ointment off his fingers onto his other wrist. When he looked at Tahno the silent humour between them made any insult he felt completely inconsequential.

“I mean… you’re right,” Huan conceded.

Tahno wasn’t the only one that tried too hard to keep their cards close. And now that he’d let one slip, it felt like Tahno was seeing him as a new person.

“Woof. You’re full of surprises tonight. I’m not kidding, I thought that one would go down way worse.”

Huan barked a laugh the same moment as Tahno did, their held gaze taut with a new giddiness.

#huan beifong #tahno #legend of korra #lok fanfiction #**#fic commissions

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makomori · 4 years

Text

THREE | INTRODUCTIONS (Brand New Story)

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI x OC

Nishimura Yua has to take her nephew to his first rep practice with the Tohoku Tigers at Shiratorizawa Academy. Ushijima Wakatoshi is filling in for the assistant coach on said team.

She’s recovering from a nasty breakup and he’s reeling from a stunning finals loss against the Jackals.

Yua’s drawn to his composure and honesty.

Wakatoshi finds her warmth and tenacity intriguing.

It’s the start of a Brand New Story; can they heal from past hurts and endure new challenges in order to help each other trust and love again?

CHAPTERS

ONE | NEW TERRITORY

TWO | FAMILIARITY

Length: 3.2k words

Yua convinces her nephew that a pepper session with a top V.League player isn't the scariest thing in the world. And Wakatoshi tries to understand the woman who's determination can't be ignored.

Worlds change when eyes meet | David Jones

Yua’s head whipped toward the man in question. No wonder he seemed familiar. He was taller and looked like he gained more muscle compared to the last time she saw him, but that was definitely Ushijima Wakatoshi on the other side of the gym.

But when she considered it, Ushijima-san being a part of the coaching staff made sense. He was one of Shiratorizawa’s most famous graduates and was likely to still have strong ties to the academy. She wouldn’t be surprised if Saitou-sensei coached him in high school.

Well, this turned out better than Yua expected. Without a second thought, she pulled on Rui’s hand, intent on marching over to introduce them— but stopped when his grip tightened, almost painfully, around her fingers. Surprised, she looked back at him. His eyes darted between her and Ushijima-san a few times before he worried his bottom lip with his teeth. When he tugged on her coat sleeve with his other hand, she finally understood.

Oh.

She stood in front of him and took both his hands in hers. “Hey,” she called out. Her voice was soft. When Rui’s gaze settled back on her, she thumbed his chin gently and smiled.

Yua was used to interacting and meeting with different people every day because of her job. They were usually CEOs and other higher-ups in various companies; she was seldom intimidated by titles or merits. But a moment ago, she was in planning mode and completely forgot to consider Rui’s feelings. He was about to meet someone he admired, after all.

“Wanna meet him?”

“W-what?” Her nephew sputtered. “Meet U-ushijima-sensei? I don’t know…” She could feel his flight response rising fast, so she squeezed his hands, hoping to act as an anchor while she talked him through her plan.

Yua nodded. Rui was logical like her, so she was going to lay out all the pros and cons for him. “Think about it. He’s here early, which means he’s the either the coach or the assistant coach.” Rui opened his mouth to protest but fell silent when he realized the truth of her words. “You’ll have to talk to him sooner or later. Why not sooner?”

Rui looked over at Ushijima-sensei again. He desperately wanted to meet him, but he didn’t know what to say. It sounded a lot easier in his head. He didn’t want to come off as a clingy and annoying fan. “I-I don’t know,” he repeated. “I don’t wanna bother him.”

Yua squeezed his hands again. She understood where he was coming from. He was probably thinking that Ushijima-san would reject him somehow. Sure, it was always a possibility, but Yua wouldn’t let that happen. “Sweetheart, I understand how you feel. It is scary meeting someone you look up to, but I’m sure you won’t be bothering him. He’ll be expecting you to ask a lot of questions. He’s here to teach you, remember?”

Rui rocked back and forth on his feet. He knew everything Yua-chan said was true, but he was still nervous. What if Ushijima-sensei said he wasn’t good at volleyball? And that he should stop playing? The man on the other side of the gym played on one of the top teams in the V.League and was skilled at every aspect of the game; why would he take the time to work with someone like him?

Rui didn’t think he could handle that kind of rejection.

“Hey.” Yua’s steady voice snapped him out of his terrible thoughts again. “Ushijima-san’s at the top of the V.League now, but he was just like you at one point—a thirteen-year-old who loves volleyball.”

