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togenabi · 1 year

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by the window under the moonlight

inumaki toge x fem!reader ♡ royalty au

♡—when sent to look for your brother, you find a handsome stranger instead.

word count♡— 1.9k words

genre♡— fluff, royalty au

aged up characters♡— 18+

content notes♡— strangers to potential lovers, mutual pining, everyone is a prince or princes, older brother!gojo satoru, no use of y/n, love at first sight ish, very fluff, mc pins toge to the wall, toge writes a love letter, toge uses sign language bc I refuse to write shake or salmon in a royalty au, lets just say that mc is called princess bc their empire > the other kingdoms

author's note♡— i desperately needed toge fluff, so i was motivated to write this! might be a bit wonky bc it's been a while since i wrote a fic, but i'm still happy with how it turned out ^^ enjoy!

You don't know why you believed Satoru when he promised he would sit still at tonight's ball. Maybe it was because you were genuinely looking forward to it. Maybe you wanted to believe that you would have fun with your friends without having to worry about the troublesome crown prince.

But... he was your brother, and as it always was in times like these, you're sent away to find him.

Because he does listen to you.

...

To an extent.

...

When he feels like it.

Running your hands through your hair, you turn towards yet another empty corridor.

“Just where is that annoying—” Your grumbling is interrupted when you spot a head of white hair flit by the corner of your eye.

‘Aha!’ You rush immediately to follow the figure.

It quickly becomes clear that he's very good at dodging you and leading you in circles. However, you know this castle better than anyone, and you trap him into a corner soon enough.

“I'm surprised you fell for that. You aren't usually this easy to... catch...”

A beautiful stained glass window is fixed at the end of the corridor you led him to. The moonlight shines through it and paints the stranger in breathtaking colors.

‘Who is he?’, you wonder. You don't think you've ever seen someone so handsome... Despite an extended collar covering half of his face.

He meets your eyes and frowns. Though you only stand in front of him in confusion.

“You're not... Satoru.” You start slowly, trying to grasp the situation. “Why did you run from me?”

You hear several scuffling feet in the distance, and suddenly you're alarmed.

‘Shit, is this an ambush?’

The stranger seems to be distracted by the noise as well. Taking the opportunity, you sprint and tackle him, pinning him to the wall. This hallway is secluded enough that you're confident whoever's following you won't be able to find you if you keep quiet.

He looks like he's about to say something, but you don't let him.

“Shush!” You say. He looks bewildered.

A moment passes, and you realize that the noise was only from the knights rushing to look for Satoru as well.

You find yourself staying still despite having nothing to hide from the knights. ‘Why do I feel like I've done something wrong?!’

You take the time to analyze the man in front of you while waiting for the knights to depart. Though you can feel his strong build, he doesn't resist you. Perhaps he isn't particularly dangerous, or maybe he doesn't see you as enough of a threat to put up a fight.

The latter irks you more than you thought it would.

The noises fade, and you're about to loosen your grip on the stranger when you hear more sounds. This time, it's the boisterous laughter of those annoying, pompous delegates.

Annoyance paints your face just thinking about the ridiculous rumors they spread. If only they'd properly do their jobs instead of gossiping and pestering you to get married. Imagine if they saw you now, pinning this man to the wall. Why, they would probably chatter about it for years and—

You suddenly realize how... delicate your current situation is.

You panic, and the stranger tilts his head as if asking you, ‘What?’

“Shhhhh!!!” Before you could help it, you shush the man with urgency, using your hands to cover his mouth. You couldn't even begin to comprehend the international scandal that would unfold should you be discovered in this very compromising position—with a noble you've never met, no less!

“Did you hear that the crown prince disappeared again?” One of the delegates cackled.

“Oh my, again? Then was the princess sent to fetch him?”

“It seems so! But I hear she has been gone for some time as well! Ho ho!”

“Perhaps she has gotten tired playing her brother's keeper. I can't believe the future of the empire lies on the shoulders of someone so happy-go-lucky. Tsk.”

The voices fade. Holding your breath, you crane your neck every which way to see if the delegates have truly left. You finally spare the stranger a glance once you're met with a noiseless hallway. You sigh deeply.

‘This man would probably be angry’, you think to yourself...

You expected him to be mad, or to throw a tantrum. You waited for him to shove you off despite you being a princess—to demand an explanation and god forbid, compensation for the stress they endured this entire ordeal. That's how most, if not all, nobles were these days. Entitled beyond repair.

But to your surprise, you find him smiling. The corners of his eyes pinch as if he finds the situation very amusing. His shoulders shake due to laughter, and that's when you notice the color of his coat—a deep bluish purple... The color reminds you of the Inumaki clan, of the flag on the carriage you saw arriving this morning.

...

Ah. You let go of him.

His eyes glow with mischief as he watches you take in his appearance. The coat. The color of his hair. The purple eyes...

...The markings he reveals after he pulls down his collar.

You've played yourself a fool.

You back away from him immediately, clearing your throat and smoothing your hands over your skirt. “I deeply apologize, prince Toge.” You bow deeply.

Toge bows to you as well. Afterwards, he begins to sign a response. ‘You have a strong grip, princess.’

Your cheeks grow warm. Of course he decides to make fun of you. But then again, it was very rude of you to have literally cornered and restrained him.

“Again, I'm sorry.” You take a deep breath. “As you may have heard, I was looking for my brother. I only followed you because I thought you were him.”

His eyes glint wickedly. ‘And the pinning?’

“I-I was flustered.” You still are, but you curtsy to him and look to the floor to hide your expression. “Please excuse me. I must go.”

Toge watches you leave, and a smile blooms on his face when he sees your ears turning red.

He looks back to the stunning window at the end of the hall, and engraves into his memory how beautiful you had looked under the iridescent moonlight.

⋆｡˚ 🪟 ˚｡⋆｡˚🌕˚｡⋆

After trying (and failing) to find your dearest brother, you decide to return to the ballroom. You spot your trio of best friends conversing near the buffet table. Prince Megumi catches your sight first, and walks briskly to meet you.

“Where have you been?” He asks, and you think this is the most frazzled you've seen of the dark haired prince.

“I was looking for my brother, where else?” Your thoughts wander to prince Toge, and you subconsciously look around to see if he has returned as well. Your eyes find prince Yuji and princess Nobara approaching.

“When we thought you were taking too long, we left to find you.” Nobara explains. “But we ended up finding your brother instead.” She gestures to the end of the ballroom, where Satoru is sprawled on his seat next to the emperor's.

“Serves him right to look so bored. He's so much more trouble than he's worth.” You tsk.

Yuji catches your attention. “But I don't understand what took you so long, princess. You usually find him quickly, did something happen?”

Once again, your mind is brought back to Toge, and how he looked when you first saw him.

You must have taken a beat longer to reply. The three of them suddenly lean closer to try and read your expression.

“Are you alright?”

“Don't you dare try to keep whatever this is a secret from us!”

“So something did happen!”

They bombard you with questions, and you're suddenly overwhelmed. “I'll explain if you all let me, now will you?”

You pull them towards the wall, where there are less people, before explaining what happened.

...

You immediately regret doing so.

Your friends fail to compose themselves as they laugh. You're baffled as even Megumi laughs at you. He tries to cover his mouth, but it's too late. You glare at all of them.

“I can't believe you told prince Toge, of all people, to shush!” Nobara wipes her eyes with a handkerchief.

Yuji is still keeled over as he nods. “I would have paid to see that!”

“Now I understand what Maki and Panda were laughing about earlier, and why they kept looking over at us.” Megumi smirks at you teasingly.

“No!” You gasp. “They didn't!”

“Oh yes they did!” Yuji counters. “It all makes sense now!”

The trio seems to have regained their composure, but you're still a bit miffed. You refuse their offer to dance with you.

“I don't want to dance with any of you right now.”

“Oh shush, princess!” Nobara says, and they're caught in a fit of laughter once again.

But then their eyes shift to something behind you, and their next words get stuck in their throat.

You hear footsteps before you look over your shoulder. Prince Toge advances towards you.

He bows in a graceful motion, just as he did before. ‘I greet the princess of the empire. May I have this dance?’ He asks before holding out his hand.

You expected to be too embarrassed to dance with him well. But you're learning that your expectations are often wrong tonight.

Words fail to describe how wonderful it was to dance with him.

For someone who held him against a wall, the prince looks at you fondly. More fondly than you expected, and more fondly than anyone else has ever regarded you. His movements are confident and smooth as he leads you along to the music.

You want to apologize again, and possibly say that you're enjoying your time with him; but you have the strangest feeling that he already knows.

And thus, you stay silent, and let yourself be swept off your feet. The gentle melody plays on and contrasts with the erratic beating of your heart.

When the dance ends, he leans down to bring his face closer to yours. He takes your hands and brings your fingers up to cover his lips—reminiscent of how you had done earlier when you were hiding. You blush as he kisses your fingers while holding your hands firmly.

You find yourself unable to think of anything else even when the ball draws to a close.

You're unable to properly greet him goodbye, but you meet his eye when he looks over before entering his carriage. He nods, and smiles sweetly at you, the kind that reaches his eyes.

Your attention snaps away from him when Nobara demands you make her your maid of honor at your wedding, and you're left flustered once again.

⋆｡˚ 🪟 ˚｡⋆｡˚🌕˚｡⋆

A letter from him arrived the next day.

Dearest princess,

I realize I left you last night without apologizing to you. Please accept my apology now, though it may be late. You said you were flustered, and that was what led you to your actions last night. I'm afraid it was the same for me.

I don't know why I ran from you, or why I didn't bother to turn around sooner to confirm the identity of my pursuer. But now I'm certainly glad I didn't, for it has left me with memories I will surely cherish.

I will be frank. I am unable to stop my thoughts of you, and would like to get to know you more. Allow me to be the one to pursue you, this time.

In a few weeks, during the crown prince's birthday banquet, please let me steal you away for a while. I hope to meet you there again, by the window under the moonlight. I look forward to your reply.

Thinking of you,

- Toge

⋆｡˚ 🪟 ˚｡⋆｡˚🌕˚｡⋆

[PART 2]

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vel-hell-ael31 · 8 months

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Here are my kittens

This is Simba⇩⇩

He is male, 6 years old and of Bengali breed.

He is very calm, he likes pampering but not excessively, he loves his personal space. Her favorite activity besides sleeping is cleaning Nala and taking care of her, he is always with her. Insects disgust him a little. He loves chicken and salmon food, and if they are sweets even better. He is very active and talkative, he is always meowing. He is the biggest cat with the most striking colors I have ever met, I love you so much Simba. He is my best friend, although sometimes he misses a small bite.✨✨

And this is Nala⇩⇩

She is female, 2 and a half years old, and half Bengali, half Persian.

She is very playful, she is always running after some insect or anything that moves. She loves to eat, sleep and sunbathe on her back. She always sleeps in strange positions. She doesn't like chicken very much, but she loves fish and beef. She likes freshly cut ham from the store. She is very affectionate, she is always looking for arms to caress her or take her for a walk around the house. She never mind you touching her or picking her up. She doesn't meow much, unless she wants pets or food...she is the smallest and cutest kitten I have ever met, I love her so much. ✨✨

They are always together, if one is not next to the other, they immediately look for each other. They are inseparable. Although Simba had a hard time accepting Nala at first, he eventually took her on as her friend and adventure partner. He is always in charge of taking care of her, when Nala hunts a grasshopper, he scolds her, because he believes that this bug will hurt her. And she is in charge of always keeping him entertained, encouraging him to play races around the house and things like that. They are very good friends.

They love to gossip and watch the street from the window together.

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

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toomanystoriessolittletime · 1 year

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Roasted Almonds

Summary: Almost getting knocked over by a handsome stranger on a christmas market might be the start of your personal Hallmark Movie experience.

Pairing: Marcus Pike x fem. Reader

Wordcount: 2.7k

Rating: G

Warnings: fluff, talk of body insecurities, German Christmas markets and food, reader is implied German (no actual German was used in this fic safe for one word), food, alcohol

A/N: here it is. A christmas market meet cute that is way too autobiographical but hey? It's okay, I treat this website like an open diary lmao

Christmas used to be different.

When you were little you had these big family celebrations. You would have a big feast on Christmas eve before all the kids would be sent upstairs to wait for presents until Santa (or more like whichever adult was in charge of that year) rang the golden bell.

The kids would have to sing a christmas carol (how humiliating) before they finally got to unwrap the presents. You vividly remember getting underwear for christmas at the age of nine and there might or might not be a picture somewhere around of your reaction.

Nine year old you did not enjoy getting underwear for christmas.

Thirty year old you on the other hand….

But then your uncle and aunt got divorced. Then your mother and your step father. And slowly but surely the family grew apart and you, you grew up.

Christmas became exhausting, sometimes even awkward with just immediate family (and sometimes whoever was your mother’s new boyfriend) around, trying to decide what to cook for dinner that year.

You mostly ended up on salmon because your mother grew up in a strictly catholic household and even though she hadn’t prayed or went to a church in at least ten years, she couldn’t always escape the strictly catholic childhood she had where god forbid meat was allowed to be eaten on the birth day of Jesus Christ. (Why fish was okay was beyond you, but then again, so was religion)

Another reason Christmas used to be different was because you did not have to pay for anything. If you would have known how expensive it could be, you would have stayed nine forever.

But now you were grown up and your mother had dragged you into the city to get you out of your fucking apartment, the apartment you loved, the apartment that became your sanctuary during a pandemic and your boyfriend breaking up with you via facetime because of social distancing. (At least he had the decency to do so, before moving in with his fucking ex girlfriend)

You were… happy.

Mostly.

Of course there were times you wondered if this was all you’d get from life.

If you’d still be sitting alone in your apartment in twenty years wondering if something was wrong with you because you did not want to get out and meet new people. That you would still be happy being single (mostly)

Not that you did not enjoy meeting people when you actually got out of the house once in a while.

But you did not make an effort to actually get out.

So here you were, in your winter coat, already sweating underneath it, because fuck global warming really was making december feel more like september but you had treated yourself to a new expensive winter coat so you’d suffer through it, walking next to your mother who was drinking her mulled wine and checking out handmade christmas decoration that was way to expensive (and ugly).

There was something about German Christmas markets that was just magical though.

The lights, the scents, the decorations. Last Christmas running in every possible cover version that existed.

You had been to christmas markets in other countries as well but nothing felt like the ones at home even though you were unable to describe why.

It wasn’t long before you walked into some friends of your mother (because she knew literally everyone) who invited you both for another round of mulled wine which you declined because you had agreed to drive home.

For a couple minutes you stayed with them, catching up on gossip before you excused yourself to walk another round over the market, maybe get to the drug store to buy that expensive perfume you had been talking yourself out of getting for a month (or batteries for your trusty vibrator)

It was bittersweet.

The last time, pre-pandemic, you had been here with your Ex. It was the last time you had seen him in person. You really thought that he would be the one.

The two of you had met a year before while you were visiting one of your friends in Spain, falling head over heels for him. Long distance was hard, but you made it work. Until he met his ex at a birthday party during the beginning of covid and noticed that there were still some feelings for her left.

You might have had…. A little breakdown that lasted maybe…. Two whole weeks after he broke up with you on facetime while you had planned a totally different evening with the new lingerie and the remote vibrator he could control you had bought online.

So yeah, maybe you were finished with men.

You were thinking about adopting a cat.

Or a… turtle.

Maybe some fish? Could you adopt a fish?

You let your eyes wander through the booths before you walked closer to one selling handmade snowglobes. You still regretted not buying the one snowglobe a couple of years ago which had a Tyrannosaurus Rex with a Christmas hat on.

You were almost there when someone bumped into you, big hands grabbing you by the shoulders, to keep you from falling face first to the ground, the man already apologising in broken German before you could even look at him.

It was the moment you met Marcus Pike.

Marcus had taken a German class back in college.

And up to a week ago, when he was sent to Dresden he thought his German was… okay?

And it was okay.

If he had to order himself something for dinner or ask for directions.

It was something completely different when he was helping in an investigation after one of the biggest treasure robberies to date. Diamonds and centuries old jewellery worth hundreds of millions of dollars had been stolen in a heist and the FBI had offered their help.

So in a red eye flight from Washington to Berlin he had listened to a German course online, feeling very confident in his language skills until he had to go through customs.

Safe to say he was glad the majority of people knew at least some english. Though it made him feel like a stereotypical American tourist who expected everyone and everything to understand and cater to him.

The lady at the car rental counter at the Berlin airport had been very helpful though. And flirted shamelessly while she explained the car and German traffic laws to him.

