#To show off their pretty ankles just in case the king might be in he audience then they would refuse to go on stage

[rriavian]

It's been so long since I posted a fic snippet, even though I've got so many ideas nearly completed. The last 6 months or so I've hit a wall with struggling on final edits. And titles.

So please enjoy this currently untitled 'The Corinthian asks Dream for a strip tease' fic that I nearly finished months ago and has instead been sitting in my drafts.

-

The expression said it all.

Which, yeah, is pretty much always the case with Dream. Right now it’s heading somewhere past the usual definition of solemn and speeding right into outright stony, zipping through so fast unimpressed doesn’t really cover it. The Corinthian watches it settle over his face like a shroud. Oh yeah—Dream’s clouding over like a storm. It’s dignified in the way Dream always is, even with his pretty lips forced to one thin line, tense like he’s too proud to allow himself to sulk the way he so obviously wants to.

Dream looks at him like the Corinthian has just said the stupidest thing he’s ever heard, and then managed to find something even stupider to add to it.

Honestly even his disappointment is disappointed.

The Corinthian isn’t the slightest bit ashamed.

In fact he’s more than happy to prod, to see if he can really get some thunder rumbling. There’s a skill to crafting the specific insult he stitches into his voice. “You do know what a strip tease is right?”

Dream’s eyes don’t quite flash, but his tone implies that if the Corinthian plays his cards right there may well be lightning on the way.

“Corinthian.”

Ah.

Now there’s that lovely, tasty morsel of a warning.

“Oh, so you don’t you think you can do it?” The Corinthian mocks, all shit eating grin and cruel cooing condescension, shivering with the pleasure of testing Dream without so much as a ‘my lord’ for plausible deniability.

He rakes his gaze down Dream’s black clad form, over the black coat, the sleeves going right down to fall over the wrists, the high neckline of his t-shirt touching the delicate base of his throat, a reminder of what had started this. It’s modest. It’s practically virginal. Seriously even those tight black jeans are hidden beneath the coat, the perfect cling of them unappreciated. The Corinthian still leers of course, enjoys him right down to the ankles, then drags his eyes right back up, teeth skimming even from so far away, smirking the whole time. “So shy. So uncertain. You already put all those layers on, surely you can take them back off?”

Dream’s expression doesn’t so much as buckle.

Humiliation slides right off him. Pride though, well, that stays right where it is; a heavy drag at Dream’s unsmiling mouth, a torch in his glowing eyes, still just a precursor to lightning. Dream has a dignity so prim he makes it look bored.

And a criticism so sharp it cuts steel.

“This is inane.”

“Don’t worry baby, I can talk you through it if you want.” The Corinthian’s crooning tone is pointed, dirty, demeaning in all the ways that get a nightmare like him running hot. He knows his tastes alright, and this is one of them—treating Dream like he’s just a thing never fails to get him off. “You’ll be earning top dollar in no time.”

For a moment Dream just looks at him.

And the next he’s dragging a chair to the middle of the room.

One hand wrapped around the back; all manual labour, no powers bar the initial conjuration, the Corinthian treated to the sight of him getting physical with it just like a human. Dream positions it to his satisfaction, then steps back, gestures towards it with one flick of his head, imperial, still a king holding court even as he’s inviting the Corinthian to quite a different show. It’s unclear what changed his mind. Dream hardly forthcoming; remains so solemn and cold when the Corinthian chuckles, when he slinks towards the chair, stopping just short of sitting in it, arms crossed, smirking challengingly because fuck yeah Dream might actually be doing this but the Corinthian is far from impressed yet.

“C’mon Dream,” he croons, another assessing glance from head to toe. “Let’s see how well you can perform.”

There is no retort.

Just Dream hands rising to the collar of his coat.

The jaw is still set; firm, he holds disappointment a beat longer, a curtain call, a moment granted for the audience to find their way to silence. To ensure attention is in the right place.

All at once the expression melts seamlessly into something else; pouty, bedroom eyes, a come hither that damn near punches the Corinthian full in the chest. Tricks him into an inhale he doesn’t even need then lodges the breath right in his throat. The wild disarray of dark hair compliments devastatingly well. Dream looks the kind of hazy that only comes with a good, hard fuck, and the Corinthian feels hazy like he’d already been fucked, and shit it’s not even started yet. Dream is still slipping the coat from his shoulders, all long elegant fingers, all electrifying eye contact, times like these that he meets the empty pits of the Corinthian’s eyes like he can fill them at a distance.

And as always the Corinthian opens his eyes to take as much of it in as he can.

Because Dream’s full attention crams every spark of his light and cold darkness right between the Corinthian’s greedy teeth.

They haven’t even touched.

Dream isn’t even close enough to reach with an outstretched hand. The coat drops, a shadow left to pool on the floor; Dream prowling forwards—yeah, he actually fucking prowled—a stalk to his stride that has never actually been needed. It manifests here like a predator strutting down a runway, like a wild god, like a monster showing up to Paris Fashion Week fresh from the slaughter and taking to the stage still covered in blood. The Corinthian watches each deliberate step and knows this is how a demon decides to preen. Dream doesn’t stop when he reaches him, only slows, then circles, silent steps around him and the chair, right hand raised and near touching.

Not quite though. The Corinthian feels it still in how the air quivers just above his shoulder, feels it fluttering across his back, twitching like he stands beneath the beating of wings.

Or the blade of a guillotine.

[the-busy-ghost]

Alright so kind of knew about Nahum Tate's adaptation of Shakespeare's Lear adding a happy ending, but apparently he also made Cordelia a breeches role (at least for one scene) which is just THE most Restoration thing ever, honestly was there ever a historical era which was so consistently On Brand

[killemwithkawaii]

No better way to word this so Imma just say it: as a fellow peets enjoyer, I would enjoy reading your takes on the SFs Gangs feet. So if you ever need a excuse to talk about it… gestures

(Also calling it. Larry is ticklish as fuck down there which makes most of the kinky stuff one may want to do impossible because he already feels phantom tickles when you just wriggle your fingers in that general direction and becomes an absolutely giggly mess instead. Which also has its charm mind you)

Anon, it is such a pleasure to be reminded that there are persons with impeccable taste, such as yourself, lurking in the fandom and on my blog, and it's even better when said persons encourage me to be as self-indulgent as you have with this ask. Please accept these headcanons that I thought about way more seriously than I probably should have lmao (I did my best to not let my personal preferences influence them, but a few maaay have sipped through the cracks, and so did yours 🙈💓💦)

What are the Gangs Feet like?-

[CW: Grapefruit (though this is 99% sfw), unsanitary, tickling]

Sally:

-Big feet for his height, greek shape, pronounced metacarpal and ankle bones, arches are a little high.

-Wears shitty off-brand high tops with zero arch support and doesn't seem like the type to own a pumice stone, so there's some callusing on his feet where his shoes rub, but the rest of the skin is relatively soft.

-Typically keeps his nails trimmed purely for comforts sake

-Smell varies from very minimal to strong, depending on whether he's been playing video games or hiking around the woods all day, and whether or not hes had the spoons to change and shower recently.

-Wears soft cotton ankle-length socks (sensory friendly and cushions his very exposed achilles tendons), occasionally with novelty prints. He keeps them on most of the time because his feet get cold easily.

-Sometimes paints his toenails (badly)

-Not ticklish unless you really, really try.

-Hesitant to accept a foot rub, but once you've assured him that you actually want to give him one and he gets used to the feeling, he'll slowly melt into his seat... 🥴

-Blushes if you play footsie with him. 😳

Larry:

-Big ol flipper feet, roman shape, a little wide, average arches.

-Wears sturdy, ankle length work boots with good support, so there's minimal callus, though the skin is overall a little tough.

-Might forget to trim his nails sometimes, and the smell can get pretty ripe if hes been working real hard all day... 😬

-Wears moisture-wicking, mid-crew length socks with strong elastic because he can't stand the feeling of his socks slipping down and bunching at the toe. He has a bad habit of stripping off his socks when he's lounging and leaving them on the floor.

-Has some moles on his feet (just like he has on the rest of him).

-He's ticklish as hell, so touches have to be predictable, deliberate and firm (unless you want to see him reduced to a giggling, thrashing wreck, in which case, do so at your own risk ⚠)

-Would lean back and 'feel like a king' getting his feet rubbed (once it's clear you're for sure not going to tickle him). 👑

-Taps and shakes his feet if he's sitting still for too long.

