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empyreva · 2 months

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Pretty Girl

Summary: Carmy's girlfriend finds herself in a bit of a self-loathing spiral, so he makes sure she knows just how pretty he thinks she is.

Pairing: Carmy Berzatto x Reader

Word count: 3.3k

Warnings: Established relationship, AFAB!Reader (female nicknames used), smut, P in V, oral sex, some dom/sub elements, Carmy is downright offended you think that you're not pretty

A/N: Hey this is my first time writing fanfics in like 2 years so please be patient as I try to get back into the groove of things!! Warning for probably weird pacing...Minors DNI!!

"Do you think I'm pretty?"

Your whisper caught Carmy off guard--his eyes which were once glued to the TV screen darting over to stare at you.

"What?"

You bit into your bottom lip for a second, avoiding his gaze by training them on the news reporter who was frantically pointing at some accident that happened 4 hours ago. It was a stupid question. Honestly, you don't know what prompted you to say it, but it had been stuck in your throat for the past 30 minutes and you just couldn't take the burn anymore.

"I said," you cocked your head to look at him, "Do you think I'm pretty?"

"Wh-Of course I think you're pretty," Carmy remarked in astonishment, seemingly offended by the question. "The fuck you mean 'do you think I'm pretty?' Of course, I think you're pretty--You're fucking gorgeous for Christ's sake!"

You sink further into the sheets, not bothering to respond to Carmy despite the way his blue eyes pierced into you like ice-cold daggers. He hates me. Why am I like this? The journey beneath the covers only stopped when you were shrouded in the darkness...Only vaguely able to make out the shape of Carmy's bare ribs. They rose and fell rhythmically, and you tried to just pretend to not hear whatever Carmy was babbling on about. But as you began to let your eyes flutter shut, the sheets were ripped off from over your head.

"I was talking to you, princess. What's wrong?"

You peered up at your boyfriend, suddenly aware of the tears pooling in your eyes once they dripped down your cheek. Then, the drip became a flood as you lunged forward to wrap your arms around a very confused Carmen. His arms instinctively found their way around your sides as he shifted you to straddle him, nose buried in your hair as you wailed about how you think you're getting fatter and that the new girl at work is always so effortlessly pretty and how you never see Carmy anymore and-

"Woah woah, slow down, baby." Carmy pulled back to let you wipe away your tears, your whole body shaking with every sob you tried to hold in. His heart was breaking into a million pieces just looking at the sad, pathetic state of you. Rarely, you were the one to break down--always so level-headed and calm against the storm of Carmen's internal torments. It stressed him, but he knew he had to be there for you like you always were for him.

“‘m sorry, Carmy. So, so sorry. ‘m such a fucking baby,” you hiccuped, swatting his hands so you could wipe away your snot and tears without his help. “Y-you w-work so hard every f-fucking day and y-you look so h-handsome all the time and e-every girl wants you. Why should I-I complain? Just forget it.”

“Stop that—stop it. The fuck you mean ‘just forget it’, princess? ‘m not gonna jus’ let you cry your little heart out t’me and ‘forget’ it,” Carmy frowned, rubbing circles into your arms as he held you from a distance. “Deep breaths, baby, c’mon, you can do it. What-what do you need? What do you want?”

You sniffled for a few seconds, staring down at Carmy's lap blankly as you tried to think of what you wanted. What did you want out of this little tantrum? Words of affirmation? A hug? A fucking medal for being the most sensitive girl in the world? Nothing sounded like a good answer at the moment because none of them would actually make you feel better. What's just one thing to make you feel better?

"You. I want you," the words slipped off your tongue faster than you could process. Freezing in place, you could practically hear the gears churning inside Carmy's head. He wasn't one to deal with emotions properly, never mind his girlfriend's jump from fine to self-loathing and crying, to suddenly wanting to fuck him. Nevertheless, he would serve the world on a silver platter if you ever so asked him to.

"Well, then...Let me show you how pretty I think you are, alright? Can you do that for me, princess?"

Carmy pressed a kiss to your forehead as you gave a weak nod, his lips curling into a smile. Instead of tossing you down roughly and getting to work, he drew you closer in his embrace, rocking back and forth until your shaky breaths became shallow and quiet. As he held you close, you could feel his heartbeat synchronize with yours, a sense of comfort and ease to soothe your frantic mind. At that moment, all you wanted was to feel loved and desired, to forget about the superficial pressures weighing heavily upon your shoulders. And then, without warning, Carmy's hand drifted lower, grazing the curve of your hip before trailing downwards towards your thigh. Your breath caught in your chest as his fingers traced lazy circles around your inner knee, sending chills down your spine.

With tender strokes, Carmy moved slowly upward, teasing the sensitive crease where leg met torso. You moaned softly, arching your hips against him in response. As he reached the waistband of your shorts, Carmy paused briefly, gazing intently into your eyes. There was a fierce intensity in his expression that left you breathless, captivating you entirely.

Without a word, Carmy slipped his hands under the elastic band of your shorts, sliding them down over your hips until they pooled around your knees. Moving up under the fabric of your (his) t-shirt, his fingers traced patterns along the smooth expanse of your stomach, his thumbs skimming the outsides of your pelvis bone. You gasped aloud, feeling a sudden surge of heat spreading rapidly throughout your core.

"Shh, it's ok, princess. I've got you," Carmy cooed, peppering your face with kisses. His lips brushed away the salty trails left behind by your tears, leaving not a single patch of skin untouched. "You are so beautiful, you don't even know it. D'you understand me?"

As Carmy continued to trail featherlight circles around the edges of your panties, you closed your eyes, surrendering fully to the sensations engulfing you--forehead pressing against his. Each touch seemed to amplify the previous one, building anticipation until you could barely stand it any longer. A whine escaped you, a needy, shrill cry for him to just fuck you already. But no, when he wanted to, your boyfriend could be overly in tune with his love-making. He needed to analyze everything and craft the perfect recipe for success, and now he knew you needed to feel his adoration. Carmy’s lips found their way to your neck, suckling gently while his hands roamed freely over your skin.

Finally, he whispered your name, his voice low and throaty. It was primal—laced with desires that could tip you over the edge if you thought about them for too long. You opened your eyes again to find Carmy gazing deeply into your soul, his eyes filled with an intense yearning that made your own heart skip a beat. You felt as though you could lose yourself completely in the depths of his irises.

And then, finally, Carmy pressed his mouth to yours in a searing kiss that left you dizzy and disoriented. His tongue snaked its way into your mouth with a familiar sense of direction. He knew every part of you, inside and out, like the back of his fucking hand. All thoughts fled from your mind as you succumbed wholly to the overwhelming emotions coursing through your body. This was what love truly felt like – intense, passionate, and utterly consuming.

His hands wandered up and down your thighs, kneading the flesh gently as if testing its resilience. The pulsing desire in your core came to a head with every press of his calloused fingers into your skin, and you needily began to try and grind into him--into something to relieve the urge. Carmy leaned forward, lips never leaving yours, leading you gently down to lay back flat against the mattress.

"God you look so fuckin’ beautiful, y'know that? Like a fuckin’ angel," he growled, his hand pressing down gently on your stomach, guiding himself down to the forbidden fruit he craved. The other hand was snaked around to hold the small of your back, holding you in place as he lowered himself between your thighs. With a flick of his wrist, he lifted one leg over his shoulder, placing a kiss on the inside of your knee before continuing his journey. A trail of wet, sloppy kisses drew gasps from your chest, fingers instinctively finding a home in his curls.

When Carmy finally reached your most sensitive spot, he lingered there for a long, torturous beat, relishing the way your muscles twitched in response. Soft kisses and kitten licks peppered your clit--the slick of your arousal sticking to his lips as he worked his way to your folds with gentle kisses. Then, with a sudden surge of energy, he plunged his tongue deep into your core, bathing you in a tidal wave of ecstasy. His biceps flexed as he hooked his arms around your thighs, forcing himself to be buried entirely within you. Dipping between your folds, his tongue lapped at your pussy with fervor before flicking against your clit until you cried out his name.

It was messy, it was wet, it was fucking filthy. God the noises that man made as he ate you like he hadn't been fed in years--growling and moaning as he slurped at your pussy.

You cried out and writhed against the sheets, rolling your hips against his mouth and nose. God did that fucking nose does wonders against your clit—teasing you and beckoning you to just grind against it. And when he snarled into your pussy, it rubbed just right and rigid, like it was built just for you to use. Carmy's cock throbbed as you pulled and scratched at his scalp, each curl that was caught in your fist encouraging him to be even more depraved. His name was like a spell on your tongue—unable to muster up a single thought that wasn’t just him.

“Carmy—“ You cried out, back arching what seemed like a mile off the bed as your body was overtaken by pure bliss. The deep fire within your belly was washed away as you came against his tongue, happy tears of joy pricking at the corner of your eyes. “Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck—“ you whined and sobbed, bucking up and squirming your hips from side to side. But even as the pleasure began to wear off, Carmy kept going, overstimulating your poor little pussy even after you weakly pushed his head away. It was no use, whatever Carmen Berzatto wanted, he would get.

His eyes were trained on your wrecked face the entire time, watching your every move. The hand that was previously in his hair was now gripping his hand tightly, knuckles white as you gnawed on your other fist, whimpering and mewling between shakey "Please"s. It was like a fucking dream come true and he wished he could stay in this moment forever. Finally, Carmy slowed his tongue, kissing against your clit while you flinched back with nervous laughter. He loved it when you did that—bringing you such fucking pleasure that you were only able to muster up giggles and whimpers. Carmy lowered his head once more, but now his attention focused not just on your sensitive parts, but also on your entire body: caressing your shoulders, trailing his fingertips along your spine, tickling the backs of your knees. He wanted to leave no part of you untouched, no corner unexplored.

You panted heavily, engulfed in his touch and kisses like you couldn’t move a limb of your own. It felt like stone filled every vein in your body, eyes heavy from all the tears you’ve shed. You were just so sleepy and content from your orgasm, not even wanting to think about moving. But still—you managed to push your body up to hunch over and run your fingers through Carmy's hair, gaining his attention as his lips found the swell of your breast. You bit your lip to hold back a groan, loving how his rough hands reached up to caress each of your tits—thumbing over the sensitive nipples.

Soon, your hands found his face, cupping his cheeks so you could look down into his eyes, his lips slick and parted as he panted heavily. Carmy seemed to melt into your touch, nuzzling into your touch and pressing kisses to your palm. You giggled, eyes searching his face, absorbing it and committing it to memory. He was clean-shaven, skin still soft and smooth after you had pestered him about just how itchy his stubble would make you when it got to the wrong length.

“Are you feeling better now, princess?” Carmy leaned forward to press a kiss to your lips, lingering for a second as you tried to formulate a response.

“A little…I’m, uh, I'm still not entirely convinced,” you teased, peppering his face with kisses as one of your hands traveled down the span of his ripped torso, lingering on the v of his hip, before hooking onto the band of his boxers. Carmy’s hands joined yours, pulling down his underwear just enough for his cock to spring free. It was hard—dripping with need as your thumb swiped over the tip, earning a sharp inhale from Carmy. "I think I still need your help."

“Don’t worry about it, princess,” he smirked, pushing you gently back down so you laid out all pretty for him. Repositioning himself, he gently rubbed circles into your hip bones as your legs wrapped around his waist. “‘m gonna make sure you feel how fuckin’ beautiful I think you are.”

Your response got caught in your throat as Carmy slid into your pussy with one slick motion, filling you all the way until you were flush against him. A pornographic moan escaped you as you ground your hips against him, your eyes clenched shut. The stretch was like a daydream, a tingly sensation of lust moving through your veins--no matter how many times he fucked you, you don't think you'd ever get used to the sheer size of him.

"That's it...Good girl...Y'taking me so fuckin' good, yeah?" Carmy's lips met yours again, his hips moving in slow, gentle strides that rocked your body in time with his. You nodded eagerly, legs clamping down on his sides and drawing him in closer. One of his hands reached up to squeeze your breast, using it as a sort of base as he began to swing his hips with more passion.

The sound of his cock pounding into your soaked pussy filled the room accompanied by airy moans and sighs. One of your hands managed to snake its way down to the junction between you and Carmy, two fingers finding your abandoned clit. With a sharp hiss, you began to rub and toy with yourself, quietly moaning for your boyfriend--earning a deep grunt of approval as he hunched over you and drove your ass up into the air to fuck you at a new, deeper angle.

“Fuck, Carmy, I—“ Your legs shook around his waist, hips grinding up to meet his frantic thrusts. His teeth dug into the side of your neck, sucking and nipping at the skin before his tongue would dart out to soothe the wound. It was taking an embarrassingly short amount of time for you to reach your second climax, your words turning to senseless babbles as the tightness in your core began to make you feel dizzy and drunk. Carmy felt your insides flutter and pulse around him, encouraging him to start fucking you even harder.

“C’mon, princess,” he growled, hand coming up to tightly grip your slack jaw. You whined in response, one of his thumbs hooking over your bottom lip and pressing down on your tongue. “I wan’this whole fuckin’ city to hear you. Let me hear you, princess, let me fuckin’—“

Carmy wasn’t able to finish his sentence before his name was ripped out of your throat, nails digging into his back. "J-Jesus, fuck, Carmy, fuck, oh my god," you cried out a string of obscenities as he fucked you through your orgasm, face buried in his neck and arms wrapped around him while he pounded your thoroughly sore pussy.

“God—Fuck, just like that, princess. ‘m so fuckin’ close. Oh fuck,” he growled into your ear. His hips began to buck wildly and without rhythm, becoming sloppier and more desperate as you moaned and whispered encouragement against his neck. Every breath was labored, Carmy's eyes squeezed shut as he felt his own release approaching like a fucking train--threatening to crash any second.

“Cum in me, please. Please, baby, please,” you whimpered, thrusting your hips flush to his. Your movements drew out more groans from him, his grip on your body tightening to an almost painful degree. “I need you to cum in me right fucking now.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice because, with a whiney moan, he spilled inside of you—pressing your hips deep into the mattress. He drove and pushed his twitching cock as deep into your stuffed cunt as he could, making sure his cum didn't get wasted. You moaned his name, gasping as he rolled his hips into you--Pumping you full of him, full of his fucking love and adoration for you. Carmy couldn't help but whimper at the sensations of your walls clenching and fluttering around him as his pleasure began to turn to pain from the overstimulation.

After catching his breath, Carmy reluctantly pulled out of you with a low "fuck" before dropping on top of you, his face was nestled against your cleavage. The two of you lay there, breathing heavily and collecting yourselves for a few minutes, relishing in the afterglow of your passion. Your heartbeat was all Carmy could hear, the only thing he could focus on as he tried to calm down and try to be a functioning human being again. Lazily, your fingers played with the curls at the nape of his neck before tracing patterns across the span of his muscular shoulders--earning a shudder of approval from Carmy.

After laying together for a few, tender, minutes, Carmy pulled himself together and rolled off of you so he could plop himself next to you. His eyes stayed on you, though, and he smiled when you turned on your side to meet his gaze fully.

“My beautiful princess. So pretty, so smart, so sweet,” he cooed, reaching over to brush some sweaty strands of hair out of your face, letting his thumb then trail along your cheekbone. You leaned into his touch, eyes shut with contentment as he continued to caress your jaw. Carmy's lips met yours again, stretching into a smile as you gave him a sleepy kiss in return. Knowing that if he didn't get you up soon you'd fall asleep all dirty and sweaty, he pulled away from your touch--finding his footing as he slipped off the bed.

“Let’s get you in the shower, yeah?” His voice was coarse and husky, strained from the activities. Leaning over you again, his fingers tracing from your collarbones to the center of your belly, settling on your hips as he angled you towards his body. "Gonna regret it if you don't, princess."

“But Carmyyyyy I’m sooooo tired,” you whined as he pulled you toward the edge of the bed, fingers catching in the sheets. His cum was now leaking from your pussy, which was thoroughly fucked and satisfied with the many prizes Carmy gave you for being his girl--For a second, his brain short-circuited, resisting the urge to leave you at the edge of the bed and fuck you with his mouth until you came for him again and again and again--

“Enough of that, c’mon.”

“Yes…chef…”

#carmy berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto smut #the bear #carmy berzatto #carmy the bear

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here-to-read-and-write · 3 months

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Umg umg umg, i hope you would like this request 🥺🥺🥺🥺🥺 I have two to shared but you could choose one 🥺 (bruhhhh, i hope my English is good enough to be understood)

1. (NSFW) Reader had some injured in the past about their jaw that they can't open their mouth widely (just about 2.5 to 3cm). When they try to eat a quite big cumcuber, they have to bite slowly each pieces and tell others that "I hate this, can't eat something big". When 141 members see it, they immediately have a thought "So how could they take my cock?" even they don't even mean that. What do you think they (141) would react about their thought? I guess Ghost will be really annoyed by his thought 🤣 (anyway i do have that problem so whenever i want to eat a spoon of something, i have to adjust it to fit my mouth @@ that's so pissed off)

2. (SFW) For some reasons reader have to pretend that they betray 141. Maybe they have to make the enemies believe that they're in the enemies' side (reader is a spy, perhap), or you just can choose to not mention it. But reader can't tell 141 to keep their (141) safety. I wish i could know their reaction about reader's betrayal and what if reader's eyes redden or even cry while they try to keep straight face during the betrayal scene 🥺

It’s 1:02 a.m. here, and I was playing Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 3. I don’t know what to say, but I am ugly crying. I won’t spoil it for those who haven’t played yet, but my heart got ripped out of my chest. Writing is my only coping mechanism, so I decided to grab my laptop and write for them, for myself, and for those who played it and felt the same way as I did or didn’t.