The drive from berlin to dresden flew by (which might have been thanks to no speed limit on the autobahn holy fuck) and after a 13 hour long sleep in his hotel he had joined the investigation.

It was now week two and he had two days off before he would join the investigation for another 5 days before flying back home for christmas.

And so he used the time to see some of germany.

He booked himself a hotel on the other side of the country and just drove, fascinated that while he drove 5 hours he could be almost in another country while back home he would still be in texas.

So here he was, enjoying the festive decorations on the local christmas market of the city he was staying in. He had some mulled wine and ate some mushrooms with garlic sauce and he was happy.

Well until he took time to people watch and saw all these…. Happy couples holding hands and being in love.

He might have gotten laid two weeks ago (and to his horror he could not even remember her name) but it was the feeling of being in love that he missed.

He was missing someone to care about, to hold, to kiss.

He wanted to hold hands and take dreamy walks over the christmas market while arguing about what to cook this christmas (he had heard of a german tradition of potato salad and sausage and he was fascinated)

He was in his thoughts, which is why he did not see you, his hand shooting out to keep you from falling, excuses in broken German coming from his lips that parted in awe when his eyes found yours.

You looked as surprised as he felt, lips parted as you looked up at him.

He was… beautiful.

Possibly the most handsome man you had ever seen.

In a split second a movie played in your mind about the life you could have with him. Love, marriage, kids, sex. Shaking your head, flustered, to clear your mind you sheepishly smiled at him. There was no way this man would be interested in someone like… you.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t look where I was going,” he said and you smiled.

“No worries,” you said and he sighed relieved.

“You speak my language,” he said and you chuckled.

“I do,” you said and his smile got wider before he let go of your arm.

“I feel like most Americans expect everyone just to speak English and…”

“Well I am german and I expect most people to speak english too, so you’re good,” you winked and he bit his lip.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” he asked again, his eyes checking you for any inuries. You nodded.

“Can I… invite you for a… Gluhwein? As an… apology,” he asked, giving you a hopeful smile and what could only be described as puppy eyes. You fought the inner German control freak in yourself who wanted to correct his pronunciation. There was this beautiful adorable fucking hot american man inviting poor old you for a hot drink, and you wanted to what? Correct him? You should be getting on your knees to…

“Nothing to apologise for. But…. I…. would like that,” you said before you mind could come up with more inappropriate scenarios, tilting your head as you continued to smile at him.

You learned that his name was Marcus Pike and that he was here for work from the states. Washington to be exact.

He was charming, had the cutest little dimple and a spot in his beard that seemed to mock you to kiss it.

You had met him when? An hour ago? But you already knew about his favourite movie, his favourite band and that he was divorced and currently single.

In that order.

It was not you who asked, it was him who told you which made you… pause for a moment. A man not interested would not tell you he was single, wouldn’t he? Were you really in the middle of a fucking hallmark movie?

Men like him did not look at you like he did.

To this day you did not know how you even managed to be in any relationship with the insecurities you had when it came to your looks.

You liked yourself.

You just did not get the idea of anyone else doing the same, which might sound weird if you spoke it out loud, but to you it made total sense.

“Hey,” Marcus said and you blinked your eyes.

“Did you hear a word of what I just said?” he asked with a chuckle. You had switched to hot chocolate after your mulled wine, remembering that somewhere on this christmas market was your by now probably tipsy mother who you had to drive home. You had introduced Marcus to your favourite, warm roasted almonds, and had chosen a bag full of christmas cookies for him to take with him.

“Sorry. I was just…” you looked at him, trying to figure him out. He tilted his head, his eyes curious.

“I was wondering what made you decide to spend your time with me I guess…” you shrugged and Marcus frowned.

“Why would I not?” he asked.

“Women like me do not get the handsome mysterious foreign men who, and correct me if I’m wrong, have their shit together and are far too nice to be single. Did I mention that you’re fucking hot? I just… I’m sure there are numerous other women you could be speaking to,” you shrugged, feeling very vulnerable all of the sudden.

You huffed a laugh.

“You know what? Ignore what I just said. We’ve only met an hour ago. You don’t care about all my shit. It’s… Thank you for the drink, Marcus,” you smiled, turning your head away with the intention to walk away, when you heard him say your name.

Turning around you find him looking down at you, having taken a step towards you. He was taller than you, making you tilt your head up so you could look into his beautiful brown eyes.

“I don’t know who hurt you to make you see yourself like that,” he began and you gulped.

“Look, I tend to rush things. But I feel like with you I have to rush things, not only because of what you just said but because I’m only here for another couple of days. Well… to be exact I have to leave to go back to work in two days and it’s a five hour drive so…” he rambled and you felt your lips widen in a smile.

“Can I take you out for lunch tomorrow? And dinner?” he asked. You parted your lips in surprise.

“And for the record this is not to apologise for running you over still, it’s because I…. I want to get to know you because… you’re funny and cute and you do that adorable thing with your nose when you’re thinking about something and I… I really really want to get to know you better before I….”

“Before you?” you whispered.

“Before I kiss you,” he whispered back, his face coming closer.

“K… Kiss me?” you squealed. He nodded with a small smile.

“Even though I had a ton of that delicious garlic sauce earlier and probably taste like it, all I can think about is kissing you,” he hummed.

“You… You could kiss me? If you want. I… wouldn’t stop you. I actually like garlic. I… I think sometimes it’s… It’s okay to rush things like… kissing me. Kissing me seems like a good reason to…”

He stopped your nervous ramble with his lips on yours and you sighed, closing your eyes, melting against him, as one of his arms wrapped behind you.

The only thing that would make this more cheesy would be if it started snowing.

Instead you heard your mother call out your name behind you, making you groan and Marcus chuckle.

“How about we meet for lunch and cook dinner after together at my place?” you asked him.

“Sounds perfect,” he whispered against your lips. Sucking your bottom lip in you reached for your phone so he could give you his number.

You turned away from him, giving your mother who was approaching you a stern look that made her narrow her eyes but worked to shut her up from any attempts on humiliating you in front of this man.

“Here. I already called myself so I have your number,” he said and you turned around, taking your phone from him.

“I’ll.. text you,” you said with a sheepish smile.

“When you get home,” he said and you grinned.

“So I know you got home safe,” he added, all serious, winking at you.

“Of course,” you nodded, taking a deep breath as you took a step back.

“Get some more of those roasted almonds. They’re delicious,” you said and he nodded.

“I will,” he smiled, his hands in his coat pockets.

“Call me,” he added.

You smiled, nodding at him, before you turned around and walked towards your mother.

Who, thankfully, refrained from asking any questions, just giving you a knowing smile.

And in a… surprising turn of events you found yourself in Washington DC 10 days later.

Celebrating your first Christmas with Marcus Pike.

#my fic #Marcus pike #Marcus Pike x fem. reader #Pedro pascal #fanfiction #fanfic #fan fiction

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faterpresources · 1 year

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Wɪᴛᴄʜ ᴏɴ ᴛʜᴇ Hᴏʟʏ Nɪɢʜᴛ - Cʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 2 : Lɪᴛᴛʟᴇ ʜᴀᴘᴘᴇɴɪɴɢ ᴏғ ʟᴀsᴛ ɴɪɢʜᴛ (ᴘᴀʀᴛ 1) - Sᴇɴᴛᴇɴᴄᴇ Sᴛᴀʀᴛᴇʀs

A collection of random lines compiled from the game Witch on the Holy Night (Mahōtsukai no Yoru ,also known as Mahoyo) Feel free to change the pronouns in order to better suit the parts involved. Warning: some crude language

❝ Would you look at that. ❞

❝ Times-a-wastin'! Let's eat! ❞

❝ … It kind of tastes like dirt. ❞

❝ 'So what'?! Were you born in hell?! ❞

❝ Look at what? What do you mean? ❞

❝ … Is that a good thing or a bad thing ? ❞

❝ You've got it all wrong, but that's okay. ❞

❝ It's okay to turn them down, you know. ❞

❝ Tell me what happened a year ago first. ❞

❝ I'm trying to compliment you, you idiot. ❞

❝ But what happened next is the juicy part. ❞

❝ It's salmon. I would never eat grasshopper. ❞

❝ Huh? Isn't that ancient history at this point? ❞

❝ Which do you prefer, running or swimming? ❞

❝ I don't understand. Why would that happen? ❞

❝ He/She said he/she likes me…for no reason? ❞

❝ This is extortion, or blackmail, or something! ❞

❝ They were all a bunch of losers if you ask me. ❞

❝ Take that back. I'm more clever than you think. ❞

❝ … And what exactly is that supposed to mean? ❞

❝ A mosquito would offer better company, so no. ❞

❝ I get the feeling you're not telling me everything. ❞

❝ You've got some nerve. Am I a mosquito to you? ❞

❝ Don't worry. I value my life, so I'll shut my mouth. ❞

❝ As much as emotional arguments can make sense. ❞

❝ Because I like what I like and dislike what I don't like. ❞

❝ Ugh, well, I guess it's true that love knows no reason. ❞

❝ Now you get it. It's what a joyless existence tastes like. ❞

❝ It came to be known as the Bloody Town Hall Incident. ❞

❝ Stop trying to lead this good soul over to the dark side! ❞

❝ The way he/she acts reminds me of someone I despise. ❞

❝ I'm always civil -- just not when you're in the same room. ❞

❝ So, you just wanted to brag about how close you two are? ❞

❝ Anybody that never lies can't really be considered human. ❞

❝ Barging into our classroom to lecture us on table manners! ❞

❝ … I kind of get it now. I think I know why I don't like him/her. ❞

❝ But whatever the reason, I believe his/her concern is genuine. ❞

❝ Consider this revenge for saying I was worse than a mosquito. ❞

❝ Having one wolf in sheep's clothing around here is bad enough. ❞

❝ Don't even go there. Even thinking about it give me the creeps. ❞

❝ Just take it from me -- his/her standards are anything but normal. ❞

❝ Okay. I'm not one to gossip, but for you I'm making an exception. ❞

❝ Huh? You grew up in the mountains, and you're still afraid of dogs? ❞

❝ Your pride's never allowed you to give anything less than your best. ❞

❝ Always trying to smooth things over with that silver tongue of yours. ❞

❝ Damn! It! All! I cant believe you of all people pulled one over on me! ❞

❝ I wouldn't say there's no reason for it. I can think of one at least. ❞

❝ No wonder you can't get a boy/girlfriend. Do I have your attention now? ❞

❝ I thought he/she was beautiful the moment I first laid eyes on him/her. ❞

❝ It is kind of strange, to be honest. I don't even know him/her that well. ❞

❝ All I know is that nothing good will come out of either of these choices. ❞

❝ What could he/she have done to have earned the attention of such royalty? ❞

❝ The law of the city…means someone will deal out punishment eventually … ❞

❝ Get your butt over here! It's the long-awaited Canned Food Festival today! ❞

❝ Maybe he/she secretly wishes he/she could ignore me when we pass each other. ❞

❝ I see what you're saying, _ , but being a dog isn't exactly a good thing. ❞

❝ … No, I just meant that our dreams are something we take hold of ourselves. ❞

❝ The real question is what the hell qualifies as company to you, but whatever. ❞

❝ I bet you also told him/her all the nasty rumors floating about me, too, huh. ❞

❝ At least I'm trying. It's like you stopped bothering to be civil two years ago. ❞

❝ So that's how it is. You're still upset with me for what happened, aren't you? ❞

#Mahoutsukai no Yoru #mahoyo #type moon #Witch on the Holy Night #rp meme #roleplay meme #roleplay ask meme #rp ask meme #ask meme #sentence starters #writing prompts #dialogue prompt #visual novel #original

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malawrites · 1 year

Text

Revenant - Sukuna x Reader

Chapter 2

Content Warning: Porn With Plot, Cannibalism, Master/Slave

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Last Chapter

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An androgynous person covers my naked frame with a blanket, their face carefully impassive when they spot my semen-covered hair. The door shuts behind us and we walk through the halls of the temple. I wrap the blanket around myself as though it were a cloak, my feet barefoot against the cold tile. When their nimble hands grip the side of the fusuma door, I break the silence.

“What’s your name,” I hoarsely remark, my eyes fixated on the crimson zori the servant wears. They hesitate before opening the door. Curses vaguely resembling translucent women titter inside, their pupils dilated as though they have fish eyes, unblinking. They wear obis decorated with embellishments of coral reefs, the chromatic fabric of their kimonos coruscating shades of silver and blue, with the exception of one taller woman who wears bronze. The white-haired servant turns to me and shallowly bows.

“My apologies. I am unaccustomed to having guests.” They straighten themselves. “My name is Uraume. I will return after you have been bathed to show you to your chambers.” I give the transparent women a once-over, their hands seemingly dyed red with ink. They remind me of oarfish. I turn to speak to Uraume, but they have already left.

Fresh water pours over me while the nymphs gossip, moving from topic to topic before they start whispering.

“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?”

“Surely he wouldn’t?”

“Oh, how despicable!”

“That’s what makes him handsome.”

“Why are you guys whispering?” I interrupt.

Three of them look at me with pity, with the fourth raising their brow. “Haven’t you heard? His highness hasn’t taken a consort since the massacre.” The other women look at the servant in bronze. One immediately starts flaring her gills on the side of her neck and splashes water onto the offending woman.

“Don’t say that, Igata!”

Igata’s skin wobbles, gelatinous. “Would you rather I lie, Jun?” She flicks her skin back into place, snapping into place like a rubber band. “You’d rather I conceal the truth and let her die?”

Jun huffs, the air she inhales makes her cheeks look disgustingly round. “Better to die happy, I say.”

I look between the two of them, pleading for some form of clarification. “Uh… listen — what’s your name? I feel bad for you,” the woman closest to me says, scattering more herbs into the bath. “Where you’re at? Hah! I’d rather be ripped apart by a couple of tiger sharks and be thrown like a chew toy!”

“Abina…” Igata admonishes her, standing up to scootch a stool near the washtub.

“Alright, alright… you’re definitely not going to die and be slurped up by the King’s tummy mouth,” Abina grouses, wringing a washcloth.

Before the oldest woman can dunk the younger nymph into the water, I snap out of my shock. “What?”

The woman farthest from me runs her hands through her salmon red hair, dreamily sighing. “The way he chased after those concubines, oh God! Their entrails were scattered like algae.”

“Fusae!” Jun drags her hands down her face.

“What? Don’t tell me you don’t see the appeal.”

The water clings to my skin as I abruptly stand up, the slosh of the water bringing the room to silence. “Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” My heartbeat quickens as the image of me being lowered into the damp, capacious maw of the king flashes into my head. Igata quickly straightens and softly settles me back into the tub, looking at me with subdued sadness. The other nymphs make themselves scarce, except for Fusae. She simply gets closer.

“He had amassed a grand total of forty-two concubines,” Igata starts, my eyes widening.

“For… forty-two?”

Fusae giggles, lathering my hair with shampoo. “There’s been emperors who have had more than three thousand,"[1] she sing-songily says.

“Quiet,” the older woman hisses, her gills flaring on her neck. She turns back to me. “Yes, forty-two. He had been perusing the swathes of humans that had been offered to him for protection —”

“The fools that begged were slaughtered, of course!”

Igata’s black hair whips to the side as she snarls, electricity sparking around the tendrils of her hair. Fusae quickly makes herself small, rinsing my hair.

“As I was saying, the King looked over at each of his concubines, slowly making his way from room to room. Stared them dead in the eyes and said, ‘Gorgeous things, aren’t you? Happy and healthy.’ And what else could they do but hang their heads? He circled from where they stood with their heads bowed, and spoke but one word. ‘Run.’

It was over quickly. He chased every last one of them to their deaths, laughing. Some were slow, dragged on by his graciousness. Others were more fortunate. He ate every last one of them. Forty-two concubines, all slaughtered by the King in one evening.”

Fusae helps me out of the bath, Jun and Abina soon follow with towels.

“No warning. No nothing,” Abina mumbles, spreading moisturizing oils on my skin.

“Had more patience in the first Golden age of Jujutsu…” Jun said, smearing a strong, medicinal scent on my shoulders.

I clear my throat at the inflammation of my nose, eyes watering from the tea tree oil. “When was this?” They all look at my glassy eyes, mistaking it for sorrow. Jun sighs, lightly dabbing my face with moisturizing cream. “Don’t ask questions you don’t want to know the answer to. It’s fine. Well, it’s not fine, but that doesn’t mean you can’t live.” She stands back to let it dry, shaking her hand. “Maybe you’ll have a chance."