Ash:

-Larger than average, narrow, greek shape, low arches.

-Used to be that kid that always walked around outside barefoot, but her current use of cosmetics and shaved legs suggests a beauty regimen that would keep her feet looking presentable. She periodically uses a pumice stone, regularly moisturizes, keeps her nails trimmed and occasionally uses nail polish (purple, black or clear).

-Wears supportive, cushioned athletic shoes, and thin, no-show socks, generally in solid colors, but may choose to forgo socks altogether.

-Usually smells like her moisturizer or has a pretty mild scent, unless its especially hot out 🌸

-Average ticklishness

-Could be convinced to have her feet rubbed if it was a mutual thing, or she was especially sore and really needed it.

-Will totally do mani-pendis with a friend! 💅✨️

Todd:

-Average size, egyptian shape, average arches.

-Wears white and grey crew socks and sandals with shorts, so he has a noticeable tan line on his calves. He spends most of his time seated, so they're pretty soft, but the skin can be a little dry in patches.

-Generally keeps his nails tidy, though he can neglect them if he's become hyperfocused on a project, in which case Neil has to remind him to trim them after hes had enough of getting scratched while they're lying in bed togther. 🛌

-Not much of a scent, since the sandals let them breathe.

-Basically impervious to tickling thanks to his parents.

-Will accept the occasional foot rub from Neil, but is more likely to give them, and is pretty good at it, since he's learned a few techniques and pressure points over the years.

-Keeps his socks on most of the time (including during sex) unless it's very hot out. He's just more comfortable that way 🧦

Travis:

-Smaller than average, square shape, low arches.

-Wears mid-crew socks in various colors, sneakers, and dress shoes. Average amount of callous.

-Trimmed nails and almost no scent (he has to shower every day), but that likely changed when he became more involved in behind-the-scenes cult work, and he became increasingly disheveled as he began neglecting his personal hygiene.

-Ticklish to the point of kicking (and will not hold back) 🤬

-Does not like having his feet touched at all (hes touch averse in general), and you probably could not convince him to give a foot rub to anyone under any circumstances without blackmailing him into it. ❌

-Always has socks on unless he's changing or bathing, even when he's sleeping.

[wizkiddx]

Congratulations on 500 followers!! Could you do nr 2 with Tom please <3

thankyou <33 im very in my feels abt friends to lover atm, so ik this is a completely unoriginal concept but here we are

warning: nothing much- maybe homesickness? (+ the fact tom has poor choice in popcorn )

^^^ sorry I couldn't not put this on here and I will reuse it lots n lots

/////////////////////////

“Right I got two options annnnddddd there is only one correct answer.” Tom hummed up at you, pulling his tired gaze away from the phone screen and up towards the kitchen where you were standing triumphantly - having just raided his cupboards. From behind your back you whipped out a bag of popcorn in each hand.

“Sweet…. or salty?” Sighing with a small chuckle Tom shook his head at your playfulness. He didn’t know how you did it but you always always made his smile.

“I’m not a psychopath…” You huffed in relief, already turning around to throw the salty back in the cupboard where it belonged. “So salty of course.”

You were trapped in a house with an absolute psychopath.

You scowled at him, for having such poor taste, expecting some sort of argument to start. That wasn’t the case though, instead he just stared at you expectantly.

He must really really be unhappy.

You’d sensed it on set that morning - it wasn’t hard to miss. Not when it was your best friend, who for the past two months you’d been spending at least 6 hours a day with whilst shooting. Even when you were supposed to have a day off, when Tom had some solo shots or vice versa, you’d still come to keep the other company. It didn’t make sense but you both just sort of liked it that way.

This wasn’t your first rodeo working together either. Your first joint project had been almost four years ago, when both of you were barely adults, still figuring everything out. Ever since it had been bumping into each other every so often, always with an easy and effortless relationship.

Your current director had noted your chemistry at an awards show (the man never switched off) and decided in that moment he HAD to cast you together for a project. And a year later, here you both were, shooting in Australia for what was set to be a record breaking new release.

And it had been going great - better than great even. But as soon as Tom had shown up to makeup this morning, you’d known something was up. It was fair to assume it was something from home, maybe even just a bit of homesickness, or perhaps something more severe. Either way, the situation was probably exacerbated by the fact he didn’t have his brother or bestfriend or manager or normal syltist with him right now. Tom was pretty renowned within the industry for always having a massive entourage - which was normally made up with his family and friends. This time though he was going it solo.

Today had been long and you’d had to do press at stupid oclock in the morning last night for your current release - which meant your plan had always been to leave promptly and collapse into bed as soon as physically possible.

But Tom needed your company. So you hadn’t. Instead, you’d somewhat subtly invited yourself to his rented house for a movie night - blaming it on your director wanting you both to study the relationship dynamics in ‘out of sight’ (a J Lo and Clooney romance movie).

“You think you know a person and then they loose all your respect… just like that.” You sigh jokingly, gesturing to the bag of ‘foul’ popcorn your costar seemed to like.

“Well we’ve come to a crossroads.”

“It’s been nice knowing you but this…” you scoffed and dramatically rolled your eyes “… I see no way out.”

“Isn’t it better if we have a bag each? Then I might manage to actually get some before you scoff them all.”

You yelped in protest, though really you were just grateful he was still up for a bit of a laugh. He had been much less jokey the whole day, though was seeming to warm up a bit.

Once you had poured the two bags of popcorn into two separate bowels and prepared the film on TV; you plopped yourself onto Tom’s sofa, so your back was against the corner and your feet were over his lap (it wasn’t weird, just normal for the two of you). Instinctively, Tom lightly grabbed your ankles, repositioning you on his thigh slightly before leaning across the pull the blanket over the both of you. Whilst he smoothed out the crinkles in the fluffy navy fabric you took the opportunity to poke your toe into his side - garnering his attention.

“I take it you don’t wanna talk about it?” After he froze, Tom then nodded jerkily. “But if you change your mind, you know I’m here right?” His demeanour changed at your second statement as his body literally sagged into the cushions, with a grateful if small smile.

He respond by mouthing an ‘I know’ and that was enough for you. Shuffling down the side a bit you pressed play, settling in for the evening. Tom still had a hand resting on your ankles, occasionally rubbing his thumb up and down the bony bit.

Honestly you didn’t really see what your director was going on about when he raved about their on screen chemistry and it seemed that neither did Tom. It wasn’t a scathing commentary that gave it away, instead it was his silence. Which you quickly realised was the he had drifted off, his head lolling a little so he was facing you, palms now completely lax on your legs. It was whilst you were just taking in the sight before you, that a buzzing cut through the otherwise soft noise from the TV - which you had turned down for Tom’s sake.

It wasn’t your phone but you instinctively still reached for it from the coffee table and seeing that the name just read “Harry H” you thought it’d be fine to answer.

“Harry?” You whispered into the receiver, slightly cupping your hand round your mouth just to make sure you weren’t too loud for Tom.

“Hello?”

“Harry it’s me”

“Who?” You’d met Harry countless times, though given the fact Tom had been alone all shoot - you shouldn’t of expected the kid to be able to recognise your voice.

“Oh sorry Y/n um Y/n L/n”

“Oh no my fault sorry Y/n. How are you?” The conversation was jilted, you could practically feel the awkward energy radiating all the way from the otherside of the world.

“I’m alright thanks, how about you.”

“Yeh not bad I uhm… I - is my brother there?” Oooh. How to answer that question.

“Um sort of, we er… we were having a movie night and he’s fallen asleep. It’s why I’m whispering like a weirdo.” Harry laughed at that and you continued. “Is everything okay? You need me to wake him?”

“No no, mum just said he was having a rough time so was going to cheer him up with my exquisite sense of humour but if you’ve bored him to death then no need.”

“What can I say I’m just talented. Anyway I should be heading back to mine anyway so um I’ll let you go?”

“Oh yeh no worries, and uhm thanks-um thanks for keeping an eye on him.”

“Someone has to” You chuckled softly back, before bidding a final farewell to Harry.

Having hung up the phone, you leaned over to gently place it back on the coffee table but making a mental note to put it on charge before you left. Your next job was to manoeuvre your legs away from him without disturbing him but before you could even start planning the movement, you noticed his weary eyes blinked over at you. Freezing, your mouth made a little ‘o’ shape as you winced at yourself for disrupting his peace - today really wasn’t the day for that. There was a silence as Tom swallowed thickly, attempting to shake off the heavy lull of rest before he spoke. “Will you stay with me… please.”