Well, I well use this opportunity to make amends since I have abandoned writing and we will start with little cuty user, and her requests.

Characters mentioned : John Price - Johnny "Soap" MacTavish - Kyle "Gaz" Garrick - König - Simon "Ghost" Riley - Alejandro Vargas - Rodolfo "Rudy" Parra.

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I hope you liked it!

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Tired and hungry were the worst combination at this moment, now that you were finally about to start writing tha damn report. Why did you have to personally write a report?

The report has to be on captain Price's desk today before noon, but as your pen meet the paper, your stomach grumbled louder than a shot gun.

Sighing you stood up, abondonning the idea of ever finishing this report in time. You can't leave your poor stomach empty for the sake of something as foolish as a report, plus you knew captain Price won't scold you much, as long as the report gets to his office before he leaves to his well deserved vacation. You can't wait to eat a fresh meal for yourself and maybe, key word: maybe, leave some for others.

Lost in thoughts you haven't even noticed that you had reach the kitchen. Now here comes the second challenge, actually cooking.

Looking at the small counter, you had one thought, what can you eat? Let's make it more understadable, what can you eat which is easy to cook and you won't have problem chewing? Reminder, you can't open your jaw more than 3 cm.

Well, that will depends, you thought as you opened the fridge to be meet with one lonely tomato, one cucumber, a piece of cheese that no one wanted to eat and nothing more.

Oh, we left to the mission before we could shop!

Groaning in disappointment, you pulled out the three of out. With the issues with your jaw, you can choose either the tomato, the cheese, the cucumber (but it has to be cut into small pieces, and that's too much work!) or you can combine them all to create a tomato-cucumber-cheese salad (You had to fill the void in your stomach somehow and tomato, cucumber or cheese alone won't do it). Unfortunately, as you were about to grabbed the tomato, you noticed two things, it was too soft, mushy, and smelly.

You grimaced, examinating the three items, and the only surviver was cucumber, with the cheese having mold all over it. So, cucumber alone it is, sighing you turned to grab a knife, to at least cut it into smaller pieces, but it seems you wasted all your luck just now.

You facepalmed at the unwashed stack of dishes. You haven't noticed them, with your back facing where they were buried in the sink. They must have been left here when Laswell called for an urgent mission, since no one uses this kitchen except the 1-4-1, you and occasionally, the Mexican boy (Alejandro) and his flowery companion (Rudy) when they visit.

Speaking of the devil, you peered over your shoulder to see the squad chatting as they strolled towards the grand table, between the door and the counter. Their shoulders weren't tensed as it was a few hours ago. They were actually making jokes minus Ghost obviously, but even he have the green aura around him.

Seeing as they were safe to approach, you coughed catching their attention immediately, but before anyone could greet you with a teasing nicknames, you pointed out at the sink.

"I cleaned, the week before, your turn," you pointed at Soap, who's shoulder sank as he teared up, but you knew it was all an act to wiggle his way out, but not this time.

Once he noticed that it wasn't working, he give in and walked towards you, picking on your cheeks before wearing the gloves. Pink gloves, that you purposely brought just to have a good laugh at Ghost, a scary man in hello kitty's gloves. It was the finiest memory you cherished among others.

"Colonel Vargas, Sergeant Major Para," you nodded at the two before greeting the others.

"I asked you too many times to just call me Alejandro, we aren't strangers after all," he grinned as you just nodded, giving up on arguming.

Taking the empty seat between Ghost and Price, you listened to their madone talks as you tried to take on the big boy, cucumber.

Why were cucumbers so big? You though dreadly as you tried to fit it in your mouth, but of course the thing was too big.

"I hate how I can't fit anything big in my mouth," you mumbled but of course, it has to be silence the moment you decided to complain.

You pushed your lips forcefully apart, just enough to not hurt yourself but enough to fit the head of the cucumber in your mouth because there is no way you were going to wait until Soap cleans the dishes, plus you had to go over them. You can trust them with your soul but never in cleaning.

Everyone snapped their head towards you, eyes widen. Their watched how your eyes narrawed as you biten small pieces of the cucumber. They all had one thought in minds, how will their cocks fit in your mouths when you can't fit a cucumber, a mini size.

Price was the first to lean back, and tried to come with a way to train your jaw. He was a patient man, he can start small, few licks here and there. You can started by fitting the head, then slowly you will be able to fit it all in, just right. He licked his lower lip just at the thought of how you, his fierce soldier, will look cute down on your knees just for him.

Gaz and Soap on the other hands had the same though, how will it fit in your mouth, but more of concerned about your safety and comfort, not like Price will force anything upon you but the old man knew better than anyone that you won't resisting once he has his hands on you. They don't mind much, even though they fantasised many time about you gagging around it as you tried to do your best to please them.

For the Mexican boys, same question, and as much they didn't want to have such lewd thoughts of someone they respected. Like the others they didn't mean it. It was out of their controle. The thought was so pleasant, that they have to see it in real life—I mean, They had to test the theory in real life, maybe you can defy your believe, they can help prove yourself wrong and that you take more than just one cock—Uhh, what they mean, darling, is that you shouldn't push yourself too much, you are a valuable memember of 1-4-1 and no one wants you hurt.

König, he was panicked in Germany, Wie werden sie meine glied nehmen können? (How will they be able to take my cock? I don't know the word for cock in germany so don't come at me, please, I just started learning the language!). When I say he was panicking, I mean sweating as he thought of all possibilities that may accure if one day, he couldn't control himself and accidently, slide it on your mouth. He was scared of breaking your poor jaw, he didn't want you to hate him, not when he loved admired you so much.

Ghost was the contrary of them all, he was annoyed, grumbling under his breath like grounded child. How dare you you? How dare not be able to take it? All along the mission, he was holding on, barely, but still holding on his hands to his side and cock in its place just to be able to get you under him once you were all back. He had planned it all. Today, after this little warm hearting meeting with everyone he will slide away and get into your office, knowing you were busy writing your report, and seduce you or whatever, just to get you on your knees, but now you had to tell him you can't take him???? Who are you to decide that?

In conclusion, everyone was in their clouds, imagining and thinking whatever they wanted to do to you while you sobbed in your corner over the still existing void in your stomach.

I am still hungry, you sighed, as you finished your cucumber.

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amaiguri · 8 months

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The First Demon—Zalathiel Paralogue

I guess I'm on a writing-sharing kick so here is literally the best thing I've ever written, in my opinion. It perfectly encapsulates my taste right now. I like it so much, I keep trying to write everything else like it -- the problem is, it doesn't WORK with everything else. And also, it's a middle chapter of like a 150k word story. But who knows? Maybe you'll pick it up from context...

What follows is a first-person retrospective piece on the childhood of the current Inquisitor-General, Zalathiel Kalespari.

(Zalathiel, Acting-Inquisitor General) My half-sister, Tsinavi, never suffered the first Demon of children’s cruelty: ostracism. She was largely beloved yet she still was the strange type of girl to appear in your closet one day unannounced. The little moth hung by her knees from the coat rack in my new office — reading my less-classified reports with her golden locks hanging like wings and a red apron covering her face. God only knows how she got into all these places but I’d have Saravanya check my office later.

Za: Tsinavi, what are you doing here?

Tsi: Bored.

A perfectly average response from her.

Za: Tsi—

Tsi: No.

She knew I was going to tell her to get on a train and go home. But with both Chetiel and I in Telethens, there was little chance of even bribing her to spend the fortnight returning to Zavlakya.

Za: Tsi, please — father is going to chew me out for this.

Tsi: Pfttt, sounds like your problem!

I sighed. She was at the age where she was no longer required to attend school nor stay in her home city — but instead of taking the time to apprentice herself somewhere, she had doggedly followed Chetiel and I everywhere. On occasion, we found her in disciplinary centers for trespassing. The trespassing had declined in recent months — or rather, the arrests had.

Za: Don’t you have training programs to apply to?

Tsi: I told you, I can’t! I don’t know what I’m supposed to be the best at yet.

Za: You’re fourteen. You’re not gonna know unless you try things.

Tsi: I am trying things.

Za: Reading my confidential files isn’t “trying things”, Tsi.

Tsi: Okay.

Za: …You’re not listening.

Tsi: Nope!

I trusted her implicitly but I did not trust her ability to stave off the mental effects of demons. I removed her unceremoniously from my coat rack, retrieved my classified documents, and returned her to the floor. She tried to bite my ankle but I stepped over her.

When I was her age, I still suffered a military school education. Father, the fool that he was, insisted that both my brother, Chetiel, and I go to “uphold the family legacy” or some such nonsense. And Mother (not Tsi’s mother) was a double agent for the North — and when she found out I knew, she heard no arguments against it. Chetiel hated it. He snuck out to the Theatre every week to lounge backstage at punk operas and endear himself to the skinny-legged producer. And I was much stupider back then — I hadn’t cultivated the kind of demeanor people trusted. You see, I made the mistake of thinking the Aftokratoria was truly a meritocracy — that my peers, literal children, would hear my astute observations and witty repartee and swoon. My brother — perhaps by virtue of being minutes older than I — entertained no such illusions. I suppose he’d learned to hide our unusual Thuillean accents sooner, and he made all our friends on my behalf. I, unfortunately, made monsters of them.

Tsi groaned and rolled across the floor, before she crawled into a chair at last. Once in it, she sat properly — like a goblin who pretended to know how to portray a “girl.”

Ts: Fine. Give me better advice. How did you know what you were best at?

Za: You know this is a flawed approach to making life decisions, yes?

Tsi: Answer the question!

Za: There was a pretty girl and I decided I wanted to follow her.

I first met Nesa after an alleged-Demon murdered one of the students on campus. She and her mentor came and spoke to our class about the signs of Demons — mismatched eye-colors, inhumanly smooth voices, striking beauty, and staring for too long without blinking. Nesa was stunning and she displayed all of them.

Tsinavi disapproved of this answer.

Ts: Why did you make a life decision about a girl you weren’t dating?

Za: I don’t recommend it, but I’m sure you’ll have more empathy for it when you’re older.

She pouted and kicked my chair leg.

Ts: Why can’t I follow you?

Za: Most Inquisitors get recruited very young, Tsi. Most have killed their first Demon by your age.

Ts: You were older!

Za: I was not — they just didn’t know about my first Demon. I killed one of the children the Bloodsmith turned.

Ts: Oh. Well, then I’ll go kill a Demon!

Za: If I let you go Demon hunting, Father will kill me.

Ts: Pfft, but he couldn’t though…

I permitted myself to snicker. I shared our disdain for father but he actually liked her. I hoped she would continue to leverage his generosity and position as the former Lead Intelligence Officer for the Northern Campaign to get herself into a field which would sufficiently challenge her.

Za: Fine. I will give you a task to see if you even like Inquisiting. Consider it your tryout.

Ts: Really?

Za: Apprentice yourself to Senator Diacaius Praefori and hide your connection to me as much as possible. If you can do it, I’ll let you in.

He didn’t take apprentices — he only took those with formal political philosophy training as assistants whom he would later promote. Never apprentices. But if anyone could convince him otherwise, it was Tsi.

Ts: If he’s actually as smart as they say, then he’ll know I’m the best possible candidate he could have as an apprentice.

I smiled. This was exactly the sort of arrogance I had as a child — and exactly the sort of excessive honesty that ruined my classmates’ opinions of me. A week on the Zavlakihk Docks fixed me right up — enough to charm even Nesa — but as I child, I had held honesty and wit equivalent to charisma.

I once told an upperclassman — Svyet, I think he was named — that he was the sort of person who could name every type of armbar, but could not name one time his mother was proud of him. I wasn’t wrong. He laughed it off, of course — to exude enmity would be to expose vulnerability afore his mindless… posse. He made some comment to the effect of, “You wouldn’t be saying that if Chetiel wasn’t here” which was markedly untrue, but he didn’t know that. And lack of information was always the most dangerous place to be for a Demon-hunter.

Za: Tsi, if you’re going to do this, take it seriously. Observe your target to draw out their weaknesses — do not assume your current strategy will work because you are strong.

Ts: Senator Diacaius is a big softie for little girls. Look how many daughters he has. And he’s never claimed his sons! He’ll love me.

She wasn’t wrong.

Za: On second thought, maybe I’ll pay him a visit too…

Ts: Pfft, he won’t like you!

Za: …No. But his daughter might.

Ts: What, the Burned Maiden of Thuille? She’ll take one look at you and hate you! I don’t buy any of that “symbol of the peace” horse doodoo!

I shook my head. There was a lot of intelligence on her — a concerning amount, in fact, one might call it “obsession.” From what I could tell, she was a scared little girl — good with a knife, and useless without. She would take to any genuine kindness like a Demon to blood.

Za: Of course, because she isn’t a symbol at all. She’s a person — and people are easy, if you know how to use them. You are not ready for that, Tsi.

My brother stole out to the Theatre one night and I had to provide an alibi. He knew how to use people. We weren’t allowed to leave the school at the time, so I attended a dorm party masquerading as him — but I also left early to “help my brother study.” Those sorts of meaningless social functions exhausted me and the weather was horrid. I just wanted to be home with a cup of tea and a good physics codex.

When I emerged from the throng of the crowd, a gang followed me. I led them somewhere nice and secluded — just for Svyet and his corteges. They craved the blood of the frail, awkward little brother who scored one point above his more popular brother on everything. Who was I to deny them?

They could have easily killed me with overwhelming numbers and physical superiority. They did push me over. One gashed my forearm with a nail. Then, Svyet did some grandstanding and told me to apologize — the rain haloing his form like some seabeast rising through the storm.

But I knew a thing or two about theatre from my brother’s secret ravings; I smashed a rock through the nearest window for the glass and I pointed to the longest shard in the bottom rail. I told him to apologize first — stick his neck on the shard and I’d forgive him.

They balked.

“Svyet, it seems it won’t just be your mother who thinks you’re pathetic… Can’t even beat up one underclassman on your own? You need a whole centurion to do it for you?”

People are simple. They all don masks and classifications, but the minute the curtain’s down, the masks come off. Svyet was not a secure person who laughed off insults and bantered back — he was a narcissist and a bully and a disappointment to his parents. No one would miss him.

And no one did.

When he’d finished spilling his blood over the window, I turned to the other stunned, older boys. I told them this: “I have two simple commands:

“The first: You will not lay a hand on me or my brother again.

“The second: You will not tell anyone happened here. If you tell someone and I’m arrested, you will be not safe. I already have one of your heads; do not give me the others.”

My brother was furious. He demanded to know where I’d been and why my hands were in rags all night. I never admitted to anything, but I think Chetiel knew when the Inquisitors came looking for a Demon, they were looking for me.

#short story #original fiction #fantasy #fantasy worldbuilding #fantasy writing #lit fic #writeblr #writing #creative writing #fantasy world #Inquisitor #Inquisition #Demon #Demons #Demon Hunter #The First Demon #yssaia #fantasy writer #amaiguri

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im-someone-i-guess · 1 year

Text

ice cream and white sleeves

a sokeefe fic by ryhanna

word count: 2144

"Sophie having a bad day at work but hides it from Keefe and basically something with fluff." by anonymous tumblr user

Strangling the Councillors seemed like a wonderful notion. Regardless how illegal it presently was, regardless of the consequences that would promptly come after. She was the Amazing Sophie Foster after all, if anyone could get away with murdering the twelve ridiculous gem-wearing peacocks then it would be her. It took every ounce of her self restraint to ignore the burning desire to Inflict her anger onto them and wrap her fingers around each one of their necks when they collapsed to the ground. Instead she nodded politely, smiled insincerely and excused herself. She could feel their lingering pitiful stares, the frustrated ones, the ones where they didn’t even bother feigning at liking Sophie at all.

She had little consistent supporters here, she could save the whole of Lost Cities a thousand times and yet they would regard her little more as a child. Even with the ridiculous cape, the nobility are forced to wear, and the donned up hair, and the tall heels, they saw her as a child, not a respected Emissary or war hero but the young girl from the Forbidden Cities who had been experimented on. They disliked her as if it was her fault, as if she had voluntarily agreed to cause so much trouble for them in her youth.

“Lady Foster,” someone called. Sophie did not pause her aggressive stalking, no, she walked even faster, her hand reaching for her home crystal, eager to return home and pretend this problem away until she would have to face another one of the Lost Cities’ glorified peacocks. “Lady Foster, if I may have a moment,” Councillor Bronte tried again. He was much taller, with longer legs, perfectly capable of keeping pace if not for his own billowing cape, much finer and grander than Sophie’s. She knew if she glanced back that the Councillor would also be wearing his onyx-jewel crown. It would be an unwelcome sight, much too soon after what had happened.

