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#so then I decided to try and properly render it
starpros-sunshine · 2 years
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迷い
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noearchives · 1 month
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sober me up
(what happens when the one piece boys are drunk?)
characters: portgas d. ace, trafalgar d. water law, sanji.
note: personally i've never been drunk enough to the point where i lose my mind or anything like that ... so this is just based off of my imagination and stuff i see in movies ;;
cw/ tags: gender neutral reader, mentions of alcohol, unestablished relationship, mutual pining.
portgas d. ace
"woah,” ace whispers, head tilted to one side as he looks at you through half-lidded eyes, saying your name in the same way he did when he met you for the first time.“is that really you?”
you're not sure if he’s putting up an act to flirt, or if he’s actually so drunk to the point where he can’t tell his imagination from reality. not knowing how to reply, you hand him a glass of water in a fluster in hopes that he’ll sober up, and he downs the entire thing in one go, mistaking it for liquor.
“wow,” ace says again, awestruck. it’s like his eyes are put in a spell to look at nothing else but you. his reaches for your face, stroking your cheekbone with his thumb. nonsense runs off his tongue as he stumbles deep into your gaze in spirals. “you're so pretty i could kiss you.”
he pauses. “can i?”
fuck it, you think. he’s drunk out of his mind, you're tipsy enough to use it as an excuse. it won't hurt if you kissed your best friend who you’ve been pining for since the dawn of time when he won't even remember anything the day after, right?
so you agree to his request, and ace wastes no time with how quickly he slides his tongue into your mouth just after two seconds of his lips meeting yours— it’s like he doesn't want you to breathe.
when he finally lets go of you, you gasp like a fish out of water while he looks at you stupidly. his mind is filled with you, you, you. one kiss isn't enough to satisfy him— he’s been dreaming of this for months, afterall. with both hands on either side of your face, he makes a bold statement once again.
“let’s do that again.”
trafalgar d. water law
law doesn't drink much, but he can't say no to his crew when they offer. initially, he planned to stay sober for the rest of the night to look after all of you, but as shachi and penguin continue to pour him drink after drink, his head grows heavier with every sip of liquor.
he stays quiet even when he’s drunk. no bold confessions, no impulsive acts, nothing. he just watches his crew drink themselves stupid, the faintest hint of a smile at the corner of his lips.
with the loud hustle of the bar and the deafening laughter of your crewmates, it’s hard to notice how intoxicated law has become until you feel a foreign weight on your shoulder. a white fur hat lands on your lap, and you only realise your captain’s resting his head on you with his eyes closed then.
“captain?” you say. your heart’s beating out of your chest. “captain, you're drunk.”
“i know.” he mumbles in reply, looking silly with his cheek squished against your shoulder.
“let me get you some water.” you try to move out of your seat, but your body doesn't budge. law’s arm holds you down firmly, and you feel the skin under his touch tingle. “captain," you say again, weaker this time. you're not sure if your lungs are working properly with how he's rendered you breathless. "you've gotta let me go," you say, betraying your heart.
"no," law mumbles against you. his hold on you tightens, and you swear he's nuzzling into your neck.
at that point, you decide that he's had one too many and that he needs to be sobered up or else he'd be in a sour mood the morning after. you awkwardly prop his arm on your shoulders as you drag him back to the polar tang with the knowing gazes of your crewmates on your backs, your captain's hat in your hand as you strain to support his weight.
"ah, young love." penguin sighs.
sanji
being an absolute lightweight, sanji's already swaying with his tie off and a few buttons undone after two shots.
"oh, my love." he sing-songs. my love? you raise an eyebrow at the nickname. "the way you look at me makes my stomach flip. your eyes are brighter than the stars, and the way you say my name tugs at my heartstrings. would you make a poor man like me happy by just looking his way?" he rambles, freestyling a verbal love letter for you right then and there. you've heard him do the same for robin and nami, but never for you. (until now, of course.)
the crew's swordsman physically cringes in second-hand embarrassment. "curly, do all of us a favor and shut that mouth of yours."
miraculously, sanji doesn't retort like he usually does. instead, he takes your hand in his as he continues his weird love poem. "if only this wasn't a dream, and i had the courage to confess my love for you in the real world. alas!"
... and he starts crying. actual tears rolling down his cheeks and everything. "but i know you would never love a pathetic man like me!" he sobs into your lap, kneeling before you as your ship's navigator averts her gaze out of embarrassment, grumbling about how her efforts of keeping his secret are wasted.
though ridiculously stupid, his confession made your heart stop. after all this time, it turns out that he's equally as smitten as you are when you thought his heart belonged to someone else. (it's hard not to assume with the way he behaves around good-looking women.)
"why did nobody tell me...?" you ask, looking around as the strawhats look away with a supressed grin.
"because he said he'll kick our asses if any of us said anything. geez, both of you are so stupid. can't you see the way he makes those disgusting heart eyes at you every time you pass by?" the swordsman grumbles.
sanji's arms are still tightly wrapped around your waist after he's done with his improv love poem. "you're so warm, even in my dreams..." he mumbles. it seems like he still hasn't realized this isn't a dream.
the two of you are going to have a looooong talk when he sobers up, you're sure.
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eveningepiphany · 7 months
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welcome to the final show | H.S, part 3
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my masterlist!
part one and part two!
summary: harry goes over to y/ns hotel for a good old room service dinner, also getting a little tipsy on wine, while starting to blur some lines. and it’s not long before things are no longer just between the two of them.
warnings: fluff, swearing, alcohol, getting a lil wine drunk, paparazzi, being confused on if you’re falling in love or just really good friends.
a/n: i’m so excited to finally have this written for you all! i’ve had some pretty bad writers block, hence the delay in getting it to you, but thank you so much again for your support and I hope you enjoy <3
———
There’s a certain type of attatchment that comes around once and a while. It’s rare.
It’s when things start to flourish. Maybe with a hobby, a passion, or a new found person. One your brain decides to put all its focus and interest on, to the point it’s all consuming.
This one gets stuck to you like glue. Hard to shake in the sense of no matter how hard you try to ignore it, it’s all you can think about.
Losing yourself in daydreams of something or someone without even realising, until you’re reaching for anything that will bring you closer to filling that need.
That’s exactly what’s leading you to be reaching for your phone at any given point of the day.
You imagine many perceive it to be a permanent growth on your person. But you can hardly help it. Texting is a simple way to reach someone. Feel connected.
So, safe to say you’ve messaged Harry more than your own family over the course of this trip.
You’ve become attached. To Harry Styles. Again…?
Of course, being a huge fan it’s easy to say you should probably already be accustomed to this, given your level of obsession.
But this is a whole other ball game. One that is becoming like an internal battle. Your already unhealthy and predisposed infatuation paired with now a real physical connection is enough to render you useless.
You reach for your phone. Text him, your brain begs. You consider. No, stop being clingy you loser, your brain rolls her metaphorical eyes. You place the phone down. Stare at a wall. Think about him. Rinse, repeat.
Not normal, you don’t think.
However, you search for some kind of justification. That you’re just good friends, and all that shit. It’s normal to miss someone you’re friends with.
If he considers you as that.
Which you would hope since you’ve been texting him enough it would be concerning if he saw you as just some mutual of his.
You’re also sitting in a cafe, unfortunately without him right now. Eating a croissant wishing that he were here. Allowing your gaze to linger on the chair across from yourself, imagining his solid frame filling up the empty space. What he would do if you stood up and ran a hand through his hair, maybe lent down a little so you could just—
The ring of the bell atop their entrance chimes and drags you out if your dangerous and spiralling thoughts. And for some reason get excited like you’ve somehow manifested this man to walk through the cafe door by thinking of him.
Feeling silly at the nag of disappointment in your stomach as you see an ordinary bloke saunter over to the till.
Maybe one you would check out, or emit some kind of interest in before you properly met Harry. You would feel disloyal now. Like the parasocial relationship has entered an entirely new level of psychotic.
If it’s still parasocial, that is. Or if now you’re just simply a girl with very cloudy and mixed feelings about a very beautiful man.
You audibly sigh out. Eating the final bite of your admittedly delicious croissant and picking up your phone.
You type out a message, sending it before you can even think it.
I’m in a cafe right now without you and you’ve honestly ruined them for me. I miss you and your free cups of tea.
Without me? Rude.
You laugh at his quip, watching as the little bubble pops back up indicating he’s typing.
I’m out right now, but if you’re not busy later we can do something? Go out or I can come over to yours.
You pluck mindlessly at your bottom lip with your teeth, how could you say no to that?
You stress over it either way.
well, you’re very welcome to come over to my hotel room. we can order room service if you want?
To this he texts back an agreement, seemingly keen. And you realise immediately you have to tidy your room before he comes over.
You swing him the location of where you’re staying, including your room and floor number.
Thank you love, ill be there in like 3 hours say? If that works for you.
At that, you stand, because who are you if not over-prepared. And it was time to go make sure your room didn’t like a war had been waged in it when he came over for the first time.
Cant be having a bad impression, you figured.
———
You did in fact rush back to your hotel complex. Not even stopping a crepe stall you passed by, which had to be a first for you. You clean the place until it appears well-kept at the least.
And once you’re finished, you easily fall back into overthinking the whole thing. So excited, yet getting those anxious jitters like a caffeine addict 12 hours no coffee.
Which is why you decide to busy yourself with an afternoon shower. And at the time you’d still had over an hour to go.
You take of course longer than you intended, and shortly after you come out there’s a knock at your door, easily making you jump as you tug a shirt over your head. Regretting the last minute decision for a shower since now you have wet hair and probably look like a right mess.
But it’s not like you can leave him out there while you go blow dry your hair, so you rush over to the door, and tug it open.
His brows shoot up, and a smile slowly blooms on his face as he takes in your appearance.
Your hair is still near dripping, and you stand in bike shorts and a loose tshirt. The most casual he’s ever seen you. Which he loved the look on you more than he admits to himself.
“Hi darling,” he smirks, a warm feeling settling over him as he keeps his eyes on you.
“Hey, Harry.” You stand for a few moments longer, finally shuflling out of his way to let him through the door. He is adorning a white shirt and has the cutest little bandana around his neck.
“I’m sorry,” You laugh, gesturing him inside, “I was drastically overestimating how long it would take me to shower… hence why im in this state.”
He pulls a hand from behind his back, a cup being presented to you.
“Don’t be silly, y’not in a state at all.”
“You’re joking—“ You gently take the cup from his ringed hands, “Harry!”
“M’sorry, m’sorry. I saw a coffee van on the way and I couldn’t help myself.”
“Did you get one for you?”
“No, but I did have a little sip of yours.” He confesses with a quiet laugh. But he quickly busies himself with your room, padding around and peeking out the balcony window.
You take a sip, watching him examine your space. Grateful you cleaned it.
He asks you a few questions about random things in your room, and you settle yourself on the foot of your bed, cross-legged.
You didn’t really think about the lack of seating in your one man room. But this hardly bothers Harry, since he’s scoped up the room service menu from wherever he found it, and sat next to you.
“Alright… what d’we have.” He talks to himself, opening up the menu and scanning over the foods.
You discuss the options, settling on a pizza and pasta to share, because, well, you’re in Italy.
The night progresses easily as time always seems to do when you’re together, and you fake fight over the best kind of pasta sauce. But he lets you have to last slice of pizza so peace is made shortly after.
“Should we order a wine or something? T’wash the pasta down.” He suggests as the sun begins setting.
“Why not, I won’t say no to some wine.”
That gets ordered to your door, and you go from the foot of the bed to lazing at the head of it. Sipping on wine and recounting old stories, or discussing stupid topics.
“Do you think the chicken or the egg came first?” You swirl your glass around, eyes shifting to look at his side profile as he gazes at your roof.
His cute nose outlined by the warm light off the lamp, which you flicked on in the corner after it got dark.
He bursts out into a laugh, “what kind of question is that?”
“I feel like it indicates the sort of person someone is.” You shrug, smiling.
“What like it gives you an intel on my personality?”
“Something like that.” You nod, “and decides if we have to stop being friends, if you answer the wrong one.”
He grins, “Well, maybe tell me which one to pick so we don’t have to do that.”
“Awh, so you don’t want to stop being friends?” You coo, still staring at him, watching as his eyes flick from the roof over to you.
“Of course not, who else am I meant to go on cafe dates with.” He laughs.
You’re both teetering on the edge of being tipsy, and it’s evident in the way you’re both talking to one another. Borderline flirting, probably a more fitting way to describe it.
“True, because I’d be very hard to replace.” You snort with sarcasm, taking the another sip of wine.
“You would be! I love our little dates.” He smiles, the second time he’s dropped the word date in the last minute.
You’ve scooted closer to one another somehow. Shoulder to shoulder as you steal glances of his beautiful face. Maybe this was subconscious, or on purpose. But you’re drawn to him like a magnet.
“So do I…” You flush.
“I’m a little tipsy.” You clarify, breaking the searing eye contact and looking at the near-empty glass in your hand. A fourth refill would easily tip you over the edge.
He lets out a quiet laugh, “Wine gone to y’head too?”
“Mhm, and I have a track record of poor decision making when I have too much of it.” You recall the plenty of times you did the stupidest shit just because you were wine drunk. Hoping that does not happen tonight.
“Might have to see it one day.”
“One day…” you agree, but you realise that you’re not really in Italy for much longer. You have about a week and a half left now.
“I… Harry,” you turn your body to face him, and he sits up a little, noticing the almost serious tone to your voice.
“I’m leaving soon.” You blurt it out, because it’s the only topic of conversation you’ve both been steering clear of. The thing neither of you want to address because eventually this won’t be easy to do. Who knows how many miles could get out between you.