Undoubtedly, your body didn’t play it as cool as you wanted it to. Thinking you’d heard him wrong, your chin protruded forward and his eyes widened. “ Sorry not like-not like that just um-just on the sofa… theres-theres spare blankets and I can-“

“-course T, no worries…Oh and um your brother just phoned if you-“

“I know.” He spoke softly and with a nod, but didn’t move at all, apparently no interest in calling his brother back.

With a stammered nod, you stood up, finally removing your legs from his touch in order to nip to the loo. You splashed your face with water, ate some toothpaste ( better than not brushing your teeth at all) before going to collect Tom’s quilt off his bed. By the time you re-entered the living room, Tom hadn’t appeared to have moved at all. The hood of his purple jumped was still up, the blanket still only half covering him, the excess lying cold were you had been sitting. He laughed lightly at you trying to wrangle with the king size duvet and get it in without tripping over yourself or knocking anything over.

“You sure you don’t mind? I’m just being stupid and-“

“Honestly I’m too tired to walk back to mine so this is perfect.”

“You live across the road.”

“Thats like 50 steps too far.” You deadpanned back, as he raised his eyebrows and locked you direct eye contact - which you very stubbornly returned.

The both of you sat like that for a minute, Tom eventually gave up with a sigh as he motioned for you to lie back.

There wasn’t an issue at all with space. A listers rental homes were never lacking in space - the grey sofa was a U shape, with ample space for the both of you to lie down. Each of you took a respective corner, your legs meeting in the middle and gently brushing against each others.

“Thanks for babysitting me today by the way.”

“I wasn-“ You were about to deny it, except one look and Tom saw straight through you.

“Thankyou Y/n/n” Seeing there was no way out of receiving his thanks, you instead opted to just shut him up. Nudging his leg with yours and leaving it touching you murmured you last words of the evening - eyes already closed.