“Not now,” she snapped, eyes still staring ahead of her. Already she held her home crystal, grip so tight she felt her blood circulation cut off, a white-knuckled grip. “In all honesty, Councillor, anything regarding this subject should’ve been said during the meeting where your fellow Councillors all but demanded me to stop pursuing this topic and to never bring it up ever again.” Sophie inhaled. Exhaled. “And so I am doing as commanded by my superiors to never speak of it, I am obligated to say nothing to you.”

“Lady Foster, I have every intention of supporting you on your efforts in involving humans once again in the Elvin World but you must understand that what you proposed is too fast of a change, to invite a couple dozen humans to the Lost Cities would be a logistical nightmare, aside from the precise filtering of candidates itself. This is different from going on trips with your husband to survey human behaviour, a position I only gave you because—”

Sophie cut him off. “Are you informing me that the hours I spent writing those reports went unread? That the task was a charity?” Oh, now Sophie had truly lost all hope in the Council. “Do not hail me, Councillor Bronte. I will assume it to be permission to deliver a scathing lecture spanning hours long on my unrestricted, unfiltered, bluntly honest opinion on today’s events.”

Sophie finally turned to meet the Councillor’s eyes, staring fiercely at his grey-blue eyes. Then she raised her crystal to the light and feigned a sweet smile.

She needed another cape, Sophie noted. Her failed attempt at unpinning the piece of fabric ended up putting a long tear down the middle. Although the sound was one that Sophie fantasised many times to hear, it did nothing to comfort her. If anything, it worsened her mood as it felt helplessly on the carpeted floor in a midnight blue heap. The sapphires encrusted along the edge twinkled in the late afternoon light, tormenting her further. Maybe the cape took pleasure in seeing her suffer after all.

“Miss Foster, would you like me to prepare you a meal?” Pansy asked, quietly walking up to Sophie with concerned eyes. The gnome had been one of the few who eagerly followed Sophie when she left Havenfield to move into Crescent Waters with Keefe. Although technically Sophie was Lady Foster now, and hadn’t been Miss Foster for many years, she did not mind the gnome’s habit of forgetting. Pansy picked up the torn shreds of Sophie’s cape, “Would you want me to mend this? It seems like a shame to throw it away.”

“Yes, please, to the meal and the cape. Oh, what will I do without you, Pansy?” Sophie asked, collapsing onto the armchair nearby. “They denied my proposal, Pansy. They don’t want change, they want things to remain as they have been for centuries.” Sophie tugged at the jewelled hair pins in her hair, dropping them to her lap. It was nice, to finally feel her scalp again, even if the numbness was now replaced by an ache.

“You are Sophie Foster, miss. The Councillors needed you to solve their Neverseen problem, you are much better than they’ll ever be.”

Sophie buried her head in her hands, threading her hands through her hair. “You’re starting to sound like Keefe now, Pansy,” Sophie groaned. How was she going to even tell him? Just last night they were fantasising how things would be, a progressive Elvin world. The Rebellion wouldn’t be taboos anymore, or secret gossip restricted to hushed whispers. Then, they’d be able to speak of their travels to the Forbidden Cities as if it weren’t a scandalous affair.

“He will say the same as I am, miss.” And with those parting words, Pansy left Sophie to her wallowing.

~ Her human-styled clothes were a form of silent rebellion, Sophie decided as she shrugged on one of Keefe’s hoodies. His were always a few sizes too big but she liked how the sleeves could act like gloves, and how she could sink into the soft fabric and the subtle smell of her husband. Her husband who would be returning any time now. And there would be no escaping his Empath abilities and prying questions. Besides, one glance at Sophie’s tired eyes would confirm his creeping suspicion that her proposal hadn’t gone through. And then, they’d both succumb to utter misery but at least she’d drag him down right with her.

“Foster?” a voice called from downstairs, a door promptly shutting right after. Sophie knew if she went down to check she’d find boot prints, evidence he had kicked it again. But Sophie had no intention of walking down the stairs, or greeting her husband. He’d see right through her, she was surprised he hadn’t already felt the thick sorrow in the air, or however else he’d put it.

The muffled sound of Keefe’s purposeful footsteps echoed through the house, alerting Sophie of his arrival before the door even opened, revealing Keefe Foster, clad in mud stained clothes, his hair streaked with dirt. He had mentioned a problem with the dwarves, some issue that involved human miners stealing the dwarves’ secret caches. Sophie expected him to start his torrent of complaints, first with how being underground ruined his hair and that it was due for another wash, then about how unmoving the dwarves had been.

“I spoke to Bronte today, completely ambushed like this,” he gestured over his dirty clothes. “He says he owes you an apology and that he’d be coming over later today, pretty much waved his circlet around and invited himself over,” Keefe frowned. “What did the Council do? He makes it sound as if they… no they didn’t!”

Keefe leaped onto the bed, pulling the covers away from her. “It’s fine, Keefe,” Sophie said grimly. “And get off the bed, Pansy just changed the sheets.”

“Foster, you’re THE SOPHIE FOSTER, if they will not listen to them, make them. Threaten them or something if they aren’t budging. But you are not giving up, Foster.” Sophie only gave a non-committal sound as she wrenched back the covers from Keefe, blanketing her figure once more. “Oh no, you’re wearing my hoodie too, you never do that unless you’re severely sad,” Keefe noted. “Ah, I knew something was off the moment I walked in, I’m getting immune to your strong emotions now.”

“There’s nothing wrong, Keefe. It’s all grand,” Sophie mumbled. The words sounded false even to her own ears, Keefe did not buy it of course.

“I’m getting changed and then we’re eating ice cream somewhere in the Forbidden Cities,” Keefe decided. “An additional bonus is we get to ditch the Councillor and make him stand like a fool at the door, passive aggressively knocking the door. I’ll tell Pansy to lock the door and let no one in no matter what. Then we can wallow in sadness together.”

They swapped their ice creams after a few licks, an unspoken rule they always obeyed whilst eating ice cream. A tradition, if they had one. The sweetness cheered Sophie somewhat, though it was hard to ignore that feeling in her stomach, the realisation that the Elvin world may never really fully progress, that they’d be stuck with their backward views even centuries after. Three, she had only three consistent supporters on the Council, and she hated one of them (regardless if said councillor also happened to be her biological mother). Oralie, Terik and Bronte. She needed to convince nine more to have her proposal approved. A unanimous vote, impossible to achieve especially since Councillor Alina seemed to have a personal vendetta against her.

“So you’re telling me those handwritten reports were never even read by the Councillors?” Keefe asked, ice blue eyes wide, offended on her behalf. “So let me get this straight, Bronte made the whole thing up about the Council wanting to establish a relationship with the humans, gave you a crystal only he authorised and made you spend hours writing all that intricate information about the Forbidden Cities under the guise of helping you?”

Sophie nodded solemnly. “At least the crystal was nice.”

“Is,” Keefe amended, holding out his cone, chocolate staining the edges of his lips as he cast Sophie a crooked smirk. “And we’re not giving it back, you deserve that much.”

“Oh, they’d have to wrench it from my dead body if they want it so badly,” Sophie grinned in turn. “I hate them, Keefe. They’re holding onto ancient tradition that never did anyone good, and never will. And they say they have no reason to change anything because there are no issues in the Lost Cities. They forgot the word ‘anymore’!” Sophie told him. “What about the Neverseen, so many of them are just people wronged by the Council and this twisted system. And the Black Swan, they wouldn’t have to fight so hard and…”

“Tomorrow, we’re going to march up to the Council and make our claims, I promise Sophie, we’ll get that approval. Or better yet, we initiate it ourselves.” Keefe’s voice adopted a mischievous undertone, his lips twisting into his signature boyish smirk. “We’ll try tomorrow but either way there will be no losing. It’s either we do it by their civil terms or we could pursue this behind their backs.”

“Tomorrow,” Sophie insisted. “Now swap, I want the chocolate one again,” she ordered, snatching back the cone from his grip and exchanging it with the strawberry one she had been licking. “You bit the ice cream?” she asked, bewildered.

“So what, you bite the ends of the cones, and now I have to endure them dripping down my wrist!” Keefe pointed at his chocolate and strawberry droplets, slowly trickling down his sleeves, staining the white. “How have you not stained that hoodie yet?” he demanded, grumbling as he licked the end of the cone.

“First of all, I had the forethought of wearing black instead of white to an ice cream date—”

“But I invited you to that, no way did you know I would drag you to get ice cream—of course you did—am I that predictable these days?” he asked, frowning. “Adulthood made me terrible, I don’t remember the last time I did anything particularly interesting.”

“Sure, getting yourself a franchise-wide ban at McDonalds hadn’t been memorable at all,” Sophie smiled. “You didn’t have to demand all their fries, those poor workers were probably traumatised by your store-wide challenge to finish more fries than you could. And the fact that some actually tried, with so little motivation or any reward in return had been baffling.”

“Their fries are to die for. It is only a shame I cannot personally terrorise them for any more,” Keefe laughed.

And perhaps, for just right now, Sophie would pretend all was fine. Tomorrow, she’d worry about her proposal tomorrow.

#ry writes #sokeefe #keefe sencen #sophie foster #sophie x keefe #fluff #fanfiction

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striped-shirt-drama-truth · 1 year

Text

Hello, this is Alice. Some of you may know me as striped-shirt-dahmer-supremacy. I was here for a short period before my blog was reported and deactivated. As everyone in this little niche community knows, there has been drama between the so-called elites and the rest of the community for the past month. I belonged to the private server of the so-called elites. I am not making this post to add fuel to the fire or instigate more drama. I am simply making this post to come clean and speak my truth.

Yesterday, I left the server and deactivated my discord account after being messaged by a member of the discord because she had come across some information that she perceived as being complicit in "making things worse" with the ensuing drama. I do not handle being confronted in an angry manner well, and did not calmly or rationally reply. If I'm going to be honest, I also do not like the member who confronted me, so the exchanged was already negative right off the bat. Further more, I do not take kindly to her demanding that I respond to her. I actually do have a life outside of this community, so contrary to whatever she may think, I was in the middle of attending to other things that morning and really did not appreciate being demanded that I reply to her.

After thinking it over today, I've realized I regret not reaching out to certain members of this community, because despite everything, I did consider some of these people my friends. However, I left the server and deactivated my account, so I can't. So after mulling things over, I decided to come here and write this post.

Anyways, the truth is this: yes, I was friendly with Kiera aka doin-a-dahmer. I felt her banning was unfair, but I also felt the entire situation was blown entirely out of proportion by both sides. Everyone should've talked the situation over. It didn't mean Kiera had to stay in the discord, but maybe things could've ended on a less sour note. Because I was friendly with Kiera, I did send her screenshots of some of what was said about her. I didn't divulge this to the rest of the discord because I knew everyone would've been angry at me. But I say this to all of you - don't act like you wouldn't have done the same thing for your friend. You know if one of you had been banned, you would've done the exact same damn thing. As much as everyone there loves to claim to not want drama, we all enjoy it. And I can't lie, I enjoyed it too, which is partially why I sent Kiera these messages in the first place and also stuck around the discord. But I'm also not a complete monster like I'm sure everyone feels I am now. I also considered you guys my friends and wanted to stay part of the discord. I felt bad about what I did, and I also felt like the drama was getting out of hand, and I no longer wanted to be a part of it. So I decided to block Kiera and moved on. I hoped the drama would be over, but of course it wasn't. You all know what comes next.

The reality is, no one is innocent in this situation. This could've all died down if the rest of the discord had stopped responding to Kiera and her group and just blocked them and went on their way. It also could've ended if everyone in Kiera's discord had done the same. It really doesn't matter either way, I'm just tired of everyone on either side pretending they are victims. I'm not going to pretend to be a victim either. I enjoyed the drama and added fuel to the fire. I made fun of Kiera and other members of this community because it was fun. I know it makes me seem like a piece of shit, but don't act like the rest of you don't do it and enjoy it, too. Save for a few members who left our discord because they did not like the dram and never actively engaged in this behavior, we ALL kept the drama going because it was fun. It basically became the main topic of our discord, so lets not sit here and pretend we didn't like it. Not even a certain member who loves to sit around with lecturing everyone about how the drama needs to end, pretending she is so above all of it with her sanctimonious, holier than thou attitude, white continuing to fan the flames herself. You know who you are.

To my friends in the discord, I say, from the bottom of my heart, I am genuinely sorry for the hurt I've caused you. I really did care about you and like talking to each and every one of you. I really meant it when I said I considered you my friend. I reacted poorly because I knew there was no way what I did would be forgiven. However, I owe it to all of you to apologize to you. I'm ready to put this chapter of my life behind me and move on, but I wanted to say I'm sorry to each and every one of you. I wish all of you the best and hope you can put this drama behind you, too. I also apologize to Kiera for not sticking up for you. I should've been a mediator on your behalf. Maybe I could've helped so things didn't reach this point. I was an idiot who wanted to be part of a group and didn't want to get banned. Even if I didn't agree with all of your actions, I should've done better by you. For that, I am sorry.

And to the person who DMed me, I won't be naming your name, because I know you would love the attention. You can thank me for making this post and giving you more drama to milk for attention in the discord at least. You're welcome bb! Since you were demanding yesterday to know the truth about what me and Kiera talked about, here you go. The truth is, we began talking because we couldn't stand how you always engage in drama and then when you tire of it, you feel the need to lecture everyone about how it's over and tell everyone else what they should be doing. We couldn't stand your holier than thou attitude. We couldn't stand how it's blatantly obvious that you're a narcissist who dominates the entire chat with your drama and makes every god damn thing about you. Your need for attention and validation was so fucking annoying that it actually brought us together. We also got a good laugh about your atrocious fanfic. It has nothing to do with the fact that we were bothered you "straight washing" Jeff, because personally, I couldn't give a shit. It truly is just one of the worst pieces of writing we've ever had the misfortune of reading! Seriously, you are probably the worst writer I've ever read in my life, and there is a lot of garbage out there. For a story with basically nothing but smut, it's painfully unsexy. The sex scenes are straight out of every shitty misogynistic porno, except they're so completely devoid any anything remotely sexy. And I'm sure you're going to read this and post in the discord about how "funny" it is that you "live rent-free in our minds," but the truth is, it was hard for us not to notice when you never shut the fuck up about yourself. But a narc is gonna narc, I guess.

Anyways, I've said my peace. Thank you all. Goodbye.

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mrspettyferr · 2 years

Text

Nothing At All

Elriel l Platonic Elain x Lucien l Vassien

A/N: I wrote my version of the Az/Rhys convo already, so I took that and expanded it, adding Elain's pov and some extra angst, because why not?

(This is also re-arranged out of chronological order. I found it hits hard when you read it this way, then go back and read it from bottom to top.)

Posted on AO3 as well

A few days had passed since Solstice. Elain had not seen Azriel, not even in passing when he typically reported to Rhys. She wasn’t quite brave enough to show up at the House of Wind, so one morning, she took a seat at the desk in her bedroom and decided to write a letter. She dunked her quill into the tiny bottle of black ink and stared at the smoothed-out piece of parchment in front of her for several long moments.

Perhaps we deserve to find out. To try.

Taking a deep breath, she wrote:

Dear Azriel,

I wanted to thank you properly for your gift.

Elain flushed and quickly crumpled up the letter. She tried again.

Dear Azriel,

I know you are very busy, but I wanted to invite you to dinner this evening.

She looked up at the ceiling and sighed. Although he never stayed at the House, he hardly needed an invitation to join his own family for dinner. She crumpled up this one, too.

Dear Azriel,

I hope this letter finds you well. I must first thank you for the beautiful gift. I have been wearing it every day, admiring how the pendant catches on the light. I am writing to you because—

Her hand stilled. Would it be better to try to find some excuse to see him? Or should she just be honest?

We’re both very good liars, Lucien.

No, she had lied enough. To herself, to others. They had worn her down. The lies, the secrets. She wondered if Azriel ever grew exhausted from them, too.

—I wish to speak with you, she finished. I wish to speak of the other night.

It occurred to her suddenly that perhaps he did not want to speak of it. Perhaps it was why she had not seen him or heard from him at all. Perhaps he thought it a mistake.

Unless, she forced herself to add, you would rather not. If you wish for us to – at this, her hand trembled slightly – forget, I will respect your choice. But there is no pretending I have not made my own.

Elain sat back and stared at the letter, at that final line. It was bold, so uncharacteristically forward of her to put such a thing in a letter. But Azriel needed to know. And if he wished to speak with her…she would tell him to his face, too. She owed him that honesty. Owed herself that.

She dipped her quill once more and added:

Please respond at your earliest convenience if you wish to still speak with me, and if not, we can pretend this letter never happened.

Yours,

Elain

Smiling to herself, she folded and sealed the letter with wax and headed from her room. She rounded a corner so sharply that she nearly ran straight into Rhysand.

She skidded to a halt with a surprised little yelp. “I’m so sorry, Rhys. I didn’t see you there. Good morning,” she added a bit lamely.

“Morning,” he replied, amusement dancing in his violet eyes. “You’re in a hurry.”

“Oh,” she said with a laugh, brandishing the letter. “I was trying to make the post.”

“A secret admirer?”

She flushed slightly. “No, of course not. It’s just a letter for Azriel.”

“Oh?” Surprise flashed in Rhys’s eyes, followed by something Elain couldn’t quite place.

She waved a hand, trying for nonchalance. “I have not seen him in days, and thought this would be easier than trying to track him down.”