And it almost hurts you to admit yourself because… where exactly does that leave you both?
Does your contact end when you leave Italy? Do you become people who occasionally text on a bi-monthly basis?
He draws a breath, “So am I.”
You let out your own tortured sigh, turning to pop your glass on the beside table and then lean your head onto his shoulder.
Your heart jumps at the contact, and somewhere in your brain, sober Y/N lets out a gasp, because she would never have the balls to do that.
So the wine maybe was a great idea…?
He wraps an arm around your back, “I go back to London after this.”
“Second week of August as well?” You pray it’s not earlier than the start of the month, since tomorrow is literally the 1st.
“Yea, the 13th.” He nods and it’s the only tiny shred of relief you’re getting from all this. That there’s still time left.
“I fly out on the 12th.” You say quietly.
But there’s a small silence that consumes you both for the first time since you met. Because you’re kind of exasperated for options right now. What do you say to someone who is going to inevitably slip from your grip.
You shake your head at nothing in particular, moving to wrap your arms around his shoulders, since words really weren’t going to cut it.
Somewhere in his muddled brain he notes this is the second time you’ve ever initiated a hug. And he leans into it, the arm he had around your back tugging you infinitely closer.
Your cheek is pressed to his neck, and you swear you feel his lips ghosting over the top of your head.
Slowly, you pull back. And he watches you with sharp green eyes. You hold that gaze, until he’s the one that breaks it. Stifling a groan with his hand, covering his face.
You look at him quizzically.
“I like this more than I probably should.” He gestures now between the two of you.
You chuckle, a tiny flutter in your stomach announcing it’s presence.
“So we’re making the most of the time left in Italy, then?” You put forward, ready to nearly wipe your schedule clean for the man.
Which, who could blame you?
“What are y’doing tomorrow?”
“Nothing, if you’re the one asking.” You laugh, and he smiles wide at your comment.
“Oh, is that so darling?”
You roll your eyes in attempt to be convincing, “of course, you always buy me tea so…”
“Well, that decides we’re going to another cafe I suppose.” His hand reaches for his phone strewn on the quilt somewhere, pulling up google maps to find some nearby cafes.
You perch your head back onto his shoulder to watch him scroll through the options. He stumbles on a beautiful looking one, less than a 10 minute walk away. He looks to see if you approve.
He peers down to where you rest on his frame, smiling unwillingly at the sight of you. Your own eyes trailing up to meet his.
And he swears they linger on his lips. Just for a fraction of a second.
“Mh, what d’ya think.” He gets out, voice suddenly several octaves lower. Almost gravelly.
You almost audibly gulp at the sound of him. Hyperaware of his existence right now, you could nearly zone out thinking about the strength of his arm muscle that’s right now pressed against you.
“Yea… yea that looks amazing. And tomorrow, what time?” Your hands fiddle with themselves in your lap.
“How about 1, since you’re probably gonna wanna sleep in a bit.” He suggests, free hand pushing his curls from his eyes.
The way he knows you’re probably going to want to sleep in. God.
“I’m down.” (Bad)
A smile erupts over your face, and you almost forget that the clock is still ticking. That you only have so long left here.
Which ‘almost forgetting’ isn’t enough to stifle the urge to use it as some kind of yolo shit. Because that is unbelievably strong. Like why not just invite him to stay the night?
Maybe another glass of wine and you can gaslight yourself into cuddling him and just falling asleep. He wouldnt leave unless he had to, so it’s an almost flawless plan.
———
The plan infact, was flawless.
To say the least, he slept at yours. In your bed.
I mean you don’t really remember it, since you talked into the early hours of the morning and drank some more alcohol to really top it all off.
You woke up under the covers, still clutching onto Harrys side.
He was already awake, scrolling on his phone, seemingly unbothered by the fact your head had taken residency on his chest.
You take the initiative to glance at the time in the upper-right corner of his phone, a little shocked when it reads 11:47am.
You do groan at the morning light streaming in the windows immediately after seeing the time though.
“G’morning. D’ya have a headache?” He asks with what you can only assume is the end of his morning voice. Which although just a taste, is enough to send you spiralling.
It’s also around now you realise he’s stripped down into boxers— still clad in his white shirt. What the fuck!
You struggle to form a coherent response.
“Morning. A little.” Your voice comes out as a hum.
Somehow, considering you’re cuddling him right now and you literally just slept in the same bed all night, both of you outwardly are quite relaxed about it.
Nothing is awkward. It feels lovely.
“I want a croissant so bad.” You huff, sitting up, stomach growling like as if you hadn’t eaten in a whole 24 hours.
“So, you’re the kind of person that’s hungry immediately after they wake up?” He laughs, hand coming to push the locks of your bed hair out of your face.
Outside of the sheer domesticity of that (which makes you literally have heart palpitations), your hair is a proper train wreck.
The humidity in Italy has made it horrific.
“I guess I am right now?” You reply to his previous ask, combing your fingers through the locks.
“Jesus Christ.” You curse at its uncooperativeness.
“Y’know that episode of friends where Monica complains about how the humidity fucks her hair, she was so right.”
“I love friends.” He immediately gasps, nearly jolting upright in excitement.
You laugh at his enthusiastic reaction, noting that you have to somehow find time over the next week to watch an episode or two with him.
“And if it’s any consolation, I think your hair looks great.”
“Yea well, it’s not like you’d really be able to relate to the frizzy hair. Since yours look so perfect all the time.” You joke.
This evokes a genuine flush on his face, “Alright, Y/N, calm it down.”
He’s laughing but you swear he actually looks a little flustered. Without the wine as a confidence booster, he seemed like suddenly he didn’t know how to take a compliment.
Unbelievable to you since he probably gets that many a day from strangers on the street.
“I, am going to get up and get ready then, so we can go out and eat.” You state, excited to be seemingly spending the majority of the day with him.
He holds back the urge to beg you to stay in bed with him, and says something nonchalant as if he doesn’t mind you getting up. But when you pad off to the bathroom he stares at your now empty space. And immediately shivers at the lack of your body warmth, despite the already warm humid weather.
After a few trips in and out of the bathroom you come out looking beautiful. And he has to get himself up and ready to go in attempt to not overthink it.
You craved his closeness the whole time it took you to prepare for the day. Every few minutes you’d get this almost overpowering urge to just go out there and throw yourself back into his arms.
It’s borderline pathetic. But now you’ve had him in your bed, his strong arms coddled around you, it’s very hard to not to be just that. His physical presence is perfect and comforting. You’re attached to that as much as any other aspect of him.
He puts on his pants, which were folded neatly on his own bedside table, plucking out the car keys in his pocket, “Im gonna nick down to my rental car, because I have an extra button up in there, so I’ll wear that out.”
He comes back and changes into said white button up, stripping his worn shirt off and leaving it somewhere.
Just like that, you’re ready to go, and you both decide to walk the short way there. It was too nice a morning to not.
The whole walk you’re chatting away as usual. But it’s paired with this newfound physical aspect. The way you so obviously want to be close it hurts.
Yet somehow you both act like it’s nothing. That the brushes of hands and shoulder as you’re in step beside each other is a simple coincidence.
And that when you get breakfast, the two croissants and shared cookie is just a friendly thing. In your head you’re even playing off the touching all throughout breakfast.
Which sounds dirty— but just the little conversational touches. Like a hand reaching out to touch a forearm in laughter, acting as if it adds something important to the moment being shared.
Or that somehow when you leave the cafe, with two takeaway cups of tea, the hands that end up interlinked softly between the two of you is just…
Well… who even knows anymore?
Because you’re walking through italy beside Harry— who is talking about his favourite kind of playground equipment, regardless of if he’s a near thirty year old man— all while holding your hand.
And to take a moment, because it’s important, his hands are everything they’re talked up to be. Littered with chunky rings and calloused fingertips from the years of guitar playing. Yet contrasted by his soft palms, which cups yours with this delicateness it almost brings a tear to your eye.
You also pray that your own hand isn’t sweating profusely in his grasp, because you wouldn’t put a clammy hand past yourself. The already humid weather paired with your anxiety surrounding this whole situation is quite literally the match made in hell.
Nothing about this can be passed off as casual to your brain anymore. You’re literally about to implode.
But you strive to hide it. So you solider on.
“I’m a seesaw girl okay. Hear me out—“
“No, I can totally see that!” He interjects, and you chuckle at his quick agreement to your statement.
“Right? They are so much fun. And even though I nearly took a tooth out playing on one when I was 7, I can still recognise they are superior.”
To that he laughs and bumps his shoulder into yours, “I mean I love that. I’m probably a swing person, I feel like no matter the age I will always be down for it.”
You can agree that a swing is a solid second favourite for you. And as you talk about that point with him, you don’t realise you’ve walked the whole ‘scenic’ route back to your hotel until you turn the corner and the entrance is around the corner ahead. And the way you went usually takes an extra 20 minutes.
It went so fast.
“Are you gonna head off or… come back up with me?” You ask gingerly, the hand not interlaced with his fiddling with the fabric of your clothing.
“Not sick of m’yet?”
“Never…” You shake your head, smiling as he gleams at your answer.
“M’flattered. The feelings mutual love,” he chuckles, “However I do have to go remind my family I’m alive. But it’ll only take about a day until they’re pleased for me to ditch them.”
Gently runs his thumb over your knuckles, whether it be subconsciously or not, “So tomorrow night ill come back over to yours for dinner if you y’want?”
You smile, a little sappy over the way he’s working a plan out like you’re both teenagers, “Yea, thats perfect, and we can try something else off the menu.”
“Maybe, if you want,” he begins carefully, “after that you can come over to where we’re staying. Meet my mum and sister. They’ll love you.”
Now you’re nearly bursting at the seems, “Oh, I would love that, H!”
“Okay, it’s a plan then.” He agrees, pulling his keys from his pocket.
You bid your farewells for the night, unlinking hands and being left with a tingling sensation in it, one that you wonder if he’s also getting.
You go to your hotel room and feel full with joy.
He is all too sweet for this world. And you’re a little obsessed.
———
Although Italy being in Italy feels like being in a bubble, and like you’re so far away from the real world, it is unfortunately a purely mental one.
And there’s one thing about a headspace like that, and it’s just how quickly it can be popped.
At midnight that night a notification pops up on your phone, one that when you open, you have to physically put your phone down.
harryflorals:
what do i even caption this post because is that who i think it is or am i officially delusional? “HARRY WITH A FAN FROM THE LAST SHOW, HOLDING HANDS IN ITALY!” correct me if I’m wrong YALL idek anymore.
And this time, there’s no grain saving your ass. Because this was taken on what, quality wise, looks like a digital camera.
Which has made it so painstakingly obvious that it’s you. And you don’t even remember it being taken?
It was when you were walking back from the cafe, holding hands probably talking about fucking seesaws.
And everyone has caught on fast, because in the comments it’s an all out frenzy.
So, cats officially out of the bag.
———
y’all can expect a part four considering i lowkey left this on a cliffhanger 😝 so its on its way my loves
update: next part, PART 4!
taglist:
@harrystylesgirlie @purple9950 @teamspideyman @rociolunaa21 @spiritofbuddha @lemonhrry @deamus-liv @Iquvlly @kuntxrgraudunkelbunt @hsfanficsrecss @hsstylesrings @saturnheartz @victoriasigaard @lilfreakjez @mrsvxder @skxawngs @theekyliepage @hannah9921 @shiffpring @multifandomsw @roslastyles420 @slutforcoffein @kittenhere @stylesfever @butterfly-lover @daniizstyles @padf00ts-l0ver @sunflowervol18
+ all the anons who sent stuff to my submission box, thank you to you guys too, all my love
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mikavlcs · 10 months
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Dog Days
Pairing: Wednesday Addams x reader
Summary: The help you need to confess to your crush winds up coming from an incredibly unlikely (and furry) source.
Warnings: ooc!wednesday, hints of bad poetry lol, bad writing, this is another very unserious story
Word count: 3.3k
Notes: the poetry part of this request kicked my ass and you can tell LMFAO. sorry it took so long (and sorry it kinda sucks), but i hope you guys enjoy!
Masterlist | Bonus
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Confessing your feelings to someone you like was one of the most profound plights a person could ever face, you’ve decided.
Because to you, right now, there was no greater challenge to overcome, no finer show of courage than to look her in the eye and profess the nebulous depths of your infatuation without keeling over midsentence.
And this anxiety would be easier to conquer if the girl you had caught feelings for was a normie, or really any other outcast housed within Nevermore’s four walls.
But your crush was Wednesday Addams, and that more than justified the intense fear that came with the possibility of confessing.
For the past semester, Wednesday had been assigned to sit at your table in Botany, meaning that you two were almost always lab and project partners in that class. Throughout that time, she wasn’t exactly nice to you, but you’ve yet to be on the receiving end of her notoriously colorful threats, so you figured that put you somewhere friend-adjacent on the small girl’s relationship scale.
That made trying to confess to her no easier, however. Because she could literally just kill you if she decided it wasn’t good enough. If she decided you weren’t good enough.
You hoped knew she wouldn’t considering your short but cordial history, but she technically could.
Now despite her reputation (and the previously outlined possibility of murder), Wednesday never scared you. She certainly tried. You’d lost count of how many grisly medieval torture facts she offered up while working together, but they never had the intended effect of instilling fear into you. Not even once. The absurdity of it made you laugh more often than not.
But, while she didn’t scare you, she did intimidate you. Even now, months and a fully developed crush later, she could render you speechless with a single look.
That immediately did away with the possibility of a verbal confession since you were sure your vocal cords would cease operation before you could even properly start, leaving you staring at her like an idiot. So you were left to figure out another way. And after days of careful deliberation, you decided upon the vessel with which you would confess your feelings.