“Fuck off Holland, ‘m tryna sleep.”

~~~~ let me know if you have any feedback or anything (but pls not too mean this isn't proof read so blame that) <33 ~~~~~~

tagging : @thefernandasantana @lovehollandy12 @hallecarey1 @crossyourpeter @hollandfanficlove @msmimimerton @thegirlwiththeimpala

[binniesthighs]

wetter | reader x minho

Pairing: self insert, gender neutral reader x lee minho 

Genre: smut, angst,  pwp 

Tags: harddom!minho, sub!reader, fuckboi!minho, fratboy!minho, waitstaff!reader, hookup au, degredation, penetration (r), oral and facefucking (m receiving), several mentions of gagging bc of deepthroating, fingering (r), semi-public sex (bathroom), quickie, cumshot (face), several allusions to infidelity 

Word count: 2.5k 

Requested: “hard dom!minho... with degradation...pls...”  &  “my thoughts are filled with hard dom!minho with degredation 🤤” (original ask)

There’s something intoxicating about hooking up with a person when the only thing that you know about them is the heat from their lips. 

Some would argue that this makes them less of a “person” but more of a fantasy. If you had know their name, it would’ve made other strings twist in the mix. If you had known their name, maybe you would have been inclined to look them up maybe, or even worse, fall asleep with their name running over and over in your mind. 

It was best when they tasted like sin and like the daydreams that you had never uttered. 

He wasn’t like the other men that you would lead into the spotless bathroom of the country club which practically shone from the hard work of janitors who were paid less than the meals served at the god-forsaken place. As a part of the wait staff, your pay was dismal, but at least you could get a good fuck out of it once and a while. 

Then men that would frequent the country club and golf course were always the kind that had starving hands and dicks that would twitch under their belts from the slightest brush of your hand. They were the kind of men who had wives, mistresses, and even handsome young men who could be at their beck and call. You liked to think that you were unlike those who they secretly craved. If anything, you were their daydreams. 

This man seemed to be no different--at least in looks. 

He sat with his legs spread where he socialized with his young friends on the veranda. The small group ate their salmon on bagels and caviar along with expensive cocktails that you barely knew the names of. A couple of them already had girls on their laps, and they fed them cherries which stained their plush (and likely fake) lips. 

This man sat alone with his cardigan and perfectly pressed pants and loafers that appeared to have never been worn before. He had barely touched his food, but rather seemed to satiate his appetite from the teasing and dumb laughter of his friends. Judging off of his chunky and extravagant watch, there must’ve been no way that he had paid for the thing himself. Daddy or Mommy’s money made him appear as if he was some heir or prince. He even smelled like one too. 

The male patrons would often follow the way that your hips moved when you walked to and from their table, or how your hands would rest on the crystal glass tables as you took their orders. You knew they must have been imagining what your fingers would’ve looked around their cocks. 

He even gave you the same look. 

You had guessed that he must’ve been college age or some kind of graduate. His friends wore Greek letters, so you assumed that he must have been one of the “brothers.” A long time ago, someone had told you to be especially careful of his breed of boy. 

“Care to accompany me away from this crowd?” He had whispered into your ear, tickling it, when you had reached across to grab the plates. 

 The other boys had decided to go to the pool or the gym--not that it mattered--and his hand crept behind your waist as soon as he had excused himself from the rest of the group. 

“I’ve got to call my mom real quick. If she wasn’t such a nag all the time...” 

He held your hand as if he had known you, but it was likely not to rouse suspicion. 

“Nice to meet you.” He sneers, looking back and passing the crowds of women in their feathered hats and other golfers in their finest designer polos and slacks. 

You nod, noting that his hand feels strong and domineering in your own, and you can’t even begin to wonder where he might be taking you. If you were lucky, they would take you to their rooms and lay you down on the California King Sized Mattress, then you wouldn’t have to bend uncomfortably. However, this wouldn’t always be the case. Most of them favored coat closets, bathrooms and powder rooms. 

You kept your head down as he pulled you further down hallways, praying that none of your coworkers would take notice. Some of them already had, however it wasn’t like any of them cared...not when they would often indulge in the same vice. Unhappy marriages were where most of you found some brief moments of happiness. 

The young man snickered finding his hiding place and promptly lead you along with him into the towel closet which had been unlocked by the pool boys. The door was painted white and louvered with slits for airflow. It was then when you knew this would have to be one of the times when you would have to bite your tongue back. 

He closed the door as quietly as he could, then turned to shove you back against it, and smear his heavy breaths over your mouth where he slicked his tongue against yours immediately. As he did so, his heated fingertips set to shrugging off your apron and hastily throwing it aside. You returned by sinking your fingers under his leather belt and jingling the metal around. If he was to see you bare, you wanted to see him too--something told you that he had something to show under his designer cardigan and this cotton shirt which must’ve cost a similar fortune. 

His abs were toned as you had expected, and they rippled under your fingertips. The young man popped the button to your pants, and you reciprocated doing the same. Just like the others, it barely took anything for him to get hard. His length swelled against your stomach and he grinded it into you too just so you could feel his eagerness. 

“You were practically asking to get fucked? Weren’t you? You whore.” 

The young man smiled out his poisonous words, but they felt as luxurious as they usually did when you had heard them grace your ears. He kissed you once again with a mixture of teeth and tongue that ran your lips raw while you pulled down his pants to his ankles and tugged at the elastic to his briefs. 

“Fuck, you really do want it that bad don’t you baby?” 

His hands palmed at your own quivering sex which had slicked with your own arousal from his greedy advances. His hand pushed at the confines of our underwear and pants where he started to rub incessantly, then ate up your shuddering moans which floated from your lips to his. 

All at once, he removed his hand and left your knees to buckle from the sudden lack of contact. With a deathly glare, he brought his fingers to your gasping mouth. 

“Wetter.”  He demanded before dipping them onto your tongue. You lathered them with your salvia where he twisted them around your muscle with the taste of bitter sweat and your own cum. 

Once he saw fit, he drew his soaked fingers back down to your waistband and resumed teasing at your sensitive skin. 

“You’d like to taste my cock wouldn’t you? Are you hungry enough for it, kitten?” 

You nodded, trying to hide your whimpering from his touch. 

“Get on your fucking knees then.” 

He nearly shoved your shoulders to the ground, but you didn’t need him to prompt you. You pulled down his briefs on your way down his body, springing free his hardened member that was wrapped in thick veins. You firstly jerked at his hooded shaft beading with his cum, and you kissed at his tip roughly too for good measure. 

“Did I say to tease me? Take me in your throat, you slut.” He slapped at your cheek, then aligned his dick with your lips. “What? Scared that it’s too much for you?” 

“No.” You answered while testing him from below. “I can take it.” 

“Show me.” 

You did so--even though his considerable length burned and stretched out your throat at first. You knew that sometimes they liked it when they saw you cry, so you let the tears well at their own will. You hummed against his dick while he pushed at your gag reflex. With your right hand, you took his shaft back to twist at it while your head bobbed. Your steady pace kept your gags at bay, but every so often he would jerk his hips a little with a grunt, and you would nearly loose your composure. 

“Is that as deep as you can take it? Fuck...here I was thinking that you would feel different...” 

The young man laced both of his hands to the sides of your face: the exact place to give a cue into his intentions. 

“Let me know if you need me to stop.” He growled. 

He fucked your face deeper and deeper, gradually working up to a pace that felt comfortable while you puffed up your cheeks. Gag after gag he teased, and the strings of your drool slicked and bubbled on his cock while dripping down your neck too. 

“Your pretty, tight, little throat feels so fucking good on my cock. Is that how you like it you cockslut?” 

Hot tears dripped down your cheeks while you nodded the best you could in response, and your feet startled to tingle where they had fallen asleep where you knelt. 

“Oh fuck yes.” 

All that you could do to steady yourself was claw at his lower back, then moan helplessly against his length which stretched you out so well, it was impossible that it had felt this good before. 

The young man pulled out after leaving your lips raw, pausing to pant like a wild animal while still firmly holding your head. You gasped, open mouthed, and sucked in air greedily while your spit strung from your lips to his cock. 

“Stand up.” He commanded, and pulled you to your shaking feet. “Ready to get fucked sweetheart?” 

“Y-yes.” You said, lightheaded, wiping the drool from your mouth onto your uniform sleeve. 

The young man smirked out before turning you face first into the door. “Good. Don’t make a fucking sound doll. That is, unless you want to get caught? To have someone see you fucked out like this?” 

“N-no...”  

“Lets feel then how tight this hole of yours is.” 

He let out a devilish sounding chuckle while bringing his hips to yours and coaxing his cock into your leaking entrance. He was just as thick in your hole as he had felt in your throat, and you squeaked out feeling the challenge. With your face pressed against the wooden door with ventilation slits, you could see the feet of those walking past, barely even knowing what had been occurring on the other side. Light from the hallway peeped in and striped over your whole body which the man ravished. 

“Spread your legs farther...that’s it...just like that.” 

The stranger thrust slowly at first, like he could just barely give you a taste of his full length; like you barely deserved it too. 

“Fells good, doesn’t it? Such an obedient little fucktoy for me, aren’t you? I bet you were dreaming of this happening weren’t you? ...Looking at me the way that you were...” 

“P-please...” You begged for him to quicken, but that wasn’t even your place. 