“It must be important,” he said, watching her carefully.

Elain tried not to blush and knew she failed. But Rhys was kind enough to ignore it.

“You know,” he said after a moment, “letters can be sent with magic.”

Naturally. Elain felt silly for falling into human habits so easily. “I forgot about that. Can you show me how?”

“Of course.” He held out a hand. “May I?”

She obliged, handing him the letter.

Rhys stared at it a long moment—so long Elain feared he forgot how to use his magic—before he snapped his fingers and it vanished.

“How did you do that?” Elain asked in wonder.

“It takes practice,” he said, his words oddly resigned. “Come by my office this evening and I’ll show you.”

She smiled up at him tentatively, but as she began to agree, she suddenly forgot what she was agreeing to. In fact, she forgot what she was doing, why she stood in the hall.

Rhys looked down at her, something like sadness—and maybe regret—in his eyes. It was a curious expression, there and gone in a blink.

Elain shook her head and said, “I’m sorry, what did you say?” Because she was certain he must have said something to warrant such a look.

He cleared his throat and held out his arm. He didn’t quite look at her as he said, “I asked if you were on your way to breakfast.”

“Oh.” Taking his arm, a bit surprised by his act of chivalry, she said, “I suppose I am.”

Elain half expected him to sit down for breakfast as well, but he excused himself after she settled at the table.

For some reason, his eyes were sad, almost regretful, and he seemed very sorry to be missing it.

"What is it?" she asked, frowning.

Rhys cleared his throat and spoke quietly. "Nothing," he said. "Nothing at all."

Solstice Night

Elain looked up at the ceiling of her bedroom and sighed. For the better part of the last hour, she had been pacing, going through different scenarios, and even talking to herself. All because of the tiny gift in her hands.

She was being silly. It was only a gift, a very practical one at that, and it was Solstice.

Then why didn’t you just give it to him when everyone was exchanging presents?

She didn’t answer that. She had talked to herself enough already.

Elain looked down at the small wrapped package in her hands. Perhaps she could keep them for herself. Perhaps that’s what she should do. It wasn’t as though Azriel had even given her a gift. He hadn’t last year either, now that she thought of it, and she hadn’t expected him to, not then and not now. Even if…even if something had shifted between them the past year.

You’re such a silly little girl, Elain. It was her mother’s voice she heard now, and it was far from an endearing, kindly remark.

But perhaps her mother’s voice was right. Elain didn’t need to seek Azriel alone—that would be a dangerous idea. All she needed to do was quietly walk downstairs to the living room and place the gift on his pile of presents. He would know it was from her, she was sure of it, but it would be easier this way. Subtle. Unnoticed by anyone else.

Taking a deep breath, Elain crossed her room, opened the door, and made her way downstairs. She moved quietly, the way Nuala and Cerridwen had taught her, as to not stir anyone in the house who might remain awake.

She had just crossed under the stair archway when she saw him. She halted, her breath catching in her throat.

Azriel stood in the foyer, half hidden by shadows, still in his evening wear, just as she was. Surrounded by shadows, the golden faelight catching on the hazel of his eyes…he looked every bit the demon prince. Dangerous, otherworldly, and achingly handsome.

Elain had not anticipated this. Not at all. Azriel rarely stayed at the House these days, and when he was here, he did his best to avoid her. She thought she knew why, even if she hardly allowed herself to consider it.

“I..." Words failed her as she fought desperately to explain herself. She clutched his small gift in her hands. "I was coming to leave this on your pile of presents. I forgot to give it to you earlier,” she lied, her face tightening slightly.

Azriel’s eyes flicked to the gift, but he said nothing. She wished he would, even if it was to call out the lie he had no doubt read on her face.

The silence was unbearable, so before Elain fled like a coward, she closed the distance between them, her breath quickening with each step. She paused before she got too close, then extended the gift with a shaking hand. “Here.”

He took it without a word, glancing at the card briefly before unwrapping the package and opening the lid. Inside were two small, bean-shaped fabric blobs.

Azriel’s brow furrowed slightly, so Elain explained, "You put them in your ears, and they block any sound. With Nesta and Cassian living there with you..." Her words trailed off as she realized that once again, she had to explain the practicality of her gift. And now that she was saying it out loud…oh, why couldn’t she have just gotten him something normal? A new dagger? A tunic? A book on espionage? Not that he needed such a thing, but—

Azriel chuckled, his eyes bright. "No wonder you didn't want me to open it in front of everyone.”

Elain felt a burst of relief, so much so that the tension finally left her shoulders. Her mouth twitched into a smile. "Nesta wouldn't appreciate the joke.” But he would.

The smile he offered back nearly knocked her to her knees. "I wasn't sure if I should give you your present."

Elain’s eyes shot to his. And in his eyes, she read everything he could not say. Confirmed her suspicions. Why he so rarely visited the House. Why he stood so far away in the family room when they all exchanged gifts. And why he was giving her his gift now, here in the dark, with no one to witness them.

She watched as Az pulled a small velvet box from the shadows around him. He held it out and opened the lid.

Elain sucked in a soft breath. Inside was a necklace—a simple gold chain, with a small, flat rose fashioned of stained glass, the hues of red, pink, and white glowing in the faelight. She had never been gifted a finer piece of jewelry.

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered, lifting it from the box. Transfixed by the way the way the faelight caught on the little glass facets, she said softly, "Put it on me?"

Az went wholly still. She hadn’t really registered what she had said until she felt him take the necklace from her hand. Elain slowly turned, sweeping her thick hair up in one hand and exposing her bare neck to him.

She stood so painfully still—was barely breathing as he slid necklace around her. His fingers brushed the side of her throat. Gently. Almost lovingly. Elain shivered, fighting the urge to lean into his touch.

Azriel fastened the clasp, but his fingers lingered at her nape, atop the first knob of her spine. And when he made no move to pull his hand away, Elain turned, slowly pivoting into his touch, until his palm lay flat against her neck.

She was sure he could hear her heart hammering in her chest. She felt like she was breathing too fast, and not breathing enough. He was touching her. They were standing too close. Close enough that Elain had to bend her neck back slightly to look up at him. Close enough that if anyone were to walk in and spot them, they could not deny the intimacy.

Never. They had never pushed this far, never explored the tension and longing and whatever this was that had been building and building the past year.

Elain bit her lower lip. “I should go,” she forced herself to say. But she did not move. Did not pull away from the warmth of his touch. Instead, her heart just beat faster.

“Yes,” Az murmured, his thumb sweeping in long strokes along the side of her throat.

Heat flooded her everywhere. She was burning and burning, and it took all her self-control to remain still, to not give in to her heart’s desire. But then Azriel stroked her neck again, and this time Elain shuddered, drifting even closer, close enough now that one deep breath would brush her breasts against his chest. His scent surrounded her, encompassed her completely—night chilled mist and cedar and something else. Something she could not explain. She swallowed hard and met his gaze.

His hazel eyes glowed in the faelight, a silent question on his beautiful face.

A sharp, unwanted tug in her chest. It wasn’t the mate bond, but the reminder of it. A reminder it existed. A reminder that in the world of the High Fae, fate was more important than choice.

But tonight…tonight, she would choose. She would choose this.

She would choose him.

“Yes,” Elain breathed.

Azriel let out a soft sound, almost a groan, as though in relief. He slid a hand up her neck, his fingers twining in her thick hair. He tilted her face, his eyes never leaving hers. She was burning again, struggling to breathe, anticipation threatening to burst from her skin. Her mouth parted slightly, her eyes scanning his one last time before fluttering shut.

Elain felt his fingers tighten in her hair as he pulled her closer, felt his breath on her lips, and then—

Azriel stiffened. His fingers tightened more, causing Elain to open her eyes. Just in time to see his head snap to the side, as though he had heard something.

A second later, she heard it, too. Quiet footsteps moving across the landing upstairs.

Azriel’s nostrils flared, and his jaw tightened. Something cold entered his eyes as he looked down at her, but it was not directed at her. There was rage there—rage and pain. Elain opened her mouth, but he vanished, her hair falling from his hand in a wisp of shadow.

She stood there, unable to move, to think, the feeling of his hand snaked through her hair still lingering.

“Elain?”

She turned at the sound of her name, her mouth still parted open.

Lucien stepped into the foyer.

Her mouth clamped shut. It felt as though a bucket of ice had been dumped over her, extinguishing the heat that had been threatening to burn her alive. It was him on the landing. And somehow…Azriel had known. Either his shadows had warned him, or he had scented him. Yet Elain had not. Lucien was her mate—so she was told—but she did not scent him or sense him nearby. She had not felt the mating bond at all since he had tugged on it all those months ago.

For a moment they just stared at each other. And when Lucien’s nostrils flared slightly, when he stiffened, she knew he knew. Azriel’s scent still lingered—lingered on her, possibly—and so did the unmissable scent of arousal.

Elain fought the urge to curve inward. To make herself small, meek. And she might have, months ago. But instead she raised her chin slightly. He had no right to be angry, no claim that meant a thing to her.

To her utter surprise, he said, his words a little forced, “I was just going to the kitchen. For a drink.”

Some of the tension left her. She didn’t need to explain herself, but the lie still slipped free. “I forgot something.”

“Right.” She practically flattened into the wall as he made to move past her. He paused at the edge of the living room and glanced over his shoulder. “I didn’t—I didn’t want it like this.”

It. The mating bond. The thing that turned both their worlds upside down, yet what neither of them ever truly talked about.

“I don’t like feeling like this,” Lucien went on. “It’s not…I can’t control it. But I’m trying.”

She heard the truth in his words. And it was the way his shoulders slumped slightly, the way that weight made his steps heavier, that Elain found herself whispering, “I know. And I know about her, too.”

Lucien stilled. Slowly, he turned back to Elain, his face paling slightly.

“I…I still see things,” she admitted. It was something she had not admitted to anyone. Not even her sisters. “Fragments and glimpses. They aren’t…they aren’t clear. And I do not know if I am seeing the past, present, or future, but…I have seen her. With you.”

Her. Queen Vassa. She knew he’d know who she meant.

“I don’t know what you mean,” Lucien said carefully.

Elain smiled sadly. “We’re both very good liars, Lucien. Perhaps that’s what the Cauldron saw.”

He barked out a laugh, running a hand through his red hair. “I haven’t—we haven’t—”

“I know.” Well, she didn’t really know, but she’d guessed. His discomfort had begun to match her own the past year. He never sought her out anymore or bothered finding excuses to visit. He kept his distance, even as he continued working for Rhysand. At first, Elain suspected he had given up, but as time wore on and her visions began to make sense, she suspected his heart was pulling him another direction. Just as hers was. “But it would be all right if you did,” she added.

She thought of Azriel again. Thought of his hand in her hair as he pulled her close, as they tore down the wall that had unintentionally been forced between them.

Elain and Lucien stood there in silence. It was perhaps the most they had ever spoken to each other. He opened his mouth, closed it, and finally spoke quietly. “What did you see?” He sounded reluctant but eager, like he wanted to know, but feared what Elain might say.

“I don’t know, exactly,” she answered honestly. “It is often so blurry. But you looked happy. And she did, too.”

He was quiet a long moment, his face carefully blank. “Do you think it is possible?” he asked, his voice soft. “For us to find happiness? To…find a different way?”

To find a way around this bond.

Elain had thought the Cauldron was wrong. But perhaps it was right, and she hadn’t yet understood its plan. Perhaps her and Lucien’s paths needed to cross. And if that path was how she found her own happiness with Azriel—how Lucien would find it with Vassa—well, then.

She brought her hand to the pendant around her neck, her fingers clutching the cool charm. “I hope so,” she said. “Perhaps we deserve to find out. To try.”

He looked at her, a gentle smile playing on his lips. It wasn’t a smile reserved for a loved one, but one of mutual understanding.

If there was a way that following their hearts could trump even a mating bond, they would find it.

Minutes Before

Azriel winnowed to one of the many spare bedrooms. He was breathing hard, trying to calm the sudden rage he knew he had no right to have. He clenched and unclenched his jaw, as though that could somehow free him of this torment.

The fireling is going downstairs, a shadow whispered to him.

Lucien was going downstairs—and here he was, Spymaster of the Night Court, hiding in a bedroom.

Azriel found himself moving. He was either going back downstairs, or he was going out the front door. He’d decide on the stairs.

Azriel.

Rhys's voice thundered through him. He ignored it, walking through the door in a plume of shadows.

Azriel.

Unrelenting command filled his name, and Azriel halted, looking up.

Rhys stood at the other end of the hall. Even in the dim light, Az could see the hardness in his High Lord’s face.

My office. Now.

With that order, Rhys vanished. For a moment, Az just stood there. But then he obeyed, winnowing into the shadows, and reappeared inside Rhys’s office.

Rhys sat at his desk, a calm, cold fury on his face. “What are you doing, Az?”

“What are you doing?” Az rallied back, gesturing to the mountain of scrolls and parchment on the desk that hadn’t been there earlier today. It was late, it was Solstice, and Rhys looked like he had been working all night. Why wasn’t he with Feyre?

“Stopping you from making a mistake, apparently.”

Azriel stiffened, letting his cold rage rise to the surface, the rage he only ever let Rhys see, because he knew his brother could match it. "I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Really?” Rhys leaned forward, lacing his fingers together. His power rippled through the room like a dark, angry cloud. “Just what exactly were you planning to do once you went downstairs, Az?”

Azriel said nothing. He hadn’t decided yet. He never made it to the stairs. But he found himself saying, “What if the Cauldron was wrong?”

Rhysand blinked. "What?"

He didn't need a mate. But if one existed in this world for him, he wanted it to be her.

"What if the Cauldron was wrong?” Azriel repeated. “You said so yourself that your parents were wrong for each other. How is this any different? What if—” He closed his mouth, hesitating briefly. “What if she was meant to be my mate?” He had never dared speak the words aloud. Had barely even let himself think them.

Rhys's face drained of color. “You think she belongs to you?”

Azriel scowled. “Elain belongs to no one.”

“Then what are you saying?”

“I’m saying she and Lucien have nothing in common, no connection besides a mating bond she does not want. Where is her choice in the matter?”

Rhys said nothing.

Azriel pressed on. “Lucien is a decent enough male,” he forced himself to admit, “but he will never be good enough for her. And she is not interested in him, anyway.”

“Elain is downstairs with him now,” Rhys said too quietly.

Az stiffened. Liar, he wanted to say. Elain avoided Lucien at every opportunity. She would never deign to be alone with him. But…

Azriel’s shadows stirred around him. The High Lord speaks truthfully, one whispered.

“She has not rejected the mating bond,” Rhys went on in that quiet, patience voice. Az hated it.

“Does she know she can?” Az certainly hadn’t told her, and he doubted anyone else had, either. Rejecting a mating bond was...rare. And typically not well received among their kind.

Rhys rubbed a hand over his face. He looked exhausted, burdened by too much stress and responsibility. Some of Azriel’s ice thawed a bit at seeing his brother so unhinged, knowing he was keeping secrets of his own, but Az did not back down.

Finally, Rhys looked at him and said, “If Lucien finds out you’re pursuing her, he technically has the right to defend their bond��to invoke the Blood Duel.”

If Lucien was foolish enough to invoke it against him, well. “I would defeat him with little effort.” Pure arrogance laced every word, but it was true.

“I know." Rhys's eyes flickered. "And your doing so will rip apart any fragile peace and alliances we have, not only with the Autumn Court but also with the Spring Court and Jurian and Vassa."

Azriel snarled softly.

“Snarl all you want.” Rhys leaned back in his chair. “You know I’m right.”

Azriel said nothing. He just stared at the floor, icy rage rolling off him in cold waves. He thought of Elain standing before him, her brown eyes peering up at him, so innocent and open and hopeful. He thought of the way her scent had nearly made his eyes roll into the back of his head. He thought of the sounds she might make, the way he would—

“What of Mor, Az?” Rhys asked softly, pulling him from his inner turmoil.

Az dragged his gaze back to his brother. “What of her?”

They stared at each other, and it was Rhys that finally looked away. He said, “There is always choice in our court. You know this. But—give Elain time. Give her time to understand the mating bond, to learn the...effects of rejecting it. What it means for her, and for Lucien. And if she does...” He shrugged. “We will deal with it.”

The consequences. Even if Lucien accepted Elain’s choice, there was the matter of Beron, and how he might take advantage of the situation. Azriel’s hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Part of him wished he felt different. Wished the damn mating bond didn’t affect him so. Wished he could let Elain go, wished not to drag someone as lovely and kind into his dark underworld. The things he did for this court, for Rhys…his hands clenched again.

“For the time being,” Rhys went on warily, “it might be wise for you to keep your distance from her.”

“You can’t order me to do that.”

Rhys’s eyes flashed at Azriel’s tone, at his challenge, but he only said, “It’s not an order—it’s a request.”

“Is there really a difference?”

Before Rhys could reply, Azriel tucked in his wings and left without another word, winnowing straight onto the front lawn so he didn’t have to know if Elain and Lucien were still in the foyer.

So he sat in the frigid starlight, letting the frost in his veins match the air around him.

Until he felt nothing. Was again nothing at all.