Abina scoffs, massaging my cuticles. “A chance for what?”

We stay silent for a long period of time. Igata stands from her stool, her bronze kimono shifting with her weight. She clothes me, tying my black obi. “It’s best for you to get some rest,” she says, spreading beeswax onto my lips.

Uraume leads me to my chambers, a spacious, windowless room. It has a thick futon laying on top of tatami flooring, an elegantly decorated duvet, and pillows. It’s dreadfully empty of decorations, making me feel uneasy. “Is it true?”

Uraume turns to me, their plum eyes considering me. “What do you speak of?”

“His highness killed his concubines.” The air I breathe in turns biting, frost choking my neck in vengeance. They narrow their eyes, drawing closer to me.

“Do you question the King’s will? The freedom he grants you is not meant to be taken for granted.”

“I question if I will be next,” I breathe out, my heart dropping to my knees in dread.

“‘All acts are impermanent —

That’s the law of creation and destruction.

When all creation and destruction are extinguished —

That ultimate stillness is true bliss.’”[2] Uraume’s breath sends wintry hands on the side of my face, Demeter accosting me for my foolishness.

“Rest,” they say, shutting the doors. I am left in utter darkness.

Left to my own devices, I dream of nothing. The absence of any visions makes me curl up onto my side, fingers absent-mindedly playing with the stitching on the kakebuton. Chinese peacock butterflies are embroidered on the covers, lustrous black and green colors sheening from the small amount of natural lighting peeking in. I turn the covers inside-out and stare, as if I could stop my thoughts from sheer will and pretty butterflies.

Doubt covers me more than this blanket could. It was not as though I was ignorant of Sukuna’s temperance, less of a human emotion and more of a tempered steel. He was not human. It should not be surprising to me, yet I sulked, grasping the covers as though they could reassure me. Going off of the servants’ tones, it must have been recent, their deaths. My stomach growls and I sardonically laugh at the irony.

I stand up, moving to the door and wince as I step on silk. There is a fresh kimono at the foot of my bed, presumably left by Uraume or one of the other servants. It is an imperial purple with a brocade of turtles on it. I sadly smile. I leave my room, side-stepping the fabric and adjusting my kosode. The smell of cooked fish carries my feet, the source being a kitchen in which Uraume is cutting bamboo shoots, slashing indents into the vegetables. They glance at my clothing.

“Was the kimono not to your liking?” They say, dropping the bamboo shoots into a donabe and pouring water.

I avert my eyes, focusing on how they sprinkle dry red peppers and rice grains into the pot. “I… didn’t feel comfortable wearing it.”

Uraume places a otoshibuta on its surface, frowning. “It did not fit you? My eyes must be failing me. Please accept my apologies.”

“No, no,” I sheepishly flap my hand. “Nothing like that. I… It just left a sour taste in my mouth, you know?” They arch their eyebrow at me. “The sea turtles, their meaning,” I stare at the floor.

Uraume’s face relaxes, moving to the second pot on the stove. “It was a coincidence,” they say, smiling. Removing the drop lid, smoke escapes the pot, spreading the mouth-watering smell of stew.

“Right,” I tentatively return a smile, watching as they dip a ladle into the broth and blow on it, offering it to me. “Mmm… tastes delicious.”

Uraume’s smile grows a little wider, and my heart warms from their sincerity. “I’m glad I could be of service.”

We eat in comfortable silence. Our chopsticks lightly graze the ceramic chawan, plucking clumps of fluffy rice. “So,” I start, averting my eyes. “How did you meet Sukuna?”

Uraume clears their throat. “I had been living in a monastery, taken in by Buddhist monks. They fed me, clothed me, and offered me sleeping quarters. One could view their acts as faithful to the Four Noble Truths, selfless in spirit.”[3]

They look up from their plates. “They were anything but charitable. My Lord tore them to shreds and saved me.”

“Weren’t you human?”

Uraume bows their head with a knowing smile. “But of course. He was to cull me as well.” They look off into the distance, in a reverie as their eyes trace their kitchen knives. “He graciously stayed his hand as I requested to taste their flesh before my death. Oh, how many years had I waited to consume them as they did me. They were utterly repulsive.” Uraume’s face turns carefully neutral, but their cold eyes give them away. “I prayed for their deaths each and every day they defiled me, imagining their cries. And he granted me the freedom to do as I please.”

I let the tangy-sweet taste of pomegranate linger in my tongue, slowly picking up another seed from a bowl. “So that’s why you swear your fealty. The two of you share the hobby of killing and eating humans.”

They look mildly concerned at my nonchalance, minutely tilting their head to examine me. “Yes, that’s right.”

“And it’s the principle of taking away unworthy lives to consume that tethers you to him, right?”

“Correct.”

My hand gently clasps around an untouched pomegranate, cradling it as though it were a boon from the gods. The skin gleams a brilliant red, miniature grooves in its texture.

“So my death would serve as a conservation of energy, like how the food chain works.”

“I suppose.” They blow a gust of cold air onto their tea. “You are concerned about your death.” Uraume stares at me.“If my master wills it, so it shall be. Confined in a cage up against the wall, pressed against the barriers, if you linger in thought holding back your potential, you will remain mired in fear and frozen in inaction.”[4] They sip their tea, maintaining eye contact.

I see Uraume’s eyes, but I do not see them. We are no longer in the temple I know, instead surrounded by fire and brimstone. Cleaved columns of a heavenly monastery crumble before us, and as I blink, they are in awe, unseeing as I am. They look past me, on their hands and knees. Uraume shuffles towards a charred corpse, holding a man’s arm. I turn my head in shock. With all the grace of a disgraced asura, Ryomen Sukuna tramples the remnants of the temple, one of four hands clasping his trishula, his four eyes hungrily roaming the grounds. As soon as their eyes meet, their voices are stolen from me and the smog clears.

“-not aware that you were afflicted with hysteria,” is what I hear when I come to, my eyes meeting the white walls of the temple. I blink and run my hand over the hollows of my eyes.

“I’m not.” I scrutinize Uraume’s appearance, rising from my seat to inspect them further. “There was a fire, one brought from an arrow.” I circle them. “Sukuna rained his arrow upon your monastery and cleansed your burdens, yes, that makes sense.” Uraume whips their head around, their face aghast. “But why would he spare you if he holds no human regard in terms of morality? Was it made on impulse? Or were you simply spared for your usefulness?”

“You ask many questions,” they retort. “It matters not in the grand scheme of his will. He could have slaughtered me as the rest, should he have chosen to do so.” Now it is their turn to surround me, a vulture with talons of ice and white feathers. “Hmm.” Uraume takes hold of my lower jaw, leisurely examining my face. “I had thought your cursed energy was from your disallowance of your true nature, your obedience a ruse. I stand corrected.” They hum, letting go of my face. “The eyes of a seer.”

The days pass without much fanfare, the king having left the temple without a word. It seems to be a common occurrence from Uraume’s reaction, or lack thereof. They sedulously attend to their duties, maintaining the expensive tatami flooring and dusting the many ornamental scrolls that line the walls. The aquatic women who tend to me are silent. The absence of their words makes me lonely.

I wander the halls barefoot, silently padding from room-to-room in search of something to distract me, from the yawning lacuna within me. It’s as though I am in a slow turning whirlpool, gradually dragging me into its oceanic abyss. I much preferred being used and having company than being without. A door with golden rings shines in the low light of the hallway, snakes coiled amongst the frame. I open it and step inside, intaking the scent of cinnamon.

Spices and herbal scents swirl around the room, a round cushion placed on top of a zabuton on a lifted platform, a shallow staircase leading to a gilded mirror. Urns that reek of death are on either side of the room, etched with spindly leaves and crescent moons. There is ash inside of them. I sit on the zafu, feeling the reedmace settle underneath me. I am property.

My fingers follow the carved wood of women dancing amongst the clouds, my head full of fog and precipitated thoughts. I will have no other purpose than to appease the king. I curl up into a ball and run my hands through my hair. Is this freedom? Would I truly be free through his will, as Uraume says?

I chuckle with mirth, raising my head to the clear glass. Two eyes sprout onto my cheekbones, blinking and staring back at me, a kami mirrored onto me. I move closer and sigh, watching it reflect every movement I make. Another eye bursts out of my skin on my temples and a scream rings through the shrine, startling me. I quickly turn and hear a woman shriek and uncontrollably cry, the unmistakable presence weighing onto me. I exit the meditation chambers[5] and watch as Sukuna drags a woman by her hair, a malevolent smile stretching his face.

“A lively one, isn’t she?” he croons, his lower set of eyes staring at me as he walks past, dragging her into his room.

Uneven streaks of blood paint the hall’s floor, the dark blue tile becoming a muddied purple.

“Stop! Let me go! Please,” he cackles in delight at the woman’s cries. I briskly leave as the envy in my throat threatens to regurgitate bile. I can hear her through the walls, so I escape to the gardens.

There is a meadow of curses, shades intermingling and cutting dead branches of shrubbery. They speak in whispers, as though their breath was stolen. Their voices are all male.

“Meh… goo… me,” they rasp, all the entities simultaneously looking at me.

I blink, the curses’ eyes faintly glowing green in a trick of light. “Oh. You’re Megumi?”

He nods, bowing his head. His forms flicker. He looks like he wants to say something more, but sound refuses to escape him.

“It’s ok, don’t strain yourself.” I settle down on a large rock, foliage tickling my ankles. “You… look human, somehow,” I muse, watching as Megumi patiently listens.

He stays silent, pointing at me. “Me…”

I tilt my head. “Oh, so you were human?”

He takes a while to process my words, almost like a child. He slowly nods his head, a brief aura of happiness filling the grounds. He quickly shrinks into himself as he hears an echoed wail, the blobby masses of black flattening and swirling.

“Hey, hey, hey, it’s fine. You’re safe, I’m not going to hurt you,” I say, raising my hands in surrender.

Megumi seems to flatten and squint at me, softly croaking. I soften my eyes at the curse, watching as his shades waddle a distance away, keeping his eyes on me.

Black surrounds me as I hear the squall of a harpy, electricity crackling through the air. Totality cuts into flesh with a howl, a flash of a hound merging with another. Megumi meets my eyes, face bloodied and teeth in an open-toothed smile. It’s as though the shadows erupt from himself. I come to with a flinch, Megumi curiously looking at me. I blink my eyes to clear the dots from my vision.

“You were a sorcerer,” I mumble, getting off of the rock and gripping my head. “You were so young.” I can feel my eyes sting with unshed tears, my glassy eyes refracting the green of his eyes. “Poor thing.”

He stares at me in awe as I pass my hands through his shadows’ hair, gingerly carding through the murky black. There’s a startled intake of air and Uraume calls out to me.

“What are you doing?” Their bob sways from side to side as they gracefully step towards me, glancing at Megumi. He flickers in place, the shadows of a candlelight squirming in fear. “Get back to work.” He quickly disappears from the entrance of the gardens, traveling through the shadowed vines of the plants. Uraume side-eyes me, pursing their lips.

“I think it is best if you do not interfere with his work. Come.”

I spend the rest of the day with Uraume. When night falls and I cannot sleep, I head to the meditation chambers, softly pressing my lips against my clasped hands. I think of the shades, a shadow of a former boy cursed to indentured servitude. I frown and flutter my lashes, but the tears refuse to fall. The mirror keeps me company.

Sukuna falls into the pattern of bedding women. They cry into the night, pleading and sobbing into his sheets. He spurs them with his hand and laughs at their futility. Does he do this because he knows I can hear? Knows that I cannot sleep, hearing what he does?

Is Uraume blind? He is the same as those repugnant beasts, the ones who desecrated their dignity. I wake each morning with shadows under my eyes, squinted with exhaustion. He has not bedded me since I arrived, countless candles burning into cold pools of wax. I do not break into broken sobs like the women he forced himself onto.

I burn quietly, the irritation simmering at the back of my head and my neck. I do as I am told, looking at Megumi from afar, wondering what led him to this cruel fate. I stay inside the temple grounds, wandering as though I were a wraith. It feels awful, though I have grown accustomed to it. The waxing crescent of the moon shines on me, its silver plated craters greeting me with an elegant wave. Chilly autumnal winds blow through the fabric of my kosode, causing me to shiver.

I feel at peace; a month has passed by already, and I can’t help but feel restless. There’s an oxymoronic quality to my emotions since I have been left to my devices, a desire for connection and being content with my distance. I merely lick the cold off of my lips and close my eyes, fulfilled for the time being. The biting air nearly lulls me to sleep, Kaguya-hime singing me a lullaby.

“You really shouldn’t be so careless.”

My eyes flutter open, yet I stay still, basking in his warmth. I had not realized he was there, his hulking form pressed against my side. There’s an intoxicating scent in the air, sweetness enveloped in herbal notes. He puffs smoke into the evening air, white fading into a whimsical sky of indigo and amber gradients. The drug stings my eyes.

“You’re the cause of my carelessness,” I sigh, pressing myself further into his side.

“What, you didn’t enjoy the show? It was entertaining,” Sukuna snorts.

One of his arms slides against my hips, blunt nails skirting the dip of my waist. I involuntarily shiver, arching my back against him.

“What are you smoking?” I forget myself in the saccharine smoke, the nauseatingly fuzzy sensation overtaking my manners.

He considers me, taking a hold of my jaw and tilting my head upwards.

Sukuna exhales a long breath onto my face, making my eyelashes flutter from the mist. The sickly sweet aroma is starting to distort my perception. His four gray eyes stare into mine, watching as my irises overtake my pupils until they are but miniscule pinpricks. I let out a small breath as one of his large hands pulls my kosode up, exposing my thigh. It is a pendulum of sensation, moving back and forth.

Cold breezes ghost my skin with phantom touches. His palm keeps them at bay. Sukuna traces slow circles into my inner thigh, trailing warmth into my core. I exhale softly, gradually lifting my thigh at his touch. He stills as he sees the red underneath my robes, straightening himself. He pushes me onto the engawa and straddles my hips.

“Oh? You’re bleeding,” he coos, kneading the soft fat on my thighs. Sukuna’s brobdingnagian body leans over mine, his balsamic breath warming the top of my head. His two pairs of eyes scrutinize my body, one side of his face melded into a wave of wooden carvings, flesh mimicking the solid texture of trees.

“I am,” I mumble, staring back at him. His lips tug into a lopsided smile and his eyes darken. The rest of my robes are hiked up to my chest and I yelp at the swift smack against my folds, blood smearing against the palm of his hand. Sukuna salaciously licks my blood off of his hand, groaning.

“Mind your manners. I won’t repeat myself,” he says, grasping my thighs and pulling me towards him.

“Ah!” My back bows as he swirls his tongue against my clit, making my thighs squeeze his head. He digs his blunt nails into my thighs while he tastes me, the slick concoction of my menses and juices dripping onto his tongue.

“Ryomen…!”

Sharp claws pierce through the flesh of my thighs, digging indents of blood from my skin. I cry out and tremble as Sukuna drags his nails against the sides of my thighs, leaving angry red welts and weeping trails of ichor. He chuckles, languidly rubbing his fingers into my wounds.

“So easy to break.” He basks in my glassy eyes, relishing in my pain. He expects me to claw my own marks into one of his forearms and struggle against him. I do. I whine and look into those eyes made of slate, and feel his skin collect under my fingernails, his own mirrored red ribbons on his flesh. I surpass his expectations.

“More, my King,” I say, grasping one of his strong wrists. I push his black talons further into my flesh and I keen, trembling at the pain, the swinging pendulum.

He cackles and gleefully slams me further into the wooden floor. Another swing and the pain intertwines with the swipe of his tongue against my clit. Pain turns into pleasure and pleasure into pain. Coalesced sensations oscillating from each state to the next, my screams ringing throughout the shrine a testament to his glory. When I come to consciousness, I feel coldness flash against my thigh, then fat, then sinew. He’s taken a bite of me, a chunk of my flesh in his mouth.

My thigh screams as I shiver in place, but not of the cold. I attempt to speak, but my tongue fails me. In its place, my thighs move farther apart, even as I let out a warbled cry, the marbled pink of my muscle flexing. Holy tears run down my face, sanctifying my flesh. His four eyes are affixed to my body, cruor red anointed onto his canines, a stray ligament across his teeth.

“Delicious,” he croons.

Sukuna laps at the seams of my wound, flattening his tongue against the wavering strands of muscle. He moans. I bite my finger to tamp down my cries. One hand spreads my folds, dripping clear globs of slick marred with crimson. Another splits open and descends onto my cunt, his palm’s mouth ravishing me. My unwounded leg kicks out, rocking his pipe from its place on the engawa. I look at it as he renders me thoughtless. Teeth graze my clit and I cry out, my vision blurring.