“Do you fuck everyone like how you fuck me? I should have guessed that you would put out for anyone with those coy glances. I’m no idiot.” 

“H-harder...fuck me harder...” 

“Harder?” The rich young man scoffed, “I get to decide when I go harder.” 

The man rolled his hips, and the patting of skin filled the darkened room. He gasped out while finding his rhythm, then reached around his fingers to tease at your lips once more. 

“Wetter.” He chanted. 

You did as you were told, he and rewarded you with the harsher grinding of his hips. Once his digits were properly wetted again, he brought them back to your throbbing sex, and rubbed at it with the same ferocity that he snapped. 

“Cum all over my fingers you whore, cum like you fucking want it.” 

His words were dizzying, and you gently rocked yourself over his hand and focused everything you could to drawing out your orgasm which was nearly there. 

“That's right. Fuck my fingers kitten.” 

The stranger too began to shake and you could sense that he had started to let go as well. The door rattled where he had you pressed against it, but he didn’t appear to care in the slightest. 

“Oh god,” You peeped as quietly as you could, and felt your orgasm begging wildly. 

He stopped for a couple moments to tap lightly into your arousal nearly on the edge, then laughed wickedly at the way that your whole body shook in response. All the while, his hips maintained their quick drags. 

“Cum for me.” He demanded once more, and you obliged, finally erupting over his fingers with the cream of your cum lathers over your thighs and wrapping around his digits. 

The words came out airy and broken, “S-shit....s-shit...” 

He had become unchained, then turned his whole attention to the way that his fingers dug into your hips and how he could graze you so deep inside, it was like nothing you had known of before. He then grabbed at your ass with the bite of his fingernails while he pumped with hitched breaths. 

“Back to your knees.” The command was sudden, but soon you found your shaking legs right back on the ground. 

The stranger jerked himself fervently with eyes screwed shut and his own soft moans trailing from his pink lips and wetted tongue. 

“Look at me.” He whispered. With one more flick of his wrist, he sent himself spewing his white and warm cum all over your face; ruining every feature. You closed your eyes to protect them but permitted your tongue to him freely where he jerked out the last of his milkly liquid directly onto your taste buds. His cum had painted your cheeks, and dripped from your jaw. At last you swallowed down the most you could with the bitter aftertaste that you had loved so much. 

“Well, that’s certainly a sight.” The man reveled at his work. 

You gasped out for him and grabbed a nearby towel to wipe the rest away, although he appeared somewhat disappointed by this. He too took a towel to wipe off his length and sweating forehead. After, he was silent picking up his clothes, and jingling his belt once more back over his waist. It often ended like this: the few words spoken in the moments before they left. 

“Thanks for that babe.” He grinned. “Name’s Lee Minho. ‘Hope I’ll be seeing you around again.” 

~🌹~ 

Bunch of (Ro)ses! 

@minaamhh @dazzlehoseok @synnocence @jjewibeans @hyunsluvv @unexceptional-h @bobawithchaitea @lechanters @sailorhyunjinz @silencefavarchive @lunarskzzz  @yourdaddychan @bubblelixie @spnobsessedmemes @lmhmins @eunaeiekim

[vennilavee]

lullaby

pairing: levi x reader summary: you’re on the verge of death, and you somehow find levi. (a follow up to checkmate) warnings: blood, injury a/n: based on this prompt request. i didnt end up using the whole prompt lmao i might use ‘for one muse to get caught hiding an injury sustained while protecting them’ for something else. also inspired by GoT

Darkness dots your eyes, the sweet pull of unconscious coaxing you closer and closer to sleep. But you can’t, you have to keep pushing. So you drag yourself through the corridor lined with cobblestone and concrete, your sword in your hand and your other hand squeezing the wound on your right side tightly.

A sharp inhale. A sharp exhale. A sharp inhale. A sharp exhale. The taste of blood lines your lips, but you keep going. Just a little farther, with only the dim flame of torches lined along the concrete walls to light the way.

You had been ambushed. Most, if not all, of your Queensguard was dead. Killed by the orders of the Mad King himself. 

You couldn’t think about how this could have happened. If you did, then you might just die right here. Underground, below the castle. Trying to make your way to Levi. The thought of him, makes your head swim. 

You cough and spit up blood on your boots. Fuck.

You’re almost there.

Levi is rushing to pack his things, only what’s necessary. Only what he needs. He had heard of the news that the Mad King had ordered the hit on the Queensguard. He has no idea if the Queen herself was alive. Truly, he doesn’t care- he wants to find you. Are you alive? Did you survive the ambush in the cellars of the castle?

There’s no way you could have. He wishes he could rely on a gut feeling, but the truth is- there’s no way he would know. Should he leave? Should he stay, and find you in the blood and destruction?

The rational part of him tells him that he should leave. That whoever is still alive can come with him, but that he needs to leave this awful place. Another part of him tells him that he needs to be the one to kill the Mad King.

If you’re dead, he just might.

And then another part of him tells him to search for you. To find you and whisk you away from here and live far, far away from all of this.

Before he can make a decision, he hears a loud thump outside of his door. Levi grabs a knife just in case and throws his door open, ready to pounce on whoever it was.

But the sight in front of him has him on his knees in an instant. It’s you, draped in blood and fatigue on the floor. 

“Fuck,” Levi mutters. You would laugh if you were certain it wouldn’t kill you.

He carefully but urgently picks you up and lays you in his bed. You feel as though you’re floating, dreams replaying behind your eyelids. Memories of you and Levi, in this very bed. Memories of sweet, salty, sweaty skin with only the moon and the stars as witness.

And now you were going to bleed out in his bed. You were about to die in his bed. How poetic.

Levi’s already tearing away your armor and your undershirts so that your torso is bare to him. An angry, deep welt spurting bright red blood decorates your right side. His sewing tools are right next to him, but even he’s nervous about this. This was meant to be done by a medic. Not him.

He makes a decision. If he delays any longer, you’ll die in his arms. And he can’t have that, even if you think it’s romantic. 

You try to speak. You try to tell him that it’s okay, you try to call his name. Possibly one last time. With a shuddering gasp and another series of coughs, blood dribbling down your chin, you try- “L-Levi. In a-another l-lifetime. I’d l-love you-”

“Shut up,” Levi hisses, pressing down on your wound with a clean towel, “Save your energy. Tell me tomorrow. Just shut up.”

Tears spring in your eyes. You don’t think there’s going to be a tomorrow. But at least you’d told him. You can be at peace with that. But you don’t want to die, not when you have a whole life to love Levi still left.

“This is gonna fuckin’ hurt. But you can take it, princess,” Levi murmurs, pulling his suturing thread and needles out, “Fight through it, princess.”

You scream at the first pierce of the needle and promptly black out from the pain. At least you won’t be able to feel the surely intense pain that this will bring, Levi thinks grimly. He makes sure you’re still breathing as he stitches you up.

He pretends that his hands don’t tremble.

“Who did this to you,” Levi whispers, pulling the final string of suturing through the needle and tearing it off. The wound is closed as cleanly as he could have done it, dried blood caked all over your torso. He gently washes your chest and your belly with a wet cloth, cleaning your neck and your face as well. Then, he wraps medical gauze around your belly, protecting the stitches and keeping them clean.

Levi doesn’t sleep, not until he knows you’ll make it through the night. He sits next to you in his bed, thumb stroking your cheek and his lips pressed to your forehead.

You don’t wake up until two evenings later, with a throbbing in your head and a searing pain on your right side. Levi hears you shifting immediately and he’s at your side in seconds.

Your eyes are wide when you see him, as if you can’t believe that you’re alive. 

He wants to scold you. 

“Don’t say anything,” Levi warns you, sitting at your feet and rubbing your ankles, “I stitched you up. You showed up here half dead.”

You recall the memory of his panic in his voice vaguely. Levi shifts on the bed, sitting on your right side and pressing his forehead to yours when you look at him.

“I have pain killers. But you need to eat something first before I give them to you.”

You nod, afraid to say something. Afraid that he might break if you do. You wince when you try to turn a little more and Levi pulls away instantly. 

You almost cry at the loss of his touch. He steps away from the bed, bringing you some oatmeal and water. He feeds you silently, just a few spoonfuls, and gives you some medicine to take.

He’s quiet for a while, his eyes never leaving yours. “You scared the fuckin’ shit outta me,” Levi says hollowly. He presses his forehead to yours once more. “Thought you were gonna die on me. Die right in my arms. You always said that was romantic, right? You just always have to be right, don’t you? Except you were wrong. This time, you were wrong.”

It’s the most you’ve ever heard him speak at one time. 

“Who did this to you?” Levi hisses, steel eyes boring into yours, “It was the Mad King wasn’t it? ‘M gonna kill him. And then take you far away from here.

“If anything happened to you,” Levi continues, “I’d burn this entire fuckin’ place to the ground to find you.”

Levi tilts your chin up by the hook of his index finger to properly look at you. Dried blood is still matted in your hair, the scent of fear slick on your skin, but still- you look as pretty, as strong as ever. With your tired, sad eyes. He’s never seen your eyes look so sad and defeated.

He decides he never wants to see that look in your eyes again.

He presses a long kiss to your forehead before feeding you more bits of oatmeal and water. You fall asleep a little while after that, listening to Levi whisper to you about the places he’ll take you once you feel a little better and once he kills the Mad King once and for all.

His voice is your favorite lullaby.

***

Tags: @simpingmaize @captainchrisstan

[brutal-nemesis]

Saltwater Day 2021: Dinner Date with an Eel 💕

Feel that ocean breeze, baby! Cries in lives in a very landlocked area I hope y’all are having some fun in the salty spray ✨Today we finally get to see a Castys misadventure that I’ve talked about in the tags before: the big boy drowning incident! So sit back, relax, and enjoy the agony <3

Castys Masterlist

Ingredients: drowning, animal attack, self harm to escape danger, sort of self amputation, gore, broken bones, suicide for convenience (immortal)