#elriel #vassien #elain x azriel #mrs pettyfer writing

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empressvika · 1 year

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greetings

hey, this is vika. I think i did an intro on the bird app but this is tumbles so i’ll be reintroducing myself !

about the empress

yes, I am the empress. that's it. that's who i am.

ha, just kidding.

i'm a fanfic writer who started writing seriously (and a lot) in 2021 and hasn't looked back since. i have way too many drafts and too little works actually uploaded on the holy grail that is AO3.

you might've seen me on FFNet but pretend you didn't :)

i'm kinda antisocial and may come off as cold (hence, the winter empire thing) but I. Am. Just. Shy ! if you wanna interact, interact! i can't promise responding because most of the time i don't know what to say but know that i always appreciate it <3

ongoing projects

right now, I’m working on completely rewriting the two WiPs i had semi-abandoned. It’s My Life is Yours and Distance of Futures (From Mine to Yours). They’re both BKDK and I’m still outlining them.

Warning: to those who’ve read and subscribed to them on AO3, know that I’ll be orphaning them once I finish rewriting. I like to start on a clean slate and the new changes are definitely drastic enough to warrant a new fic entirely.

Progress report on them:

DoF - the rough outline is halfway done but I’ll be refining it a bit more. Not sure how long it’ll be but the chapter count might go for 20 with 4-6k each. Again, no promises there. The story is the same but very different as before so please look forward to it !!

MLY - Ah, yeah, I haven’t started on this at all lol I’ll start on the outline once I finish DoF’s outline.

writing habits

In my early shameful days, I used to do WiPs. I had no outlines to follow and just wrote like the damn wind. Now, I’m a changed person (ish).

I finish writing fics (that’s editing + beta reading) before uploading them on a schedule. This is why I’m technically ‘on a break’ most of the time.

That’s not to say that I’m always writing fanfics. I write original content too so my time is split because of that. What can I say? Writing is how I live.

my ships

BKDK hands-down is my muse. They’re what brought me back to writing and I’ve never looked back. They’re also the ship that has the most drafts in my computer haha

TDBK has also snared my heart several times. Gods, they’re adorable. My fav trope is a sugar daddy!tdrk and a broke hero!bkg

TDBKDK is something I haven’t written a lot for but there’s a lot of potential in it methinks. I don’t like dynamics where tdbk hate each other and bond over their like of dk though… let all three love each other dammit !!

Ehem, now for other fandoms & ships:

HP; Tomarry/Harrymort

TGCF; Hualian

Witcher; Geraskier

MDZS; Wangxian

Genshin; Zhongchi/Tartali

Bleach; GrimmIchi

One Piece; ZoLu

where else to find me

Twitter - sometimes i do threadfics here but I post them on AO3 afterwards as a series

AO3 - my main abode ✌️

between bkg’s pecs ahaha

#fanfic writer #ao3 writer #writeblr intro #writeblr #peasants deserve to know my greatness #ahaha im kidding im chill

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oldbutnotyetwise · 1 year

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So You Want to Be a Writer

So about six and a half years ago I started a blog, I was inspired by my daughter who had started her own blog, and followed her lead starting my own. I recently was notified I am now up to twenty five entries on my blog which was started about six and a half years ago. It sat dormant for many years but after I retired and moved north I joined a Writing Group at the local library and that has been the spark I needed to bring my Blog back to life. I write under the pseudonym oldbutnotyetwise, all one word. I write on an online forum called Tumblr, and brace for it, yes I have four or five followers …. who are friends who are kind enough to read and add a nice comment from time to time. Although I write my blog I would be hard pressed to call myself a writer, I think I am a simple story teller or perhaps ponderer of life.

So what is an author? Webster’s dictionary defines an author as a storyteller, biographer, blogger, wordsmith, novelist, and many other similar titles. I like the title Wordsmith, it suggests someone who knows how to craft a story using just the right words. Sort of a Craftsman of the written word.

So who are the worlds best writers of all time? According to the Internet that would be people like H.G. Wells, Fyodor Dostoyevsky, William Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Jane Austen and George Orwell. I think it is sad that there is only one woman on that list, but then a lot of the names on that list lived when no one would publish a woman author, thankfully the world is different now…I think.

So who are my favourite authors or books? Probably one of my favourite books of all time is Tuesdays with Morrie written by Mitch Albom. Now is he a great author, I don’t know about that, but he sure wrote a great book. I really liked the writing of Robert James Waller who is best known for Bridges of Madison County, his writing appealed to me and I really liked everything he wrote but that’s just me, I expect for most folks he was just a one hit wonder. John Irving wrote some amazing novels despite the eccentric nature of some of his stories. Irving just wrote such interesting characters. I am just realizing that although I have a list of my favourite movies, I don’t have a list of my favourite books. I may have to work on that.

I have struck up a friendship with Darrell who shares some similarities with me. He is also a Published Author among many other things, his book has both Prose and Poetry in it. It took me a while to read his book, not that it wasn’t good but rather it is the kind of book I liked to read, ponder, go back and reread and ponder it more. I don’t normally care for poetry but I must tell you that some of his poems were so well crafted that they just touched me and stayed with me. The last piece of prose was so well written that I felt I was in the story, that is how well he painted the picture with his words.

I just recently exchanged messages with Sheree who is a pretty well known children’s author who has published many, many books and lives in Nova Scotia. Someone who has made her living at writing books. She and I have been talking about life challenges that we are both facing. I must admit to feeling a little intimidated by “real authors”.

I think authors must be kin to songwriters and artists. People who I suspect tend to be right brained and somehow just are able to express themselves artistically whether it be through music, art or writing.

As much as I pretend I can write I have to accept that I am a left brained person. I am boringly logical, matter or fact kind of person. Add to that 31 years of writing Police Reports where like my good friend Joe Friday liked to say “just the facts ma’am”. I tend to write factually, I don’t have the ability to paint the picture with words no matter how hard I try.

Now the conflict is I am full of stories, now getting those stories out of my head and finished on the computer screen is the challenge. What I work so hard at is that middle part of translating that jumble of thoughts and ponderances and transforming them into a readable piece that someone might enjoy reading and that just maybe gives them something for their brain to chew on when the story is done.

Now one of the all time great books is supposed to be On Walden Pond by Henry David Thoreau. Trying to better myself and my exposure to great literature I tried to read it. I absolutely hated the book, and to be honest didn’t like Thoreau either. I would best describe this book as and exercise in turning what should have been a paragraph into twenty pages of drivel. Yet I am sure that there are many who love this book. There are many other examples of great books that some of us just don’t like.

So obviously different styles, topics, characters must appeal to everyone differently. Now I honestly do not ever expect to be a published author, but if I did ever finish a book then I would hope that I really liked what I had written. I guess that is the luxury of writing what I want, for like minded souls and not needing to make a living at it. There is a freedom to that that a professional author does not have.

Now I think that we all have great stories in us, and older folks can be a Gold Mine of great material. So for now I will continue to keep tapping out my ponderances on life, and maybe from time to time putting down to paper an interesting story that I have heard from someone. So if you have the time and the inclination feel free to read my stories, and perhaps even better share a story or two with me. If I was to ask you to tell me an interesting story from your life, what story would you choose to tell me?

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crystal-prism · 2 years

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Written Adoration - Chamber x Viper One-Shot

Finding a mysterious note, Chamber seeks Viper to get his answer.

Ao3 | Twitter Thread

Pairing: Chamber x Viper

Status: One-shot, Completed

Chapter Tags: SFW, Fluff, Light Angst, Comfort

Length: 1001 words

Read the fic under the line ⤵️

Chamber crossed the threshold of her lab in just two steps. He has always been on the receiving end of being made fun of, but not today. Today, he’s come to gloat.

Swinging his weight on her table, he said, “Viper!”

She stiffens almost instantly, and he delighted in her vexed gait.

“Yes?” came her gritted reply.

He brandished a note in front of her face. “I didn’t know you were such a poet.”

Her eyes quickly darted to the open door of the lab. “Say that again and you’re choking on your next coffee.”

“Oh pish posh,” he said, waving away her blatant threat. “You can kill me after you hear me read this. Why mademoiselle, I didn’t think you capable of writing anything outside your dry reports to Brimstone.”

“I wrote a thesis, you know.“

He pretended not to hear her and cleared his throat to theatrically read the poem:

Thou takes many forms One that can withstand the great storm On occasion even carried away and dropped in thorns The faces thou adorn, hope it doesn’t end in scorn

He paused. In truth, he didn’t read a lick of a word after this verse. Maybe he should’ve practiced first.

Wanted by all Yet given in small - A rare piece emitting sunspots that enthrall Thou compelled the sun; its rays to thee it falls

Like a duck in water The top in order yet struggling under Don’t let it drive you asunder And laugh as you pass the thunder

Looking up, he finds Sabine in a fluster, her complexion pink. He takes in the sight without trepidation. At that moment, he thinks her a predator turned prey, so out of her element as she was.

“Now, for who was this meant to be?”

“It’s for you.”

He danced away as she moved to snatch the paper from his grasp.

“Me?” He read the note again.

“Yes,” she snapped, pointing at the small letters painting the edge of the paper. “You.”

He peered at the margin and then gave her a quick glance. He couldn’t believe his eyes. There, at the corner, it said:

…in written adoration for Vincent.

Yours, Sabine.

“I was supposed to give it to you on our anniversary,” as she poked his chest with the paper, her indignant tone slipped into something softer. “You just got impatient.”

He blinked twice in confusion. It was startling, the notion of being observed so keenly that they create a piece so charming, so rapturous–just for him. And from someone like her, no less. She was a woman of little words and even less patience. But she did it anyway.

He wrestled to dismiss the warm honey that turned his legs to sludge and swept his insides in disarray. “I didn’t know you thought of me like this.”

She pressed her lips together as she always did when suppressing a smile, a calm settling visibly on her features. Her muscles were no longer stiff, and her green eyes had softened and relaxed. There, he knew immediately that his trespass was forgiven.

“I always think of you.” She reached out to cradle his face between her palms and stroked his cheeks gently with her thumbs. “Your wants, your dreams, your fears.” He leaned into her caress, half-expecting that he had only imagined everything. It was too surreal. He must’ve dreamed this out of sheer desperation to feel her touch, a warmth so rarely given. Wanted by all yet given in small, her poem had said. Did she want this too? Does she feel as strongly as he does for her?

“I have a hundred and one questions, but just knowing that you thought of me at all is enough.” Was what he would’ve said if his voice hadn’t left him. She was across from him, her velvet veiled gaze fixed on his, waiting for him to reply.

“Look. I’m not the most articulate person or the most creative–” she sighed, and as he felt her withdraw, he stepped closer to bring her hand back to his side. “–Nor am I good at thinking on my feet about things like this, but I can prepare. And that’s what I did.”

His heart swelled with euphoria. Contrary to what she said, every word she’d thrown together in the past minute had rendered him speechless, made him mute, as if he were a pirate who finally discovered a hard-earned boon. After years of being deprived of such treasure, he was content in letting her speak her mind.

She scowls.

“Please say something–anything. Between the two of us, you were always the better person with these things.”

He rejected this immediately. A better person? I still haven’t told you about my involvement in the Everett-Linde Lab, his conscience whispered. What did her poem say again?

Ah. The faces thou adorn. Hope it doesn’t end in scorn.

He memorized her features, taking note of every point in her shape, face, and the contours of her hands. He finds her distressingly attractive. Closing his eyes, he felt her radiating warmth and imagined them turning cold. He shuddered. He couldn’t take it. He feared a time when she finally puts the pieces of his treachery together; for her mind traversed across everything, quick, keen as lightning.

“Is that all you can do?”

No. I can tell you that I killed your friends. And that I feel nothing when I remember my sin. I don’t wallow in these useless things. Just that it wrecks me in every second of my day not to tell you about it.

“Yes,” he said, folding the truth back from his lips. She studied his eyes again, as if searching for something. Chamber was afraid she’d see through his deception, so he maintained his gaze… like a duck in water, the top in order yet struggling under. God, how much does she see?

“I–” He choked. “I love you, mon cherie.”

He didn’t want to hurt her. Maybe tomorrow. But not today.

END.

Ao3 | Twitter Thread

So, how did you interpret Viper’s poem for Chamber?

Did I start another fic before finishing my other WIPs? Why yes. Yes I did. BUT THIS FIC IS A GIFT OKAY.

a gift to zero, here’s that cute and chamber thing you requested <33 i hope it’s cute enough, cuz i still can’t help but sprinkle a little angst in. hope this cheered you up!

big thanks to my high school self for writing the darned poem and to my indispensable beta-readers: crow and dan.

#valorant #valorant viper #valorant chamber #chiper #bitemark #viper x chamber #valorant headcanons #valorant fanfiction #fandom ships #crystalprism #crystalprism fanfiction #crystalprism shorts

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nyxokal · 1 year

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So I finished Stone Ocean

Yup. I've finally gone and done it and finished all the animated parts of Jojo's Bizarre Adventure. I can't believe it. This animated watch started in late October and it's finally come to an end today on January 10th. I'm quite impressed

Of course, I need to state that I am not done with Jojo yet and I 100% intend on continuing with Steel Ball Run and Jojolion, and I will also keep up the livetweet thread during both parts, so don't you worry!! I'm not done yet!!

Anyways, I got a post to write, but before that: I just made a tag for my "reviews" called "so I finished", so you can find all my other posts for other series before this one there. Also, for the Twitter thread, here is where Stone Ocean starts if you want to check that out

Without further ado it's time to make myself cry again

What I liked

I actually have to leave my favourite part of this part (heh) for the end since I don't want to ramble too much, so I'll start with the obvious: I really liked the characters. In particular I found myself really attached to Foo Fighters and Weather Report as everyone predicted, but also Emporio and Pucchi, somehow. I didn't quite think their bonds were as interesting as what the Golden Wind gang brought to the table, but I did find their individual personalities to stand out a lot more than before and overall they felt a lot stronger (save for Ermes but I'll talk about that later)

Character conflict and relationships was fun to follow!! I liked what a piece of shit Anasui was even though I didn't really like him as much as I would've liked to. I liked his interactions with everyone BECAUSE he was so unlikable and he caused fights. Though he wasn't my favourite, again. And I do prefer the way my favourites interacted with the world around them and their own views of it (Foo Fighters FUCKED ME UP)

I found it quite interesting that the plot not only started to unravel and get more and more intense as things went on, but also that this time, Stands and the story were directly affecting the whole damn world instead of just a small area. The stakes really did get astronomically high and I had a great time thinking "just how the FUCK are they going to unfuck this mess" to myself. I do think that resetting the universe was the right call though, considering that after this I have no idea how Araki can keep thigns stupid but fun enough that they don't feel like more ass-pulls than what Bohemian Rhapsody was

Anyways, my favourite part of SO? Pucchi, actually

Pucchi was a really fun villain. Ruthless and determined, but at the end you still kind of had a sense that he thought he was doing what was right. I get the feeling that if Pucchi could win without Emporio stopping him in the end, Pucchi would be completely able to overlook and withstand his own guilt over the mass death he caused just by saying his view was correct and what would benefit people the most

He is a hypocrite. He turns a blind eye to the bad things he does, and he pretends that he is doing what is correct instead. That everything is meant to be. I do think part of this is Dio's influence in his life, but he is also just... like that. The way it becomes clear with how he treated Perla and Weather Report, especially Weather. And that's why he's terrifying; if you're an obstacle, he can and will be able to twist whatever atrocities he does to you as all worth it for being part of a bigger plan

To me Pucchi is different from most villains because of how he is a walking contradiction and a legitimate threat. He is intimidating, and his presence through the whole part was vicious and terrifying. Every time he was on screen I was afraid for someone's life, and I was right to be scared like 80% of the time. Pucchi stops at nothing. Deadass I think one of my favourite villains thus far together with Dio and Kars

Also, maybe a little silly, but I really liked the entire concept of Underworld. That was an incredible Stand

Oh oh oh, and I liked Jolyne a lot!! I loved how you could actually SEE her character development from scared girl in way over her head to recklessly determined bitch with a huge heart. Every death hit her, every loss empowered her, and yet she was still scared. Jolyne is a great protagonist because of how well-rounded she was. She stood her ground in the end even if she was dealing with tremendous loss. She put herself in harm's way to meet her goals. Jolyne is a fantastic protagonist, and I genuinely believe Pucchi when he said that Jolyne was the heart keeping everyone together

Story progression was ruthless. It didn't slow down one bit, and I think it was pretty tight. I cannot believe I missed the monster of the week format, but I kind of did, actually. Though I understand that the very nature of Stone Ocean being set in jail and needing to 1. Get out -> 2. Rescue Jotaro -> 3. Stop Pucchi was a bit pressing and didn't lend itself to the more lowkey moments of, say, Diamond is Unbreakable, I can't say I didn't enjoy the high stakes high velocity (heh) plot going on

Ah, I also liked the utilization of Jotaro in this Part. Making him more of a damsel in distress of sorts was a fun idea ngl, and I like how he VERY obviously is not doing well even several years after Stardust Crusaders, yet he clings to Jolyne as a reason to live. I do enjoy his character progression a lot more outside of Stardust Crusaders proper, and I like how he got a moment to shine at the end against Pucchi