Rui perked slightly at her words. “Y-you think so?”

Yua nodded strongly. “He loved volleyball enough to make it his full-time job. And I know because Tak-kun was just like you, too. Now he’s playing for Waseda.” She looked back and pointed at the man Rui was so anxious to meet and avoid all at once. “But one day soon, he’s gonna be just like Ushijima-san; playing in the V.League and loving every second of it.”

Her nephew’s eyes widened as he realized that he shared something in common with his idol. Just like me, his face expressed.

Yua tried to hide her grin when she saw determination return to Rui’s eyes. Meeting his idol was probably the last thing he thought he was going to do today, but there was no way she was going to let him pass up the opportunity to train with a player like Ushijima. She was proud of him. Despite being a bit nervous, he still trusted her to guide him through an unfamiliar situation. She looked at him one more time, and he returned her gaze with less apprehension.

“Yua-chan, I-I still don’t know what to say to him.”

“How about I take care of the introductions?” She offered. He nodded furiously in response. “Then I’ll give you the cue to come in and say you’re a big fan, and that you’ve admired his skills since you were little. How’s that?” Rui nodded again, this time committing her advice to memory. She gave his arms a light shake and chuckled when he looked down at her. “I’ll be right beside you the whole time.”

Rui smiled; his notorious twin dimples making their appearance. “Let’s go.”

Wakatoshi felt at ease as soon as he stepped onto the Shiratorizawa campus, but he was truly at home when he walked into the gym. He told himself to set the net up first but couldn’t resist when he saw the Mikasa balls piled in the hammock. After all, he did tell sensei that he was going to warm up before practice started.

He started with a drill where he passed to himself fifty times and repeated the process two more times. Then, he alternated short and high passes to himself two hundred times. After that, he did passes against the wall about three hundred times. He usually did about six hundred reps, but he decided to go easy on himself since he hadn’t played in a month.

Once that was done, he decided to start a wall spikes drill; his favourite. By the time he was on his twentieth rep, he was breathing hard, but he didn’t feel heavy like he did on his jog the other morning. It was peaceful. Everything was familiar. The weightlessness of the ball just before his heavy swing sent it flying to the wall. The double THUD of the ball bouncing before it floated back to him. And the satisfaction of timing his next swing exactly right.

Wakatoshi knew there were a lot of things he couldn’t control. But training like this was a way for him to let go and not worry too much about the details. In hindsight, he really shouldn’t have stayed away for this long, but there was no point in—

Suddenly, a hand shot out in front of him from the right. It was accompanied by, “Sumimasen!”

Wakatoshi caught the ball easily as it bounced back to him. Strange. He wasn’t expecting anyone to show up for another hour. When he turned, all his mind could register was:

B R I G H T

After a moment, he blinked at woman standing before him. Like most of the women he knew, she didn’t come close to challenging his height of six-foot-three, despite being taller than average. However, something was different about her. The top of her head barely reached his collarbones, but the energy he felt coming from her was powerful and almost irresistible.

Their eyes locked.

Her honey-brown gaze was warm and strong, as if they were constantly focused on accomplishing a goal. It reminded him of the intense, singular stare Hinata gave him when they met. Normally, Wakatoshi was the one who caused people to feel uneasy with his candor. Who was she? Unaware of the turmoil stirring within him, she smiled. It affirmed his first impression of her. She was indeed bright. Even white teeth and twin dimples only added to her appeal.

“I’m so sorry to interrupt, but are you one of the coaches?”

Her voice was smooth, low, and Wakatoshi decided that he enjoyed its cadence. He allowed his eyes to wander over her briefly. Early spring in Sendai was still brisk, hence her choice to don a long, soft gray overcoat. When his gaze drifted back up, he finally noticed the expansive collection of freckles on her square-shaped face. Half of her wavy black hair was pinned expertly in a bun at the top of her head, with the rest falling past her shoulders, softening her defined jaw. Arching brows framed her warm eyes. And full, expressive lips were curved into a kind smile.

Remembering that it was rude to stare, Wakatoshi cleared his throat and finally answered. “I am. The assistant coach is sick, so I’ll be helping Saitou-sensei with practice today.” There was that disarming smile again. He couldn’t help but lift the corners of his own mouth in response.

“My name is Yua. It’s nice to meet you.” She bowed to him in greeting. “And this is my nephew, Rui. He’s one of your students.” Pride was clear in Yua-san’s voice. She loved the boy deeply. She reached for the tall teen to her left, who shuffled over before looking up at him. Hesitation was evident on his face.