A poem.
Yes, it was stupid and cliché, but it was something you were familiar with, and you figured Wednesday might have at least some appreciation for it considering she herself was an aspiring writer. But very soon, you came face to face with a problem.
Wednesday herself constantly strived for perfection in every facet of life, so you knew that if anyone were to attempt to court her, she would be expecting no less from them as well.
Everything about this poem—diction, rhythm, rhyme, form—had to be superlative, efficient while effectively flawless.
It needed to be perfect and you just…couldn’t get it there.
Attempt after attempt wound up in your garbage, the papers overflowing out of the small pail by your desk while your hope slowly diminished with each failure. After the 27th trashed page, you knew you needed to stop and recoup.
This approach obviously wasn’t working, so you had to find a different one and to do that, you needed incentive. You needed inspiration. You needed the creative ascension that came with reading good, fresh poetry.
The only issue was that all of your poetry collections were well-worn, memorized from cover to cover. Though you could never tire of them, you knew they wouldn’t provide the spark of creativity you needed.
So you took a trip to the small bookstore in Jericho since the school library had very little in the way of poetry and picked up a few that caught your eye.
You were on your way to catch the shuttle back when you heard it.
A high-pitched yip rose from the alley you had just walked past, making you pause. Curious (and without much else to do), you stepped back to peer into the alley, and you let out a gasp.
Just down the alleyway was a small puppy, covered head to toe in gorgeous gold fur. A golden retriever, your mind helpfully supplied. He didn’t notice you, entirely too preoccupied tearing up an old newspaper to care about your gawking, but you were entranced.
And without your usual forms of impulse control (your teachers and parents) there with you, your mind was made up in an instant.
A twenty-minute trip to the local pet store saw you ready to leave town a few hundred dollars lighter and many bags heavier. You got all the essentials—food, toys, a collar and a leash, a bed, bowls, and whatnot.
All that was left was getting the dog.
Quietly approaching, you set your bags down against the mouth of the alleyway and crept closer to the puppy, careful not to startle him as he stalked a bug of some sort. Once you were within a few feet, you crouched and tore open one of the treat bags you bought. The noise got the retriever’s attention, and he stopped his pursuit to watch you, intrigued.
A soft smile made its way onto your face while you fished a treat out and held it out. It took no time at all for the pup to curiously trot over. He sniffed it for a moment, thoroughly inspecting the cookie before devouring it and looking back up at you expectantly, tail wagging furiously in the air behind him.
With a laugh, you offered him another one, then another, and another. And just like that, a friendship was formed.
The driver barely gave you a second glance when you waltzed into the shuttle with your bags and the dog, just waited for you to be seated and pulled off onto the main road. Definitely not protocol, but you imagined he wasn’t being paid nearly enough to care.
When Nevermore’s castle-like features came into view ten minutes later, you realized with a jolt that there was one thing you hadn’t accounted for: actually trying to smuggle this puppy into the school.
Given that the shuttle was already parked, you had no time for strategy. As you stepped back onto campus, your only plan was to make a mad dash for your dorm. And, after tucking the puppy inside your shirt, that’s exactly what you did. Or tried to do. You only got halfway through your journey when Yoko intercepted you in one of the halls.
“Hey! I see someone went shopping today,” she commented, giving the plethora of bags you were holding a humorous look. “Preparing for a zombie outbreak or something?”
“Something like that,” you answered, taking a step around her, but she moved with you and started matching your hurried strides.
“So, you ready for that Vampire Anatomy test tomorrow? Personally, I think I’m gonna ace it,” she smiled, fangs flashing in the overhead light. You shot her a look, because, of course, a vampire would ace that test.
You opened your mouth, a scathing retort on the tip of your tongue, but the pup chose that moment to show his restlessness, flailing his little limbs violently under the fabric of your shirt.
“Uh,” Yoko slowed at your side, brows drawn above her sunglasses. She pointed at your stomach, where the puppy was violently squirming. “What’s going on there?”
You glanced away, mouth opening and closing. Hard as you tried to come up with a plausible excuse, none came, so you said the first thing that came to mind.
“I’m pregnant.”
Poor Yoko looked positively baffled. You ran before she could say anything else.
The sprint back to your dorm was blessedly uneventful, allowing you to stumble inside with minimal issue. Thankfully, your roommate was out, so you wouldn’t need to deal with any more questions for the time being. You set the puppy down on the floor, letting him explore his new surroundings while you set his things up.
Once his bed, bowls, and toys were in place, your attention turned to another pressing issue. The pup needed a name.
Dozens of names crossed your mind in the minutes that followed, but none of them fit the energetic boy in front of you. Pondering, you watched leisurely as the retriever dragged his new leash across the floor. The sunlight pouring through the window softly bounced off his golden fur while he pranced around your room, leash still securely in his mouth.
A metaphorical light bulb clicked on and in that moment, you gave him the most beautiful, poetic name your mind graced you with.
-
“Choklit!”
The puppy in question froze and looked up at you, short tail wagging dutifully. He was already giving you his best puppy dog eyes, but you knew better than to fall for them. You moved to stand in front of him, hands on your hips.
“We’ve talked about this. Edgar Allen Poe’s collected works are not a chew toy!” You moved the book away from him, held up a blue squeaky toy in its place. “This is what you play with, got it?”
He offered you a yip in response, tail wagging a mile a minute as you handed him the bone-shaped toy. “And remember, play lightly!” you tagged on as he tumbled off his bed.
Principal Weems hesitantly allowed you to keep the puppy on the agreement that your roommate agreed to him (which she did, ecstatically) and that he not be too loud in the room. By some miracle of god, you had been able to abide by that rule for the past two weeks.
Hopefully, your luck would persist.
With him placated, you turned back to the task at hand—finishing your poem. It was coming together, a solid vision of your end goal forming. And after another ten minutes of brainstorming the last line—a woefully overdramatic would you go on a date with me? that hopefully wouldn’t get you killed in your sleep—it was finished.
You pushed back against your desk and leaned your head against the back of your chair, taking a moment to rest. Then, sitting back up, you reread the poem carefully.
A wave of inadequacy crashed into you as you ran back through the words you just wrote. Something about it just wasn’t right, but you couldn’t pinpoint exactly what.
Was the rhythm off? Were the rhymes varied enough? Outside of that, was your prose structured competently? Was the poem too much? Was it not enough? Five rereads only heeded more questions and no answers.
Frustrated, you balled the paper up and threw it behind you, already priming another paper to begin the poem anew.
The telltale pattering of paws reached your ears, turning to find Choklit nosing at the crumbled paper. With a sigh, you walked over and went to pick it up. “Sorry, bud, but my personal failures as a poet are not your toys.”
Choklit, thinking it was a game, quickly snatched the ball up in his mouth and bowed, sending light growls your way. Though you knew it wouldn’t help, you raised your hands in surrender and leaned back.
“I’m not trying to play. I just need that—” You tried to swipe it from his mouth, but he bounced backward and rushed toward the door.
At that exact moment, your roommate returned from choir practice, opening the door just in time for Choklit to run out with the paper in tow. You scrambled to your feet, edging past her into the mostly empty hallway.
“Sorry!” she yelled after you, to which you just waved.
“It’s fine! I got him,” you threw back at her just before you turned a corner in pursuit of the retriever.
You had to admit, the little guy was fast. Faster than you thought he would be (or maybe you just needed to exercise more…who knew). Bewildered students parted for you as you gave chase, giving them a quick thank you! as you kept your eyes on the golden blur ahead.
He toppled down another hallway, one you knew led to a dead end. You grinned and picked up the pace, intent on scooping him up, only to skid to a sudden stop after you turned the corner.
Because there Choklit was, sniffing around at familiar black boots while pale hands smoothed out the paper the puppy dropped before her. You were frozen, trying to figure out whether this was real or some terrible lucid dream.
Wednesday’s cold timbre inadvertently answered your question.
“I didn’t think they allowed dogs on campus,” the girl remarked, giving the puppy at her feet an inquisitive look. Your response came without thinking.
“You live with a werewolf, don’t you?” Your eyes widened. The comment was meant as a joke but could easily be interpreted as an insult. And knowing how close the two had gotten over the past few months, the last thing you wanted to do was accidentally mock Enid.
You watched Wednesday closely, but the only physical response you received was the slightest raise of her brows.
“That was almost funny.” Her words were delivered with her trademark deadpan stare, but you could hear the slightest hint of humor threaded into her neutral tone. Looking for attention, Choklit stood on his hind legs and pawed at Wednesday’s shin, giving her a clear view of the tag on his collar. The disapproval in her voice was clear as day. “You named it…Choklit?”
You gave a half-hearted shrug, pulling out a grin full of confidence you absolutely did not feel. “Can’t be a literary genius all the time.”
“I’m sure,” she retorted sarcastically, holding your unsure gaze for another moment before turning back to the paper in her hand. You followed her eyes and stepped forward with a grimace.
“Sorry, that’s… you weren’t supposed to see that.” You tried to take the paper, but Wednesday stepped back, moving the paper out of your reach.
“It’s addressed to me.”
“That it is,” you conceded with a sigh, “but it was never intended to actually be delivered to you.”
Wednesday hummed. “Well, it seems your dog disagrees.” With that, she turned her attention to the poem. You were tempted to try and take it again, but you liked having your hand attached to your body, so you resisted.
Impatiently, you waited as her eyes ran along the lines slowly, your anxiousness building with every passing moment of excruciating silence until finally, she met your gaze once more.
“A few things to note,” she began, tone much too studious for the occasion. “I applaud the fact that you made the decision not to write a sonnet. They’re easily the most overblown, abominable form of poetry and I would have had to burn this if it was.”
She gave you a small nod. “Now, I will say that I’m a bit disappointed. This certainly could have been written in perfect rhyme rather than end rhyme, but since you said this wasn’t your final draft, I’m willing to give you a pass for this oversight. Mostly. And while AABB isn’t the most complex rhyme scheme, it’s just tolerable enough here to not detract from the poem as a whole.”
You gaped. She was making the same type of comments that your teachers would when they graded your assignments. If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was reading off the notes from a book report and not talking about a literal love confession.
The ridiculousness of the situation pulled a wry laugh from your throat, but you were quickly silenced with a harsh glare. Once you quieted, she continued, “The biggest problem I see is that this poem is lacking in length, having only a measly 12 lines. A few more couplets would have made this feel more complete.”
“Now onto the poem itself. Though your vernacular pales in comparison to mine, I will admit that your vocabulary is surprisingly expansive considering what you named your pet.” She sent Choklit a pointed look. “Furthermore, I appreciate the use of alliteration in lines like ‘A mind molded by misery and mischief’ and ‘Down into the dark depths of a dreadfully early grave’ but feel it could’ve been utilized more throughout. The mixture of masculine and feminine rhyme is interesting, though choosing one could have aided with overall cohesion.”
You just stood and stared, silently taking in her thoughts and critiques because it was all you could do. She paused, folded the paper neatly in her hand, but still didn’t give it back to you.
“In conclusion, parts of this are noticeably undercooked, but the simple act of reading it doesn’t make me want to purge my insides. I acknowledge the effort you put forth to tailor this poem to me and my interests and will admit that being described as ‘the purest of darkness personified’ is almost flattering.”
A nervous chuckle escaped before you could quell it, but this time she allowed it, her stare remaining blank. You cleared your throat, injected some joviality into your tone. “Great, so uh…do I get an A+?”
“B-, actually,” she amended, running over the folded page with her eyes. “Maybe even a C+.”
At that point, you swore you could feel the humiliation seeping into the very essence of your being. But you were determined not to let it show, to preserve what tiny amount of dignity you had left.
“Okay, well, I’m just gonna take that back and then go vanish off the face of the Earth so we never have to see each other again.” You gave her a pained smile and reached for the paper, only for her to snatch it out of your reach with a glare.
She glanced down to Choklit, who was seemingly enjoying the drama as his eyes ping-ponged between you two, then to the paper again. Another long moment passed before she looked back at you.
“I never said no.”
You blinked a few times, confused. “What?”
“The proposition outlined at the end of the poem,” she clarified, “I never said no.”
“You…” you began to repeat but trailed off as the realization of what she was implying really began to sink in. “Wait, I—you…you can’t possibly mean…”
Growing visibly impatient, Wednesday cut off your verbal meltdown. “Meet me outside the school gates after light’s out this Saturday. I get to pick the activity.”
The unsettling smile she gave you felt like a bad omen, but you couldn’t care less, still fighting off the incredulity clouding your mind. You opened your mouth to respond but when no words came, you settled for a hurried nod.
“Good,” Wednesday peered out the window momentarily. “Now, I must be going. Eugene is expecting me. I will see you Saturday and if you’re late then you’ll be the next autopsy I perform.”
Carefully, she stepped around your puppy and walked off without another word, leaving you to ponder what the hell just happened.
“Oh my god,” you whispered to no one in particular. Again, louder this time, “Oh my god!” At the sound of your excitement, Choklit came scampering over and you bent down to meet him. He stood on his hind legs, bracing his front paws on your knee. “Did you hear that, boy? The poem actually worked!”
He gave you a yip in return, tiny tail a blur behind him. You rubbed your hand along his back, chuckling at the fervent licks your hands received in return.
Only after a student skirted past you both did you realize that you were still in the middle of a hall. You promptly scooped Choklit up with both hands and cradled him by your chest, looking down at him as you began your way back to your dorm.
“Come on, let’s go get some treats. I owe you big time, buddy.”
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foone · 10 months
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I understand the technical reasons* why it happens but I hate that a lot of times the trans flag emoji shows up as 🏳️ ⚧️.