What I didn't like

The underutilization of some characters like Ermes and Anasui. It felt like as soon as their things were done, they weren't necessary anymore, and became kind of nuisances to Araki. Ermes got the shortest end of the stick by getting put on a bus SEVERAL times, which is a shame!! I like her character a lot, but she barely got time to shine or do anything!! Some of her few key moments were at the start and then she fades to the background, and it was sad to see

Anasui meanwhile I didn't like because of how his very character was kind of just... obsessive? If it weren't for THAT trait, I would've actually adored him. But ah well. I do feel like he wasn't used to his full potential unless Araki needed a braniac to solve a situation. I do like how he was willing to just die to stop Pucchi though

I also didn't like the big, STUPID ass-pull of having Weather Report just straight up go "infinity plus one sword" at Bohemian Rhapsody. That was legit an ass-pull and made me roll my eyes so hard because yes, I can accept contrivance and coincidence and "infinity swords" but that one was too obvious of an attempt to fix a fucked sitaution. I did like that arc but it quickly lost its charm when I saw the "How are they gonna get out of that" was just "Oh, by literally willing it undone, ok"

I also did not like the nice guy-ification of Dio Brando, ngl. He was a little too nice and a little too friendly for my walking war crime babygirl. I don't know how I feel about him supposedly having several children either, unless he specifically had them as sacrifices for Pucchi, but then how does that explain Giorno? I dunno. I feel like this Part dropped the ball hard with Dio. I'm choosing to ignore it for my own sake

Other than that, while I liked what Araki did with Pucchi's powers and power progression, I am still finding it exhausting that he continues to overuse time based powers for his final villains. I want to see originality god damn it. Pucchi did a lot of good, fun things with his abilities using Made In Heaven, but it doesn't change the fact that it did seem like it was going for time based again. In the end though I think this is the LEAST egregious time based villain Araki's made. And thank god for that

Final Thoughts

I liked Stone Ocean. I liked what I got out of it and I liked my time with it, and while that ending definitely took me by surprise, I definitely think it was the right choice in the end. As much as I like JJBA's weirdness, it was starting to get a little out of hand and a reset needed to be had for it to work, and so I'm pleased with the neat bow that the series "ending" like that is. I also cried hearing Roundabout again and seeing everyone in the ending, ngl. That was a beautiful way to send it off

I am incredibly satisfied with my anime watch. I cannot wait to get on with Steel Ball Run after a short break, and I am excited to continue now, onwards, towards things I genuinely do not know about now

See you later y'all, this time in horseland as I get to explore this new reality Emporio so kindly shoved us into

#textpost #jjbaposting #so I finished

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annikuh · 4 months

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bruh my partner said he was worried about me because I’m obsessed with cl*ne h*gh and topher because “obsessions are unhealthy” and he’s acting like this is so bizarre for me & i almost laughed in his face. i was like bruh do you KNOW me???? im literally John UnhealthyObsession.

[[strange vent below, I just need to overshare here bc I have far too much to talk abt in therapy tomorrow and not enough time for all of it & this is so stupid that i literally refuse to waste time on it. this a no-judgement zone, if u judge me, ur ableist and I’m dispatching assassins to ur home]]

man’s talking abt “unhealthy obsession” meanwhile:

i got so obsessed with charles manson & squeaky fromme that they became my entire personality. i dyed my hair red for like four years bc of squeaky. i got a tattoo for squeaky. ive read a disturbing amount of books about both of them. I own handwritten letters from both of them. i can think of two separate occasions when I almost ruined a holiday and started swinging on a family member bc they were talking inaccurate shit about these two.

same goes for the several other similar figures I’m obsessed with. I have an entire WALL of memorabilia from/of them, costing truly hundreds of dollars (this is cool to me but apparently highly disturbing to everyone else). I have a copy of Jeffrey Dahmer’s fucking psych reports. I have a fucking piece of fabric used to make the shrouds the heavens gate cult members put over themselves. I’ve written 10+ page papers about some of these mfs. I turn into a feral animal when any of them are brought up, ready with too much knowledge and a desire to fact-check and rant and soapbox. I literally became so obsessed with all of these people i got a degree about it.

when i was 17 i became so obsessed with this one boy that i would sit at my desk for hours writing about him, just straight up filling pages and pages of a journal about him over and over again (this was actually TRUE mental illness i literally reread the pages later on and cried bc it was so sad and scary how out of my mind I was LOL😬). i bought a similar jacket to one he had so i could pretend it was his (this is actually my iconic army jacket; reclaimed). i literally did nothing but think and talk about him for probably at least a year and a half (& I STILL freak a little on the odd occasion that i see him, just on reflex).

I AM LITERALLY SO OBSESSED WITH MY PARTNER TOO HELLO? I talk about him so much and post so many pictures of him that he doesn’t even have to introduce himself to people bc they already know him from me. I live my entire life based around him in ways far too numerous to list and he knows it.

& there is SO much more. so it’s just a little bit funny that he’s worried that i like CH and topher too much bc i talk and think about it all the time; & bc i like to wear the gay little red hat from my topher costume (bc it’s “unhealthy to cosplay as a character all the time” meanwhile im constantly walking around with the riddler symbol on my army jacket and my clear glasses and he doesn’t see anything wrong with it; girl that’s almost full cosplay). compared to some of the aforementioned things above, im living quite the normal life.

like boy clearly you do not understand the depths of my obsession. i have been crazy for many years. your concerns about this issue here are exaggerated and misplaced. all of what im doing now is 100x healthier than anything else i have done or could be doing, especially given the strange mental state I’ve been in. he needs to thank his lucky stars, imo.

“unhealthy” sir this is highly abnormal at worst, let me cook‼️

#annikuh’s speakin #bizarre post sorry to put myself on blast but I just needed to figure this out #I’m over here like losing my mind in a shame spiral for nothing. there is far more wrong with me; this is not worth dying over #there are many other things wrong with me that he can worry about #it’s 3am can u tell

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isindismay · 10 months

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Go Straight to Hell

Death Note

No archive warnings apply

Gen

Light talks to a priest about the fate of Kira’s soul after death while Ryuk checks out the communion wafers.

“Aren’t you afraid you’re going to burst into flames, Light?” Ryuk says, hovering behind as Light walks up the path to the church.

“Aren’t -you-?” Light shoots back.

Ryuk laughs as Light tries the handle and pushes open the heavy wooden door. He steps over the threshold and turns to Ryuk, raising his eyebrows and spreading his arms to show how not on fire he is. He inclines his head to the shinigami, who is lingering just outside. “Afraid?” he says.

“Nah,” Ryuk says, twisting his body to fit through the doorway.

As Light checks his watch, Ryuk looks around at the crucifixes and candles. “I gotta admire the style of this place. Some of this stuff wouldn’t look outta place in the shinigami realm,” he says.

“Hmm, really?” Light says, but his mind is elsewhere.

Light walks down the central aisle and takes a seat on one of the pews. He puts his hands together as if in prayer.

A few moments pass, then a priest takes a seat beside him. “Something troubling you, my son?” he says, touching Light’s shoulder.

“Yes, there is actually,” Light says, dropping his hands. “I expect by now you will have heard of Kira.”

The priest stares straight ahead. “Indeed I have. What a foolish person they are. Only God may judge the sins of the mortal.”

Ryuk laughs as he floats towards the front of the church, looking around.

“Mm,” Light says, trying to keep a straight face as Ryuk has found the communion wafers and appears to be weighing up whether they are edible.

“There’s something I’ve heard about Kira. He made a deal with a shinigami for the power to kill those who have gone unpunished for their crimes. And as a result, when Kira dies, his soul can no longer go to heaven or hell,” Light says.

Ryuk tosses a communion wafer in the air and catches it in his mouth. Light pretends to cough to hide a laugh. “Do you think that’s true?” he asks.

“Well, my child, a murderer such as Kira would certainly never make it into heaven. It is in the book of…” Light struggles to concentrate on the priest’s words as Ryuk is making choking sounds and grasping at his throat. It seems the wafers are not edible after all.

Light covers his mouth with his hand and composes himself. “But what if he repented? Prayed for mercy before he died? Does God not grant forgiveness to those who ask for it?”

The priest folds his hands over the back of the pew in front. He is staring, unseeing, straight at Ryuk. “Perhaps in ordinary circumstances, but I don’t believe even God could find it in his infinite benevolence to forgive such a heinous mass murderer.”

“Actually I don’t care what you think,” Light says. “You won’t be around much longer. And if there is a hell, that’s where you’re headed.”

The priest’s eyes widen. “What?” he says. “H-how do you know so much about Kira anyway?”

Light smirks darkly. “I think you’ve already guessed. I am Kira.”

“But- but I- I haven’t done anything wrong!”

“Tell that to all those children whose lives you ruined.”

“No! That was a false accusation!”

“Everyone knows you paid off that judge.”

“I didn’t!”

Light smiles humourlessly. “I’ll give them time to find your body and report your death. Let that crooked judge sweat a little. Then Kira will pass judgement on him too.”

The priest’s eyes have glazed over. Light checks his watch. The priest stands and goes to find a piece of paper and a pen, then sits back down on the pew in front of Light. Light watches as he writes a confession and leaves it on top of a Bible.

Ryuk, now finished with his exploring, has returned to Light’s side. He sprawls out on the pew beside him and they both watch as the priest slowly makes his way up the aisle to the altar. The priest takes a goblet, raises it in the air reverently, then puts it down and fills it with communion wine. Then he raises it again, makes the sign of the cross and tips the goblet of wine over himself. A flood of red liquid cascades over his head and soaks his robes.

Ryuk laughs. “Oh Light, don’t you think this is a bit tacky?”

“Not at all,” Light says, standing up as the priest knocks a candle to the floor. The flame ignites the end of his robes and starts to spread and dance upwards. “Kira must send out a clear message, after all.”

The flames rise higher and the priest starts to scream. Backlit by the raging fire, Light walks out of the church with Ryuk. The crackling of the flames and the screams of the priest grow louder.

#death note

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starwalkers-ocs · 2 years

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A snippet of a writing assignment I did for school a few years back. Diana only uses she/her in this piece because I didn't know what "trans" was at the time.

Talk of murder under the cut!

Diana sang to herself as she surveyed her surroundings, looking for anything out of place. She would rather be doing anything else right now, but as she learned centuries ago, there’s no easy way out of killing someone. She took a deep breath and went silent, listening for any noise in the surrounding woods, specifically voices or footsteps, but she only heard the echoing of tree frogs, along with the rustling of her button-up shirt as she shoved her stained pocket knife into it. “Thank whatever god is giving me mercy,” she thought to herself.

Diana sat in silence for a moment, taking in the atmosphere. She closed her eyes, letting the wind blow through her hair and breathing in the smell of earth, iron and-

“Why in the world does it smell like pumpkin spice?” She thought to herself. “Sure, pumpkin spice always smells good, but I’m in the middle of the woods. It shouldn’t smell like pumpkin spice here.” She opened her eyes, looking around for the source of the pleasant smell. She spotted a house, lit by the lights inside. It was pretty far, and it would take about ten minutes to get there on foot. She wasn’t too bloody, she could go and ask to stay the night and pretend that the blood was from an injury. Or, she could just sneak in and ki-

Buzz. Buzz. Buzz.

Diana’s phone went off. It was her roommate, Eve. She picked her phone up off the ground, and answered the call. “You have really bad timing. Like, really bad timing.”

“Where are you? You've been gone for 8 hours! It’s 2 am!” Only then did Diana recognize how dark it was outside. She looked at her watch. It took a second to register, but she eventually realized that her friend was telling the truth- her watch read 2:27 am, and she could see the starry night sky through the trees. Seems she's been gone for quite a while.

“Ah jeez, I’m sorry Eve. I just got wrapped up in something and lost track of time.” Diana sighed a little, rubbing her eyes. “Anyway, I’m in the middle of the woods you say are “haunted,” and I’m lost. I see a house though, do you think I could stay the night there? Or do you think the owner is some spooky scary serial killer and he’s gonna stab me 27 times in the chest?” She laughed a little .

“You’d think an immortal would have better judgement,” Eve snickered, slightly amused. The moment didn’t last long, though. She suddenly stopped in her tracks a few moments later. “Wait. A house?”

“Yeah..? What about it?”

“How did you-” Eve paused for a second to catch her breath. Diana realized that she sounded worried. That was a first. “How did you even manage to get there?”

“I just... walked there? Anyway, I killed this guy-”

“It doesn’t matter what you did Dianne, it’s how you got there I'm curious about. Did you do a blood ritual? Did someone pull you there? Did you make someone mad? Who did you kill? Did he have glasses? Do you know his name? Did he-”

Diana cut her off. “-Did he have any connections to the supernatural? No, he didn’t. Not that I know of.”

“You know that one-”

“-One day I’m not gonna be as lucky, and I'm gonna get myself killed. I know.”

“If you know what I’m gonna say, then why won't you listen to me?”

“Because I’ve got this, Eve. You know I’m immortal. You know I’m lost as old as the world itself. You know that I’ve been alive since the first murder. And most importantly, you of all people know I can’t die. I think I can handle myself just fine, dude. Plus, one of my nicknames is Lucky for a reason.”

“First, you have never, ever been called lucky as a nickname. Not once. But if you insist, leave you to your own devices. If you go missing and are never seen again, it’s not gonna be my fault. Hell, I won't report you missing, even. I told you ahead of time, so you only have yourself to blame.”

“Ok. Hopefully I’ll see you later.”

“Ok. Bye.” Diana took her cell phone away from her ear, pressed end call, and stuffed her phone into the pocket of her jeans. Kicking a rock with her steel-toed boots, she started off towards the house in the distance.

#writing #original writing #star speaks #oc #diana #eve #tw murder

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sunder-soul · 3 years

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PROMPT 1: Hellooooooo! First off ur writing goes off, second off listen to this idea that i truly think u can bring to life... reader n tom r in a relationship and someone tried to slip tom to love potion but ofc he doesn't fall for it and his gf is like ??? and then they rub their relationship in her face LOL. anyways no worried just thought this would slap! Admire u n ur work!!

PROMPT 2: hey i love your the last of your rules series and everything else you’ve written. i’m not very creative so idk what exactly i’m looking for plot wise i just trust you since everything you’ve written is good but i was wondering if maybe you could write a tom x ravenclaw reader please. the ravenclaw reader tends to be more emotionally reserved and isn’t big on physical affection and maybe tom finds that interesting in a way? idk this idea might suck but felt like asking anyways...

Decided to combine these two because I could see them working really well together… :D

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

Retribution

Summary: After somebody tries to slip Tom a love potion to break up him and Ravenclaw Reader’s relationship, they get a little bit theatrical in response...

Wordcount: 1.8k

Content warning: none.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Good morning,” says Tom evenly, lifting a wide-brimmed cup to his lips and taking an even sip as he looks at you.

“Is it?” you say dryly, sitting down opposite him at the Slytherin table and pulling out the new Magical Theory textbook. “Have you looked over this yet?”

“I have,” Tom replies with a very small smile. “Not to your liking?”

“Sophus writes like it’s still the seventeenth century,” you say with a shake of your head, “which isn’t surprising considering I don’t think he included a single reference from the last two hundred years… I mean honestly –” you wave at the title on the front of the book, “– ‘Corpus Magikus?’ Even the title makes it sound ancient.”

“Did you have any criticisms about the actual content per chance?” Tom asks as he lifts his tea again – though it doesn’t quite hide the amused smile on his lips. “Or did you not manage to get past the articulation?”

You give him a look. “The articulation is just as important as the content.”

“I completely disagree,” he replies easily, his cup clinking as he rests it back on its saucer, “regardless of how it is written, his points are extremely sophisticated.”

“I’m not talking about the quality of his points, I’m talking about how well he makes them accessible,” you say at once, picking up a piece of toast and buttering it lightly, “he can have the best criticisms of Magical Theory in the world and no one will care if they can’t understand what he’s saying.”

Tom arches a brow and leans forward on the table, resting on his forearms. “You’re placing the responsibility of understanding an argument on the person presenting it, and not the person receiving it,” he says fluidly, “personally when I find something difficult to understand, I take it as an indicator that I need to return to the topic after better preparing myself.”

“That works fine as an individualistic perspective,” you reply at once, leaning forward to match him, “but a book isn’t written for an individual, is it? It’s written for an audience. A book like this is measured by how wide an audience it can reach, meaning the responsibility is half on him to write accessibly, and half on the audience to go away and fill the holes in our own understanding. That’s when information is dispersed most effectively.”

“Your priority is the dispersion of information as a whole and not the expansion of your personal field of knowledge, and that is the crux of our differing opinion,” Tom says, sitting up straighter and tilting his head calmly.

“I am very aware,” you say dryly, “but you shouldn’t dismiss the importance of charisma when it comes to spreading information. After all, academics aren’t exactly known to be the most charismatic people most of the time, so you end up with intelligent, useful tomes that are utterly incomprehensible to most people –” you nod at the text again, “whilst compelling idiotic drivel is widely consumed.”

The Daily Prophet lands with a thump on your breakfast plate as the delivery owl swoops away with a mournful hoot, and you share a pointed, very wry look with Tom.

Tom breathes a little laugh and laces his fingers around his cup. “So you’re not looking forward to Magical Theory, then.”

“I am,” you amend, frowning, “I just hope the class follows more like Waffling’s work than this.”