Castys had jumped off of higher cliffs before. Granted, he had done it because he was too lazy to walk to the bottom, and he’d landed on solid rock, and it had been very painful for all of two seconds, so this didn’t make him any less terrified of being shoved off of this one. And yes, that’s right, he was going to be shoved off of this one, into the crashing waves below, which was certainly how he’d planned on spending the morning. Nothing better to start the day than a pointless execution!

Oh, but why are you being executed, Castys, you’re so good and noble and also immortal so this isn’t going to work is it. No, no it’s not going to work. And Castys was being “executed” because, well...turns out people don’t take too kindly to finding out you’re the dreaded Pirate King Ragnarok. As usual, he’d fought and tried to get away, and as usual he’d failed miserably. So here he was, wrists chained together behind his back, ankles chained to a stupidly large rock, and a cloth tied tightly around his mouth.

He tried not to think about having to deal with this arrangement once he was underwater, which was something he was less than excited for. There was already quite a large crowd gathered so, hey, at least he was popular. Actually, scratch that, based on the looks he was getting, he was definitely unpopular. He shifted a bit, causing the men gripping his arms to tighten their grasp. He huffed, wishing he had the ability to tell them to chill the fuck out.

“People of Meruna, we are gathered her today for the execution of the notorious-“ oh my FUCK nevermind just push him off already this whole thing was already bad enough without a speech about all his crimes and whatever. Not that he didn’t love hearing about his exploits, because fuck if he regretted any of it, but the sun was hot and he was tired of standing. That water was going to feel so good...until it was filling his lungs ugh nope don’t think about it like that he was just going for a nice swim that’s all. He was going to be in the nice, cool water without any of these assholes glaring at him, and he’d get out of these chains somehow and come back in ten years and release all their goats and that would show them.

All of a sudden, the hands on him started to push him towards the edge of the cliff, a third guard rolling the rock he was chained to along using her foot. Fuck, fuck the speech was over they were doing it he was going over the edge he’d just been joking earlier he really didn’t want to even if the water would feel good he’d rather stand out here all day because that sure as hell was better than drowning over and over and over the edge the air was rushing by the top of the cliff was getting farther and farther away any second now he-

Castys screamed into the gag as he slammed into the cold water, wasting his last breath of air like an idiot before he started to sink beneath the crashing waves, pulled down by the boulder attached to his ankles. He could only squirm uselessly as he sank deeper and deeper, the soaked-through gag filling his mouth with the taste of saltwater, just to make things even more unpleasant. His arms were killing him, and, you know what, they took the brunt of the impact with the water, so they were probably fucking broken, weren’t they? At least they would heal after...after he drowned for the first time. Already his lungs were starting to burn, but thankfully the rock had finally hit the bottom, so he wouldn’t sink any further and therefore the painful pressure on his ears wasn’t going to get any worse, at the very least. 

Positives, positives, since he was probably going to be here for a while...it wasn’t so stupidly hot anymore, instead it was stupidly cold, and already his fingers were starting to go numb-nope, nope, not a positive, let’s try again. It was rather pretty down here, despite the fact that black spots were starting to cloud his vision, and also things were starting to get kinda...woozy, a little bit, a little, hell-o and goodbye, wasn’t it time now? Yeah, yes, the burning was too much it hurt hurt hurt everything was black and black was good bec-

He didn’t bother counting how many times he drowned. Maybe it would have helped pass the time or something, but, let’s be real, there were better things to focus on than how many times he’d experienced the horrible burning in his lungs and that awful lightheadedness. His broken arms had healed up, so that was something, but they were still very much shackled behind his back. If they were free he could at least get that stupid gag out of his mouth and try to fuck with the chain connecting his ankles to that dumb rock. He settled for looking around the underwater landscape surrounding him, glad that sunset was still a ways off. As far as he could tell.

When he could see and think clearly, it was kind of cool to be down here, circumstances aside. All sorts of fish, many of them varieties that he knew what they tasted like, swam around between the wavy water plants. There was even a really big lookin’ boy off in the distance that he’d seen out of the corner of his eye a few times, though it was coming closer now, and he was just starting to be able to make out...wait-was that a-great. Absolutely fantastic, just what he needed. A fucking shreilian eel. How dare he drown over and over in peace, no, no let’s add a vicious man-eating monster to the mix! At least he wasn’t bleeding, so the creature wouldn’t be immediately drawn to him. He’d get to keep his limbs intact for a little longer-wait wait wait. Okay that was absolutely crazy and sounds entirely unfun, but...it might just work.

Castys mustered as much strength as he could, ignoring the ever-present burning of his lungs, and began to clumsily bash himself against the nearby wall of stone. It was coated in barnacles and the like, but their sharp edges were just what he was looking for. Soon enough, he felt the awful sting of saltwater in the many small cuts that were now littering his arm. Fuck, that was nowhere near enough blood to get that eel over here, and his vision was starting to go dark. If he didn’t get that damn thing over here now he’d die and heal and have to do this bullshit all over again no no no get over here you stupid thing fuck yeah that feels like a nice gash it burns to high hell but so does everything and look at all that bloody water or maybe it’s just getting too dark because it is dark and...so...hurt…

When he came back to life, there was a small cloud of blood swirling in the water around him, but it was dissipating more and more by the second. He couldn’t see the eel anywhere, and if that bastard disappeared on him after all that...Instinctively, he tried to take a deep breath and ended up sucking a bunch of water up his nose like an absolute idiot, his nostrils now burning just as much as his even more waterlogged lungs. His body tried to cough, but it was just painful and useless like everything else he’d done while stuck down here, and he just ended up thrashing around like an injured fish.

Just what the eel had been waiting for.

It felt like he’d suddenly been hit by a mace, slamming him into the rocks, his arm lighting up with the pain of a thousand hot spikes, almost too intense for him to even process, the salty water magnifying every little agony tenfold. Castys was certain he would have been screaming if he had the air, and as much as this was absolutely fucking terrible, he hoped the eel would do it again. It had bitten off a good chunk of his arm as far as he could tell, but not enough to completely sever it and free him from the restraints. And for once, his horrid luck regarding avoiding pain paid off. The eel rammed into him again, ripping off more of his arm with its razor-sharp teeth and causing the bones of his forearm to crack. 

Sensing his chance, Castys grabbed the manacled wrist of his shredded arm with his good hand, bit down on the gag, and pulled. He couldn’t give up, couldn’t stop, not after enduring this much, he could feel his flesh tearing, sending out sparks of agony unlike anything he’d ever known, and he had to keep pulling, pulling and jerking and tearing and twisting and praying, praying that he could rip it off before he drowned again, which, hey, kind of a weird thing to want, not that he hadn’t had to amputate his own limbs before, but weird that it was happening again, and honestly, this hurt way more than the other times, but wasn’t that always the case-and fuck there was no way he was going to be able to just snap his bones like this, and he needed it to be completely severed, and there was no time, wedge it against the rocks and pull pull pull until there was a snap and a burst of unholy agony, so intense it almost smothered the relief, so fierce it made him forget he was drowning up until the moment his oxygen-starved brain lost consciousness. 

Castys’s arms were free. Well, one was free, and the other one was still manacled, attached to...what was left over after all that. He ripped the gag out of his mouth, resisting the urge to suck in mouthfuls of air that were absolutely not there. Looking down at his ankles, he wasn’t sure if-his body exploded with pain as the eel rammed into him again, taking a chunk of flesh from his side, which was definitely not where he wanted to be bitten. Gritting his teeth against the anguish that almost consumed him, he grabbed the wrist of his severed arm and clumsily smeared blood around his ankles, hoping it would entice the monster to attack them and help set him free. 

It worked, and it didn’t. The eel attacked him again and again, no longer pausing in between bites to circle him. Castys wasn’t even sure where it was biting him anymore, he just knew that everything hurt, the saltwater in his wounds magnifying the pain so much that there was no discernible source. He didn’t try to fight the eel off, hoping it would just do enough damage to his legs that he could get free, but he wasn’t sure if he could have even tried to get it away from him if he wanted to. Things were getting so dizzy so fast, all of a sudden, there was nothing to do but wait and die and hurt…

When he came back to life, Castys was disappointed to find that he was not floating to the surface. In fact, one of his ankles felt kind of weird, like it wasn’t shackled anymore, but still...for fuck’s sake. One of his ankles had been freed, torn enough to shreds before he’d died that the manacle had come off, but the other one was...well the manacle wasn’t around his ankle so much as it was…in his ankle. How the fuck that had happened, he had no clue. He just knew he had to deal with it. Looking around, the eel wasn’t anywhere to be seen, probably full to bursting after its meal, and though his heart sank a little at the thought that he couldn’t rely on it anymore, he was also slightly relieved, because that thing had been vicious. It had, however, left a parting gift. He swam downwards and grabbed the smooth fang off of the sandy ocean bottom, gripping it tightly. Just a little bit more. 