Despite the young man’s nervousness, Wakatoshi could tell that he was serious about volleyball. The fact he was here an hour before practice spoke volumes about his work ethic. Sensei also had a knack for scouting talented players; the dark red Chidoriyama tracksuit he wore was another promising sign of his skill.

Yua. He doubted he’d forget her name any time soon. He bowed in response. “I’m Wakatoshi.”

Her eyes twinkled with delight. “The Ushijima Wakatoshi? The Adlers’ Left Cannon?”

Wakatoshi felt his ears grow hot and he resisted fought the urge to rub the back of his neck; his habit when he was embarrassed. Despite all his success in the last several years, he still wasn’t used to being recognized. He often wondered how Romero-san managed to deal with the constant attention. He was always relaxed and attentive during interviews or whenever fans swarmed him.

“That’s right.”

“I knew you seemed familiar,” she said, while returning his perusal. He found himself wondering what assumptions she had just made about him. “Rui-kun recognized you right away.” The young man tensed at the sound of his name, but she remained steady at his side.

Wakatoshi surmised that he was nervous about meeting him; a reaction he was used to. But he wanted to change that. He wasn’t charismatic like Romero-san, but surely there was something he could do that would make Rui-kun feel at ease. Unsure about what to say, he continued to address Yua.

“Were you a student at Shiratorizawa?”

No. It would be difficult to forget someone with her presence.

Yua shook her head. “No, but my younger brother was. He dragged me to a couple of your games while he was in middle school.” She smiled again, remembering how excited Tak-kun got every time Ushijima-san went up for a spike. “He’s always complaining because he never got to play on the same team as you.”

“Does he still play?” Wakatoshi was always curious about the talent that came from the academy.

“Tak-kun’s a middle blocker at Waseda. He’s aiming for the V.League in a few years because he wants battle scary wing spikers like you.” Her smile held a challenge this time and his curiosity was piqued. He was never one to back down from a strong opponent.

“But Rui-kun here is a fan of yours.” Yua’s voice softened, and the young man finally mustered the courage to look at him. A gentle nudge from his aunt was all the encouragement he needed.

He stepped forward and bowed. “H-hello Ushijima-sensei, I’m Rui. I-I’ve thought you were a great player ever since I was little.”

It would take time for Wakatoshi to get used to hearing that. “Thank you, Rui-kun. It’s nice to meet you.” He was constantly learning and adapting his current skills, so Wakatoshi still considered himself a student. “What position do you play?”

Rui-kun looked back at Yua, and she smiled gently and gave him a reassuring nod. “W-wing spiker. Hayate-sensei said I’m an outside because I’m right-handed.”

Wakatoshi nodded in approval. He couldn’t wait to see his skills in real time. “Then you’re like Romero-san.”

The teen’s eyes lit up, and the tension in his body was replaced instantly by excitement. “Nicollas Romero? Really?? He’s so cool.” His words came out in a rushed breath, and Wakatoshi chuckled.

“I agree. I’ll be sure to tell him he’s got another big fan.” He was relieved that Rui-kun’s energy changed at something he said. He hadn’t interacted too much with younger fans other than signing autographs and occasionally posing for pictures, but he seemed to be doing all right for the moment.

Rui barely stopped himself from jumping up and down. “You will?? Can you tell Houshiumi-san that he’s amazing, too?? I’ve never seen anyone jump so high! Except for Ninja Shoyo!”

Yua’s smile became bigger as Rui-kun’s excitement grew. That was one of the things she loved about him. He was so passionate about his interests that you couldn’t help being swept up in his positive energy. He didn’t realize it now, but that passion would serve him well as player and eventual captain. He was the type of person teammates would naturally rally behind and support without question.

“I was cheering for you and the Adlers the whole time!”

Wakatoshi smiled. “I think I heard your cheering all the way in Tokyo.” Sometimes, he forgot that people from all over Japan and the world watched his games.

Rui-kun suddenly looked down and clasped his hands together. He looked like he was at odds about what he about to say next. So, his voice was quiet when he spoke. “Uhm, I’m sorry you didn’t win the championship this year. The game was still amazing to watch.”

Wakatoshi was moved by his kind words. As young as he was, Rui-kun understood what it was like to lose even though you put everything you have into it. “Thank you,” he murmured. “The loss was hard for all of us.”