“Please!”

His eyes are crescents as he partakes in my chastening, witnessing my desecration: my unbitten hand writhing and curling towards his discarded pipe, my diaphragm quaking with each discarded breath, the gossamer tears tainting my reddened cheeks, and the strings of sinew that quiver amongst my partially exposed femur. It delights him.

“Oh? You would be so forward as to interrupt my supper?”

I shake my head and shudder. “No… my Lord, I,” my pulse frantically rocks against my ribcage. “I want to be drugged.”

Sukuna’s eyes search for my countenance. He accedes after a few seconds, his fourth hand grabbing his pipe, another retracting from my slit and forming the Suchi mudra. He snaps his fingers and the orb of opium smolders in gold, its cocoon of black exorcized by his flame. “Swallow the smoke.”

I do as he says and briefly inhale, exhaling a sweet plume of smoke. Sukuna surrounds me, his chest to my back. His arms cover my diminutive frame, the monstrous appendages weaving amidst my legs, caressing my wounds.

The pain disappears and a fog of incomprehension falls over me. He presses languid kisses against my neck, where my carotid artery is. Nipping at my sensitive skin, leaving broken capillaries. I moan, throwing my head back. I roll my hips into the warmth behind me and chase the psychedelic pleasure, puffs of maudlin madness coursing through me. He merely grins, his charcoal claws burning into my thighs. There is a pleasant heat nestled upon my clit and I follow it, sliding myself against it. Sukuna hisses and his nails dig deeper into me.

“You naughty bitch.”

I yelp as he pushes my thighs together, his cocks sliding between my thighs. Each pass harshly nudges my clit. The crude sound of skin against skin echoes on the engawa, my blood and arousal smearing against him.

“Been waiting for this, haven’t you?” He erotically whispers, one of his hands latching onto my tit. It sensually suckles my nipple, swirling its tongue against my sensitive nub. I gasp. “Aching and wet for my cocks,” his hand digs into my open wound, “All the while I fucked another woman.” He sneers and his thumb drags fatty yellow ochre from my femur, making me twitch and pant.

I cannot tell what blood is from my wound and which is from my sex. I pant nonetheless. I mindlessly watch his glans rub against my thighs, his foreskin gliding back with each thrust. It is smeared with blood. The occlusion of pain brings forth an indescribable veil that settles across my vessel, nerves assuaged with mist and calm. Time runs fast for me, the pendulum skipping and carving its misshapen momentum into my aorta. Breathless sighs escape my mouth as he uses me.

Globs of cum slather into the mix of ichor and slick, painting a macabre picture amidst my legs. Sukuna catches his breath. In the midst of my drugged stupor, I had not heard him climax, my hearing as dazed as my head. He releases me and cleans himself with the soft hem of my kosode. A soft graze of his hand against my thigh and the wound is healed, the seams of my skin stitching itself whole. He stands and stares at me for a moment. I can feel his four eyes on my skin.

“You’re dismissed,” Sukuna states, turning on his heel towards the corridors.

He leaves me there, lying on the wooden floor with his cum on my thighs, and the bloodied remainder of his supper. I stagger in the halls, hands sliding against the walls to remain on my feet. The hypodermis of my thigh wails in its recreation, cells muttering their discontent. The opium silences it. I open a door closest to me when my leg begins to wobble. Uraume lifts their head, a scroll in their hand.

“Sorry,” I softly say, hobbling away from the doorframe. I must look disgusting.

They stop me with a raise of their hand and close their scroll, lightly stepping towards me. “Follow me.” Uraume takes my bloodied hand in theirs.

They take me to the familiar fusuma doors, a Makara[6] of celadon green guarding the bath. Igata and the others are nowhere to be seen. Their hands diligently scrub at the debris left by their master, soundlessly performing their duties.

“How is he any different from them?” Uraume’s hands turn cold at my words. “I don’t mean any disrespect. I genuinely want to see it through your eyes.” Their plum eyes thaw at my placating words, the cold seeping through their palms calming. Water trickles down my shoulders.

“What is hell to you?”

“Physical or theoretical?”

Uraume’s lips quirk at my wit. “Answer the question.”

I sigh. “If I had to describe it… then it’d be stagnation. Stuck in the same space, cycling through the same actions, suffering the same inconveniences… though that’s subjective.”

They tilt their head and knowingly smile. “Most humans would simply parrot ‘divine punishment’ and nothing more.” They wring the water out of the washcloth, gazing at the bubbles foaming at the surface.

“He brings forth the righteous law of hell. They burn from their willful ignorance. As pigs, they poison their own cyclic lives to roll around in avidya.” Uraume helps me out of the washtub. “It is a hell of their own making. Lord Sukuna merely accelerates the process.”

“You’re saying those women deserved it?”

They narrow their eyes. “Were they not from the settlement?”

My eyes widen and study their face, ensuring they speak the truth. “...If that’s the case,” I glance at the frothing foam bathed in opaline reflections.

I crouch and blow at the bubbles at the bath’s surface, snuffing their existence. “No comment.” I can tell my cursed energy gives me away, the rushing tide of colliding emotions encapsulated within my soul. Simmering anger washes over my head before rocking into silent splashes against the coast of my neck, soaking the sand with a pleased torrent. I feel no guilt. Uraume smiles and wraps a towel around my naked body.

“You’re dripping onto the floor.”

My self drips into the wax of the morrow as there is a silent night, a blown out candle describing me well. His flames creating my purpose, a pillar of fire setting the silver of my waxing crescent to turn in on itself. Something to behold when wanted, to melt into myself when left alone. I wonder why he even keeps me. There’s a ringing in my ears when I shuffle into the covers, mind endlessly speaking.

Am I useful to him? Do I have any sort of significance? I sigh and drag my hands through my hair. Staying in bed will not grant me any sort of shut-eye for tonight, it seems. I lift myself onto my side and see silk fabric waiting at my bedside. An extravagant black kimono unfurls in my hands, strings of silver guiding sprouting white camellias. The obi is a pearlescent white, shimmering a faint pink and blue. I exit my room, mandalas of ivory in tow. Dawn has risen. Sunburnt scarlet clings to my skin as I walk across the halls, admiring the simplicity of the temple.

One would think the King of Curses would decorate his home to the utmost opulence, yet he remains complacent. There’s a pattern of minimalism throughout the temple, excluding the honden, where the kami would be enshrined. I close my eyes and take a deep breath. In all likelihood, he is playing with his food. There is no other reason for me to be alive. The unmistakable sound of bones snapping whirrs in my head, the sickening slurp of synovial fluid. Those women never left his chambers.

I cannot find it in me to feel sad. The light scratching of my zoris distracts me as I walk into the courtyard, stone dyed a rusty rose. A cat made out of shadow prowls among the torii, curling its tail. It reminds me of the strays that used to skulk around before the curses came. I smile and quickly make kissing sounds to call it.

“C’mon, pretty kitty. How are you?” I coo, watching as it tentatively walks towards me, sniffing the air. “I don’t bite! Come here, baby.” It makes a small mrrp and bumps its side against my knees, the black fur solid against me. The cat smells of cedar, some sap streaks shine on its tail. “I’m glad I found you.” I rest my head on my forearms.

“I guess you’re used to being on your lonesome.” I look down and see a pair of grinning evergreen eyes, shocking a surprised smile out of me.

“Oh, you’re smart, aren’t you?” Megumi purrs as I continuously scratch the area behind his ears, gently smoothing out the inky down of his fur. “I thought you’d be more of a dog person,” I muse, earning me a swipe from a soft paw. He glares at me. “Okay, okay! I’ll forget about it,” I beam, closing my eyes. He huffs and walks a little distance away, his tail smacking the air. “C’mon, don’t be like that!” I lean on my knees, palms on the stone. “I haven’t seen you in forever,” I softly add, staring at him.

Megumi silently makes his way back to me, keeping a small gap of space between us.

“Sheee… ki… gahme,” he whispers. I look over my shoulder and side-eye him.

“Aren’t you going to get in trouble?” The cat wavers as though its surface is cowed by an invisible mass, shivering for a second. Megumi weakly shakes his head. It serves to remind me that this shade was young, younger than me when he died. He purrs louder when I rub his chin.

“Gumi,” I start, my thumb pressing against my index finger in worry, the skin reddening from the pressure. “Do you miss your family?”

He blinks. “I mean, not that I ever had one in the first place. They were all kind of assholes, but that’s beside the point,” I clear my throat. “Do you ever miss someone? Someone you hold dear to your heart?”

Megumi lowers his head and averts my eyes. His eyes are glossy. “Go… joh,” he rasps.

The afterimage of him being slain runs through my head, a flash of white falling from the sky. Crimson occluded the cerulean that was once his eyes. Throughout the heavens and the earth, he alone was the honored one. “A shame,” I hum softly. “Pretty sure I saw him die,” I carelessly say, missing the way his eyes widen and his tail puffs. “Wasn’t even sure he cared about anyone else but himself. He seemed like he had a lot on his plate at any given day. The type of guy that busies himself so he doesn’t have to think.” I tilt my head.

“Wonder if he was stuck in the past, with how much he moved. You only distract yourself that much when you want to ignore something, or someone.” I make a subdued noise of surprise when I turn and see Megumi’s face studying mine. He doesn’t say anything else. I sigh and turn my cheek, shutting my eyes. “One day I’ll be like you.” We stay close to each other until sunrise, when Amaterasu gracefully lifts her head and ascends to her throne in the sky. She beckons the sorcerer-turned-curse back to his gardens. I am alone again.

Breakfast is served. Thin, transparent slices of fish surrounded by magnolia leaves are on my plate. The meticulous way Uraume prepared it reminds me of the camellias on my kimono, a spiraling, sharp pattern. “You have been acclimating well,” they casually remark, breaking the silence. Chopsticks clink against ceramic.

“It’s peaceful here,” I admit. “Even if I do end up eaten whole, I wouldn’t be sad about it.” I stir the lines of yellow dripping from my poached egg, mixing it into the curry. “Your food is amazing, and I’m treated well. No complaints.”

Uraume looks at me curiously. “Most do not regard cannibalism with such a calm constitution.”

“Is it really cannibalism if the two of you are curses?”

They huff a laugh, shaking their head. “Curse or not, we were once humans.”

“Hm. Either way, it’s not that awful of a concept, at least to me. People see it as taboo, but they wouldn’t say a thing if they were starving.” I blow on a spoonful of curry and press it into my mouth. “We keep animals as pets, but the moment we have no food,” I snap my fingers. “We pick and choose what we eat when the time calls for it. Even if people try to wear a guise of civility.” The ice cubes in my glass chime as I drink.

“And what does that make you?”

“The same as the rest,” I purse my lips. “Being self-aware doesn’t clear my conscience or make me any better than others. Except when it does.” I think of my time spent in the settlement, how I was looked down upon for not selling myself over to the sorcerers. Eyes constantly darting, searching for a new reason to reproach me. I was not human to them. I was a commodity, something to be sold. As long as the sorcerers took me, they would receive rations, enough rations to feed the entire encampment and then some. They could call me cold-hearted all they wanted. Licking their own wounds by condemning me, I would be better off in the hands of curses. Ironic, really.

“Thank you, by the way.”

They blink at me, momentarily confused.

“For the food, and the clothes. I appreciate it,” I add. “You put a lot of effort into your craft and it shows.” Uraume closes their eyes and lightly bows their head.

“Of course. It would be a disservice if I could not live up to my Master’s expectations.”

He is not here. The shrine tells of his absence, the miasma of misfortune clouding the halls is subdued. Only the remnants of his energy remain. I sigh and wander the halls, seeking to aimlessly relieve my boredom. I come across a set of doors I have not seen before, lingering animosity manifesting in its entryway, sinking into my shoulders. This is the King’s room.

Cinnamon and clove perfumes his chambers, a large expanse of space with an even taller ceiling. Tiger furs brush against my tabi, white zori in hand. Shikibuton are layered amongst each other, their ample width covering most of the room. His covers are neatly pressed to his mattresses, with colorations of navy, black and gold. Fit for a King.

A tray of sliced pufferfish is at his bedside with the same four entrees I had eaten, although of much higher quantity. I take a deep breath and sigh. His scent relaxes me. I have enough sense to not disturb his covers, instead sitting on his pelts. I know I am trespassing. I cannot find it in me to care, settling onto my side and pressing my face into the tiger stripes. Sleep silences my thoughts.

Screams fill my dreams, of a bygone era and a seal broken. A young boy with the hair of peach blossoms flowers into gore, multiple arms blooming from the caverns of his broken abdomen. Resorption: finger after finger embed themselves into a soul incapable to resist. The vessel serves its purpose. My mind fluctuates from the past and future, flipping sceneries faster than I can comprehend, a metronome. It is inverted from the present, parallel to the pendulum. Fixed in place, it chants a mantra of memories that are not my own.

An ancient past where Sukuna signs a pact. Cursed stitches reveal a wide smile, someone lurking within a samurai’s brain. The name Kenjaku is whispered, a mother appearing with the very same scar, holding a newborn. The same boy who perished in the beginning, Yuji. Shadows free a body once sealed and Yuji is enchained. Sukuna hovers over his body and consumes his own flesh, a snake swallowing its own tail. Kundalini surges and he is reborn.

I startle awake, shivering at the implications.

“My, my. Is my stray cat scared?” Sukuna chuckles, his lower set of eyes closed. He seems relaxed. I sigh in relief as his hands stroke my hair, closing my eyes. He must have returned while I was sleeping.

“I was having visions, my Lord,” I softly say. He raises one of his brows.

“Oh?”

I squint my eyes at the rays of sunlight that peek through his curtains. “I see the past and future, when my curse wills it. You burrowed out of a boy’s chest.” He squishes my cheeks together with his hand, looking down on me.

“Anyone who bows to me knows of my resurgence.” I avoid his eyes, careful to look at the tattoos bordering his collarbone.

“You made a vow with Kenjaku to be sealed. They were your vassal, and Yuji your vessel.” He forces me to look at him. His face is serious, scrutinizing my form for any sign of a falsehood.

“If what you claim is true, how was I unsealed, hmm?” His thumb presses into my neck. I lick my lips, my heartbeat quickening.

“Megumi. Your living corpse was in the Ten Shadows technique. You held him hostage and ate yourself.” Sukuna smiles, leaning his head on his fist.

“Ah, wonderful memories. It truly was a massacre,” he says, gray eyes stuck in a far away memory. His thumb rises to brush against my lips. “Now a sibyl is in my grasp. How exciting,” he sneers, sharp teeth teasing his bottom lip. One of his hands reaches towards his nearly empty plate, popping a pufferfish testicle[7] into his maw. He groans at the savory taste, poison coating his tongue. “You know,” he starts, plucking a lemon slice from his plate. “It was by pure chance I hadn’t killed you.” He chomps into the citrus. “Seems like fate is smiling down upon you,” he drawls. “Be grateful.”

I close my eyes. “Thank you, my King.”

Sukuna is appeased by my deference, continuing to eat without any other comment. I nearly lull back to sleep until he snorts. “Come here,” he says, pointing at his leg. I groggily crawl onto his lap, my silk robes coming in contact with his cotton hakama. His hands grab onto my waist, and another reaches around me to undo my sash. It feels more intimate, somehow.

Sukuna unwraps me as though I were a bestowed offering, carefully slipping the silken camellias off of my skin. In spite of his gentle treatment, my kosode is crudely torn by his hand, exposing my breasts. He takes them in hand and teases them, circling my areolas. My breath hitches. I let out a soft moan as he sucks one of my nipples into his mouth, rolling the other in between his fingers. A sharp movement of his hand, and the rest of my clothing is cleaved in two.

My right thigh twitches in a phantom pain. It remembers him taking a chunk out of me.

I trail the tattoos on his chest and feel the faint fuzz of his body hair, appreciating his smooth skin. Sukuna lets out a pleased rumble. “Please,” I whisper. He swats my ass and smiles, his canines digging into the skin of my shoulder.

“Be patient.”

He harshly bites me, swiping his tongue against my blood. I choke back a cry. Blood seeps from my shoulder to my bosom, trickling ropes of cerise against my chest. My slit soaks his navy hakama with blood. Sukuna growls, clawing through my skin. He adorns my hips with red ribbons, leaning down and lapping up the lifeblood at my breasts. “So sweet,” he says, his tongue flitting out to collect the blood smeared on his lips.