He had endured so much already, felt pain more intense, experienced sensations more gruesome, but this...this was more active than everything else that had happened down here. More visible. He had to make every stab and slice deliberately, had to watch the tooth do its damage, it wasn’t mindless bashing or praying he’d get bitten in the right places, but an active choice to cut his flesh away, inviting burning seawater into a wound once again, and it was difficult. Part of him wanted to stop, take a break, please, I don’t want to have to do this anymore, I want to let go, just for a little bit, please, but he knew he couldn’t, because he had to get this done before he drowned again or he’d have to start the whole damn thing over. 

Relief like he’d never known washed over him as he finally managed to worm the manacle out of his shredded ankle and he felt himself start to rise. The lightheadedness was getting worse, and he wasn’t sure if he’d make it in time, so he wormed his finger into the pouch around his neck and let the death stone’s magic take him before the lack of air could. He was still rising when he came back to, and he propelled himself towards the surface with renewed strength, despite the pain of his ears popping and the odd ache in his joints. 

Finally, blessedly, he made it to the surface, and air had never tasted so fucking good. Not that it wasn’t salty, but it wasn’t as salty as saltwater, and he sucked as much of it as he could into his waterlogged lungs. He looked up at the cliff towering over him, now painted with the orange of sunset instead of the gold of sunrise. He...he had been down there all day just...downing. And getting eaten. Kinda fucked. Seeing a nearby rock, he swam over to it and scampered on top, collapsing on its damp surface as he coughed up far too much fucking seawater. Fuck, his head was spinning and his joints hurt, like they probably would have if he could grow old. Well, nothing that one last death can’t fix, now that he was finally on land again.

Castys opened his eyes and sat up, feeling perfectly fine besides the awful, salty taste in his mouth. He looked over at the cliff smugly. Those bastards had tried to get rid of him for good, and they’d failed miserably. He folded down his middle fingers and placed his thumbs over them, a rude gesture in this part of the world. Seeing the remnant of his arm dangling from the manacle still attached to his left wrist, he had a devilishly gruesome idea. 

The next morning, the whole town was awoken by the screams of a young couple who had gone out for a stroll.

Right there, in the middle of the town square, was part of a crudely severed arm, its fingers frozen in an obscene gesture, its skin slimy and already starting to slip off. A manacle was clamped around its wrist, attached by a short chain to the other one, which had been broken open. 

The execution had failed, and that heinous pirate had escaped.

Castys Cult: @as-a-matter-of-whump​ @blackrosesandwhump​ @fanmanga1357-blog​​ @thehopelessopus​ @just-a-whumping-racoon-with-wifi​ @hearse-song​ @muddy-swamp-bitch @whumpasaurus101 @yet-another-heathen​​ @galaxywhump​ @starnight-whump​ @his-unspoken-words

[somewhatgoodatart]

How to get a platonic fake-date in six easy steps - Ch. 4

Ch. 1 | Ch. 3 | Ch. 5

Giving each other gifts that make you look like a couple.

-

She must have heard wrong. There was no way- her eyes fell on Darius, frozen in the spot. Raine reached out a hand towards his shaking fists but Darius brushed them off, readjusting his bag before turning away from them with an unreadable expression. “I’ll see you at my house at six, songbird. We’ll pick you up, ladies.” “Darius-“ He took off before Lilith could reach him, worry heavy in her chest.

Raine made their way up the path leading towards Vainglory Manor. It was a quiet evening and where others might describe the silence as calming, Raine couldn’t help but feel like it was the calm before a nerve-wrecking storm. They could almost hear the distress in the faint bird calls. As they reached the big carved entrance door Raine rightened their suit once more. They weren’t sure whether or not Darius was alone at home but just in case. They didn’t want to make a bad impression on anyone.

Raine thanked their intuition when they raised their hand to knock and the door swung open. Seeing nobody in the entrance hall Raine slowly stepped into the house, carefully looking around for anyone when they reached the main hall and spotted a woman waiting on one of the lounges. “You must be Raine Whispers”, she mused. “Yes, Mrs. Vainglory.” “Well, it’s nice to finally meet you”, she motioned towards another couch, “take a seat. It looks like Darius will keep us waiting once again, you know how he his.” She let out a laugh that was just a tad too short but Raine simply nodded while they tried not to stare too obviously.

There was gold décor everywhere, paired with beautifully arranged flowers and ornate fabrics. There were no pictures, save for an enormous painting above the fireplace, picturing a slightly younger Darius in formal clothing, sitting with two older women, clearly his mothers, by the look of it. Raine couldn’t help but notice how none of their smiles looked real. It was the same smile that Mrs. Vainglory was wearing now, absent eyes wandering through the room while her fingers tapped out an impatient beat, long fingernails clinking against her tea cup. It was only when a door on the upper floor fell shut that her eyes snapped back towards the big staircase. “Darius, finally. You look wonderful.” The words sounded practiced, repeated already a hundred times but Raine didn’t want to disagree.

Darius made an impressive picture as he descended down the stairs: polished white shoes and matching short cloves that barely glided over the railing, deep purple suit vest fitted perfectly to match his ascot and the shoulder cape brushing around his ankles. He looked every bit the man that he wanted to portrait, and Raine couldn’t help but congratulate Lilith in their mind (not that Eda wasn’t absolutely amazing but wow). “You look good.” “I know”, Darius smirked, “You don’t look half-bad yourself.” Raine grinned as Darius lightly nudged his side. “You should get going”, his mother’s eyes weren’t even on them anymore, “It would look rather bad if the Grom King came too late.” Darius’ jaw clenched almost unnoticeably and this time Raine managed to slip their fingers over his fist, tapping along his knuckles while Darius lead them outside. “You’ll do fine”, they tried to reassure while Darius called down Apoll. “I know, sometimes I just wish she-“, he interrupted himself with the shake of his head and simply waited for Raine to climb onto the staff behind him.

Raine was glad that they were somewhat shielded from the sharp wind as Darius raced through the sky. “I’m pretty sure we will still be on time.” Darius didn’t answer but Raine could feel them slowing down a bit. “I know you’re worried about the evening. Defeating Grom is…not an easy feat.” “It’s not the fight that I’m worried about”, Darius grumbled, “I am being trained in combat by one of the most powerful witches on the Boiling Isles. It’s Grom’s defense that I’m worried about. It shows you your greatest fear and…I’m not looking forwards to whatever that will be. Because I’m pretty sure that I shoved mine so far into my subconscious that I don’t even know what it is. There is no way for me to prepare.” That, Raine could understand. They always liked to have a full picture of the situation before rushing into it. Especially when performing in front of a crowd…

“I can’t look into your mind”, they broke the heavy silence, “but I could help with at least one of your fears. Vulnerability is a big part of this ordeal, is it not? That’s why Grom always comes out in a crowd, because no-one wants their deepest insecurities and fears laid open in front of their peers. But I might be able to help.” Darius didn’t answer but his ears twitched, telling Raine that he was still listening. “I could create a sort of sound barrier to muffle anything said. I’m fairly sure that most students are more interested in the fight anyway. But it could be another layer of protection, if you want.” They slowly started to lose height. “I don’t want you to strain yourself”, Darius’ voice was dark, he was considering the relief but Raine could hear the shame at the admittance at the same time. “You’re saving our school from an ancient evil. I can do this for a friend.” They just managed to nudge his shoulder with a soft smile before they landed and Darius slipped off his staff.

Nervously approaching the Clawthorne estate Raine pulled out their bouquet for Eda out of a protected pocket. Darius joined them quickly, Apoll on his shoulders and his own flower arrangement in hand.

-

Lilith hadn’t comprehended the last two pages of the story she was trying to read. She had hoped that a book might distract her but evidently, she had been wrong. Her sight wandered over to Eda, nestled in the other side of the bed and constantly smoothing over her dress. Her sister looked wonderful but even she had had a hard time dropping the nervous expression. Lilith got up with a sigh. “They should be here any minute now. Might as well get down already.” Eda threw her an uplifting smile that did little to calm Lilith’s nerves but she took her hand and followed her down the stairs after one last look in the mirror.

“Oh girls, you look so beautiful! And Lilith, you look so mature and regal!” Their mother was already close to tears, picture apparition at the ready. Lilith couldn’t help but smile a bit, arm swinging to flare out the mid-length cape attached to her shoulder. “Your dates must be so lucky to see you!” Eda grinned at the thought of impressing Raine and it would be sickeningly adorable if Lilith’s thoughts didn’t immediately drift to Darius. She doubted that he considered himself particularly lucky right now. But it would be fine, she told herself, he was more talented than she liked to admit sometimes. He would get through the fight and then they could all enjoy a completely relaxed and normal Grom night. Like usual.

A knocking at the door snapped her out of her thoughts. “That must be them!”, their mother rushed to open the door and there they were. Raine looked especially pretty, all decked out in a red-toned tuxedo-dress to fit Eda’s dress who immediately rushed forward to greet her partner while Lilith’s eyes were locked onto Darius. “I wasn’t aware you would be matching me”, he joked, his own cape swirling playfully. “Neither did I”, Lilith admitted, but their blue and purple did look quite beautiful together. “I was right”, Lilith looked up at the words, in her heels she could almost look him in the eyes without trouble, “the necklace does suit you.” Lilith blushed again- seriously? – and her hand subconsciously came up to stroke over the fine metal again. “Yes, thank you again”, Darius looked like he wanted to recline the thanks again but Lilith didn’t give him a change as she pulled an oval sphere out of her pants pocket, “I got you something as well.”