“Of course you like Waffling,” Tom smirks, lifting his cup, “he effectively writes in verse –”

Tom suddenly freezes, his brow furrowing lightly. You raise a brow at his sudden reaction. “What?”

He looks down at his tea, still frowning.

“Tom?” you prompt, bemused.

“Someone has attempted to drug me,” he says in complete seriousness, looking up at you.

You stare back, bewildered. “Is… is this more Tom humour?” you ask after a moment, “you seriously need more practice at making jokes, Tom, you really are terrible at it –”

“I’m not joking,” Tom interrupts crisply.

Your scrutiny drops to the cup in his hand. “How can you tell?”

“My tea smells like you.”

Your brows raise. “Excuse me?”

“My tea,” he repeats evenly, his dark eyes coming alight with a flicker of amusement as he leans closer, his cup still in one hand, “rather suddenly smells like you. I can only assume someone has managed to slip Amortentia into my cup sometime during this conversation.”

You blink at him. “Oh,” you say simply.

Tom’s lips curve into a more defined smirk at your expression.

“Well who’s trying to drug you then?” you ask quickly, looking away.

“An excellent question,” he says silkily, eyes still on you. “Their motive is hardly a mystery, so that should narrow it down.”

You roll your eyes and level him with a flat look. “Nothing could narrow it down less, Tom,” you drawl, “half the school is in love with you, and the other half is in denial about being in love with you.”

Tom arches a brow and looks very pleased with himself. “Should I drink it and we can find out?” he asks in amusement, lifting the cup.

You huff a laugh and take a bite of your toast. “Go on then, but don’t expect any sympathy from me when you’re pouring your heart out to some random stranger in front of the whole school a minute from now.”

His hand freezes with the rim of his cup an inch from his mouth, amusement faltering.

“That’s what I thought,” you smirk. “If you want to play it that way you’re going to have to be smarter than that.”

“Oh?” he asks, dark eyes narrowing. “And what would you suggest?”

“If someone drugged you during this conversation then they’re probably watching for your reaction,” you say casually around bites of your toast, “so just look out for someone who’s waiting for you to dramatically break up with me.”

“According to you, that would be the entire school,” Tom mutters, looking significantly more disgruntled than before.

A grin slowly builds on your face. “That was nearly a real joke, Tom,” you say ironically, “Merlin you’ve come so far…”

He shoots you a flat glare and you snicker. “Alright, sorry, I’ll stop – look, if I storm out of here looking upset and you act all conflicted and brooding for the rest of the day, whoever it was will probably try to come talk to you.”

“How theatrical,” Tom deadpans.

You shrug. “Do you want to know who drugged you or not?”

His eyes remain on yours for a moment, and then he lifts the tea to his lips. You watch him pretend to drink, your eyes lingering on the tea glistening on his lips as he lowers the cup.

“Don’t lick your lips,” you say quietly, not quite able to look away.

Tom’s other hand shifts slightly where it’s resting on the table between you, and the tea vanishes both from his lips and the cup. You give him another dry look. “Show off,” you accuse, smiling, “wandless and non-verbal, huh?”

“If you ask nicely, I’ll teach you how to do it,” he smirks.

You huff a laugh and slide Corpus Magikus back into your bag. “I should make my dramatic exit soon,” you say casually, finishing your toast and looking around the hall absently. “Perhaps we should have a fight first.”

“That would make it more convincing, yes,” he says delicately, still looking amused.

“What shall we fight about?"

Tom’s expression immediately cools and he leans in so close that you can see the patterns in his dark irises. “The content doesn’t matter,” he says smoothly, a glimmer in his eyes despite his utterly blank expression, “rather, the articulation.”

You hold his gaze for a second, fighting the urge to smile. You force yourself to stand suddenly, as if he’s said something of great offence. “I’ve never seen you so quickly converted to my opinion, Tom,” you say icily, leaning down to him over the table and hoping it looks like you’re angry.

“You made your argument very convincingly,” Tom says immediately, lifting his chin coolly.

“Actively demonstrating my point, I suppose,” you snap, standing straight. “I’m going to storm out now.”

“I’ll see you in class,” he says dismissively, pouring himself more tea.

You turn on your heel and leave, ignoring the curious eyes following you on your way out and not letting the smile break on your face until you’re well outside the Hall. Now all you have to do is wait.

･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

“Amelia Staghart,” Tom says in your ear before swiftly sitting down next to you in Potions that afternoon.

You raise a brow at him, watching as he arranges his Potions kit on the desk – Staghart is sitting a few desks behind you at that very moment and can most definitely see the both of you. “Are we no longer having a fight?”

“I grew tired of that pretence rather quickly,” Tom says curtly.

You smirk. “Did she talk to you?”

“Yes.” He looks decidedly irritated.

“A lot, huh.”

He shoots you a glare and you bite back another smile. “Are you going to report her then?” you ask, writing the date out on your parchment.

“No,” Tom says softly. You glance up curiously at his tone and find his dark eyes watching you write, before they flick up to yours. “I can think of a more pertinent retribution for her to endure,” he finishes quietly, not looking away.

“Retribution?” you echo, arching a brow with a slight smile. “And you accuse me of being theatrical.”

But Tom only leans closer and – to general astonishment – places a very gentle kiss on your cheek. His lips linger soft and warm on your skin for a moment as you’re frozen in place, staring at him as he slowly draws away an inch. His eyes roam your face as you blink in surprise, his lips curving into another humorous smile at your expression when there’s a sudden SMASH from behind you.

The entire class turns from where they’ve been staring wide-eyed at Tom’s display of affection to see Staghart’s inkwell knocked asunder on her desk, spreading black ink across the wood and dripping down to the floor, her eyes wide and her expression thunderstruck as she stares at you.

“Clean that up at once, Staghart!” Slughorn says disapprovingly as he strides into the room. “I certainly hope your clumsiness does not extend through today’s lesson – we’re brewing poisons today, class!”

Staghart goes red as the rest of the students titter and chatter, furiously glaring at the pool of ink dripping into her lap.

You glance at Tom and share a silent look of amusement before the two of you simultaneously turn back to your notes, still smirking.

#Tom riddle #tom marvolo riddle #tom riddle x oc #tom riddle x reader #tom riddle x y/n #tom riddle x you #established relationship #ravenclaw reader #amortentia #tom riddle fanfiction #tom riddle imagine #tom riddle fic #tom riddle fanfic #harry potter #minific #retribution #prompt #Anon #gn reader

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redpandaramblings · 3 years

Text

A Matter of Admiration Alpha Gang Orca x Omega f!Reader

Hello Hello! Here is my very VERY late submission for the SFW portion of Spudcorner's Valentine Blood and Chocolate Collab. This was meant to be a two page drabble. 13 pages later it's a bit more than that. Regardless, I do hope you enjoy!

Sequel/Epilogue Here

Content Warnings- Omegaverse, SFW, Insecurities, Misunderstandings, Pining, Fluff, Lots of food mentioned, Kugo being very down on himself, very minor mention of blood and stitches needed.

“Really? Again?”

The large alpha seemed to shrink under your judgemental glare.

“I am sorry, Y/N. The fight got intense and it slipped off. Someone must have stepped on it.”

You sighed heavily, your gaze turning to the workbench where the shattered remains of your creation sat. This was your seventh attempt at outfitting Gang Orca with a communicator headset. It was dangerous for him to keep fishing for a handheld during the heat of battle. Unfortunately, his lack of outer ear made keeping a headset on him difficult. Shaking your head, you gave a small smile.

“Not your fault, Sakamata. We knew this was going to be tricky. Though at this rate I’m tempted to just glue a headset on you and call it a day.”

Kugo snorted, his posture relaxing. “I wouldn’t blame you if you did. I hate to see your hard work go to waste.”

“It’s not a waste if I learn something from it. This one lasted a couple weeks of normal patrol work, so that’s an improvement. We just need to figure out what was different about this fight. So, sit. Talk.”

Kugo shook his head with an amused huff. He admitted he had been slightly dubious when you had first come to his agency. He’d encountered many hero support workers claiming to specialize in mutation quirks that seemed to be looking for lab rats for their creations. However, you always listened to what he said, and made suggestions that would actually make his job easier. You made sure your support items not only were functional, but comfortable at well. If the few years you had worked for him, he was pleased to say you had become good friends.

“I can’t right now, Y/N. I need to get cleaned up, then complete my report before I forget the details. I’ll come back first thing tomorrow.” You frowned, tapping your foot. Kugo fought to keep a neutral expression. You’d never forgive him if you knew how much he enjoyed your expressions when you were annoyed.

“Alright. Fine. First thing tomorrow. But make sure you get some rest tonight, you’ve been working too hard lately!”

Sakamata waved a hand in answer as he walked out the workshop door. He’d try to follow your request, but a hero’s work is never done.

~~~~~

Gang Orca shuffled through the door to his agency with an aura of gloom about him. In the past five days, he had broken five more communicators, gotten into several serious fights, and had allowed a villain to escape. And that was just his work life. Some of his friends had set him up for a speed dating session. He didn’t blame them for trying, but it ended exactly how he knew it would. Most of the omegas who had been present were scared of him, and those that weren’t were clearly only interested in his pro hero paycheck. Kugo trudged toward his office, his thoughts gloomy. A man with a quirk like his would never have a normal courtship. It hurt sometimes. How nice it would be to come home to a sweet smelling omega. What wouldn’t he give to home filled with pups, and laughter and love? He sighed softly as he swung his door open. Such a life was not meant for him, so no point in even dreaming. On autopilot, he hung his coat on the coat rack, and turned to set his briefcase on his desk. However, the desk was already occupied. Kugo tilted his head as he stared at the object resting on his desk. It appeared to be a large bento box, wrapped in a rather feminine handkerchief, patterned with some sort of flowers. Kugo set his briefcase down on a chair before coming closer to investigate. Gingerly, he untied the knot, setting the cloth aside as he looked at the contents curiously.

First and most obviously, was the strawberry shaped sticky note attached to the top. “You looked like you had been having a rough week. I hope this can make it better!” The writing was… painstakingly cute. The “i”s were dotted with little hearts. Each letter having just a little bit of flourish, while still being legible.

Kugo hummed quietly to himself. Clearly this had been left on his desk by mistake. A bit awkward, considering his name was on the door, but there was no other explanation. He drummed his fingers on the desk as he considered his options. He could take a guess at who the bento was for. There were several popular alpha heroes working for him that got their share of gifts from admirers. The soft omegan scent coming from the handkerchief that had wrapped the bento was a solid clue the gift was likely meant for one of them. But really, there was no way to tell for sure who it was supposed to end up with, and he really didn’t want the hard work to go to waste. Yes. Best thing would be to eat the bento, and place the box in the break room with a note inside the box apologizing.

His course of action decided, Kugo opened the bento, quietly sucking a breath as he saw what was inside. There were sausages cut to look like little octopi. A large slab of teriyaki salmon. Rice balls shaped like teddy bear heads, complete with little seaweed faces. He tried to tamp down his delight at seeing over half of the bento was dedicated to tamagoyaki. While he lived up to his stereotype of loving fish, the egg dish was a secret favorite of his; something his mother had made for him whenever he had a bad day when he was growing up. The second layer of the bento had even more. Rice, vegetables, and surprisingly a small but adorable piece of cake. Kugo put the bento back together with a small smile on his face. Perhaps it wasn’t meant for him, but it had been a long time since he had been able to enjoy something like this- cute and homemade, clearly filled with a great deal of care. He couldn’t quite feel guilty as he looked forward to lunch. He could pretend, just this once, that a sweet smelling omega had put so much care into something for him.

~~~~~~

Later that day, when most of the day team had left, Kugo made his way to the common break room. He carefully cleaned out the bento box in the sink, setting it to the side to dry. He folded the handkerchief it had came in, and placed it next to the box before sighing. He was in the process of scribbling a brief apology note when he heard a cough. He glanced up to see y/n leaning against the doorway.

“You okay, chief? Thought your shift ended an hour ago.”

Kugo nodded as he placed his note on top of the handkerchief. “Yes, just had a few things I needed to wrap up. What about you? I know you were supposed to be done several hours ago now.”

You fidgeted, embarrassed, shrugging your shoulders as you glanced away. “Had an idea for how to improve a few items and, well, you know how I get when I have a project. But what have you got there? You never struck me as the homemade lunch type.”

It was Kugo’s turn to look uncomfortable as he shuffled from foot to foot. “It was left on my desk this morning by mistake. I had no way of knowing who it was actually meant for, and I didn’t want it going to waste, so I ate it.”

You frowned as you walked into the room, opening cupboards and starting to retrieve things to make tea. You held a mug up toward Kugo in a silent question, grabbing a second one when he nodded. You were quiet for a few moments, going through the motions. After a while you asked “How are you so sure it wasn’t for you?”

Kugo snorted, leaning back against the counter and gesturing at himself. “Omegas aren’t exactly lined up around the block. I don’t place high on the ‘heroes that look most like villains’ list every year for no reason. Some unfortunate omega got confused about whose office was whose. It’s a shame I couldn’t give it to whoever it was meant for, it was a beautifully crafted bento.” Kugo doesn’t mention the note. Kugo especially doesn’t mention the note had found its way into his desk drawer to save as a memory of how nice it had been to receive the bento, even if it was an accident.

You laughed, passing him a steaming cup of tea, made just how he liked. “Sakamata, don’t talk down about yourself like that. You’re big, strong, and prime alpha material. You’re one of the top heroes! And even more importantly, you’re a gentle kind man that any omega would be lucky to have. I’d bet good money that that bento absolutely was made just for you.”

“A nice thought, but I doubt it. You’ll see. In a few days I bet a bento will make its way to who it was meant for.”

~~~~~~

Kugo stood stock still in the doorway to his office. Sitting on his desk was another cloth wrapped package. Once was a mistake, clearly. But two days in a row? Why on Earth was there another bento on his desk? He approached the desk and slide the bento to him. He untied the scented fabric with care. A cat shaped note greeted him.

“I’m sorry if it wasn’t clear before, Sakamata. I wanted to make this for you because I admire you so much. I’m not always great at saying my feelings, so I hope my cooking says enough.”

This was… for him. The bentos… were for him? He sat in his chair, leaning his head against his hands as he regarded the innocent looking lunch. If it wasn’t a mistake, then what could it be? Probably a fortune hunting omega trying to get in his good graces, if he went off his past experience. Though usually those types of omegas were more likely to offer favors of a different sort. Kugo winced as another thought occurred to him. There was a good chance this omega pitied him. Ugly, intimidating, unmatable. Someone had seen him and decided he needed looking after because clearly he’d never get someone on his own. Yes. That had to be it. He should leave the bento in the break room and end this farce as soon as possible.

His mind made up, Kugo picked up the bundle to do exactly that. The subtle smell of the contents hit his sensitive nose, causing him to salivate. Tempura? Definitely egg. Well, it would be a shame to not even look inside to make sure.

Clearly just as much care had gone into this one as the last one. The rice balls were shaped like little cat heads, to match the note. An assortment of tempura seemed to be the main dish, cute cat shaped food picks stuck in some of them. There were even paw print shaped gummy candies for the dessert. Every inch of the lunch was absolutely adorable. And it was all done for him. There was no way Kugo could let it go to waste. It hurt to know it was a gift given out of pity, but maybe, just for a while, he could pretend there was someone out there who loved him like this. The omega would grow tired of this eventually. Until then, he’d let himself enjoy this.

~~~~~

It was surprising how easily this had become routine. Every day when Kugo walked into his office, there was a new bento waiting for him. And every day he’d unwrap the bento, indulging a brief moment in the cutely patterned handkerchiefs. Every bento was unique and cute. They seemed to show a good understanding of his tastes and preferences. It was a pleasant break on the quiet days and a welcome comfort on the rough days. Each day there was a sweet written note that Kugo gently stored in his desk drawer. It was perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

~~~~~~~

Kugo hated attending charity events. It wasn’t the charities, he always supported good causes. It wasn’t the dressing up, or the fancy atmosphere. It was the people. While a few of his friends were around somewhere, there were many many others who didn’t know him well. Others who were intimidated by his appearance. Others who apparently had no idea just how sharp his hearing was.

“Oh my god, I can’t believe Gang Orca is here.”

“I know! Well, I suppose he is a hero. Allegedly, anyway.”

“Did he come with anyone?”

“Of course not. I mean ew. Look at him. Can you imagine cosying up to that at the end of the day?”

“I know! And those teeth! If he tried to bond someone, he’d take their head clean off!”

“As if anyone would want to bond with that.”

“I don’t know. He’s in the top ten pretty often. He has to be loaded, right?”

“Would have to be a lot for me to even consider it.”

“It could be all the money and I still wouldn’t!”

“Oh don’t say that! Poor bastard can’t help he’s unmatable.”

Kugo walked away from the refreshment table as he tried to tune out the unkind comments and mocking laughter. It wasn’t anything he hadn’t heard before. He knew full well what he looked like. He had had enough failed courting attempts to know exactly what omegas thought of him. But it still stung. Stung more than usual, actually. The daily bentos with their scented cloths and cute little notes had almost made him forget. The only omegas who were interested either pitied him, or wanted his money. He could never forget that.