“Had I known a sibyl’s taste, I’d have slaughtered you on the spot.” His stygian talon rakes across the center of my torso, dipping into my flesh. I whimper as he slowly takes me apart. Periosteum arms wrap around my suspended organs, hugging my sternum and eclipsing the soft flesh of my lungs. He expertly separates my skin and sinew, basking in the glory of my gaping cavity. A sacrificial lamb at his service. Beyond the splitting pain is the burgeoning warmth at my sex, his shafts hardening underneath his hakama. His breath on my split breasts makes me shiver.

“Yes… you’ll do.”

》 Notes

[1]

Fusae's referring to Emperor Xuanzong of the Tang, who was written to have 3000 concubines. Believe it or not, this is a literary mistranslation from the poet Bai Juyi! He needed a number that fitted into his meter, so he went with sānqiān, or 3000. There was a fixed number of consorts an emperor could have in the Tang dynasty, which was 122.

[2]

Uraume recites verses from the Nirvana Sutra, an ancient buddhist script dating back to 200 CE. I used the original verses instead of the Iroha, a Heian poem (1079 CE) that's made from this specific verse. It was a hard decision, but I don't see them as a very poetic sort.

[3]

The truths of the Noble Ones, from Buddhism. The four truths are suffering, craving, confinement, & path; the final truth is referring to the Noble Eightfold Path. So much nobility...

[4]

A Buddhist koan, or a paradoxical anecdote. Uraume sure knows their stuff! They basically say, "Don't let fear consume your thoughts, for your potential will be held back."

[5]

Usually, a shrine has a Haiden & a Honden, or a prayer room & the heart of the shrine (which enshrines the God, or kami). However, since Sukuna has this doubling or merging motif going on, I mixed the two of them together. He's narcissistic anyway, so it'd make sense for him to meditate on himself.

[6]

A water monster from Hindu myth, often the mount of the god, Varuna. I've based a lot of Sukuna's symbolism on Shiva & Yama from Hinduism & Buddhism, so I mentioned his opposite element, water. A god of fire's gotta have some water, amiright?

[7]

Pufferfish testicles are a delicacy in Japan. They're highly toxic!

#sukuna x reader #sukuna ryomen x reader #jjk smut #jjk #sukuna ryomen

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firecurls-27 · 1 year

Note

Demitasse AU (( Vessel or Rosé/Other )) - 4, 19, 14

Shining Stars AU (( Dice or Rosé/Other )) - 1, 2, 3

papa Stickler AU (( Stickler or the Boys/Other )) - 8, 10, 6

Sorry if this is confusing but here <33

Demitasse family au

4. Forehead kisses or hand kisses?

Vessel? Kisses? absolutely. Any type of kisses is his go-to. He ADORES them from his s/o.

Rosé also loves kisses, but prefers them on the cheeks, lips, or shoulders.

14. What's the most touching gift they've ever received?

Vessel’s is basically anything handmade. He loves that they took the time and effort into making something just for him.

Rosé’s was a dagger vessel gave her for their 2nd anniversary. She hides it in her dress.

19. What's a guilty pleasure of theirs?

Vessel reads a lot of romance novels and romantic poetry, but feels insecure about it. So he reads to himself mostly.

Rosé, as said before, plays the harmonic. And she’s DAMN good at it too!

Shining stars au

1. Is your OC a hugger or do they not like that sort of affection? Do they intitiate a hug or get roped into them?

Rosé 110% loves giving hugs! she’s really good at them, she knows your boundaries and when and when not to. She tackle-hugs dice every day after they both come home from work.

(Dice isn’t an oc but whatever, idgaf lol) he usually likes it when his trusted loved ones hug him first, unless they’re feeling under-the-weather, THEN he gets all huggy.

2. Does your OC have any endearing qualities?

Rosé is just a nice person in general unless you do something awful. She’s fun to hang around and chat with, she loves gossip, and will give you dirt on latest actors-

3. How does your OC react to affectionate gestures?

Unless it’s like from a family member, trusted friend, or significant other, she loves it! She’s used to compliments and romantic gestures from fans, but if she doesn’t know you and you touch her, she panics a bit.

Papa stickler au

6. What calms they down most when they're anxious?

Surprisingly enough, evil is the one who gets anxious the most, sometimes stuff is too much, y’know? If it’s in public, he’ll just run off and hide till he calms down. If it’s at home, he just hides under the blanket covers in his room with his shark plush toy till he’s fine. If it’s around stickler, he’ll take evil to a quiet place till he’s fine again.

8. What Disney/musical song do you most associate with them?

That’s a difficult one! Hmm, nothing I can think of. But feel free to tell me ideas!

10. Your OC is surrounded by puppies/kittens/ducklings. What do they do?

With the boss around? Chase em. If he’s not? The little demons just pet them and say how cute they are.

Evil’s favorite animals are sharks. (His personal favorites are lemon sharks and salmon sharks) he just thinks they’re cool! He likes learning about them!

Vile’s favorite animals are bunnies. He thinks they’re super soft and likes holding them. They bring comforter him.(Hocus pocus is no exception. Vile fucking hates him-)

I think stickler would like spiders. He likes how tidy they are and the beautiful webs they make!

(It wasn’t confusing at all! Feel free to send more asks anytime!^^)

#my post #ask firecurls #cuphead #cuphead: ddwtd #the cuphead show #cuphead au #cuphead oc #demitasse family au #shining stars au #oc x canon #papa stickler au

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sockeyesoren · 6 months

Text

Mn ouders geven me altijd shit dat ik nog steeds naar K3 luister op mn grote leeftijd van 18

Maar kom op jongens die oude albums zijn nog steeds hard

#k3 #dutchblr #dokter dokter is mijn bimbo bop #wtf zeg ik #sorry #x #dutch #gossip from the salmon runs

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dragons-bones · 2 years

Text

FFXIV Write Entry #4: With Ice Cold Hands

Prompt: defile (free write!) || Master Post || On AO3

A/N: My goal this FFXIV Write is that for free write Sundays, I’m going to specifically write scenes from Endwalker as they occurred in Squadverse, which is unusual because I normally prefer to write the bits between canon. So naturally, I started here.

I’d say I’m sorry, but I’m not.

WARNINGS: Spoilers for Endwalker. Body horror, dysphoria, Fandaniel, Zenos. Mentioned alcohol and drug use, blood, violence, gore, panic attacks, close calls with vomiting.

----

Rereha isn’t a stranger to not knowing where she wis when she wakes up, and trying to blink herself awake now, she certainly doesn’t recognize the table before her. No design she’s ever seen, and ugly as shite to boot, which is impressive to someone who grew up in Ul’dah and has seen all the “fashionable” trends come and go. But that isn’t what seemed different.

The headache isn’t the throbbing behind her eyes that was indicative of her having drunk to excess the night before, nor was there the sour taste in her mouth that accompanied a hangover, either. No particular tingle or burn in her sinuses or the back of her throat, either, that would suggest she’d been very stupid indeed and backslid into bad habits from her days as a bored heiress. Her limbs, however, feel oddly heavy, like they were too long, and even sitting down, her sense of balance feels off.

Her vision isn’t quite right. Is there something on her head? Gods, where even is she, the last thing she remembers is…

Is…

…Oh no.

A voice, familiar in a way that sent ice down her spine:

“The experiment was a success, but I fear our time is short.”

Rereha blacks out again, but she isn’t sure for how long. In the next blink of consciousness, there is a full dinner service in front of her, but any appetite she might have vanishes when she raises her head further and sees fucking Zenos sitting on the opposite end of a banquet table from herself, eating baked salmon as if nothing is out of the ordinary.

Fandaniel’s grating voice draws her attention, and she whips her head to the side to stare at the Ascian, only half-aware of what he is saying until: “Take a moment, too, to familiarize yourself with that borrowed flesh.”

Ice runs through her whole body, except it isn’t her body, is it, as she looks down, at fingers too long attached to palms too wide attached to wrists too thick attached to arms too no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no no—

Fandaniel is monologuing, fucking monologuing, what is it with Ascians and Garleans and monologuing, and Rereha is only idly aware of what the bastard is going on about. If she gets out of this—when she gets out of this—she will be able to recall everything verbatim; it’s a handy trick her grandmama taught her, useful for any Ul’dahn socialite to acquire gossip and blackmail, and it’s served her well as both bard and intelligencer for the Scions. Who expects the hedonist deep in her cups to be paying attention, after all? Even with panic choking her, she knows with a certainty deep in her bones she won’t lose a single drop of information the Ascian is feeding her.

Aulus, though. Son of a fucking bitch. Alakhai and Thancred and Tataru had been worried they couldn’t confirm whether any of that bastard’s research had made it out of Ala Mhigo. Here’s the answer, too little, too late.

She wants to be pithy, to be snide, but all that escapes her mouth is, “Give me back my body!” in a voice that isn’t hers. Not high enough, not smooth enough, not female enough, distorted further by the helmet’s vocoder, the words rumbling in someone else’s throat oh gods oh gods oh gods whose skin did they put her in, did they rip out some poor tempered boy’s soul and shove hers in, or was this a shell—

Zenos watches without speaking, with his cold, dead eyes. Somehow, that’s worse than Fandaniel’s manic gloating.

The roar that echoes the room sends a different kind of shiver down her spine, and there’s the skinstealer going off on another tangent and—oh.

Oh.

No one deserves that.

Not even Varis zos Galvus.

And then his accursed son finally deigns to speak.

Revulsion mixes with the horror that already lurks on the back of her—this body’s—tongue, and she swallows back bile. Vomiting in a helmet would just make an already shitty day even worse. Gods, but she loathes what this monster in a man’s skin assumes about her and her sisters, that they are exactly like him, deriving pleasure and meaning from bloodshed and violence just because they managed to give him a fucking challenge.

Rereha remembers her arm dangling by tendon and a strip of muscle, her heart pumping her life’s blood onto the sands of Rhalgr’s Reach as she screamed and screamed and screamed. Rereha remembers Alisaie’s hands on her tying a tourniquet and shoving what little conjury she knew into her traumatized body. Rereha remembers intimately finding out what it feels like to have her brachial artery forcibly knit itself together bit by bit by bit, until the blessed relief of oblivion finally claimed her.

Her arm twinges with the memory and bile rises anew in her throat because that is not her arm.

It’s not until he gets up and begins strolling away, still spewing his bullshite even as Fandaniel stands prim and proper in his tailed suit with a bottle of wine ready to serve (the vintage is one whose even she would wheeze at, where she not trying not to have a hysterical fit of terror), that she sees the chair.

(Helmets are fucking stupid, especially Garlean ones with their absolute shite peripheral vision.)

That is her body, slumped over like she’s merely fallen asleep on an airship ride. Even her hat is still in place.

Adrenaline is the only reason she doesn’t fall flat on her—his—this face as she attempts to race towards Zenos, her center of gravity too far off the fucking ground and fuck being tall this is fucking awful and for the first time tonight Zenos is emoting, that disgusting feral smile on his face GET AWAY FROM M—

Too late. Zenos’s body drops like a marionette with its strings cuts, and he—she—he raises her head and she just barely keeps from retching because that look. That expression.

That doesn’t belong on her face.

If she lives through this, she knows that will haunt her dreams for the rest of her life.

And then he’s fucking gone, of course, he’s in a godsdamn body, HER godsdamn body, which is capable of using aether which means he can teleport which means oh god oh god oh god he can teleport he can teleport her friends what about her friends—

“Oh dear!” Fandaniel’s gleeful malice draws her attention. “Whatever would happen if my lord were to greet your friends as you? I shudder to imagine what carnage he would wreak!”

She can’t decide if she wants to scream or to punch that faux innocence off Fandaniel’s stupid stolen punchable face maybe she can do both shut up you rat shut up shut up shut up not her friends not her sisters not her family no no no no no—

Rereha doesn’t have time to panic or punch his stupid stolen punchable face only because Fandaniel yanks her across space-time or however the fuck it is Ascians teleport and makes her the star of his newest little game.

It is hell.

Her legs are too damn long and so are her arms and her center of gravity is utterly fucked because while she is in her proper body, she has the arms and shoulders of a god from all her archery work, she’s still bottom heavy. Her ass is amazing, thank you. And this poor damn dead victim she’s been summarily stuffed into like cream filling into an éclair has no fucking ass and no fucking hips and his shoulders and chest are fucking huge and all of his armor is on his head and chest and what the fuck. What the actual fuck.

And of course, because the body is Garlean infantry, that means sword and board. The soldier before her might be tempered, but he hasn’t last any of his skill, and she has none; this is Heron’s realm. She stumbles over her feet, is barely able to bring her dinky little round shield up in time to prevent her-his-this head from being knocked off her-his-this shoulders.

She can’t subdue him. There are no waiting squads of Contingent soldiers ready to swoop in with restraints and bring him back to camp to reverse his tempering. Fandaniel is right there, providing color commentary because he is a raging dick, and there’s zero doubt in her mind he wouldn’t do something to get the soldier back on his feet. The killing blow she lands is lucky, and the blood that steams out into the frigid air is red, red, red.

Rereha isn’t a stranger to killing; she’s Twin Adders, for gods’ sake, and while she likes to think she’s better than her Gridania-born compatriots in trying to give Keepers and Duskwights the benefit of the doubt, she has still had to put down poachers or bandits who threatened innocent lives, or her own. She’s had to kill tempered before. She’s had to kill before period, and she doesn’t like it, not a bit, no matter what Zenos thinks is true in his deluded, blood-addled mind, but that’s the world she lives in, though she’s trying to make it a better place so that it isn’t such a world.

But she hasn’t had to kill in a long while now.

She’s at least pathetically grateful that the sight of a man run through and bleeding out still makes her want to be sick. Her soul might not be in the right place at the moment, but she isn’t what Zenos claims she is.

She isn’t his fucking mirror.

“Not bad at all, given your diminished capacity!” Fandaniel laughs and claps from his perch. The urge to throw her sword at him is so high right now. ��Nevertheless, ‘twould perhaps be prudent to keep to the shadows, scurrying about like a rodent!”

He vanishes into void again, thinking he’s being cute. Yeah, well, fuck you, Fanny-boy, one of her sisters is a rogue, like Alakhai’s never taught her to be a sneaky bitch, she just doesn’t usually want to be a sneaky bitch.

Rereha knows she’s under a time crunch, so she pushes down her panic and hysteria in favor of moving as quickly and as softly as she can, ducking behind broken walls or climbing over piles of debris, sometimes staying as still as possible while waiting for tempered soldiers to turn a corner. She scavenges medical kits from the dead, tending to her wounds as she walks because fuck fuck fuck she can’t even draw on ambient aether to speed up her healing, a trick anyone who signs up with the Adventurers’ Guild is taught.

She stumbles across a crossroad full of magitek, but of course it’s the most direct route she needs; there’s no telling how long it’ll take her to find a less dangerous path going around. But there’s a reaper close enough with its weapons intact, even though the leg is damaged; it can’t walk but it sure as fuck can shoot. All right, there’s her way through.

The pilot is nearby and by some miracle, both still alive and untempered. She shares some of her medical kits with him as he explains what happened, quickly helps him set his hand so the bones don’t heal wrong and makes mental note of all the surrounding landmarks as he presses the reaper’s keycard into her palm. The least she can do is send him help once she’s back at Broken Glass.

Of course she can’t find an undamaged, somewhat full ceruleum fuel tank close by, though. Of fucking course. Her fucking luck, she wants a word with the manager. She wastes precious time tracking one down, and then hauling it back, but for a moment she is grateful the body she’s in has the upper body strength to carry the fuel tank.

Fuck but she misses her tits, though. She really, really wants her tits back.

It is…deeply satisfying using the reaper to tear through the waves of magitek guarding her path home. The explosions rock the Region Urbanissma, and at one point, out of the corner of her eye, she sees the pilot peering over a hole in the wall of his hideaway, cheering her on.

The magitek stop coming, eventually, and she hops down and continues on, her success giving her a burst of energy as she sneaks behind more tempered soldiers.

But then there are civilians.

“You there, please! Help us!”

Pragmatism says she should continue on her way. Idealism dictates she doesn’t.

Rereha is a Warrior of Light. Even in the depths of her terror, she won’t forget that. Fandaniel and Zenos won’t take that from her.

Now, she sets aside Alakhai, and draws on Dancing Heron, her literal and figurative big sister. She has watched Heron dance with a sword for decades, listened to her lecture students about form and stance and footwork, and when she bends her mind to recalling those details, this unwanted body responds. Whoever he was, he was a fine warrior before Fanny-boy dug his claws into his soul, and his muscle memory is smooth.