FIX YOUR UNICODE + EMOJI SUPPORT, EVERYWHERE.
It's often even inconsistent within a single site. Like it'll show up properly in usernames, but then break in page titles.
*Flags are a nightmare in unicode because they can't just encode specific flags or even specific countries, so there's a whole thing where flags are not codepoints, but instead there's a special Flag Alphabet and you make flags by encoding country names (accordin g to ISO 3166-1 Alpha-2, of course) with the Flag Alphabet. So, like, instead of there being a codepoint for the american flag, you just write [Regional Indicator Symbol Letter U][Regional Indicator Symbol Letter S], or "🇺🇸", which should show up as an american flag. It doesn't seem to work here for Reasons.
Anyway, since Trans People aren't a country (YET), they decided to do something different: It's a ZWJ emoji!
Zero Width Joiners are a trick used in a bunch of places in emojispace to do variants. It's a used to glue multiple symbols together to make new emoji without needing to define new code points, with a hopefully sensible fallback. So like, when there's a symbol for, like, "postal worker", you can get a "female postworker" emoji by doing [female emoji][ZWJ][postal worker]" and the rendering engine is supposed to apply a gender-specific variant of the emoji for this.
So to make the trans flag, they used a generic flag 🏳️ [U-1F3F3 WAVING WHITE FLAG] , then an emoji selector (which just says "render this as emoji"), then a ZWJ, then the preexisting trans symbol ⚧️ [U-26A7 MALE WITH STROKE AND MALE AND FEMALE SIGN], then another emoji selector. So it's actually five characters, and your browser is trying very hard to render it as one. or two, depending.
I JUST WANT IT TO WORK. I know why it doesn't, and unicode is hard, but still. I want trans flags everywhere and everyday and in everything I type. my keyboard should have a trans flag button. in fact, why haven't I made that yet? time to order a custom keycap and get to programming.
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akutasoda · 3 months
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i can stay, if you want? part 2
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synopsis - after particular warm nights, you decide to shed some clothing - how do they react?
includes - dazai, nikolai
warnings - gn!reader, fluff, slight crack, reader is mentioned to be shirtless, wc - 761
a/n: this was requested by @lazarokimaar
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osamu dazai ★↷
the agency accomodations were pretty basic but they still did their job and, if the owner bothered, were rather clean. but unfortunately dazai wasn't really in a rush to take care of himself properly let alone his residence. so it was no surprise that the already bad ventilation was made worse.
but that did little to bother dazai. he rarely slept a whole night anyway. but ever since you proposed living together, he actually bothered to tidy up - to some extent. to the extent of hiding bottles of sake and tins of crab and bothering to clean.
but no amount of cleaning could change how much more humid and warm it would become during warmer weather. and it wasn't really helped that dazai became rather clingy when you were directly next to him.
you had woken up due to being too warm and even though you were desperate too cool down but dazai had finally managed to fall asleep and was practically glued to you back. you didn't really have a solution at that point to cooling down seeing as dazai had already hogged the blankets.
however when you came up with the solution of shedding some clothes and shuffled around to be able to take your top off, dazai woke up. and now seeing as he was awake you saw no problem in tearing him off you. he looked at you with some confusion.
he was going to ask what you were doing but his question was quickly answered as you shrugged your top off and over your head. and you'd spent long enough with dazai to know what he was going to day affter you took your top off but you quickly silenced him by explaining it was too warm.
and as you laid back down you were confused as to why a pair of bandaged arms didn't immediately wrap themselves around your mid section. so you turned you head to face him and ask if there was an issue.
normally you would expect dazai to care little of your state of undress and act as normal but he faced a lottle bit of inner conflict. he didn't want to cross any boundaries with you, fearing that if he did so he'd push you away and lose you.
but from your question he nodded and just said he was 'admiring the view' before he placed his arms around ypur mid section and placed his head in the crook of your neck. and now if anything he was a little dumbfounded. how could someone as great as you trust him this much. but he didn't want to dally on that as for the moment he wanted just to hold you in his embrace.
nikolai gogol ★↷
seeing as nikolai hadn't been in yokohama that long, he didn't really have much of a place to actually stay. normally just cramping in on his colleagues. and when he met you after a while he started thinking - what would be even better than moving in with the person he loved most.
he adored your space no matter how big or small it was. but unfortunately it also became the victim to an unfortunate increase in warm weather. warm enough that any ventilation or fans because rendered rather useless.
even if you stripped away all your bedding, sheets and whatever else you would normally have it didn't seem to work.
mainly because nikolai was rather clingy sometimes, that or he had absolutely no personal space awareness. either way he only added to the rather intense heat. and if you were going to fix this you would have to start by prying yourself out of his grip.
and once you did, you took of the layers necessary to cool down before slipping back into bed. and almost immediately nikolai gripped back on to you proving your efforts to cool down to be rather useless but atleast it was a start.
after a while, nikolai had woken up while you were just trying to get back to sleep. he noticed your wardrobe change rather immediately and began teasing you. and in your half asleep state you still managed to elbow him. to which he stopped.
but then he became very acutely aware of the situation and hesitated for a moment until you gave him a rather sleepy nod of reassurance that you were still fine with him cuddling you. to which he took and happily retook his place beside you. and yet he still teased you in the morning about it.
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yuzurins · 4 months
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# to tell you the truth
07 — you're being jealous
smau masterlist ∗ previous chapter ∗ next chapter
“sure, let’s get one for us all.”
if rin thought he was going crazy from not being able to believe what he was hearing, then you were absolutely insane for agreeing to bachira’s offer. for a person who was admittedly petty, it was way out of your comfort zone for you to voluntarily sit with someone that haunted every single one of your highschool memories. 
you could see it on his face, too. despite him trying to hide his distraught, you were able to make out even the slightest downturn of his mouth; he was really uncomfortable sharing a table.
isagi and chigiri gave each other a look after sensing the tension between you two. 
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isagi cautiously takes a look at you to see if you noticed their texting, but you were staring intensely at your fingernails to even see them take out their phones.
“y/n, you’re going to get wrinkles.” isagi pokes your forehead, though he regrets doing so immediately after as he can feel rin glaring holes in the side of his head now.
snapping out of your daze, you put your hand on your forehead and frown at him. “yoi, that actually hurt!”
“yoi?” rin mumbles. taken aback by what you’ve just heard, you try and get a glimpse at his face,  but he’s averting his gaze and staring at his hands. 
“yes?” isagi answers. he’s equally as confused as the other boy.
“short for yoichi.” you furrow your brows. “what’s wrong with that?”
a frown appears on rin’s face, but he doesn’t lift his head. “nothing. it sounds like a girl’s name.”
“what! no it doesn’t!” isagi exclaims in defense. “are you saying i act like a girl?”
“i’m just saying, people would definitely automatically assume you’re a girl with a nickname like that.”
“it’s literally the first word of my given name? what do you mean by that?”
“yeah, and it sounds like a girl’s–”
“what’s the problem with that?” crossing your arms, you glare at isagi and rin, receiving a guilty look from both of them. 
awkward silence befalls the table as your remark shuts everyone up. 
it was more than obvious why rin had decided to question your nickname for isagi, but what right does he have to be jealous? does he think he still has a say in what you do with your life?  it’s not like it was a bad nickname. at least his name allows for him to have a nickname. at least he’s happy whenever he gets called a nickname. 
bachira coughs and breaks the silence. “it’s okay! i like it, yoi.” he smiles. “i should go order now.’
you wonder if he’s saying that to get out of this mess, but regardless, still nod in acknowledgement.
“oh! i should go get my food too.” chigiri chimes. he looks to the boy sitting next to him and you can tell he’s trying to improve the situation. “rin, you coming?”
“no. i’ll stay.” rin grumbles, and you roll your eyes.
chigiri shrugs. “okay… suit yourself.”
now it’s just you, rin and isagi remaining at the table, starting yet another staring contest to happen between the three of you, so you take matters into your own hands.
“itoshi, if you’re going to be jealous–” you start, but rin cuts you off. he widens his eyes and slams his palm on the table.
“can we talk about this privately?” he whisper-yells, struggling to look at you in the eye properly. 
you raise a brow, but agree reluctantly and get up to follow rin out of the store. isagi gives you an understanding look as you return an apologetic one and mouth the words, “i’ll be quick”.
the bell from the door jingles as the two of you step out and walk over to sit at the bench in front of the store. despite being ready to tell rin off in the store, the tension in the atmosphere with him alone renders you speechless. the words are right on your tongue, but it feels like his intimidating pressure constraints your throat from letting it out.
much to your surprise (and relief), rin breaks the silence. “i can’t believe you actually agreed to share a table.” he exhales, as if he is talking to himself. “you, the one who didn’t even want to sell books to me.”
you scoff audibly. “what? you’re the one who pretended to not know me first.”
he blinks in disbelief. “what did you just say?”
“what?”
“oh my god.”
you look over and rin has his head in his hands, but you’re beyond confusion as to why he reacted like this. “what??” you question, but instead it comes out like a demand for an answer.
“you know what- forget it. it’s not worth explaining to you even.” rin sighs and you’re even more confused. “go home and reflect on it yourself. now tell me why you needed to talk to me in the first place.”
curiosity clouds your train of thought but seeing as how rin doesn’t want to explain and that pressing him won’t do anything, you go on with your original plan.
“it’s obvious you’re being jealous.” you say, directly, and continue before he can interrupt. “but bachira doesn’t know about…” you point to you and rin, before shuddering and saying, “us, so i am asking you to refrain from doing so because it’s uncomfortable.”
despite noticing your disgust, rin carries on nonchalantly. “i know he doesn’t know.”
“so why do you keep acting weird!?”
“i’m just saying my true thoughts.”
you groan. “you’re so emotionally unaware sometimes.”
there’s a pause until rin retorts back. he looks away before speaking. “and you’re the biggest hypocrite to ever exist.” 
“okay, end of conversation.” you clench your fist and stand up to return back inside, because arguing with rin was like talking to a stone wall. he’s unbelievably stubborn, but so were you. 
he scoffs and follows behind you shortly after.
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throughout the course of the hour-long lunch, rin was unexpectedly quiet. he didn’t speak unless spoken to, and he spent his time eating his food rather than engaging in meaningless conversation. to an outsider perspective, it could look like he was listening to the rest of his friends talk, but in reality, he was deep in thought, questioning the conversation he had had with you outside. 
he can’t believe the audacity you had to say that he was the one pretending to be strangers first when you were the one who originally ghosted him all those years back. back when rin had given up on love after his brother, back when he was at his worst after his mom’s accident, and back when simply waking up every day was getting hard for him, you were the highlight of his days. you, a mere 17-year-old high school student, who rin unknowingly let hold and dictate his everyday life. but although you had built his life up from rock bottom, that was the sole reason why it completely destroyed him when you left. 
just as rin had started to believe in love again, all that belief that had been built after sae’s desertion came crashing down, resulting in a state much worse than before. he was a fool, to experience betrayal once but to let you play him exactly the same way as he had been before.
these thoughts couldn’t stop running in his head at that small table, during the lunch he never wanted to have, with the people he never wanted to meet. he couldn’t stop thinking about all those memories you shared with him and the period of absolute loneliness he felt after them, all whilst you were sitting a foot away from him, without an inkling of worry or doubt.
though not everyone wasn’t without a worry. just as everyone was leaving and walking back to campus together, rin notices one approaching him.
“hey rin,” bachira pauses in his steps, catching up to where rin was walking behind the group. “i hope i’m not overstepping, but is everything okay?”
rin blinks. he wasn’t expecting bachira out of everyone to notice. if anything, he thought that bachira would be the one to blurt something out to try and tease him. “yeah, why?”
bachira gives him a unconvinced look. “you’ve been uncharacteristically quiet, and you looked really deep in thought the entire lunch.”
“i’m fine,” he lies. “am i not usually quiet?”
the other boy hums as he skips ahead, walking backwards to look at rin. “no, not really.”
“oh.”
“or well! usually, you’re like the passive type of quiet, but today, you were like… the sad type of quiet.” bachira notes, and rin is surprised. 
he ends up laughing at the shorter boy’s concern. “thanks, i guess.” 
bachira tilts his head at his response. “hm? why thanks?”
“nothing. i’m fine, don’t worry about me.” rin smiles. “now go back to the rest of the group, they miss you already.”
“huh?” bachira continues to question, but he gets pushed forward by rin before he can get a response. “rin, you’re scaring me!”
“i said, don’t worry about it!” 
“okay,” bachira giggles. “as long as you’re smiling now!”
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notes: HII IT'S BEEN SO LONG. I'M SORRY FOR DISAPPEARING PLEASE TAKE THIS SHITTY CHAPTER AS I GET BACK INTO THE GROOVE OF WRITING !!!!!!! it's just simple dialogue i'm not going to write anything literature worthy pls
pairing ∗ itoshi rin x f!reader
synopsis — all you wanted was a peaceful and productive uni life, but despite your pleas, your plans start crumbling when the star of the football team, itoshi rin, begins to beat you in every aspect possible. as you confront the inevitable, what happens when you uncover secrets behind an unforgettable event from the past?
taglist ∗ send an ask / comment to be added or removed
@kitorin @starthz @jleijl @rintosei @strawberrypockybox @beanxiv @ode2rin @h4nman @hanmastattoos @kaitfae @idk-bro-gay @piichuu @wishiknewwhatiwasdoingwithmylife @invictax @chaosinanutshell @exatse @kirameki-kumo @heartsoji @mellozhi @certaindreampost @limerence-lu @nutsinspector @kawaii-angelanne @rroxii @saesins @anngelllla @anurst @y-sabell-a @hellothere9597 @evilenchantresss @msameikanevaeh @saesofficialwife @reiners-milkbiddies @f1yh1gh @celioderso @amenial @wooasecret @kascar-chronicle @izonoi @biaonww @blissblossom (if your name is in bold it means i can't tag you)
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The F-Word (BR) - A Gwynriel One-Shot for Gwynrielweeks2024
@gwynrielweeksofficial My first of two contributions to this years Gwynriel weeks, yay!