“Were you upset?” Rui-kun’s light brown eyes were full of sympathy. He was genuinely upset that the Adlers has lost such an important game. “I’m always get upset when lose.”

Wakatoshi considered his next words very carefully. Somehow, he knew his answer would have a huge effect on this young man’s life as a player and as an individual. He was beginning to understand how Romero-san dealt with press and fans so well. Like the players he looked up to and aspired to be when he was younger, Wakatoshi’s current position in the V.League enabled him to inspire the next generation of players, which included Rui-kun.

“I was upset for a few weeks,” he started. That was an understatement. “But losing isn’t a bad thing. It hurts, yes, but you can always learn something from it.”

Rui-kun’s eyes had grown owlishly wide; he was hanging onto his every word. “Like what?”

Wakatoshi squatted down in front of the boy, who’s mouth gaped open at the action. “Everyone loses at some point,” he murmured. “Even me. But losing makes you want to work even harder so you can do your best to win next time. The good thing about volleyball is that you’re never alone. You can always lean on your team and coaches for support.” His eyes shifted up to Yua briefly, who was watching him just as intently as her nephew. “Family, too.” He heard her breath hitched quietly at his admission.

“I-I’ve never thought of it that way,” Rui swallowed. “Now that I think about it, me and my team are really close.”

Wakatoshi nodded and grinned. “Good. That bond will make it easier for you to work through challenges together.”

Rui-kun’s wide smile returned. It looked like dimples were a family trait. “We get into fights sometimes, but it’s still fun!”

Wakatoshi stood up. “That’s normal for every team. Fighting is a good way to communicate sometimes.” Teams fought, just like any family would. At the end of the day, a common goal had to be reached and the road wasn’t always going to be smooth.

But working towards that goal was half the fun.

“Uhm, Ushjima-sensei? I was gonna warm up with Yua-chan but I-I was hoping y-you could…” The shyness had returned to Rui-kun’s voice, but Wakatoshi knew exactly what he wanted to ask.

“Would you like to pepper with me? We still have time before the net has to be set up.” The expression on Rui-kun’s face was priceless. He didn’t think his smile could get any bigger. Not bad for his first time as a coach.

Yua-san waved her hand. “I can set everything up while you two practice.”

Wakatoshi frowned and shoot his head. “Yua-san, I couldn’t have you do that—”

But she shook her head. Black hair flowed back and forth over her shoulders and Wakatoshi was reduced to staring again. “It’s all right! I interrupted your drill and you’re taking the time to practice with Rui-kun, so setting up the net is the least I can do to thank you.”

Rui-kun interrupted before he could protest. “Will you really pepper with me??”

“Yes,” Wakatoshi chuckled.

“I’ll be right back!” He sprinted to the other side of the gym, presumably to shred his Chidoriyama tracksuit. Saitou-sensei would have his hands full with him.

“Thank you for training with him.” Wakatoshi turned to the woman who orchestrated this impromptu pepper session. “He was so nervous about meeting you.”

“I tend to get that reaction, although it’s not my intent to make anyone nervous.” He rubbed that back of his neck this time. “I’ve been told that I can be intimidating.”

Yua-san tilted her head and narrowed her eyes, giving him another brief study. Wakatoshi felt like he was being dissected. “Only at first glance. I’ve worked with much scarier clients.” He was relieved when she smiled again. “You’re sweet compared to them.”

His brows shot up. “Sweet?” No one had ever described him that way, especially not after meeting him for the first time.

Yua-san laughed at his reaction. It was a full and sweet sound. “Absolutely,” she said confidently. “You made Rui-kun feel comfortable and gave him good advice about dealing with failure. That’s sweet in my book.”

It was Wakatoshi’s turn to gape. For once in his life, he didn’t know how to respond.

“I’m ready, Ushijima-sensei!” The teen was in the middle of the gym and waving him down furiously.

“You’d better get going,” Yua-san teased. “Rui-kun has boundless energy once he gets excited about something.”

Wakatoshi somehow managed to gather his thoughts before responding. She wasn’t shying away from his bluntness like most people did. In fact, she met him head-on right from the start. He found that refreshing, but slightly unnerving. “Please stay until sensei arrives, Yua-san. I’m sure he’d like to meet you.”

The spark from earlier settled into her honey-brown eyes.

“As you wish, Ushijima-sensei.”

#mywriting #ushijima wakatoshi #wakatoshi ushijima #ushiwaka #ushijima #ushijima x oc #ushiwaka x oc #wakatoshi #haikyuulovestory

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