She just hopes it doesn’t become her own, too.

She channels Heron further, rallying the civilians, taking the attention of the wildlife, as hungry and desperate as the people, letting the civvies attack from the back and flanks while she harasses from the front. They’re smart, capable, and holy hells, one of them found a working reaper.

But that’s when a platoon of tempered, led by a soldier so corrupted that Anima’s influence has warped them into a hulking brute identifiable only as a former person because they walk on two legs, arrive. There are many, and they keep coming. There are not enough medkits to go around.

The corrupted soldier begins channeling his aether, and Rereha recognizes a suicide tactic. So does one of the civvies, who calls out to them to duck back behind the magitek reaper—

—and that’s how they find out the tanks littering the area aren’t empty.

The explosion sends her and the civvies into the air. She hits the ground first, and likely the only thing that saves her life is this stupid, cumbersome, blinding, heavy armor. The civvies finish falling next, with sickening crunches.

There are wet, choked gasps around her. And then there is silence.

Does she lose consciousness? She doesn’t know. She’s aware of the blackness of her vision. Maybe she took a hit to the head that blinded her. Blinded this body.

There’s a heartbeat in her ears.

If there’s a heartbeat, there’s hope.

Rereha forces herself awake, forces the eyes of this body open. This body is broken. She has lost all sense of time.

She cannot give up.

She reaches forward, hooks the body’s fingers into the ground, pulls as she pushes off with the knee. A sob hitches in her-his-this chest, and tears pour down her stolen face. Reaches forward with the other arm, hooks that hand into the ground, pulls as she pushes off with the other knee. And again.

And again.

She chokes on her sobs, shattered ribs protesting and shattering further, and she crawls.

She crawls, because she cannot give up.

At some point, she’s able to force herself up on both legs, limping, sword dangling almost uselessly in the body’s hand. She stumbles through snow, somehow manages to avoid the hungry wildlife. She thinks she’s getting closer to Camp Broken Glass; she doesn’t see any patrols, but there aren’t any tempered, either.

She hears her name.

Rereha looks up.

She’s wandered off the path, but managed to still stumble mostly in the right direction. There are G’raha and Alisaie.

They are not looking at her, in this broken body.

They are looking at Zenos, in her body.

She runs. Every step is agony but she runs because she can’t do anything else, and there’s some creature rising into the air above her stolen head and it’s going to attack her friends and NO.

NO.

The creature’s sickle is knocked aside by the sword she’s just thrown, and heads turn in her direction as she keeps stumbling forward.

“Get away from them, you FUCKING BASTARD!” she howls, ramming into her body.

Oblivion.

Rereha isn’t a stranger to not knowing where she wis when she wakes up, but trying to blink herself awake now, she thinks she has a vague inkling of where that rug belongs. A design she’s only seen in this frozen shithole, and ugly as shite to boot, which is impressive to someone who grew up in Ul’dah and has seen all the “fashionable” trends come and go. But hey, she doesn’t feel too tall anymore.

“Thank goodness. She’s awake!”

Memory rushes back, and her eyes snap open.

The Scions and her sisters and Lucia and Maxima are clustering around her; they’re in the room she shares with her sisters in Camp Broken Glass. It was Alphinaud who spoke, and the naked relief on his face is a stark contrast to the cheerful madness of Fandaniel.

She looks down at her hands: the right size. She pats at her face, down her body, stops perhaps a moment too long on her tits because oh thank fuck she has her tits back before going further down to stomach and hips and legs, wonderful short legs.

Her hat is on her head. Her hat is on her head.

She looks around frantically, at her friends, at her family, looking for wounds or injury or anger, something rising hot and sour in her throat. “Is everyone all right?” she says in her voice. Her voice, high-pitched with a lilting Ul’dahn drawl hiding in the vowels.

It’s G’raha who answers, saying soft and soothing, “Perfectly fine, yes. I hope the same can be said of you.”

He’s a good boy, but oh. Oh, that was the wrong thing to say.

She stares at him for a long moment, and then that hot-sour feeling bubbles over, and she is sobbing. Deep, huge, heaving, retching sobs, and she hurriedly buries her face in her hands and keens.

It’s Thancred who gathers her up into a hug, humming an Ul’dahn lullaby. Rereha clutches his shoulders and bawls into his coat, breathing in the familiar scent of sword oil and his favorite shitty cologne as she fights to breathe. There’s someone pressing up behind her—Synnove, definitely, and the way she’s being smooshed forward into Thancred, Heron’s right behind Synnove. A snuffling sound, and Tyr’s shoving his head into the pile, face pressing into her stomach, and his big boof rattles her teeth in her head and every bone in her body and she never knew how much she loved that feeling.

There’s a big Scion group hug forming around her, she can sense the weight of so many bodies. Even Estinien, though he’s less cuddling and more placing his hand atop her head, the heat of him evident even through her hat.

Thancred keeps humming in her ear, her dumbass bar crawl buddy who wusses out over cactus liquor but can still beat her at darts even when he’s downed a bottle and a half of goblin motor oil masquerading as brandy, and doesn’t tell her she’ll be all right. It isn’t what she wants to hear right now. He’d know almost better ‘n anybody, wouldn’t he?

Eventually, she’ll get her shit together. She’s a Warrior of Light, and she has a job to do.

But right now, Rereha sobs.

It helps.

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#ffxivwrite2022 #final fantasy xiv #ffxiv #oc: rereha reha #fandaniel #zenos yae galvus #dt's writing

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sm-baby · 2 years

Text

Study Session (Chapter 1) - "Lunch"

oh hey yeah poggers its that one rushed ficlet I mentioned a post ago anyway have this now or not that's cool too aye aye yuhhh whip and nay nay my brothers DO YALL LIKE THE TITLE COOL CUZ I MADE IT ON THE SPOT

Word count: 2,549 words 14,325 characters

Again, very rushed and quickly paced! So strap it wooo! Very much for fun. and it was very fun <3 bye byeee !! (*^▽^*)

______________

██████ is an international school built-in central America. This particular School was run by Ms. Elaine Zeus, who made it her mission to bring peace to the next generation. Her school was the first of its kind. It was one of prestige and great quality, built for the highest of witches as well as comfortable enough for the meekest of Villagers. The halls were built with rich dark oak, the main hall was created with expensive quartz, and every sport had its very own building.

The School was separated into its very own sections. But they often mix their students to encourage interaction. Sometimes it was successful, sometimes not so much.

Section Zeus: For those who live in Central America, white and gold in their clothing, rich and noble.

Section Apollo: For those who transferred from South America, yellow in their clothing, gifted and musical.

Section Artemis: For those who transferred from North America, green in their clothing, resourceful and healing.

Section Hermes: For those who transferred from Africa, orange in clothing, charming and wealthy, masters of the trade.

Section Poseidon: For those who transferred from Australia, blue in clothing, smart and hardworking.

Section Ares: For those who transferred from Eastern Europe, red in clothing, loyal and strong

Section Athena: For those who transferred from Western Europe, purple in clothing, tactical and clever

Section Hades: For those who transferred from Asia. Black in clothing. Be kind to them.

The dining hall was humongous in its own right, the tables were so huge and long, that friend groups claimed part of the table rather than the entirety. The Cafeteria was made of fine oak, lanterns lit the walls and ceiling, and a big chandelier hung in the middle.

The students lined up to get their feed from the cooks who served fine dishes that one would not normally find in their average school. From beef, to stew, to salmon, to cake, to pie, to pork, Zeus only knew to hire the most skilled chefs to serve her little darling pupils. After all, every one of them should have the opportunity to feed, they just need to hurry if they want their favorite serving.

Gracious, the youngest daughter of the Simpleton family turned her head from left to right. She would usually sit with her colleagues on this day of the week, but on this particular occasion… She simply refused to. As much as she would love to hear the weekly gossip and debates about politics, she figured that's not what a lady needs in life… The dining hall was loud enough already she didn’t need that ringing through her ears…

“Let's see let's see… Green.. blue... Blue, blue.. Yellow.. red.. too much red, purple, orange..” Aha! Grace cheered mentally! She loved how well color coordinated the school was; you can spot a green coven from a yellow coven from away! At times the classes would look ridiculously overwhelming with all the color, but she admits that there are times when she finds it convenient. This time, however, she only needed to spot a lone red witch in the middle of the cafeteria. Sitting by his lonesome. She smiled, determined, and marched off to him.

Leonardo Birch, captain of the football team, won this year’s cup and is greatly admired for his achievements. The student body loves him despite the trouble he sometimes causes. He lends a helping hand to his fellow students, offers an ear to listen, yet never spreads gossip or rumors himself. One of Ms. Zeus’ golden children, though most white covens might not be able to see why.

Leonardo is happy not to have that much company at school. The football team always offers him a seat at their table but he preferred eating either with Diana, his best friend, or by himself where he can be lost in thought… Not many people know what occupies his mind. Truly, such a perfect man would only have the most ambitious of thoughts…

The man didn’t seem to be eager to make many friends, but for some reason during the first years of high school, his interest in friendship was directed toward her for some reason. She didn’t know what she did to get his attention, in fact, she was quite rude to him the first couple of times they met. But, somehow, he found her interesting enough to sit with her from time to time, and somehow, she’s started to know him in a more platonically intimate light.

“ Leonardo, may I sit with you?”

“ Sure.” Leo nodded mid-chew.

“ Thanks.” She smiled and put her tray down on the table before brushing her dress to sit down herself. “ I was supposed to be sitting with my group, but Alexander’s being a jerk today and the others are just enabling him.”

“ Oh no.”

“ Right??” She scoffed.“It’s alright though. If my sister ever taught me anything it's to walk away when people are being dirtbags. “

The Red witch raised his brow, pleased, and continued eating his meal. “ Your sister taught you well.”

Followed by his friends and colleagues, Alexander strode to the big dining hall, emotionally exhausted from his last class. Luckily, it was that time of the day when can ignore the colored parasites and met with his mono-colored group. He may have been a little late, but no matter. The food Ms. Zeus chooses is worthy enough food for him. And by that he means as long as there are noodles, he will finish his plate clean. And after such a stressful few days, he hoped to god, there were noodles…

He wasn’t one to stare at the other students, but at a glance, at the corner of his eye, he saw his bright-clothed, bright-haired affiliate seated in the sea of color. They haven’t been on the best of terms lately, he couldn’t care less about the fact that she was seated away from him, but it was the one she was seated with that itched at his ego.

…How is it that she found more delight in seating with that… thing… more than she is with him. Is she implying that he’s not better than a barbaric red witch?? After all they’ve been through?? What does it have that he doesn’t?? His face twisted to a scowl, and without wasting a moment, he told his colleagues to reserve a seat for him, as he had important matters to tend to.

After a few moments of ranting between crunches, Grace paused in the middle of chewing, her attention taken by her friend’s tray. " Oh! Hey, you got the salmon?"

" Yeah, I thought I'd save one for you before they run out.” He pushed his tray right next to hers as an invitation for her to take the plate from him. ” Got you the goooddd stuff.." he whispered.

" Awe! Leonardo, you dingbat, thank you!" The little lady smiled and took the plate.

He was pleased by her gratitude. He always liked the look of a smile on her face after a very stress-induced rant. " Don't worry about it. I gotchu."

Just then, two white-gloved hands made their way to the edge of the two’s table, followed by the clearing of his throat. The two looked up at the towering Alexander, youngest son of the Ogrande family. Petty, and honestly a very inconvenient interruption to their lunch.

" Hello, Leonardo. Hello, Princess. "

Leonardo nearly choked on his noodles upon hearing Grace's supposed nickname. He was not expecting that today.

" Don't you have the gall to call me princess," his friend replied, " I'm mad at you!"

" Yes. Apparently mad enough to sit with a red coven pig. "

Nearby tables snickered at the noble's response. Red covens themselves rolled their eyes at the name. Either way, the two were getting the cafeteria's attention. Leonardo however, paid no mind to the white witch's blatant insult toward him. He was having good noodles after all. Mm.

" What of it?" Said Grace. " Apparently you're desperate enough to come crawling back to me. What, you have a crush on me or something? "

Ooo… The cafeteria hummed upon hearing the reply. All attention seemed to be given to them at this point. Other students were looking over at their seats loving this new scandal. Neither Alexander nor Grace noticed it, instead, they were busy staring daggers at each other and dragging the other down to have the last laugh.

Alexander's brows furrowed as he leaned on the table towards her. " Like I'd end up wanting a pathetic twig like you. "

" Hey."

Ooo!! Leonardo stepped into the fight! The cafeteria gasped at the turn of events!

" You don't shame a lady like that. "

The noble man scoffed. " The fact that you consider this “shaming” really says a lot about how soft you people are. She's lucky mother taught me not to hit a woman. "

" Your mother taught you the bare minimum. "

" WOOO KICK HIS ASS LEONARDO!! " The whole cafeteria started chanting for a fight! White covens weren't joining in, but definitely seemed interested in seeing one! They were looking back from their seats, hiding their snickering. After all, they're not immature, only barbarians fight. They're better than that! But of course… they must see how one of their own would fare against a red witch.

And yet still, the crowd ROARED! “Fight! Fight! Fight!” these were three strong witches in the heat of battle, The youngest Ogrande fetching up an argument with The youngest Simpleton, defended by the golden Birch! Oh, what a scandal to whisper between classes!

And yet! Despite the cheers, neither of the boys took the first punch! They only stared at each other while holding an offensive stance, waiting for the other to make a move! Grace at that point kept a similar attitude, arms crossed, and looking away, she had no plan to stop a fight. She wants this man OBLITERATED.

"AYE, AYE, AYE! BREAK IT UP, BREAK IT UP!" Diana passed the cafeteria in great stride after hearing all the commotion. and just like that, the attention was taken away from them, and towards the junior nurse. "Everyone QUIT staring, there's nothing to see here! " The student body groaned before turning their heads back to their seats. There was a visible disappointment and leftover hype from each table.

The two men hadn’t noticed the stance they both had towards each other during the commotion. They later pulled back; Alexander crossing his arms, looking away while fixing his hair, and Leonardo sitting back at his seat, also looking away.

" Leo, I leave for med training and you're already starting a fight?”

" He started it… " Leonardo groaned.

The nurse sighed and shook her head. Oh, Boys…

" Alright, what's the matter, what are you two bickering about? "

" We weren't bickering!" Alexander grunted " I just wanted to ask Gracious here if she was joining us for study after classes. "

" Well? Grace?"

" ¡No!" The little lady crossed her arms " You're being a jerk today and I'm not liking your attitude this morning. "

Alexander scoffed. Figures. There was a part of him that was salty at that response, no one rejects an Ogrande like that. " Oh, It's so like you to say that." He said and started walking off to his table of friends. Though the further he was the further his emotions built up inside him. Gah! That was stupid! Whatever! It’s not like he was looking forward to seeing her or anything! He didn't need her anyway!

" There you go! Wasn't that bad wasn't it?" Diana put her hands up and crossed her arms. "Just talk to each other next time alright?

Grace shook her head." Oh, you can't talk with Alexander when he's in these moods. " She said, “I’m willing to bet that the only reason why he left is because you were here.”

" Vouch, he's an asshole."

Grace snickered at Leonardo's remark. Diana did too, rolling her eyes.

" Alright, you two. "

The red witch was about to continue chewing on his lunch before remembering-- "Diana, you down for the studying session later?

" Oh, was that today? Non, sorry, Mon Chou! I'm busy with med after classes!" The Athena witch frowned.

" You're good! Hope you’re having fun."

" Diana!" Called out one of Diana's classmates outside the cafeteria

" Oh, speak of the Devil…" she muttered and started walking off, waving to her good friend goodbye for the day. " We'll study next time alright!? Love you, Mon Chou!"

" Love you too!"

As soon as Diana was out of sight, Leonardo frowned and went back to his lunch. He was happy for her, but he guessed this was a schedule that he wasn't used to quite yet. Maybe they could figure out a better one for both of them at some point. "... She’s getting busier and busier ever since the healing track… "

" Yeah, so I've heard…" Grace frowned with him. " But--hey! Thanks for having my back there! When Alexander does that, other people usually laugh with him. "

" 'Course. As we said, he's an asshole. I'll do it again for anyone." Leonardo gave her a peace sign as he continued slurping at his noodle soup. Mmm, good soup. Too bad he was interrupted earlier. Soup, beloved.

She smiled and started twiddling with her fingers, just happy to have someone looking out for her like that. " Can Iii do something for you in return? I can buy you something. "

" No, you don't-"

" How about a study partner after class? " Grace leaned her arm on the table and looked at him.