Thread: After Azriel accidentially hurt Gwyn in training, his apparent lack of care makes her question the true depth of their friendship.
word count: 4.2k
warnings: faint swearing, miscommunication
“I will kill him.”
Healing salve was applied generously to Gwyn’s throbbing wrist. The overwhelming smell of peppermint and oak bark put her frayed nerves at ease, and she was finally able to relax into the soft cushions despite the flash of pain that racked up her arm and into her shoulder.
“I will rip out every hair on his head one by one.”
A bandage snaked its way around her wrist, the gentle but firm hand guiding it nearly shaking with anger.
“I will plunge his oh-so-dangerous knife in his oh-so-dangerous head and see if he’ll still have enough bravado to hurt you then.” Nesta continued to wrap the bandage around and around Gwyn’s wrist and secured it with a pin as she continued to mutter unintelligible curses with venom in her voice. Like an over-protective ghoul squatting in the attic.
The priestess snorted, testing the stability of the wrap by flicking her arm back and forth cautiously. “You know he didn’t do it on purpose. I don’t think he even noticed what happened.”
Nesta levelled a stare at her that would have sent lesser females running. “And why would that be? What could possibly have happened for Azriel to not notice he sprained your wrist during training?”
Gwyn averted her gaze, lest Nesta see the faint smile that stole itself on her lips. “Maybe because I pretended it didn’t happen?”
The female kneeling before her rolled her eyes dramatically and got up to discard the medical items.
“It was my fault anyways”, Gwyn stated quickly, trying to calm down her best friend, “I didn’t warm up properly. No wonder my wrist couldn’t handle his weight without preparation.”
What a white lie that was…
Nesta scoffed, clearly not in the least convinced of Azriel’s innocence. “He is your instructor. He should know better. Especially when its just the two of you. The bat doesn’t have any reason to not dedicate every ounce of his attention to you when you train in the evenings.”
It was true that Azriel technically just had one trainee during their nightly sessions. The extra attention he paid her was only one of the many perks. But also the reason for her downfall.
“Let it go, Nes. It’s no big deal. Give it five days and it’ll be as good as new.”, Gwyn murmured, absentmindedly testing the bandage. Thankfully, Az had only rendered her non-dominant hand useless. Maybe he didn’t even have to know and she could ask Cassian to focus on leg training tomorrow morning-
“Five days where you can’t lift a shield, let alone weights. Not to mention having to slow down your library work.”, Nesta retorted seriously while observing Gwyn with a hawk’s eye.
Gwyn sighed, letting her head fall back on the couch. There was no denying it, was there? It went against every fiber of her being, but she needed to tell Azriel and Cassian that she sustained an injury during training.
Her ego will have to take the hit.
It wasn’t that injuring herself was so difficult for her to handle, it was more so how it happened that brought a wave of heat to her cheeks.
Because she did in fact warm up properly. Mother, the incident happened during the last ten minutes of training, every muscle – wrist included – had been ready for combat.
So how was she supposed to tell everyone that she was too busy losing herself in Azriel’s eyes to pay attention?
“I’ll tell Cassian tonight and he’ll relay it to Az.”, Nesta decided, clearly taking Gwyn’s lack of argument for permission.
The priestess nodded, heaving herself out of the comfy cushion and bidding Nesta goodbye.
As she lay in her dorm room a few hours later, cradling her injured wrist close to her chest, she debated whether or not skipping tomorrow’s training would be worth the trouble.
Nesta didn’t wait for Cassian to come home.
No, as soon as she heard the door down the hall clicking shut gently, she was out of her chair and on her way to kick some Illyrian ass. Even if that ass had more than a few inches on her.
“Az, may I come in?”, she shouted through the door while simultaneously knocking. The Shadowsinger probably sensed her agitation and opened after a few heartbeats, still in his leathers and eying her with a wary gaze.
“Nesta.”, he greeted her, stepping aside to let her in when noticing her expression. The male was smart enough to sense when her anger was directed at him.
She stormed into his room, turning around to a confused looking Azriel.
“Care to take a guess why I’m here?”, Nesta asked, her voice dangerously low.
Azriel had the decency to look mildly concerned. After thinking it through, he concluded to not have done anything wrong and wordlessly shook his head in her direction.
“Something to do with Gwyn in training?”, she prompted, angling her head.
Azriel crossed his hands before his chest, leaning back against the door. “With Berdara? Do you mean tonight or another day?”
“Tonight.”, Nesta replied, “During hand-to-hand-combat.”
She could have sworn a little blush crept into his cheeks, but it might have been there from the start. She was too agitated to care. “Nes, I seriously have no idea what you are talking about. Did I do something wrong?”
Nesta let out a long-suffering sigh. Honestly, didn’t his job entail paying attention to details? “You managed sprained her wrist during training. She came to me just an hour ago to have it set and bandaged.”
Silence ensured.
She expected her words to have some effect on him. After all, the two of them seemed quite close. But the pure horror that slowly took over every feature of his was another thing.
“I did what?”, Azriel whispered, body taunt with shock.
“She says it’ll probably heal in a few days. But she obviously shouldn’t do any training – morning or night – in the meantime. I wanted you to know that, just in case she shows up tomorrow pretending it didn’t happen.”, Nesta added, trying to calm him down again. She’d wanted him to grovel a bit, but now he seemed dangerously close to suffering an aneurism. “She’d rather have kept it a secret and suffer through her exercises than telling you. So I did.”
If it was possible, Azriel looked even more crestfallen at that. A low curse escaped him, and Nesta took that as her cue to leave.
As she approached the door, she paused to put a hand on his arm. “I didn’t tell you to make you feel bad.” Well, maybe a little bit. “Don’t be too hard on yourself. She’ll live. And you are both fools for how you acted.”
Azriel nodded, but it was so absent-minded that Nesta turned to leave him to his thoughts, bidding him goodnight quietly.
His reaction left her wondering, though. Had she been too harsh? If it got Gwyn a heartfelt apology and maybe some sweets to make it up to her, it might not have been too much. But the Mother knew Azriel was an overthinker. She only hoped that, whatever was going on between them for Gwyn not to admit to an injury would soon be mended.
She did it. She skipped training.
Throughout the whole day, Gwyn felt rotten to the core. She had never abandoned her responsibilities, at the very least not without explaining herself properly. Nesta had probably informed the two Illyrians by now, and the other priestesses had noticed the glaringly white bandage, but still – it felt so wrong to sit on all these weird feelings towards Azriel, to not talk to him as regularly as she used to.
It felt like abandoning him.
And only the Gods and Gwyn new how that made the already confusing and borderline frightening emotions she harbored towards him more complicated.
She realized it was wholly her fault. She should have admitted to the injury right away, blaming a loose stone on the ground, or an errand shadow or anything for her mess-up. But no. As soon as his arms had wrapped around hers from behind, as soon as she twisted her head to meet his gaze, she was lost. Utterly and hopelessly caught up in whatever daydream it was that took over her mind at that moment. And she didn’t have the capacity to free herself as he sent her tumbling down, painfully bending her wrist in the process.
She’d laughed it off, turning her back to him to stabilize and feel out the injury, all while joking that ‘at least he bested her once this entire session’. When she faced him again, he’d looked away too quickly for his eyes to linger on her form and suggested a water break.
Gwyn couldn’t pinpoint exactly when her feelings for him had taken such a turn. When their nightly talks or training sessions became a little less accidental, but rather more and more anticipated. She only knew that one morning, when her alarm allowed her a few more minutes to slumber in bed, her mind had drifted to him.
And it continued to do so until now.
She sincerely hoped she would get a grip on herself, or she’d completely ruin their friendship.
If Azriel didn’t manage to do it first.
Days after the accident, Gwyn’s wrist still too sore for training, the Shadowsinger remained as silent as death. No note, no impromptu lunch visits. Gwyn even trekked up the stairs one night, hoping to catch him waiting for her on the roof of the house. But it was Gwyn who ended up waiting for hours in the cold, without any luck. Not even Nesta had a message to relay on his behalf when they met for their weekly reading night.
It left a sour feeling in her stomach. Friends were supposed to take equal interest in each other. And Nesta assured her she informed Az of her injury. What was keeping him back, then?
Another long day of work passed and Gwyn returned from evening service, walking into the dimly lit hall that contained some of the priestess’s dormitories.
And stopping dead in her tracks when she beheld the massive bouquet of flowers that adorned her doorstep.
Peonies and tulips, lilac and lavender in the most beautiful hues of white and purple made the whole hall smell like spring. With measured steps, Gwyn crouched down to retrieve the card attached to the crown of the bouquet. The handwriting itself made her heart flutter with excitement.
Dear Gwyn,
please accept this as the first of many apologies to come for by behavior in training and afterwards. I hope you are feeling better.
Your friend (?) Azriel
The priestess’s brows scrunched in confusion. She appreciated the gesture, but something in his message bothered her. She read it again, and again, gaze snagging on his signature. And just like that, with as small of a symbol as that question mark, Gwyn’s smile was whiped clean off her face, her heart plummeting into her stomach.
Her friend. The word in itself should have been enough to elicit a little happy dance. Because that was what Azriel was to her, and so much more. It was a first step, the first time she heard him reciprocating the feeling.
But the question mark put the virtual nail in the coffin of her affection.
He either thought so little of their friendship he thought it breaking at the slightest mishap, or, and Gwyn’s lungs fought for air at the thought, he didn’t really consider them friends.
And it made sense. She never heard him say it. They never let a few days pass without seeing each other, but it took him a whole week to ask for her? Mother, she didn’t even know if he came willingly to their nightly training, or if he was ordered to – keeping an eye on the unstable female he had to save and making sure she didn’t crumble under pressure.
On some nights, she had poured out her heart to him and he had listened, comforted her, just as she had on nights where his own façade revealed the hurt and shame he carried around.
It couldn’t have been a lie, could it?
Gwyn’s thoughts spiraled, feelings of being unworthy of his affection eagerly feeding on her uncertainty. Until she was sure: he only sent flowers because he accidentally hurt one of the frail and traumatized priestesses and felt bad about it. Clearly not because they were friends.
Gwyn picked up the flowers and, trying to steady her breathing, brought them into her room where they found a place on her nightstand. Unfocussed eyes remained on the flowers while she debated whether she should cry or fight that overgrown bat – it only took a second to decide.
The priestess stormed out of the library, Azriel’s handwritten card fighting for breath in her fist.
She mulled it over as she took the stairs to the house proper two at a time, how he could negate their relationship with one simple message. Had she been so mistaken in his kindness, his interest? Had he seen their time together as an obligation, rather than a blooming friendship?
It agitated and confused her to no end. And as she finally arrived in the training ring, eyes already pinpointing the swirl of shadows with Azriel in their midst, she was positively furious.
“Azriel!”, she shouted across the ring, eating up the space between them in no time. She pointed her finger at him in accusation, her other hand grinding his message for her to mush.
The Shadowsinger turned, his expression morphing from wary to concerned in a split second. “Gwyn? What’s wrong? Do you need a healer?”
He actually had the nerve to step towards her, his hands coming to rest on her shoulders as he ran his eyes over her form. Trying to detect whatever it was that made her upset.
“Don’t you touch me!”, she snapped, and his arms dropped to his side immediately. “You forfeited your right to that.”
Azriel gaped at her, but nodded nonetheless. Massive wings behind him folded together tightly as he braced himself for her.
If anything, his actions made Gwyn even more angry. She came to pick a fight, not for him to roll over. So, the priestess stepped into his personal space again and pushed at his chest until he stumbled backwards.
It was petty, and unfair, and nothing like her usual self. But seeing the little slither of hurt flashing on his face made it worth it. She pushed again, ignoring the stab of pain emanating from her wrist as it collided with mountains of muscle.
“You are a coward!” Push. “You don’t deserve my friendship!” Push.
If Gwyn’s late high priestess could have seen her now, she’d have washed her mouth out with soap to negate the curse words leaving it.
But she didn’t care. The pain flooding her heart at his apparent betrayal was too much to deal with on her own. It needed an outlet.
After enduring another minute of her assault, Azriel saw his opening. He caught both of Gwyn’s wrists in his hands, stopping her dead in her tracks, and cradled them to his chest.
“Gwyn.”, his voice turned pleading and soft, “please stop, you’ll hurt yourself.”
And as the tenor of his beautiful, stupid voice reached her ear, all fight evaporated. With heavy breathing, she returned his stare. Somehow, even in the depts of hurt, the only thought her head could muster was how she had missed him the past week.
“I’m sorry.”, he whispered, his thumbs stroking up and down her hostage-held hands, “I’m so sorry I didn’t notice it. You truly deserve better than that.”
Gwyn didn’t find words for him, frozen in time as she stood before him, her chest nearly touching his armor. She didn’t know what the hell he was talking about. But an apology sounded about right.
“I was so caught up in my own head that night.”, he continued softly, his voice trying to soothe her into tranquility, “But I realize it’s not an excuse. I should have checked on you after that fall. Gwyn, I’m so sorry I failed you. It will never happen again.”
Gwyn’s eyes hardened. She stepped away from him, forcing Azriel to release her.
“I don’t care you hurt me in training.”, her voice turned cold. “I don’t care if you didn’t check up on me. What I care about is this.”