~~~~~

What he could forget, apparently, was that the number two pro hero was scheduled to be at his office the morning after the charity gala. Kugo stifled a sigh when he saw the red winged hero waiting outside his agency’s door. Of course he’d have to deal with this on a day when he wasn’t in the best of moods. “Orca! My man, good to see you again!”

Kugo nodded as he held the door open. “Hawks.”

“Didn’t get a chance to talk to you at the party last night. You know how it is. Go to one of those things when you're single, and you get swarmed.”

Kugo gave a non committal grunt. No, he didn’t know. He just wanted this morning to be over with. He perked up slightly as he saw you hurrying down the hallway toward them. Hawks gave a low whistle. “Who's the babe?” Kugo half growled. “That is Miss Y/N. The support item engineer you allegedly came here to see. You will be respectful and refrain from flirting with my staff.”

Keigo held up his hands and laughed. “Hey now big guy, don’t mean any offense. Just saying you’re lucky to get to work with that every day.”

Kugo jerked his head in an abbreviated nod. You slowed down your quick walk as you got closer, not wanting to interrupt the heroes’s conversation. Kugo waved you closer. You smiled at him so brightly as you joined the group. Yes. He was lucky to work with a friend such as you. Kugo’s nerves started to cool a bit as he introduced you and the three of you began to make your way to his office. Hawk’s casual questions were more inquisitive than flirty, and Kugo knew from long experience just how much you enjoyed being able to talk in depth about your work. He was smiling by the time he opened the door to his office, ushering the two or you in. Hawk’s next words hit him like a bucket of cold water to the face.

“Dang! Either you got one hell of a cafeteria service at this agency, or Gang Orca has himself quite an admirer. Delivered right to your desk, pretty bold, man! That’s exactly why I keep my door locked. There’s only so much lunch a man can eat, am I right?”

The bento. He had forgotten about the stupid bento. There it sat, as always. The handkerchief was especially cute today, some sort of pattern with teddy bears hugging and kissing. Any other day, the sight would have calmed him. Any other day he would have sat down and quickly poked through to see what surprises lay inside that day, would have read the note meant just for him with a smile.

But today was different. Others were in his office. The number two hero, handsome and popular. His support engineer, pretty enough to probably have plenty of suitors of her own. And then there was him. Large. Scary. Consistently told he looks like a villain. Has never had a relationship that wasn’t pitying or profiteering. Kugo remembered the whispered remarks from the party. Usually he’d be able to brush off Hawks’s commentary. But today…

Kugo snarled, his scent agitated as he swept his arm across the desk, knocking the bento roughly into the trash. “They are a nuisance that need to cease! I’m so tired of some desperate piting omega shoving their unwanted, unneeded efforts at me! Enough is enough!” At the end his voice was raised to a shout. He was dimly aware of his nails digging deeply into his palms. Kugo leaned on the desk, breathing deeply as he tried to calm himself. He could hear the others shuffling behind him awkwardly.

“Come on,” You murmured and lightly tugged on Keigo’s sleeve. “How about I show you my lab and take some measurements before we get started.”

“Yeah. Um. Yeah.” Keigo allowed you to lead him away. You softly closed the door behind you. Kugo remained, hunched and breathing raggedly. It took him several minutes to calm down. It took him a few minutes beyond that to gather the nerve to make the trek down to the support lab. He slipped into the room as inconspicously as a man with his fram could manage. You were taking measurements off of Keigo and muttering to yourself as you tapped out notes on your tablet. Keigo noticed Kugo’s entrance and greeted him cautiously. “You good?” Kugo nodded. “I… apologize. It’s been a rather trying week, but I should have composed myself better.”

Keigo waved him off. “No worries, man, no worries. Y/n was just telling me she thinks that she’ll be able to rig up something for me that would help slow my fall in situations where my wings get damaged.”

You hummed an affirmative, taking a few more measurements before you started describing your process. Kugo couldn’t help but notice you didn’t look his way. You looked at the ground, at your tablet, at Keigo, but you were clearly avoiding Kugo’s gaze. He mentally winced as he settled onto an out of the way stool. It was rare for him to have that kind of emotional outburst. It probably could be heard even from outside his office. He’d make sure to apologize to you better when he got the chance. But for now, it was looking like it would be a long, awkward day. Goodie.

~~~~~

Kugo growled under his breath the next morning when he saw the cloth wrapped bundle sitting on his desk. Yesterday’s embarrassment was still fresh in his mind as he stalked forward. His thick fingers quickly untied the surprisingly unpatterned piece of fabric. There, under the cloth, on top of the box, was a note as there always was. Kugo’s anger was cooled by confusion when he saw it, however. The paper was a plain yellow post-it note. Instead of the painstakingly cute handwriting with the heart dotted “i’s, there was a clearly hasty scrawl.

“I’m sorry. I never meant to annoy you. This will be the last one.”

Kugo frowned, shifting in his seat. Clearly the bento maker had heard about his outburst from yesterday. That was… unfortunate. But perhaps for the best, since he had no way of directly telling them to cease their nonsense. Unconsciously, his hand balled up the handkerchief and as he had been doing for a while, he scented it.

The cloth had a slight smell of salt to it. Tears, Kugo realized uncomfortably. The smell of tears slightly diluted the normal soothing smell of whoever had carefully packaged these bentos. He had little appetite as he looked over what was there. Tempura. Salmon. Vegetables. A large portion of tamagoyaki. But the part that caused an uncomfortable weight to settle in his chest was the little red box, filled with slightly clumsy, clearly homemade chocolates. Kugo closed his eyes, sighing as he set the box to the side to wait for lunch. This was good. This was what he wanted, to be left alone instead of some kind hearted omega taking pity on him. He had lived a long time without homemade bentos and little notes. He certainly didn’t want the small offering of chocolates. When lunchtime came, he certainly didn’t linger over the food longer than usual, savoring each bite. He tried to tell himself that this was for the best. That this was what he wanted. He refused to think about why he tucked the handkerchief and the box of chocolates into his desk drawer instead of leaving them in the break room as usual.

The next day as Kugo opened his office door, he looked toward his desk out of habit; searching for the lunch that had been left. His chest gave an uncomfortable lurch when he found the desk was bare. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. This was fine. This was what he wanted. The sooner he forgot about all this nonsense, the sooner things would return to normal. He settled into his chair and began sifting through the paperwork he had to deal with. No better way to take his mind off his troubling thoughts and distract the whine of his inner alpha. He was certain. Things would be back to normal soon.

Two weeks later, Kugo listlessly picked at the limp lettuce of the poor excuse of a salad that he had picked up at a convenience store. He sighed, putting the lid back on the barely touched meal resolving to throw it away when he next passed a garbage can. He didn’t like to admit it, but he missed the carefully planned meals. Wondering what cute surprise was going to be next. It was nice that someone thought he might enjoy seeing animal shaped onigiri and cheesecake flavored kit kats. His alpha whimpered when he thought about the contented omega scent that gently perfumed every handkerchief, except the last. But just as the note had said, he had received nothing since that last bento. His thoughts remained gloomy as he entered the agency, quickly making his way into his office, locking the door behind him. He knew better than to hope as he looked towards his desk. Bare, once again. Sighing heavily, he slumped into his chair. He gently pulled open the bottom drawer of his desk. Carefully nestled into it was the cleaned, empty bento box from the last meal, the small box of dwindling homemade chocolates, and that last precious handkerchief.

Kugo carefully removed the handkerchief. He brought the cloth to his nose, inhaling deeply. Stabbing pain shot through him as he realized the scent was barely there anymore. The faint scent of tears almost completely overpowering the last lingering trace of distressed omega. His hands clutched the fabric tightly, squeezing until he realized the stress he was putting on the fabric. He quickly placed it on the desk and tried in vain to smooth out the wrinkles. After a minute of fussing, he gently refolded it and placed it back in the drawer. Kugo stared at the contents, unblinking before slowly sliding the drawer closed. It was almost gone. Everything was almost gone. And he didn’t know how to get it back.

With a low growl, Kugo pushed himself up. Today was a rare day where he hoped for trouble on his patrol. A fight would certainly take his mind off things, and just maybe calm the whining alpha that echoed throughout his entire being.

~~~~

He really needed to be careful what he wished for. Kugo winced as he limped toward the support lab. He had gotten a fight alright. He had gotten three fights, a twisted ankle, and a once again smashed communication headset. It wasn’t his fault that he had gotten thrown backwards into a rather solid concrete wall. Y/N was going to kill him.

Kugo pushed the lab door open, stepping inside. His forehead creased in worry. The lab felt off. Wrong in a way he couldn’t immediately place a finger finger on. Well, he’d have to think about it later, he decided as he made his way to where you were sitting. You were at your workbench, tapping your pen on the table and staring at nothing when he settled down on the stool next to you. You glanced over as Kugo sat down, did a double take and let out a small noise of surprise.

“Sakamata! What happened to you?”

The large man shrugged, trying to act nonchalant. “The usual. Villain didn’t behave exactly how I thought, and I paid for not being vigilant enough. Nothing too bad. Twisted ankle and roughed up a little. Unfortunately though…”

Sheepishly as a scolded schoolboy, Kugo pulled the shattered remains of his latest communicator out of his pocket and placed them on the workbench.

“Kugo!”

He couldn’t help but smile. He loved the times when you got worked up enough to call him by his first name. He watched as you gingerly sifted through the sad shattered remains.

“What did you do, hit it with a rock?!”

“Concrete wall, actually.”

You stilled before turning to look at Kugo, sharp and suspicious. “And I assume you were wearing it at the time?”

Kugo had the decency to look embarrassed as he nodded. Suddenly he was being fussed over, gentle hands touching his face and turning his head this way and that. An exclamation and curse left you when you found a large, sluggishly bleeding gash on the back of Kugo’s head.

“You! You Alpha!” You huffed as you started digging through the pockets of your lab coat. Kugo got a brief glimpse of colored fabric before the handkerchief was softly dabbing at his wound. Kugo hissed, only half listening as the scolding continued about how knot headed alphas needed to learn to go to the medical ward first before worrying about stupid replacable tech. He was brought back to the present when a hand, so much smaller than his own, grabbed his hand. You easily maneuvered him so that Kugo was now firmly holding the handkerchief over the cut. You hummed, satisfied for now.

“Now Sakamata, please hold that there until you can get medical to look at it. Doubt a hard headed man like you has a concussion, but might need stitches. I’m not exactly an expert. Don’t worry about the headset. I should be able to get a new one to you before my replacement takes over. And if not, I’ll be leaving some blueprints behind anyway.”

What?

“Replacement?”

You stilled, looking away from him. “Yeah. Yeah, sorry. I just… I never found the right time to tell you.” You fidgeted, rubbing your thumb over your knuckles. “I’m going to be going to America soon. I’ve gotten a good offer to work with a few heroes over there that need someone specialized in mutation supports. It would do a lot to boost my career…”

Kugo reached out, grabbing your hand, and stopping your nervous motions. He tried to find words in his stalling brain. “This is really sudden, Y/N.”

“Yeah. Sorry.” You wouldn’t meet his gaze.

He gently shook his head, giving your hand a squeeze. “Not scolding you. Just, is everything alright? Is something going on?”

You pulled away, digging your hands into your hair with a sigh. “You know me too well.”

Kugo gave half a smile. “I would hope so. I like to think we’re friends. Is there anything I can do? Are you in trouble in some way?”

You shook your head. “No. No, nothing like that. It’s kind of embarrassing. Just… A courtship that really didn’t turn out well. And I just… I could really use some time away to get my head back on straight. Eagle Pride’s office has mentioned wanting me to go over and collaborate with them for a while, and what better time than now?” Your laugh sounded bitter.

Kugo sat silent and stunned. He hadn’t known you were courting. Being courted? Honestly, he wasn’t even sure of your dynamic. If you weren’t beta, then you certainly hid your scent well. He cleared his throat before speaking hesitantly.

“I certainly won’t stop you if you truly wish to go. It is an excellent opportunity. Might be a step in having your own support company if you wish. And if not, you’re always welcome here, Y/n. You must know that.”

You give a small smile, finally looking him in the eye. His chest tightened when he saw tears there. “I know, Kugo. You’ve been nothing but kind to me. You’re a good friend for putting up with me.”

“There’s no putting up with. I enjoy your company, always.” Kugo reached out slowly, but you turned away and wiped your eyes with your sleeve. He frowned, placing his hand back in his lap. “And you sure you’re alright, Y/N? No one is threatening you, are they? Someone unsafe taken an interest in you?”

You snorted, “Nothing like that. And people think I’m the dramatic one. No. I just got rejected is all. I miscalculated. Thought they were interested, but they made it very clear they aren’t.”

“Then they’re an idiot.” The words escaped Kugo before he even realized what he was going to say. But it was true, he was sure. You were beautiful, kind, smart. Anyone would be beyond lucky to hold your interest. On the rare days he allowed himself to dream, he often thought he’d love to have someone like you as a mate. Someone who knew him well and cared for him as much as he cared for them. He felt pains in his chest and his eyes widened as realization hit him in the face like a wet mackerel. Oh. He was jealous. He was jealous of whoever it was that y/n had tried to court. And he was angry. Furious that some fool had rejected her. Hurt her. But he was glad she was still here. Yet she was going to leave. Going to leave him here alone. His thoughts swirled and tumbled, and he swayed slightly in his seat. And hand on his shoulder stilled him and he looked up into your concerned eyes.

“Hey, you’re not looking too good. You really should get to medical. Do you need me to help you?”

“No. No. I can make it down a few hallways, thank you though.”

Kugo stood, and tried to give back the cloth he had been pressing to his head. You pushed it back, gently scolding him. “I said leave it there until someone can look at it. If you insist on returning a silly old rag, you can wash it and give it back later.”

Kugo nodded and mumbled out a goodbye. He had a lot to think about as he slowly made his way to medical. So. He liked you. The more he thought about it, the clearer it seemed to him. He’d liked you for a while. Things were always easy with you. But now, you’re leaving. He couldn’t stop you, and wouldn’t even if he could. You clearly felt like you needed to go.

He was still ruminating on his thoughts as the doctor ushered him to a bed. He was poked and prodded. Kugo managed to mumble out what must have been coherent answers. In the end, he did end up needing a few stitches. And just like that, he found himself fixed up and back in his office. He snorted a laugh at the absurdity. How can a day like this somehow manage to be just another day? Kugo sat in his chair and twisted the cloth in his hands absently. He brought it to his nose and sniffed out of habit. Oh course, the scent of his own blood was the most dominant. But underneath that was the usual calming scent of omega. His shoulders relaxed as the tension ran out of him. He pulled that cloth away, idly looking at the pattern. It was cute. Floral. Reminded him of the cloth that the first bento had been…

Wait.

He hastily brought the handkerchief to his nose again. There was no mistaking it. He knew that smell. He had missed that smell for weeks. It was faint. But it absolutely was there. Omega, soft and sweet. Not any omega. His omega. His bento maker. His y/n.

Y/n.

Y/n who had seen him toss her courting gift in the trash, who thought he had completely rejected her, and who was moving to America.

Kugo was on his feet in an instant. He’d never made the trip to the support lab that quickly before. You jumped when the door flew open, hitting so harshly that the doorknob dented the wall.

“Sakamata! What?”

He dropped to his knees before you, arms wrapped tight around your waist and his head pressing against your stomach.

“Kugo?” You asked softly, hesitantly stroking along his fin. “Kugo, what’s wrong?”

“You’re the best thing life has ever given me. Please don’t leave. Please.”

You made a soft, wounded sound. You kneeled slowly, and took his face in your hands. Kugo leaned into your touch like a man who had been starved of affection his whole life. You stroked your thumbs over his cheeks.

“Kugo, I’m going to need you to speak plainly, so I’m sure I don’t misunderstand. What’s going on?”

His large hands came up, taking both your hands in his.

“I’m an idiot.”

You snorted and tilted your head, confused. He met your gaze as he continued.

“I’m an idiot and I love you.”

You inhaled sharply, looking at him in disbelief. He pulled the crumpled, bloodstained handkerchief from his pocket.

“I’m an idiot because I love you and yet I never even noticed that you loved me too. You showed me every day. You knew I like eggs just as much as fish. You cared enough to make them cute. You gave me extra sweets on days when I was working a double shift. I loved every bento you made me. I have every note saved. And I might be an idiot, but I’d be an even bigger idiot if I let you go without saying something. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry, and I love you and please don’t go.”

“Kugo.” You smiled sadly. “I’m sorry. I already promised I’d go.”

Kugo inhaled a shaky breath, his eyes lowering to the floor.

“But,” you used your hands to lift his chin. His gaze snapped back to yours. “It’s just for six months. Six months, and then I’ll be right back here. With you.”

“With me?”

“Mmhmm.” You gave his nose a quick peck. “Always. You’re the best man I know. I don’t think there’s anyone else in the world for me.”

Kugo groaned and pulled you close, burying his face in your neck. From here, although it was very faint, he could smell your soothing scent. “You can’t say things like that and then tell me I can’t have you here for six months!”

You chuckled as you hugged him close. “Well, we have two weeks before I leave. We have a little time. And once I’m back? We’ll have all the time in the world.”

“Even that won’t be enough time to spend with you.”

“Dork.”

He hummed his agreement. “But it’s true. Eternity would be enough time to spend with you.” Before you could protest, he pulled you in for a gentle, but determined kiss.

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