" Oh...Hm.” he raised a brow and gave it a moment of thought. “ Alright, I have been having trouble with science and math lately. "

" Got it! Shake my hand and seal the deal!” The little lady practically leaped from her seat!

Was she that happy to help him with nerd junk??? Not to mention-- shaking her hand..? Strange! Yet the boy found that a little endearing. He sighed with a little smile as he took her palm.. “oh nooo, I'm making a deal with the devilll. I've been so tempted. “

“ Yes, I am ever so persuasive with my ways. “ She giggled, imitating a pompous stance and sitting back down on her seat. “Don't take the bus today! Met with me after classes, we're taking my limo!”

Leonardo tilted his head. “ You have a Limo?"

She has a limo.

“ WOOO! new house visitor!” Faithful Simpleton, the oldest of the two sisters, put her hands in the air as she skipped to the vehicle! VERY excited to have the man over. “Get in, big guy! we're cruisin'!”

“ Faith!!” Grace yelled after her sister, embarrassed at her loud display.

There Leonardo stood frozen as he watched other white covens aboard their cars, the buses had already left quite a while ago, he would be gone by now! he doesn’t usually see this sight!

“You have a limo???”

“ Uh-- Yeah! my father has connections!” Grace said as she entered one of the doors, leaving it open and beckoning for him to join them. “ Come on, scooch your butt in here!”

#Grace #Leonardo #Alexander #Faith #highschool AU #Fanfic #Study session #Lunch #DYING OVER THE TITLE IM SORRY IM SO CREATIVE #BAHAHAH I NEVER EVEN THOUGHT ABOUT GIVING THIS A TITLE I JUST DID IT FOR THE POST NAMEEE #YALL IM HILARIOUUUSS #oh wait i forgot to tag Diana #Diana #ayee lets go #hello girl *gently holds*

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queencaffeine18 · 10 months

Text

God Is A Woman

Character Profile 4: Kyouka Jirou

Birthday: August 1 Zodiac: Leo Age: 16

Height: 5'6 Hair: Dark purple (very short bob, shaved undercut, forehead bangs) Skin: Fair, cool undertones Eyes: Blue

Body Type:

Runner’s body

Slender but lean

Cut abs

Other attributes:

Earphone jacks hanging from her earlobes

Personality:

Comes off as cold/unenthusiastic

Sarcastic

Reserved

Blunt

Aggressive

Protective

Resting Bitch Face™

Organized

Unconcerned with others’ opinions (seems like confidence but she just doesn’t care)

Night owl

Likes:

Punk/grunge fashion

Music (specifically rock and pop punk)

Playing instruments (guitar, piano, cajon drum, bass guitar, violin)

Gossip

Spending time with friends

Going to concerts

Poetry

Running

Podcasts

Stationery

Making lists

Makeup

Dislikes:

Loud people/noises

Studying (she doesn’t study much but still gets good grades)

Horror movies

Salmon

People putting down her friends

People invading her personal space

Family:

Father: Kyotoku Jirou

Quirk: Musical Synesthesia

He hears music when he uses his other senses

He is a composer (has worked with Mina’s mother)

2. Mother: Mika Jirou

Quirk: Earphone Jacks

She has the same capabilities as Kyouka

She is a musician

3. Older sister: Utano Jirou

Quirk: Earphone Jacks

She has the same capabilities as her mother and sister

She is the bass player in a famous punk rock band

Hometown:

Born in Shizuoka prefecture

Lives in Musutafu with her parents

Quirk: Earphone Jacks

Abilities:

Her earphone jacks can extend at will

Projects her heartbeat through her earphone jacks to shock/immobilize opponents

Can generate sound waves powerful enough to cause earthquakes

Can listen to conversations through solid material (walls, the ground, etc.)

Can detect vibrations through the ground

Can amplify her heartbeat to create a wall of sound waves to block opponents

Drawbacks:

She must have incredible control over her quirk so she does not blow out her opponents’ eardrums or cause bleeding from their ears

She has very sensitive hearing and can be easily incapacitated via loud noises

Stats:

Power: 3/5

Speed: 3/5

Technique: 5/5

Intelligence: 4/5

Cooperativeness: 5/5

Hero Suit:

Inspiration: punk fashion, Black Canary hero outfits, KISS band outfits

Purple reinforced sleeveless jumpsuit

Red fishnet long sleeve shirt underneath jumpsuit

Black armor with steel studs on knees, shins

Purple gloves with wrist guards, small spikes on knuckles

Studded red utility belt with detachable amplifiers she can plug her jacks into

Black steel-toed platform combat boots with amplifiers built into the purple soles

Oversized leather jacket with spikes on shoulders, has interior pockets for storing tracking devices

Purple visor glasses with attached in-ear headphones to help enhance her hearing/protect her ears

Hero Name: Amplify

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vespersposts · 2 years

Text

Welcome to part 3!

Click for part [1+2]

If there was one thing Shinichi Aomine liked, it was watching his family eating breakfast around the kitchen table. His wife's brisk pace contrasted with the significantly more relaxed tempo of their son, who every morning, with exhausting precision, would wait about 20 minutes before joining them. Daiki would have come of age in a little over a month, and the only way to find in the young man's face his kid expression was to stare at him a little longer on that very occasion, where between a grumble and a joke the boy seemed more willing to interact with his 'elders'.

Daichan, who had his mother's smiling eyes and his stubborn nature.

His boy, hailed by everyone as a basketball genius, to whom he had never been able to openly pay a compliment.

"When did you say the awards ceremony is? I‘m definitely coming" he asks him, moving the rice bowl sideways.

"The day after tomorrow" the boy answers briefly, busy swallowing the juice "It's not a big deal, it's to hype the school" he finishes, distracted by his mother's arrival.

"We'll both be there" the woman corrects him, handing the boy some toasts and a large bowl of freshly cut fruits.

"If you have time to spare," was the young man's comment, too concerned to stuff his mouth.

Shinichi smiled at his wife, before letting her explain what she had prepared for his lunch.

"I found some very fresh salmon at the market this morning," she was announcing when suddenly her expression had become sharp, at the memory of a particular encounter.

Daiki listened for a few minutes to the gossip reported by the old lady Ota, the county's gossiest gossip, but just when his mother's voice was about to become background noise, that surname awakened his attention.

"Natsume, I don't think that's possible, the girl must have somewhere to go back to!" he heard his father's voice say.

"Mrs. Ota told me that this morning she saw a middle-aged man with a briefcase come in with the cleaners" retorted his wife, taking a sip of tea "Poor girl, her parents make a life for themselves and they don't give a damn about her, even I would drop everything and run far away!" she concluded, looking carefully at her son's scowl.

It was no secret to anyone that he, Momoi and that girl were very close, but the woman had always known that she in particular must have meant something different to her child, as since her departure, any kind of reference or allusion had become a minefield in their conversations. Satsuki, on the other hand, was happy to talk about her friend, and it was from a random chat that she had learned that the girl would be returning to the city, but she had been careful not to spread the news, expecially with Daiki.

Natsume knew that her son would only need a gentle poke to take action, despite his lazy indifference.

"You're really getting old mum, an old tattle-tale!" snorted the latter, turning his face to give and receive a kiss back on the cheek, as he did every morning before leaving home.

"Mama's boy, if you're done and you want a lift to school, we have to get out right now," comes his father's voice, who only after checking his watch realised how late he was getting.

"It's a nice day,I'll walk" he tells him, getting up from the table and putting on his summer uniform jacket, ready to leave,before his mother started questioning more.

The cloudless sky, the warm July sun, the end of school and soon the start of the festival season that would peak on his 18th birthday. Born under the best of promises, the thought of that summer already filled him with curiosity, although one crucial piece was missing to complete the picture. Turning the corner and crossing the street, he saw the graceful, traditional-style building, surrounded by a wall covered in thick brambles that a diligent gardener was trying to tame.

Under that creeper, hidden somewhere, there must still be his name written in thick kanji, the magic code that in their childhood games opened the portal to the fortress where the sweet princess Satsuki was held hostage by the evil shougun, so masterfully played by you.

He smiled, remembering the countless scuffles that ended with an assortment of broken objects, bruises and peeling occurred to the vile marran that he, the fearless samurai, had paid back to Natsume in assorted punishments.

He increased his pace and soon found himself in front of the heavy wooden door, from which he saw a tasky gentleman in a white coat and gloves coming out in search of light. He was examining the shape of a wooden piece with a magnifying glass, muttering something to himself.

On the other side of the fence, Mrs Ota, casually busy hanging out laundry, called him out loudly, raising the man's curiosity: he gave him an oblique look, before asking if he needed anything.

"Is that a piano hammer?" the young asks him, feeling his heart peace quicken slightly.

"Do you play, boy?" he was asked in return and he replies, shaking his head.

"No, Sir, but I know the instrument," he interjects, as the man steps closer to show him a detail that was essential to him.

"See this spot? Here where the wood looks darker, there is a small split... It’s a common but sneaky damage, it could lead to the hammer breaking and in that case the whole sounding board would be compromised, gone. It must be an instrument that has been played for many hours," he concludes, not paying the slightest attention to Mrs. Ota’s arrival despite her trying to introduce herself.

"Yes, the player just got into Kunitachi college," he nods, turning the piece of wood over in his long fingers, catching the technician's surprise.

"Damn, this soundcheck will be an event! I can't wait to hear your buddy play tonight," he gloats, genuinely delighted at that chance.

"It's a girl," the woman corrects him, snorting.

"Great! I'll also call Kenta then... Wait lad, is she pretty or just good at piano?" he asks as he reached for his mobile phone in his lab coat pocket, eliciting a bored expression from Mrs Ota.

"Kenta will owe me a big one as she's a stunner !" the boy laughs, earning an earful from the neighbour, scandalised that the magistrate's son was using such familiar language with one of his peers.

"Behave! ' objected the woman, ready to descend into battle.

"He's just a kid, let him live!" the man huffed, offering him the chance to cut loose.

Raising his arms to the sky to stretch before entering Too Academy, Daiki wondered if all the strange stillness that seemed to surround him wasn't a sign of a coming storm. No news from the basketball team and even more suspiciously, no news from his adorable stalker Momoi. He checked the messages on his mobile phone, scrolled through the missed calls and realised that perhaps his manager had something to do, or rather something to hide. He quickly says goodbye to Sakurai, who seemed to be in the mood for conversation, and walked to her classroom, but when he arrived he heard from one of his classmates that Satsuki was in talks with coach Harasawa and the principal to work out some details of the awards ceremony.

"Which I would have told you too if you had deigned to listen to me!" the voice of Ryo suddenly rebukes him, appearing behind him.

"What's wrong with everyone today?" he huffs, letting his classmate follow him towards the back of the hall.

"What's wrong with you Aomine-kun... Is it your weird way of being happy about the captains return?" he asks as he takes a seat at the desk next to the boy's, near the window.

"What are you babbling about, mushroom?" he asks him loosening the collar of his shirt.

"Imayoshi-san and Wakamatsu-san came back for Friday's ceremony, weren't you and Momoi-san supposed to join them to the headmaster's office as representatives of the basketball club?" the other informs him, receiving a groan in reply. "Maybe if you hurry you can at least drop by and say hello!" finishes Sakurai, sure that he deserved a roaring reply from his classmate who, contrary to expectations, leans his forehead against the desk in surrender.

The sound of the last bell, the class quickly emptying and the start of training where he would not only see the captains again but also suffer the wrath of Satsuki and the coach. He takes his gaze beyond the corridor window and sighs: he had no desire to be cooped up in a gym when outside the world was a riot of light and colour. He turns Ryo away with an excuse and tells himself that there would be no harm in strolling around the building where he would anyway finish the day. Step by step, passing every club in activity, he convinces himself that his is a noble gesture, not a mere need to know. After all, if he had been designated as the welcoming committee for his two former comrades, all the more reason he should have been for you, his dearest childhood friend, assuming and not assuming you had returned to receive an award.

He quickly descends the fire escape leading to the other side of the common green space, greets a couple of girls from the tennis club, but when he finds himself in front of the music room door his swagger seemed to have vanished.

What is he supposed to say?

Would you have been happy to see him or would his presence have embarrassed you?

And would he be ready to see you again?

Whatever he was thinking was interrupted by the rustling of the door and the sudden appearance of a couple heading for the vending machines. The boy gives him a hasty glance, followed by the girl who turned back shortly after, amazed to see the athlete in that area of the school.

"Aomine-kun, can I help you?" she asks, moving her long hair past her back.

"I was looking for a quiet place to take a break and I must have gotten lost," muses the other, tempted to mention your name and get that bugging dilemma out of his head for good.

She laugs, that nervous, high-pitched laugh he had heard so many times in girls asking him out.

'Rehearsals will start soon, I would be happy if you could stay,' she tells him, lowering her gaze and interlacing her fingers.

He had no time to answer because the boy, returning with some drinks, intrudes.

"The club admits no audience unless you have hidden talents beyond those for which you are famous throughout the school," he announces bluntly, inviting the girl to follow him before shutting the door loudly behind him.

Daiki restrains himself from laughing at the poor survivor's face, and with a wave of his hand greets her, deciding to join his companions for training.

He reaches the green space behind the building again, peering for a moment at the leaves moved by the light breeze that brought along a voice he had not heard in two years.

He turned his head, sees you sitting on the stone wall bordering the short lawn, and for a moment, he thought he had lost his mind. It it only when he hears your laugh that he realises that the one he was watching was not a ghost from the past, but a real person, made of flesh, bone and shining hair that danced caressed by the wind. As a sudden feeling that he no longer knew anything about you, everything desperately attracted him: your bare feet trapped by your sandals, your legs lazily resting on the stone, your face tilted to ask that grumpy guy from the music club some extra time to make a phone call.

He fells that liquid sensation crossing his back again, just like on that cold morning when you promised him you would never let him go.

Perhaps you could not stand it any longer either.

He curves his lips into a smirk and clutched his mobile phone in the palm of his hand, certain that it would ring soon.

Or maybe it wouldn't.

"I wanted to talk to you so badly, Sei" he hears your voice which had assumed a completely different tone, the tone that once was meant to be used for him only .

"I miss Kyoto, that's right, maybe I miss you a little too, but you won’t gain points for sure if you keep sending on all those scores!" he listens to your laughing, before a mixture of feelings he couldn't put a name to, dulled all his senses.

No, it isn't jealousy, he told himself.

Jealousy regarding what exactly?

How much fun you were having in Kyoto with Akashi was now the refrain of all Satsuki's speeches, who was not only generous with details, but never failed to point out how irreparably helpless he was compared to the Rakuzan emperor.

Yet something had troubled him deeply, something he could not have understood if he hadn't seen or heard it, something that had come directly from you, the one and only person Daiki Aomine had never questioned.

"How could you even think of doing such a thing to me?" was the only question in his mind as he took long strides towards the gym.

#knb #kuroko no basket #the basketball which kuroko plays #aomine x reader #aomine daiki #aomine x you #akashi seijuro #akashi seijūrō #akashi x reader

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lady-charlotte-official · 4 days

Text

Indefatigable reporter of The Steambird, constantly on the hunt for the "truth."

—Description from the Official Website[1]

Personality

Indefatigable reporter of The Steambird, constantly on the hunt for the "truth."

—In-game character attributes and profile page text

Charlotte is extremely devoted to her occupation as a journalist for The Steambird, frequently finding the "best scoop" in the news to share with her readers. This has frequently resulted in her appearing anywhere in an instant if something piques her interest, and sometimes even resulting in her running into danger in the process. Once something gets her interest, she becomes extremely relentless in an attempt to interview them. Charlotte's devotion to finding the best news has made her popular among the Steambird's readers.

Appearance

See also: "All Is Overt Through My Lens"

Charlotte uses the medium female model. She has a pale complexion, bright turquoise eyes, and salmon pink colored shoulder-length hair.

Official Introduction

Your credible source of the unbelievable truth!

...Euphrasie, three days ago, one of your journalists secretly followed a suspect all the way from the Court of Fontaine to Romaritime Harbor, and almost ended up being tied up and thrown into the sea by a gang of criminals. Whether or not there's any truth in the notion that 'nearer to the action is closer to the truth,' surely Miss Charlotte doesn't value her reports more than she does her own life?

—Yet another exasperated exchange between Captain Chevreuse of the Special Security and Surveillance Patrol and Euphrasie, Editor-in-Chief of The Steambird

Fontaine's famous newspaper The Steambird has a veritable legion of reporters it can call upon, each with their own area of expertise. Some specialize in celebrity gossip, others follow the word on the street, while others still focus on political affairs...