She flung the crumpled piece of paper at his feet.
Azriel’s eyes widened for a split second before he picked the message off the dirty floor, trying to straighten out the paper. He stared at it for a long time. Enough for Gwyn’s anger to subside, until only resignation was left.
She knew he was about to apologize again. But he’d never understand where she was coming from. Mother, she’d confused herself with the onslaught of feelings the little piece of paper elicited. So she spared him the mental effort.
“You don’t think we’re friends, do you?”
The silence that ensured was deafening.
“I mean”, Gwyn started, her eyes focusing on a stone on the ground, “it’s completely fine if you don’t think so. After all, we’ve been seeing each other only for a few months, and I know you have a hard time making friends. But I thought-“
With all the courage she had left, Gwyn lifted her eyes to him again. If she wanted his honesty, she needed to give it in return. “I have seen you as my friend for the longest time now. You are the person I can rant to with all the stupid, miniscule facts I read about daily. I feel like I can tell you about my hopes and dreams and don’t be judged. You make me stronger, even challenge me to dream bigger.”
She breathed in deeply, trying her hardest to keep her emotions at bay. “And until tonight, I hoped the same would be true for you. Yet I can’t shake the feeling that you keep me company because you have to, not because you want to.”
There it was, all her thoughts and deepest fears spread out before him as cohesively as possible. Minus the crush of course, Gwyn could only take so much heartache in a day.
Azriel gaped at her, as unmoving as stone, his message stretched taunt between his fingers.
And even though his voice remained quiet, the hurt in it carried all the way to Gwyn to bury straight into her heart.
“Are you fucking kidding me?”
Now it was Gwyn’s turn to gape at him. With each second passing, Azriel looked more and more agitated, his eyes pinning her to the spot.
“What did I do for you to come to that conclusion?”, he began pacing before her, each and every one of his next words a punch in the gut, “Was it the time I poured my heart out to you with feelings not even my brothers are privy to? Or was it when we spent nearly a whole night in each other’s arms when I can’t remember the last time I hugged someone that wasn’t family? Maybe it was that particular day when I nearly threw a temper-tantrum because you couldn’t make it to a session and I needed to see you so badly?”
He stopped in his tracks, hazel eyes so open and vulnerable that Gwyn had to swallow. “Or was it the night when I literally sprained your wrist and didn’t notice because your eyes are so gods-damn blue that I got distracted?”
Not even trying to process that last admission, Gwyn remembered all the instances he talked about. She’d considered them accidental at the time. That he was so stressed from work he took it out on the next-best person. But it slowly dawned on her that Azriel wasn’t the type to just dump his emotions on the next-best.
“You put a question mark.”, she tried weekly, suddenly feeling very small before him, “On the message, I mean. And you waited to contact me for a whole week.”
Even in the dark, Gwyn could actually see the vein in his neck pulsing with anger. He held his emotions at bay as he answered tough, his voice taunt. “Nesta came to me the night you got injured. She informed me of what I did and voiced her concern that you’d likely show up in training, pretending nothing happened. And the only logical conclusion I drew from that was that you clearly don’t trust me. I must have done something for you to keep an injury that I caused a secret. So forgive me if I didn’t think you considered me a friend, that I thought you wanted nothing to do with me.”
Well, that actually made a whole lot of sense.
Blood rushed into her cheeks. How did she let her emotions get away with her like that?
“Oh Mother”, she mumbled, her hands fumbling her hair out of her face as she tried to come up with a way to salvage this. “I misunderstood.”
“Clearly.”, the Shadowsinger deadpanned, crossing his arms in front of his chest. He observed her for a moment, his own emotions seemingly calming down. “So why on earth would you think I spend time with you out of-what? Obligation?”
With a deep, heartfelt sigh, Gwyn let herself sink on the nearby rock. The adrenaline that had been running amok in her body had left her to fend for herself, apparently. Even if it got her into this situation.
“I honestly don’t know. I guess I didn’t think you’d actually like me as a person, or as someone you could consider close to you. The fact that you were the one to save me that night in Sangravah doesn’t help this feeling either.”, she chuckled humorlessly, wringing her hands together for support, “I tend to think people see nothing in me but my trauma. That I need to be catered for specially, handled with care. I never wanted that.”
Azriel slowly stepped before her, kneeling down right before her spot on the rock. “And when have I ever handled you with more care than necessary?”
He pointedly glanced at her bandaged wrist and Gwyn couldn’t help but laugh. The admission did something within her, lightening the heavy feeling in her chest. He has always been real with her, holding her accountable, giving her his honesty. “That’s true. I know you designed the obstacle courses last year especially to vex me.”
The sheepish grin Azriel showed her was enough to get her stomach to do a little flip. “Worked like a charm, too.”
The priestess had to bite her lip to keep from smiling too hard. She remembered how she’d taken personal affront to the difficulty of those obstacles, and how she spent every waking minute planning how to best them – and in turn wipe the smug look Azriel liked to sport at that time off his stupidly handsome face.
The lightheartedness of the situation vanished, though, as she remembered how she spoke to him a few minutes ago. She’d pushed him for Cauldron’s sake.
“Azriel, I’m so sorry for coming at you like that, for screaming at you. You didn’t deserve that.”, she admitted, searching his face for any sign of anger. But she only found sympathy.
“It’s okay. You overacted a little today, but I didn’t react at all when it mattered. I’d say we’re even.”, he reached out his hands for her to take, resting them palms up on her knees. She complied, loving the warmth of his skin and the attention he showered her with.
“I agree. Let’s never talk about this again?”
Azriel nodded once, before lowering his head to press a light kiss on both of her knuckles, one after the other. His gaze snagged on her still lightly bandaged wrist. Pulling her hand closer, he kissed it too, his lips lingering on the gauze until Gwyn could feel the heat of them right through her skin. Her heart fluttered so loudly at the gesture she was sure he must have heard it.
So she blurted out the next best thing she could think of. That she couldn’t stop thinking about since he’d said it, actually.
“My eyes are teal.”
Azriel just watched her, a slow smile spreading on his lips as he took her in. As if he had nothing but time, as if he didn’t feel this overwhelming urge to shoot up and run from this situation. The bastard surely enjoyed her squirming.
“I know. But you didn’t seem to pay enough attention to the way I acted around you – and I wanted to make sure you do, from now on.”, he pulled her up with him as he stood to his impressive height. She would be paying attention now, that much was clear.
“Friends?”, Gwyn asked, not releasing him just yet. Their fingers must have found a way to interlace autonomously in the past few seconds and she savored the feeling of them a little longer.
“Friends.”, the Shadowsinger replied. But his face betrayed his even voice. Gwyn couldn’t quite put a finger on what happened, what change between them.
She only had this nagging feeling that more than friendship shone from his face as he bid her goodnight.
And she that she was well and truly in love.
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Brat taming w Ominis maybe? 😳 the more mean dominis, the better
Bratty - Dominis Gaunt X F!MC
🔥 NSFW 🔞 MDNI
This isn’t as spicy as I wanted to go but I really struggle with writing Ominis as a super hard Dom. In my mind he is a sweet baby angel who can do no wrong.
Warnings: Mild Dominis, bratty behavior, fingering f receiving, orgasm denial, punishment
700 words
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She’d been in a defiant mood all day from the moment they woke up. Ominis knew it was likely just to push his buttons for one reason or another but the more she acted out the more he wanted to act on it and dole out a befitting punishment.
She’d come from work not long ago and when he hadn’t asked for a kiss from her she decided to pick an attitude with him. “What? No kiss? Are you punishing me for earlier today?”
Ominis scoffed, stopping his reading briefly to respond to her. “If I was punishing you for your behavior as of late, you'd know it, Darling. It wouldn’t possibly be something as bland as not asking for your kisses.”
She furrowed her brows in question and irritation, wondering what he was possibly upset about. “You doling out some serious form of punishment, puh-lease. You wouldn’t be so harsh with a punishment.”
He gave her a challenging look. “You’re being quite a disobedient brat lately. Are you looking to get punished? Is that what you want sweetheart?”
She came to straddle his lap, meeting his challenge. “Maybe I am. Maybe I don’t think you could actually punish me for anything because you’re far too teeth rottingly sweet to me.”
Ominis let out a deep chuckle that reverberated through his chest and caused goosebumps to rise across her skin. “Oh, Darling. I thought you knew better than to underestimate me. Silly, silly girl. How wrong you are.”
She leaned in close now, licking her lips in preparation for the searing kiss she knew was to come next. “Prove it.”
In a flash she was pinned underneath him and although Ominis was still pretty lithe like he had been all those years ago at Hogwarts, he was also surprisingly strong, able to pin her down effectively rendering her struggle useless. “Now you’re in trouble, naughty girl. Giving me attitude all day and acting like I won’t take charge and punish you like you properly deserve.”
She whined pathetically as he licked a thick stripe up the side of her neck where he knew it would drive her wild with excitement. Her back bowed off the couch as much as it could from under him. She eagerly tried to press against him but he’d moved just out of reach, denying her of the friction she desperately craved.
Her hands slid up, trying to tug him down onto her but he easily took both wrists in one hand above her head, effectively stopping her wandering hands. “Brats don’t get what they want, you’d do well to remember that, Dove.”
He maneuvered their bodies so he could easily hold her wrists above her head and slide his fingers down the front of her pants. She moaned with relief when his fingers touched her under the fabric where she grew hot and wet for him.
She was absolutely soaked as he plunged two fingers inside of her and used his thumb to deftly roll blissful circles around her clit.
She whined, hips lifting to seek more of his touch. More of the pleasure that he was flaring to life inside her body. He made sure she received only the pleasure he doled out and nothing more, she was being greedy as always. “Naughty, Dove. My greedy little girl thinks she deserves to cum on my fingers? Is that what you think you deserve?”
He chuckled, hearing her whine, hips bucking upwards with need. She was clearly on the precipice of an orgasm and he couldn’t have that. Just as her cries began to crescendo, he pulled his fingers out, leaving her high and dry before her orgasm could hit.
She gasped, eyes misty with confusion and bliss meeting his smug expression. She whined, collapsing backwards onto the bed at the realization of what he’d done. “Ominissss…this isn’t fair!”
He chuckled, sliding his slick coated fingers up her torso and gently sliding them into her mouth. “You’re in no position to bargain about what is and is not fair, Dove. You wanted a punishment and now you’re mad that I’m delivering. You are going to learn to behave. That bratty behavior will get you nowhere.”
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avocado-writing · 5 months
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Kinktober 22
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22. True Monsters, Spiritual Possession, Sexual Exhaustion
The thing is.
The thing is, about having two otherworldy lovers.
The thing is about it, is you can do some awfully kinky things.
They have corporeal forms of course, but they aren’t actually mortal beings. Things can get strange and metaphysical and very filthy indeed. 
It’s an odd experience to have another soul in your body. A body is meant to be a singular thing, after all, directed by one mind and one mind only, a consciousness deciding on every movement. You should have total control over your actions. 
That is not the case. Right now you can feel Crowley inside you, and not in the usual way. His existence is pressed up against your own, your very souls rutting against each other, fighting for dominance and utterly entwined. You are one. He’s using your fingers to explore the meat of your cunt. You’ve already come twice and he’s not done with you yet. 
“Such a pretty little clit,” you hear your own voice say, but with Crowley’s cadence. You mewl and try to get his hand to stop but he keeps going. Your slick drips down to your knuckles and you feel yourself reach up and taste yourself, a tang flooding your tongue. 
“You are delicious. If I was you this is all I’d do all day, nightingale. Lie here and fuck myself. You’re so lovely, and your pleasure? Christ, it’s like a drug. Intoxicating.”
You huff a laugh at his ridiculous compliments but feel your skin heating up. 
“Hmm. Well, I wouldn’t get much done, would I?” you answer him. He splays your creamy pussy open and your head turns to your other lover. Aziraphale, for his part, has been watching utterly entranced, rendered speechless at the strange and bewitching pornography before him. He strokes himself as he stares at you, at both of you. 
“Come on, angel. We’re ready,” Crowley breathes. Aziraphale kneels before you, hitching one of your legs over his shoulder, rubbing the blunt head of his cock against your sore centre. 
“Strangest threesome I’ve ever had,” you manage, and the three of you chuckle.
“Hmm, it’s certainly up there, my darling,” Aziraphale agrees as he slides home. Your body bucks and twists and the angel has to pin your hips down to stay sheathed in you. 
“Oh my— how— how does it feel so good?” Crowley drawls from your lips. “You’ve both fucked me hundreds of times and it’s never been…”
“My darling, that’s because you’re in a human body. They’re a little more sensitive than ours. We’re made of starlight, of dust; they’re all flesh and blood and softness and velvet,” Aziraphale muses as he starts to fuck you properly. The slide of his cock is overwhelming for Crowley, you can feel his spirit roil in your ribs and stomach. 
“Oh, oh, I’m going to —”
Your body comes and you’re swept away with it. Aziraphale keeps going, a smile spreading over his face. 
“Angel?” whispers Crowley, blissed out. Aziraphale cocks a brow. 
“The two of us aren’t finished yet, darling,” he hums. 
“You can tap out though,” you tell Crowley with a grin. Inside you, he pouts. 
“Not a chance.”
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@bootlmoth @elleofdragons  @angelic-anarchy27 @yeethaw13 @candlewitch-cryptic @kwyn-q @rat-that-writes @buryustogether @letthenightingalessingagain @ltlthetrifecta @angiestopit @purplefrog1sblog @wereallbrokenangels @angelspathway @clarina04 @belilwen @chaospossum @eightsdoctor @oo-delallymrcrow @silcosmoke @climbingivy97 @live-logs-and-proper @project-sad @just-a-beatlemaniac69 @imagination-phantom @anonymously35 @corgis04 @peytonpenguin37 @catlynharper @unabashedgentlemenpirate @wolfe-houler
@darktealrat @mxxny-lupin @willbedecided @detectiveapparatiagreen @shadowluna25 @kaylinelizabeth4004 @xquinn-bartonx @blue-bell22 @foolishprincipalitee @fandomawesomeness @eweweweewewe @latersgaters-steven @llamaproblem @night-affiliate @randompost18 @hunterispunk @jessica-laufeysdottir @uxcaran @bunnymallowo @jae-michael @jelly-terror @larkiesparkie
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the-sound-of-progress · 8 months
Note
:0 MEDIC & ENGI “RHETT AND LINK” BROMANCE MOMENTS REQUEST?? 💥💉🔧🧨
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I bet you weren't expecting the answer to come in the form of another '3D art class' post, but buckle up, 'cause here we go!
I'm not really teaching anything super specific with this one. I'm just kind of illustrating my thought process when it comes to solving (practical) problems in Blender. This is meant to one part comic, one part fun testament to the power of Fucking Around and Finding Out™.
Ever since I started using the Blender ports of the mercs, I've been dealing with those nasty-looking stretchy black spots on Ludwig's sleeves. It's worth noting that this does not happen when using the Eevee rendering engine, but it does happen when using Cycles.
It just so happens that I really prefer Cycles for the lighting quality. If you've ever wondered why my renders look different from most SFM renders, it's because I'm using an engine that's designed to render realistic things. Like, actually photorealistic. It wasn't really meant to render game assets or stylized models - but I'm doing it anyway, because dat lighting doe.
That does mean I run into problems like this, but today, I finally figured out how to fix this one. Sort of. I mean... I fixed it, but it's one of those things that's kind of a nasty hack. As I understand it, though, that's par for the course when working in 3D.
Alright, so, if you have some experience in 3D art, then your first instinct is probably to think that it's an issue with the texture itself. Is there some weird color happening on the texture of the sleeve in those spots?
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Nope. This is a comparison of the afflicted faces and where they're located on the texture, and there's nothing wrong with the texture in these areas. I also wondered if it might be a Normal Map issue, but I checked, and removing the map did nothing to fix the problem.
So, not a texture issue, and not a sneaky normal/bumpmap issue. What the hell could it be? It's GOTTA be some kind of issue where light simply can't figure out how to interact with these faces properly.
Sometimes, stuff like this can be caused by the faces actually being backwards - also known as 'flipped normals' - but I confirmed that wasn't the case either.
The first time I encountered this issue, I went into Edit mode and started playing around with the vertices...
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And I found that, indeed, if we push some of the vertices closer to the glove, we can get rid of these unsightly spots. But that's moving those vertices pretty far, and I'm a little uncertain about what might happen to the arm and its pose-ability if I force those triangles to be that big.
It's also incredibly annoying to have to do this every time I want to do a render. I have been pushing these specific vertices around in almost every image of Ludwig I've rendered so far. (That's a LOT!)
I've really been hoping to find a way to just make a single, mostly non-destructive modification to the base model so that I don't have to do this anymore. But the solutions I've come up with until now have been a little too destructive.
I have noticed that the spots do seem to appear and disappear based on the size of the faces that they're located on.
So I decided it was time to get the Knife tool and start performing some exploratory surgery.
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With a slice across the really big triangles, creating some new topology, we can see that this DOES have some results... if we push those new vertices closer to the glove, we get this:
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That looks pretty damn good! No artifacts to be found!
But I still don't feel too great about changing the topology this much. So I undid the changes and decided to try something else. It was helpful to know that changing the topology in two different ways did have results, at least.
I wondered if I could discover the root of the problem if I started hiding vertices to isolate the forearm sleeve and inspect exactly what is at the very end of the sleeve, under the rim of that glove.
Fun fact: When you're in Edit mode, and you start hiding vertices, it also hides the corresponding faces and materials around them, which looks pretty funny.
It doesn't DELETE anything. It just temporarily hides it. (But they don't know that.)
(Also, if you're wondering why some of the color is really off in these next few images, it's because I'm not working in Cycles here - Cycles is way too intensive for making quick adjustments!)
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See how I have a ring of vertices selected at the open end of the sleeve there? (The ones that are orange are the ones that are selected.)
Experimentally, I decided to just extrude these vertices. Extruding vertices is a quick way to add more geometry to a model. In this case, it created a new ring of vertices and faces; if I dragged them outward, they would become a new extension of the sleeve.
I was going to drag this loop very slightly outwards, to give an effect that's similar to beveling - if you watch some videos about beveling, you'll see that it can solve a LOT of issues that you might encounter with the edges of objects and weird lighting.
Turned out, I didn't have to move these things at all. I just created a duplicate ring under the cuff of that glove, deselected my new vertices, and that ... fixed it.
Don't be such a baby... arms grow back!
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I did it to the other sleeve, too, and would you look at that - no weird-ass artifacts! There's some slight creasing in the sleeves, but it's believable, at least. It's not enough to be distracting like the big splotches were.
So, why did this work? Why was I able to remove huge artifacts just by duplicating a specific set of vertices and leaving them exactly where they were copied?
I HAVE NO IDEA!
But it works, and I'm gonna continue using this modification on the base model until it doesn't work anymore.
Maybe someone who's been doing this longer than I have could tell me why this works!
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But for now, I'll just be content in the knowledge that sometimes, the sound of progress is... a question mark.
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serenescribe · 3 months
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Hiiiii I saw that you opened ficlet frenzy again so I decided to drop by :3
I really loved the fic that you wrote about Lilia overblot and Silver’s sleeping curse, so I was wondering if by chance you could write Lilia being super overprotective of Silver(who is still sleeping) after his overblot? The others could be trying to bring Lilia back to his senses but it’s up to you! Have a nice day <3
[✐] ficlet frenzy i assume you're referring to two for nero with this request!
His head snaps up as soon as the door creaks open.
“Quell your nerves, Lilia,” a familiar voice calls out. Malleus emerges into view, stepping into the room. “It is just me.”
Though Lilia allows the tension to dissipate off of him, his nerves don’t quite settle down. They never really have — not since Silver fell to his sleep curse, not since Lilia’s untimely overblot. But despite the weakness that now permanently festers in his bones, fatigue dragging him down and rendering his muscles sore and weary, Lilia shuffles a little closer to Silver, who slumbers fitfully next to him.
He rests one hand against his sleeping son’s shoulder, eyes still trained upon their visitor.
Malleus looks upon all of this. Lilia can see the way he seems to bite back a sigh.
“Even if it is just you,” Lilia eventually begins, voice cracking, “I can’t just…”
He trails off, before he shakes his head. Even though Silver has awoken — properly this time, most of the curse expelled through the overflow of blot-tainted magic that had nearly killed its caster — Lilia still cannot help the way he tenses whenever someone stops by the dorm to visit him. He likens it to the instincts of a feral animal whenever he tries to describe it to Silver, a gnashing, slobbering beast that wishes to lunge in front of him, howling as it bares its sharp canines, fending off any and all who try to approach.
There is no danger now. Silver is no longer cursed. Lilia is no longer overblotting.
And yet, he still clings close to Silver, fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
“I wish to talk with Silver,” Malleus says.
He takes a step towards the bed.
Lilia flinches.
He wants to lash out, scrabble at Malleus with his nails until the fae leaves the room. Silver is— is his to protect, that blot-dripping monster that had formed from the core of his wretchedly protective desires never leaving, not even after Silver recovered. It still festers underneath his skin, lurking in wait as though a predator stalking its prey, spurring him to chase off visitors with as many excuses as he can conjure, only succeeding whenever Silver takes a nap as he recovers from curse-sickness.
(If that beast had not sapped him of his magic, leaving the barest dredges of it left, would Lilia feel as uneasy letting anyone else around Silver? Or is his admittedly unreasonable protectiveness a consequence of the strength he lost? Lilia is aware of it, and yet—
He continues to ignore the fact that he can no longer protect Silver the way he longs to.)
“I think… it would be best if you came back later.”
Malleus stops.
“Let him rest,” Lilia says softly, gazing at Silver’s slumbering face, features smoothed by a peaceful dream. “You can talk to him when he’s awake.”
Silence.
“Then let me talk to you instead.”
Lilia closes his eyes. “I’d rather not.”
“Lilia—”
“We can talk another time, Malleus.” Turning away fully from the indignant fae, ignoring the frustration painted across his face, Lilia stares down at Silver instead. “Let’s allow Silver to rest for now.”
(He isn’t sure how much longer he can keep dancing around everything — the loss of his magic, the way he’d knocked out Malleus, and above all else, the fact that he keeps clinging to Silver, even after everything has been said and done.)
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livelaughlovekny · 10 months
Text
Braiding Muichirou's hair
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  His hair flew and splayed across his face for what must have been the fourteenth time in the past hour. The long locks clung onto his face, obscuring his vision, rendering him unable to see his opponent clearly. In this case, it was you.
  Unable to hold it back anymore, you laugh. His exasperated face and frustration towards his hair was too much for you. It was rare for him to express his emotions and thoughts, even then nothing much would change. Muichirou’s eyebrows dipped down ever so slightly and an irritated sigh escaped his lips as he struggled to tame his hair in the wild wind that kept blowing against it.
  “Honestly, how are you even alive, much less a Hashira, when your hair is constantly preventing you from fighting properly?” You laughed as you rummaged through your pockets. Muichirou gives you a flat look as he responds, “I encounter pathetic demons.” Noticing your actions, he asks “What are you doing? We’re training.”
  You fish out a hair tie. “I know but wouldn’t it be more productive if your hair was tied up instead of interrupting our training every other minute?” He stares at the hair tie for a moment before taking it. He pauses again and stares at the object. Muichirou looks back up at you. “How do you use this again?” 
  Used to this, you simply smile and take the hair tie without questioning how one could forget how to use such a simple object. Walking behind him, you’re suddenly struck with the realisation that you’re about to not only touch but also tie the great Mist Hashira’s hair. Oh my, the possibilities are endless. How would he look with pigtails? Surely his baby face would fit that hairstyle perfectly. “Hey, do you have any idea on what hairstyle you want?”
  Muichirou mused a little. “There’s more than one hairstyle…? I have no preference. Do whatever you want but make it quick.” Taking out another hair tie, you started your new mission.
  First, you had to separate his hair into six. You were a little apprehensive that you would have to spend a few minutes combing his hair and much to your surprise, his hair was as smooth as (as a baby’s butt) silk. How did this forgetful baby who trained so rigorously and constantly have hair you bet were smoother than Uzui’s? Entertaining the thought of informing the flashy Hashira his hair care was incomparable to Muichirou immediately ended when you thought of how he would most definitely question how you knew and throw a fit. It was not worth it, you would have to find another thing to poke fun at him.
  After making sure Muichirou’s hair was separated evenly into six, you moved onto braiding the first braid. Would a tight and thin braid suit him? Picturing the image in your head, you decided looser and thicker braids would suit him more; though not as thick as the Love Hashira’s. Carefully but efficiently braiding his hair, you did your best not to tug too hard to cause him pain. Though you were quite sure that that pain would only be considered as a fleeting feeling to him.
  Moving onto the next braid, you realise how close you are to seeing Muichirou with pigtails. The sudden rush of anticipation caused you to braid his hair much faster, though of course you ensured that it was as neat and perfect as its twin. After tying up the end of his second braid, you hurriedly took a few steps back to admire your masterpiece before rushing to look at the front view.
  He looked at you blankly yet somewhat expectantly.
  “Well? Are you done?”
  “Oh my gosh, you look adorable! Give me a twirl so I can see my masterpiece in action!” Seeing how unimpressed and slightly disgusted he looked, you corrected your last sentence. “I meant, move around so we know whether or not this hairstyle is functional.” Getting up, Muichirou picked up his sword and performed a forward slash and spun around. He paused and thought a little. “So what do you think? I think it looks cute, I mean, functional.”
  “...It feels heavy. Could we try other styles?” What. Did he just give you permission to (play) tie his hair again? You reigned in your excitement before responding. “Of course.” You fished out a few more hair ties. Muichirou studied your actions. “Why do you have so many…hair ties?”
  “I always lose them but that’s not important. Sit down, let’s get started.”
a/n: i feel so embarrassed. i never really promised/swore never to write fanfics again to myself (it's been more than a year since i wrote a fanfic) but this just so sudden and rushed. i might come back to this and polish it. still, thank you so much for reading my re-debut rushed drabble!
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kirtlandswarbler · 18 days
Text
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the jane austen argument: sour milk song
in other news i'm still not over @illmetkismet's Some Say It's A Cradle Others Say A Tomb
some bonus angles with viewport shading under the cut
shoutout to the 360 ansel camera for letting me make some good skyboxes :3
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While trying to decide what room to use as a base for the guest bedroom I found that between DH1 and DH2 they sadly moved the bed out of this room - but I love that the devs still kept the layout of the room the same. (The fireplace was moved a bit to the side since they added those little slidy doors for sneaky traversal to all the rooms.) Here are my research screenshots since I thought it was interesting:
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I turned it back into a little bedroom. No books or anything to read as per the fic :D When I don't know how to decorate a room further my default is apparently just "put some swords on that wall" LMAO. (the outsider is on his tippy toes i need you all to notice)
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tried to express some of the push and pull hesistancy emotion stuff of the scene in like. the hands.