But among them all, there is one that stands head and shoulders above the rest thanks to her seemingly boundless reserve of energy and perseverance — the inimitable Charlotte.

Unswervingly committed to the principle that "nearer to the action is closer to the truth," Charlotte has a habit of popping up literally anywhere and everywhere in Fontaine — from its widest avenues to its narrowest back alleys, its highest vantage points to its lowest subterranean vaults, even its tallest mountains to its deepest undersea caverns. She captures the "truth" with her Kamera, records it in her articles, and finally unveils it for all to see.

And when the "truth" comes out, she's met with a variety of different reactions ranging from applause, to embarrassment, to outright fury. There are even some who would resort to any means necessary to make a particular article connected to themselves disappear. Or alternatively, just make Charlotte disappear.

For this reason, the newspaper's Editor-in-Chief Euphrasie has on numerous occasions felt the need to distance Charlotte from the Court of Fontaine by sending her off on faraway "field reporting" jobs, only recalling her once the Maison Gardiennage or Special Security and Surveillance Patrol had finally managed to clear things up.

But despite all this, neither the toil of the job itself nor the pressure of external denunciations and threats has ever phased [sic] Charlotte in the slightest.

With her trusty companion Monsieur Verite by her side, she invariably carries out her journalistic duties with unfaltering fervor, rushing about in pursuit of all the "truths" out there just waiting to be discovered.

Character Stories

Character Details

In the Court of Fontaine, a new "story" is born every minute.

For example, Romaritime Harbor might suddenly swell with new ships, crewed by sailors of obviously non-Fontainian origin. Some fishmonger in Poisson might suddenly buy three months' worth of fish in a single month, or countless flyers boasting of a certain place where especially delicious fish can be found might suddenly appear in the Court...

In the eyes of a mediocre reporter or ordinary city folk, these are "independent" tales, just like there will always be waves rippling across the sea's surface — such ordinary events are barely worth paying attention to at all.

Clumsier journalists might even chase these waves, and dispiritedly end up merely following the wave's patterns, constantly pumping out "surface-level stories" of little interest.

But in Charlotte's eyes, these waves are but the superficial representation of other forces. What is causing them to crest and break? That is the story she seeks.

Perhaps it is the wild winds wailing over the surface, or perhaps they are due to the Thalatta Submarine Canyon's complex seabed topography. Of course, you can't rule out the possibility of tremors from the Elton Trench either...

These stories are the "deep dives" Charlotte desires.

A reporter should be an agile "seeker" — not a mere gauche "recorder."

This, then, is Charlotte's "work doctrine."

As to how she avoids being swept up in her "deep dives"... well, that's up to Euphrasie and her fellow citizens!

Character Story 1

Item Companionship EXP Friendship Lv. 2

Charlotte was fascinated with the world around her from a young age.

The first Rainbow Rose that bloomed in the yard come spring, exceeding all others in vibrance. The children gladly padding about in puddles on the leaf-strewn streets after a storm and their hapless laughing families. The beauty of a solitary shell on the seashore, and the tiny crab surveying the world from underneath. The Blubber Profiterole she had with her family on her birthday, and the ever-so-slightly-too-deep color of the cream...

To most, a flower is a flower, a shell is a shell, and a Profiterole is still a Profiterole even if it is a bit too sweet — that's just how the world is.

But to Charlotte, these hidden "details" — only visible out of the corners of her eyes — are essential to understanding the world.

Charlotte's father, a seasoned reporter and professional nature photographer, noticed his daughter's interest in and knack for "observation." Thus, on her tenth birthday, he gave her a custom-made Kamera, its dimensions and the positions of its buttons built specially for her.

"Not all people are attentive enough to seek out and observe subtle differences, but this, Charlotte, is your unique talent."

Those were the words of her father, the "Reporter of the Idylls," Galanopoulo.

From then on, there was a little junior reporter by the senior reporter's side. This father-daughter tag team could be found on streets wide and narrow, forests and rivers alike, raising two Kameras, one large and one small, taking countless still images of moving beauty.

Even though their "interviews" always caused the gentle yet strict Mrs. Gagnepetit to nag them incessantly, Charlotte's laughter never failed to be the quickest way to make her mother stop. And as for her soiled clothes and dirtied hat, those were left to the ever-capable Mr. Galanopoulo.

To her, the whole world is a giant treasure trove.

And those pictures, for their part, are her special treasure maps.

Character Story 2

Item Companionship EXP Friendship Lv. 3

Galanopoulo always emphasized one thing to Charlotte:

"A picture of sufficiently great beauty cannot be ignored."

With her consent, he sent the photos they'd taken to The Steambird. The editors were quickly taken with their photos — especially Charlotte's — and profusely praised Galanopoulo's ever-improving photography skills, reserving, just as before, prime placement for them in their publication.

Those pictures caused quite the stir when they were published, with critics stumbling over each other to flatter them, and newspaper hobbyists fighting to get copies to make their clipping collections yet more colorful and vivid.

But when both critics or fellow journalists came calling and asked how Galanopoulo advanced his aesthetic sensibilities by leaps and bounds...

The veteran reporter lightly pushed Charlotte forward, saying calmly: "Ah, such pictures are beyond me. It's all my daughter's handiwork!"

The experienced, learned ladies and gentlemen who had come knocking could not but fall silent first, before expressing surprise, and then beginning to whisper amongst themselves and even venturing a few questions.

Charlotte blinked. The bewildered adults before her seemed every bit like little insects searching for shelter in a storm, waving their antennae this way and that, crying "Where are the leaves? Where are the leaves?"

"Hey, everyone, look this way!"

The young child's cry caused them to collectively leap out of their worn skins, and everyone turned to look, only to be greeted by a custom-made Kamera and the click of a shutter.

In that moment, all of it was captured on film — the furrowed brows, quirked lips, red faces, tangled hair, and waving arms, perfectly encapsulating those panicked bugs in the storm.

The little reporter patted her Kamera and smiled toothily.

"I'll call this one... 'No, No, That Won't Do!'"

Character Story 3

Item Companionship EXP Friendship Lv. 4

After Charlotte's extraordinary photography skills had made her famous, she began receiving frequent visits from manuscript writers, magazine editors, news clipping collectors, and her father's reporter colleagues. Even Euphrasie, the Editor-in-Chief of The Steambird, was amongst them.

Euphrasie was straightforward about her intent. She hoped that Charlotte would agree to become a "special correspondent" — someone who would conduct interviews and write articles in addition to taking photographs.

...However, her father, despite his usual mild temperament, was strongly against it. He did not wish for his daughter to associate with those kinds of people, either full of ulterior motives or hypocrites.

"Nature is fierce, but it is honest. Storms don't loose their fury without reason, nor do beasts bare their fangs without cause."

"But people lie — they always do. A Kamera can only capture their faces, but the lens cannot target their hearts."

He would respect Charlotte's decision, of course, but he preferred that Charlotte live a simpler, happier life, without sinking into the morass of humanity.

To Charlotte, this world was a treasure trove, and pictures her treasure maps.

But for the first time, she came to realize that this trove still harbored undiscovered "truths."

These truths were not themselves treasures, but were more akin to a procession of dark memories. Intentionally hidden, discarded, disguised, and then abandoned, with those having done so wishing that they would never be discovered, and that all events connected to them would simply end right there.

Charlotte knew that she could find them. She could dig up these truths, like digging tulip bulbs in a garden, like leading hermit crabs out of their shells, like finding pinecones hidden by squirrels.

...But she also felt like a bird glimpsing an onrushing flash flood, a cave rat foreseeing an earthquake, or a fish sensing a coming tsunami.

With great ability comes great responsibility.

One with the talent for uncovering "truth" was also responsible for bringing the "truth" to light.

The only question was, did she have the courage to do so?

Her parents responded with silence, for they knew that their daughter had already made her choice. Charlotte was old enough, and all birds are destined to spread their wings and leave the nest someday.

The next morning, Euphrasie went to work as usual, and there, waiting for her at the entrance to The Steambird, she saw Charlotte, ready with her Kamera and notepad.

"Welcome to The Steambird, Charlotte."

Euphrasie extended a hand.

"I believe the next La Verite Prize is yours to win."

Character Story 4

Item Companionship EXP Friendship Lv. 5

The La Verite Prize, established and funded by The Steambird, is the most prestigious prize a Fontainian reporter can win.

Only the best of the best have ever won it: Hirailles and her tireless reporting on the investigative work of the Maison Gardiennage, the solitary Hobereau and his marine life photography honed over decades living by the sea, and of course, Dieuleveux, famed for his unbending, straight-talking nature, to the point where all threats and criticism simply bounced off his hide, never causing his quill to waver in the slightest.

And of course, the renowned genius reporter, Charlotte, has long since joined their storied number. In fact, her reporting stands out so far above the rest that she has won the prize several times in a row.

Critics have lavished her with praise, lauding her "unequaled sense of composition," "incomparably fresh angles," "unquestionable impartiality," and "unparalleled flair"...

Detractors, on the other hand, believe that her successive triumphs are the result of collusion between The Steambird and the prize selection committee. How could such a young and unorthodox reporter be showered with glory, if not so the newspaper employing her could also bask in that glow? And why else would she be so close to the committee members, anyway?

Even so, her talents are beyond doubt. As another round of selection for the La Verite prize drew near, all her colleagues believed that she was guaranteed to emerge victorious once again.

They'd seen how she infiltrated the haunts of criminal rings alone and secretly visited illegal sweatshops... For report after report, Charlotte had braved unspeakable dangers and endured unimaginable hardships to bring the truth to readers... Whether it be in her professional dedication to the profession, her masterful manuscripts, or her attitude toward reporting, Charlotte was worthy of the committee's favor.

The question on everyone's minds, really — especially those of the sponsors — was "Which one of her reports will she submit to the committee?"

It would, after all, be her ticket to the La Verite Prize, and that would make it a collectors' item of... considerable value, surely.

But to everyone's astonishment, Charlotte unexpectedly declared that her submission would be a brand-new, never-before-published report, one that would reveal some heretofore unrivaled "truth."

Dear readers, to find out, please subscribe to The Steambird and look out for tomorrow's headline!

Character Story 5

Item Companionship EXP Friendship Lv. 6

"Prestige Prize Proved Perniciously Partial — The Real La Verite."

This was the headline on the day the award was to be announced.

In it, Charlotte detailed the various monetary dealings that the long-serving members of the La Verite Award selection committee had engaged in over the previous decade, various inequities in their judgments, and provided an exhaustive list of reporters and reports who had been done dirty in the process.

Her report caused an uproar in the Court of Fontaine, with countless reporters surging to the committee offices — Charlotte, of course, among them.

Amidst a broadside of shutter clicks, Charlotte unleashed a barrage of meticulously-prepared questions from a thick notebook at the dumbstruck committee members, one after another. Red and shame-faced, the gentlemen flapped their clumsy lips as best they could, only to produce explications akin to porous cheese. In the end, they had to declare the questions out of order and in violation of normal procedure, before fleeing right before the gathered reporters' eyes.

Charlotte's "report" had barely begun, though.

She continued publishing articles concerning the La Verite Award in The Steambird, even directing her pen against certain figures in the newspaper itself who had been connected to the La Verite selection committee, laying out the manner in which they had recommended reporters with whom they shared beneficial arrangements for awards, and how those reporters had returned the favors...

Charlotte's articles swept through the Fontainian media world like a tidal wave, and in response to public outcry, the Maison Gardiennage declared an official inquiry into the Award, suspending its activities and investigating all suspicious awardees.

Charlotte, for her part, temporarily lived inside The Steambird's offices, with all prospective visitors "wanting a word with her" being turned away by Euphrasie with extreme prejudice. It reached the point where the Maison Gardiennage even dispatched a guard detail to the newspaper's office entrance.

With her own hand Charlotte had lifted a huge stone that none had wanted to peek under, and the creepy crawlies that had lurked in its cracks and crevices now had to face the searing sunlight of the "truth."

The Maison Gardiennage's investigation concluded three months later. Judges who had given unjust judgment, contestants who had contended to win glory undeserved, and editors who sought to edify themselves all received their just deserts.

The La Verite Award selection committee was also wholly reorganized, now under various forms of new oversight. Once this was complete, the first thing they did was to give Charlotte the now utterly discredited award.

Of course, the trophy was but dead dross to her.

The real honor she had received was that the "truth" she had revealed in her report — and the ones that followed in its wake, of course — now shone in the sun.

"Monsieur Verite"

Item Companionship EXP Friendship Lv. 4

A gift to Charlotte from her father that she carries with her to this day.

Though he still didn't wish for her to take on such complicated work, her father respected her decision to formally accept the job of being a special correspondent for The Steambird.

He commissioned a friend skilled with machinery and modifying Kameras, and made extensive modifications to that small Kamera.

For example: Making it easier to switch out the film canisters such that Charlotte could swap film with only one hand, or making the photographic compartment water, fire, impact, and explosion-proof, to the point that the Kamera's exterior casing could be utterly destroyed, yet the compartment containing the film would remain intact and unharmed...

Her father insisted on numerous modifications to which his friend initially opined, "This isn't necessary, is it...?" with a bitter smile. Nevertheless, in the end they agreed to make the modifications, including a high-powered loudspeaker that, when activated, unleashed an ear-splitting alarm, as well as a hidden self-defense system on the Kamera's side that ejected a concealed knife outward at high speed when the right button was pressed...

They also included "a shutter delay device," a "lens self-coupling setup," and more...

All the concerns and worries of her father were installed into the device along with all manner of contraptions, transforming it into an ever-reliable, unequaled super Kamera that reflected its owner perfectly.

And when the modifications were finished, Charlotte gave it a new name — "Verite."

Meaning, of course, "truth."

Vision

Item Companionship EXP Friendship Lv. 6

Charlotte does not, in fact, really know just when she obtained her Vision.

Previously, she had been penning a new piece about problems in how salvage divers were treated, and had gone to interview Dollander, who employed a great number of said divers. The chubby-faced man did not seem keen on speaking the truth, and indeed was only interested in answering any questions insofar as he might redirect them. The divers he employed, too, proved quite tight-lipped.

Despite the serious damage that had been done to their lungs and eardrums, the long work hours exhausting them utterly, the decrepit divesuits they used, and the inedible food, they held their silence in front of Dollander. Their smug boss smiled triumphantly at her lack of progress.

By the next day, Charlotte had procured a divesuit through personal connections and was ready to get close to the divers in secret as they worked, and use her Kamera to capture Dollander's ill-treatment of them firsthand. They were in a titanic undersea rift, a place where it place where it was completely forbidden to work according to Fontainian diving regulations.

After that, Charlotte did not appear at work for a good long while. All the other Steambird reporters saw was a stream of Maison Gardiennage officers coming in and out of the office, with Euphrasie uncharacteristically ruffled, working late into the night every day.

Some reporters said that they saw someone dressed in outmoded clothes, drenched and shivering as they squatted at the office entrance.

Some said that an undersea earthquake had occurred in the Thalatta Submarine Canyon, where divers employed by some fellow named Dollander had been working, and that they had avoided injury by the skin of their teeth.

Some other reporters even said that this Dollander had secretly put out a bounty for a Kamera that was said to contain pictures important to him.

Still, Charlotte did not emerge.

But reporters are most certainly not a passive lot. The Steambird's reporters began to act quietly and surreptitiously. Some utilized their personal connections to look into Dollander's business, while others followed the divers, and others still wrote pieces implicating Dollander...

With The Steambird working at full steam, it was fearsomely quick indeed, and before long an extensive report on Dollander's illicit employment practices was complete.

However, without any photographic evidence to corroborate the article, the reporters felt it was...

Just then, the doors to the main entrance were suddenly flung wide open, and in strode Charlotte, clad in rags and sans spectacles and shoes. Placing Monsieur Verite on the table, she grinned.

"I have the pictures right here!"

No questions were asked about what she'd been through. Instead, all worked as one, focusing on slotting each image into the report.

The next day, The Steambird headline was this — "Dollander: Undersea Scrooge," detailing his illegal employment practices, salary deductions, the harm done to the health of his employees, and other vile conduct. As for the article's author, it was listed as "The Steambird Reporters."

The night before that edition was to be published, Charlotte was, as always, in the printing room doing some final proofreading work.

When she finished reading the final word and put the manuscript down, she suddenly noticed that an icy-blue Vision had appeared beside her hand.

Scrutinizing it, all she could manage was to mumble a few words:

"I think we'll have to leave out this little detail..."

#genshin impact #genshin lore #genshin charlotte

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