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also please everybody clap because I went back and made sure the fuckin plate of fruit in the background didn't go against the canon of the one in the fic. Obviously in the fic he eats all the fruit long before it's Corvin' time but I took some artistic liberty there. Did turn the plums into figs tho
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the whale scene is just the whale, him, a ground plane and a skydome because having anything else in a scene that I kept having to edit in Rendered preview mode in order to view the reflection properly would've made my computer melt i think. In order to make the POV shot work there's actually two Outsiders in the scene, one that's just his arm that's only visible in the camera view but not in the reflection, and one that's the entire body that's not visible to the camera but is visible in the reflection.
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couldn't figure out how to frame and decorate the foot scene after posing him so I just slapped a window in the scene and made the camera shoot through it and I think it turned out pretty neat, all without having to decorate the rest of the room! Work smarter not harder (I say, constantly decorating full rooms for single shots that only end up showing like. a floor and 1/4th of a chair)
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...and im sure none of you are gonna complain about more nekkid outsider.
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bonus bonus feature: deleted scene!
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Additional credits: DH2 model importer by Volfin and AlexNG, character rigs ripped by rotten-eyed, body model by Mavixtious, additional model ripped by HeliosAI
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ipegchangbin · 1 year
Text
“stalling time” — sub ! dj ! bang chan snippet
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i wanted to pay tribute to my first ever sub!skz au (and my first real post), so here’s a little spoiler for something i’ve worked on since the dawn of time — stalling time !
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It didn’t take long for the fruit cocktail to be all swished down your throat, leaving the addicting taste of sweeter citrus on your lips and tongue. The scents you invested in stuck to your clothes and skin, only making you stand out further in the open-air beach club.
Chan looked entranced by you. Enveloped in nothing but the sight of you, hugged by your scent, pierced through the heart by how stunning you looked in your clubbing outfit. It was simple and airy, much like the cool night breeze from the shoreline. His eyes glanced at the empty glass that held your drink, refraining from licking his lips and wondering what yours probably tasted like.
He wanted to kiss you again.
You turned to Chan. “Speak any languages?”
“Yes—hey, why are you asking this now?” Chan asked back. “That’s so random.”
“Sorry, I speak small talk,” you replied with a wink.
Chan bowed his head and chuckled hard, his eyelids turning into crescents. Only then did you notice the hint of glittery eyeshadow he put on, his favorite accessory when it came to his gigs.
“Really, I want to know you better, Channie.”
The nickname left him dizzy. The alcohol in his system suddenly felt like nothing compared to how drunk he got in the way you said it. He didn’t know what you were planning but it felt addicting. Nobody had ever called him something so affectionately, bordering on both hot and cute.
“English, Korean, a bit of French, and I’m a little fluent in Sexyguytalk.”
You blinked at his last statement. “Sexy-guy-talk…?”
“Oui, mon amour.”
It took you half a second to properly process the joke, but the laugh you let out was all that Chan needed to fall even harder. Even if you slapped his thigh in the process — why did he really enjoy that? — the sound of your confused yet amused laughter became his favorite song to listen to.
He rubbed the mark you left on his thigh. He knew you did it out of habit but he got flustered.
He decided to distract himself. “Again, why’d you ask?”
“Can’t I be curious?” You simply responded.
“Trying to get close, huh?”
“Well, I don’t know, I think I warrant a little bit more after getting a free kiss from the cutie music man.” You pushed an elbow against his arm.
“Oh.” He sat up and scratched the back of his neck.
The way he looked, blushing and shy all of a sudden, made him even more irresistibly adorable. Seeing him like this gave you the urge to pet him.
Your hand made its way up to his, gracing the nape of his neck, and you petted his head. Your fingers intertwined with his hair. He straightened it earlier but it seemed to wave out in the wind; his naturally curly locks coiled incredibly loosely around your fingers.
“…Ah.”
The softest, lightest, and most subtle hint of a whimper betrayed Chan’s throat, but you heard it. Chan immediately tried to hide his reaction but you could see the panic in his eyes as he scanned your face, hoping you didn’t notice his squeak.
You did, though, and let him know it with blinks of disbelief. Chan felt like burying himself in the sand or diving back into the pool out of embarrassment.
“…You like that?” A gentle smile graced your lips. Chan subconsciously leaned further into your palm.
He was rendered speechless but you knew.
Now you knew he liked getting his hair pulled; what he didn’t know was that you enjoyed the thought of indulging in it.
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this isn’t final but lmk if you want to be in the taglist :D
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scribbledghost · 2 years
Text
Respect
Pairing: Prince Sidon x F!Human!Reader (no y/n) (takes place before BOTW when most Zora still dislike humans/Hylians lol)
Rating: G
Word Count: 2,055
Warnings: angst, hurt/comfort, fluff
Notes: Being with the Prince of the Zora isn’t easy. Especially as a human. Luckily Sidon knows what just to say to make you feel better.
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You should have known better than to try and hide from Sidon. 
Despite having a somewhat “airheaded” demeanor to the average person, anyone who truly knew him knew that the Prince was actually quite sharp and observant. Especially when it came to you.
It was… difficult adjusting to life in Zora’s Domain. Being a human, not even a Hylian, rendered you “less-than” in most of the residents’ eyes, despite your best efforts. You’d relocated some months ago to be closer to Sidon and fully lean into the idea of one day being wed to him, and ever since it had been nothing but a minefield. 
Some Zora welcomed you with open arms, mostly the prince’s personal guard, Bazz, and those who knew him especially well. King Dorephan’s reaction seemed… mixed, to say the least. While he was elated that his son had found someone he cared for so deeply, there was still the issue of one day needing an heir to take over the throne after Sidon passed. And considering humans and Zora had incompatible DNA, biological children with you was impossible. But, to the king’s credit, he had largely put aside such worries for a later date. He was in good health, and Sidon himself still likely had a couple hundred years of life left in him. 
However, the rest of the Domain at large was… less than pleased with your presence. At first, you’d thought it was simply the council of elders, as Sidon had warned you long before you’d made your courtship public that they would not be pleased with the idea of him being with anyone but a fellow Zora. 
But over time, you began to hear whispers from far more than just the council.
The children thought you strange. You supposed you couldn’t blame them, Zora’s Domain seldom had human or Hylian visitors. A few other Zora scattered about tended to give you angry glares or ugly looks, something Sidon had reassured you was due to them being part of a particular “fan club” of his and likely simply jealous of you as a result. 
These, you could handle. But over time, you began to hear whispers from others too.
“I’m sure it’s simply a phase.”
“He wants to be like his sister so much he just went out and found a random human to be involved with. The novelty will wear off eventually.”
“How could she possibly know enough about the Zora to rule over us one day? She’s a fool, and Prince Sidon would do well to move on sooner rather than later.”
“She tries far too hard to fit in here. If she thinks it’ll ever happen, she’s even more oblivious than I thought.”
“She’s holding him back.”
All of these comments you took in stride. You tried your hardest to shrug them off, to not allow them to affect you. And for the most part, you succeeded, with some aid every so often from Sidon. He would reassure you that you were not simply a novelty, that he loved you dearly and that he would one day wed you properly, despite whatever objections he faced.
But one day, you overheard a certain conversation that simply… broke you.
You’d decided to go for a walk up to one of the waterfalls close to the Domain. Along the way, you came across a small group of guards talking amongst themselves.
“Looks like you lost the betting pool, Tottika. The eight month mark passed last night.”
“I know. Who’s still left in the running?”
“Bazz for sure. He’s put his earnings on them actually getting married.”
Your attention piqued, and you stopped in your tracks to try and keep quiet enough to not draw their own gazes.
“He’s a damn fool. There’s no way. Who else is still in?”
Your heart began to fall.
“Rivan’s still in. She’s betting on another year or so. I think Torfeau might still be in too, but I can’t remember how long she’s bet on.”
Your heart sank, the topic of conversation beginning to dawn on you.
“Quite honestly, I can’t believe they’ve lasted this long. She has to be doing something to trick him. There’s no way Prince Sidon would’ve stayed with a human for this long of his own volition. Not when he’s got so many better options.”
Your chest ached, and you turned back to make your way back to the palace. 
You’d gotten used to snide comments from other residents. Gotten used to harassment from the council and other older Zoras. But the guards… you’d thought that at least they were alright with your presence. You’d even gone so far as to consider some of them your friends. 
Apparently not, considering they’d all been taking bets on how soon you and Sidon would split up. At least Bazz had some faith in the two of you, but apparently the rest did not.
The other voices through the domain fell flat as you made your way back to the quarters you shared with Sidon. As expected, he was still sitting at his desk when you entered quietly, a quill softly scratching against the parchment that he wrote upon.
You had every intention of simply tiptoeing past him and curling up in the waterbed that he’d had built for you since sleeping with him in his usual pool wasn’t always feasible. But, much to your chagrin, he seemed to have noticed your presence anyway.
“You’re back early,” he commented lightly. “You just left, darling. Is everything alright?”
“Yeah,” you mumbled, choosing to forego lying in bed and instead moving towards a nearby window that overlooked your home. “It’s fine. Just didn’t feel well, that’s all. So I decided to come back.”
“Now dear one,” Sidon gently scolded, “there’s no need to lie.”
You exhaled a long breath and turned towards the view below. He was right, there was no use in trying to lie to him. He could read you like the documents he pored over every day.
“I… overheard a conversation between some of the guards.”
“Something tells me overhearing a simple conversation would not normally be enough to upset you so, my love.”
“They,” you began, then paused. You knew getting them into trouble with Sidon would only make the situation worse, but you also knew that Sidon wouldn’t want to be left in the dark about such things. “Turns out they made a betting pool. Of how long it would be before we… before we split. And apparently there aren’t many people still left in the running. In fact, only Bazz is confident that we’ll last long enough to get married.”
“They what?” you could hear the anger rising in Sidon’s voice despite keeping your eyes averted from him. “This is unacceptable. I’ll have to bring them all in for a proper meeting right away and let them know they are to disband this immediately and treat you properly. In fact, perhaps I should call a Domain-wide meeting instead, considering how others’ treatment of you has been equally appalling.”
“Sidon, it’s not that big of a deal-”
“Nonsense!” Sidon began. “I will one day be their king, and you will one day be their queen. They must learn to treat you with the respect you deserve, and I’m sure in time they will learn to love you as I do-”
“Sidon.”
He stopped in his pacing, and you could tell he had turned to where you sat against the windowsill overlooking the domain.
“Please,” you said, then heaved a sigh as you continued, “don’t say anything to them.”
“Why ever not?” he asked, a slight undercurrent of anger that was not directed at you lacing his tone.
“Because,” you sighed again, “the only thing I can think of that’s worse than people thinking poorly of me is people still thinking poorly of me but being forced to treat me otherwise.”
Sidon fell quiet.
“I… I’m not sure I understand.”
“I can tell when someone is being untruthful in their words, Sidon,” you said, still not turning your gaze from the domain below. “I can tell when someone is only kind to me out of obligation, and it only makes me feel worse knowing that as soon as I turn my back, they’ll whisper among themselves. I’d much rather them simply be openly honest than be forced to lie. I can think of few things worse than people being kind to me just because you ordered them to.”
Your voice progressively got quieter, melting into a whisper by the end of your explanation. You curled in on yourself, willing yourself to keep your emotions and tears in check. Crying would solve nothing, and would likely only serve to make Sidon feel that much more determined to try and make his fellow Zora like you more.
The room was silent for some time, the only sound being the muffled waterfalls outside. Then, you softly heard Sidon pad his way towards you, not stopping until you heard him next to you.
“My love,” he murmured in an attempt to properly catch your attention. You turned to face him, finding that he’d knelt down to be nearly eye level with you as he reached a hand out to you. You took it, and he gently brought it up to his lips in a kiss before lowering it again.
“I know I have said it many times before,” Sidon said, “but I think it bears repeating all the same.”
He paused for a moment, as if collecting his thoughts.
“I adore you. There is no one I’d rather be with than you, my darling. The… incorrect opinions of others do not change that. They will never change that. You have done so much in your short time living here, whether any of them realize that or not. And one day they will, I believe in that. One day they will look upon you and recognize you as their queen, as the person I have chosen to rule by my side in the coming years. I am sorry that they seem to be blind to that right now. But mark my words, my love, I will do everything I can to open their eyes.”
Your vision blurred as he spoke, so sure in himself and his ability to make the rest of his people love you. In a way, you felt yourself almost able to believe it as well.
Before you could stop yourself, you surged forward, wrapping your arms around Sidon’s neck and burying your face there. Your breathing hitched and hiccupped, and you felt his arms wrap around you as he let you release the emotions that had been building up. He softly soothed you, running a large hand up and down your back and gently murmuring professions of love to you until you had no more tears to give.
As you felt your eyes dry, you pulled back, bringing your hands up to either side of Sidon’s jaw before leaning in for a kiss. And another. And another.
“Would you like to change into some swimwear and have a nap with me in my pool?” he asked softly when you finally parted from him. “Or would you perhaps prefer to have me share your bed instead?”
You thought for a moment before you spoke.
“I’ll go get changed.”
It only took you a few moments before you walked back in and took Sidon’s hand as he walked into the water. Shortly after joining him, he pulled you to him and leaned back against the wall, allowing himself to float in a sitting position as you sat across his lap. Within several moments, you could hear soft snores coming from your prince, and yet his hold on you never faltered.
Sidon held you close as he floated in his sleeping pool. You nestled your face against his neck, one of his side fins resting over your head as you did so. It was as if he was subconsciously shielding you from the outside world, lulling you into drowsiness as you joined him in sleep. 
You knew he loved you. Never once did your belief in that falter. You could only hope that one day, with perhaps some encouragement from Sidon, the rest of the domain would come to enjoy your presence too.
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