She uncurled her fingers carefully, displaying the glowing liquid swirling inside the ornament. “Artificial abomination. I know most Abomination wielders carry it as a basis for their advanced abomination shaping and as power enhancer. I figured tonight might be as good as any to start.” She watched in quiet joy as Darius carefully took the sphere, quickly fasting it to the knot of his ascot. “That’s the most common way to carry it, I think”, she kept explaining, “but in theory you can shape it however you want to suit your needs without constantly straining your own resources.” “It fits just fine”, Darius smiled down at her, “you have a good eye for these things, darling.” Lilith shoved him back, laughing softly, “Don’t you start with these nicknames again. My mom already thinks we’re dating.” Even though currently her eyes seemed to be glued to Eda and Raine, who were busy being blushing messes in the middle of their living room. “So these won’t do?” Darius held up a beautiful arrangement of abomination-colored flowers, yet when Lilith looked closer, they didn’t seem goopy but almost crystalline. “No, they’re perfect”, Lilith breathed out, once again realizing just how much care they had put into this evening. It couldn’t go wrong now.

-

An awful lot of almost-tears and pictures later the four of them found themselves on their way to Hexside, Raine sharing a staff with Eda now (not that they minded). “Did Raine talk to you?”, Lilith leaned over, once again grateful for the comfortable suit while Eda was left to figure out her dress-situation. “They did. Absolutely stupid of them…but then maybe I am too for agreeing.” “You’re not”, Lilith argued, “and neither are they. We would have all done it…Raine just happened to have the right techniques at hand. I hate to admit that my illusion magic is not as good as I would like it too be, otherwise I would have helped too. I can understand wanting to keep your privacy but of course I don’t want to accidentally give you an illusion. If you got hurt-“ “Hey”, Darius chimed in, “you said it yourself: We could all hold our ground against Grom. And I’m not about to disappoint that expectation.” Lilith felt her smile growing from his words and just for a moment she could almost think that he believed them too.

Raine and Eda seemed to be doing well enough behind them and Lilith tried to hold their joy and- relative- carelessness in her heart even when they landed in front of Hexside and made their way through the decorated halls and masses of waiting students. It didn’t help her much when they entered the dance hall and the pit opened below them, weapons lining the wall. This was not at all fine.

[withmyhonesty]

Leo Tsukinaga - Sub Story - Part 2

"Fufu, it seems that everyone calls our Leader "Ousama!" Such a name is an oath of loyalty, is it not? He must truly be wonderful... ☆"

Tsukasa: Everyone! Quickly, quickly. Hurry up! There's an emergency!

Arashi: Waaait, Tsukasa-chan? Hold on, what on Earth is happening? I thought today was our day off from "Knights" activities, right? My club has a tournament soon, so I kind of need to show up at practice, hmm? But even without practice, the outcome will still be favourable... Still, I should probably go anyway, if my club wants to aim high in the competition. I wonder if everyone will forget me if I fail to show up, it's possible? It's hard to get into the friendly atmosphere, it makes me feel blue just thinking about it.

Ritsu: Ow~... weh, ow ow?

Arashi: Wait, Tsukasa-chan. It's fine to bring Ritsu-chan along too, but let's give him a hand at least? If you drag him by his ankle and shake him around, his head will bang around, hmm?

Tsukasa: A-ah! How rude of me! Narukami-senpai, please lend me your hand, and, ah, you too, Sena-senpai! I simply do not have time to wake Ritsu-senpai, so I apologise. This way, come quickly! Express...☆

Arashi: Ahh, honestly... What could've possibly happened? It's not like Tsukasa-chan to act like this at all, isn't it? Do you know anything, Izumi-chan?

Izumi: Eh, who knows? He was shouting about the "Knights" leader, but that's impossible, "that guy" wouldn't have returned, would he?

Tsukasa: That "impossible" event truly happened, Sena-senpai ♪ Truthfully, I asked Oneesama a favour, to help search for the Leader of "Knights" who disappeared~♪

Arashi: Huh, then you've found him? If that's really the case, then this really is an emergency ♪ Our "Ousama"... we've lost track of him many times before, so it's difficult to find him, isn't it? When we asked the local Police, I heard they completely gave up. We had a difficult time trying to help them, too. I wonder what Anzu-chan has done to find our "Ousama".

Tsukasa: I don't really know. But, it seems Oneesama has kept Leader in the studio! Before he disappears and his whereabouts become unknown once again, we must greet him at least once!

Arashi: If that's the case, is it okay if you go alone, Tsukasa-chan? The rest of us here are familiar with him already. Although, I guess it has been a while since we saw his face, hasn't it.

Izumi: Hmph, well I wanted to replenish our "weapons" soon enough ♪ By the way, because of the circumstances... If "Ousama" insists to resign, won't I be appointed the new Leader of "Knights"? Since the person supposedly at the top keeps going missing, it's always such a pain going through the formal procedures for lives and such, isn't it? Really, it's so annoying~!

Tsukasa: Everyone, that's enough of the chitchat! We've arrived at the studio now. It's the first time that us "Knights" members are seeing the King that we serve with our own eyes! Ahh, I'm getting all excited! Come on, come on, to our audience... ☆

Change of Scene: Studio

Tsukasa: Excuse my intrusion! Us "Knights" members are here to greet you! ♪ Oh, Oneesama? Excuse me for the rudeness! I opened the door so quickly, it must have frightened you... ♪ Hm? What's the matter? You look confused... where is our Leader of us "Knights"?

Ritsu: Auuh~... my head is pounding, and my eyes are aching. Did I hear that right, that Ousama is back?

Tsukasa: Fufu, it seems that everyone calls our Leader "Ousama!" Such a name is an oath of loyalty, is it not? He must truly be wonderful... ☆

Leo: Aah, it's coming to me! The inspiration~!

Tsukasa: ...Oh? What might this be? There appears to be music notes written in permanent marker all over the walls and floor. Might this person be suspicious? Let's be rid of them immediately ♪

Leo: Wahahaha ☆ That ruthless "Emperor", did he surrender? Did anyone rebel against him? Haah!? Whilst I was away, it looks like things got pretty interesting at Yumenosaki Academy... ☆ Ah! Don't tell me anything yet, once all important members are present, the opera will begin! It won't stop, my delusions running in the universe... Wahahaha ☆ Wahahahaha ☆ Wahahahahaha~ ☆

Arashi: Hmm? You're truly the same as always, aren't you, "Ousama"?

Tsukasa: Huh? U-um, did you say "Ousama"? That over the top, eccentric person over there is the Leader of us "Knights"?

Arashi: Mmhm, he's truly back, isn't he...? ♪ Wait wait, "Ousama"! You're scaring the newbie here, so calm down with the nonsense! Stop scribbling on the walls, the teachers will also get mad too, won't they!?

Leo: Hmm? Ah! It's Naru! Long time no see, I see you're still as unpleasant as ever!

Arashi: Ehh? Why is that the first thing you say to me?! I'm offended!

Leo: Swaying around left and right, it's truly an amusing sight! I love you, I looove you! ☆ Ooh, Rittsu and Sena are also here! It feels like it's been ten thousand to two thousand years! How have you guys been, my "Knights"? ♪

Tsukasa: Um...?

Leo: Oh, there's someone here I don't know! Hang on a sec! Let me think about who you might be! There must be some materials to make a guess, and a bundle of ideas, wow! The opera begins... ☆ in any case, you're an alien, right?! Uchuu! I came up with a greeting to offer the universe. Though, it's not that important right now! Wahahaha ☆ Wait a minute, that's not important right now! Don't be annoying, I'm writing a song that will be super famous! You can witness the moment this masterpiece will be born! Ah damn! I don't have any paper and I'm not allowed to write on the walls, but my inspiration is overflowing into this mysterious composing mood! ♪ Wait! My shoulders are stiff, someone rub them immediately! This sort of interaction is also stimulating for my music!

Tsukasa: U-uh, erm...?

Arashi: Ignore him, Tsukasa-chan. Our "Ousama" has always been this eccentric artist since long before, hasn't he? Once he's in the zone, he immerses himself completely in composing without food or rest, mm? Since he's acting like this now, it's probably because he hasn't come back here for a while now. ♪

Tsukasa: I... Is that so? But I wanted to properly introduce myself to our Leader...?

Izumi: Ehh, that's not really necessary, though? That guy doesn't pay attention to anyone anyway, you understand? This guy has never been great at cooperating, his skills are abysmal and I don't need to keep saying it. He's still the same though, the one in charge of us "Knights" ♪ His physical abilities are weirdly good because of his eccentricities, so he has great dancing abilities. But it's always unusable for lives and performances because he arranges his own choreography as he goes, you see? Even if he is exceptionally talented when it comes to composing, he doesn't want to sing them, and prefers "others singing his songs for him".

Tsukasa: Ehhh? How useless... Oh, how rude of me, I-I have no such honourable skills, but how did this person become our Leader?

Leo: Wh, wha? What am I doing here at Yumenosaki Academy? One of you, tell me! Wait, don't tell me! Now that I think about it, this place has a melody hidden deep inside... ☆ Ah, I just remembered! You all have a live tomorrow! As "Knights"!

Izumi: Haa? Why do you think you can say whatever you like after just coming back from being away for so long?

Leo: Nnn, Anzu was the one who found the job for you! We made a competition so she'd tell me what was going on at this school in my absence! And the stuff I'm not told would be supplemented by my delusions, hmm~? She told me as much as she knew, and I listened to it all! So I must pay back my debt as a form of gratitude, right? Besides, it seems fun ☆ Just you guys wait! The song I'm writing now will be ready for you tomorrow! The melody is almost complete, and now you have this newbie kid with you as another part of your team, it'll be an interesting song! Wahahaha ☆ It's coming to me, the inspiration!

Arashi: Yes yes, alright. Whatever you say, "Ousama". With this new song you're preparing for us... With our "weapon", we can destroy all of our enemies ♪ Even once you're done, make sure to eat well and get enough sleep. It'll cause us more problems if you suddenly collapse. Anzu-san, he's a problem child, but would you mind taking care of him for us? Well then, it seems like we'll be busy for now... ♪

Ritsu: Hehe. It's been a while... Mm, with this new line up, it'll be our first show with all of us "Knights" members, won't it~? ♪

Izumi: Ehh~ Am I really doing a live again without you guys having my say? Well, it truly can't be helped, can it now? Now that "Ousama" has finally returned, I can show my arrogant side to "Trickstar" and the others~ ♪

Tsukasa: W-why are my seniors full of passion?! I don't understand! Us "Knights" that have been disconnected from each-other, to now showing so much passion, I'm so interested, but...? O-Oneesama? W-what should I do, in a situation like this?

Leo: Don't lose your heads! A Knight must be majestic and gallant! Whether you are cowardly or fearless! Gruesome or beautiful - ah, how cliche! It's no use! Pretend you didn't hear that! Don't worry at all, Newbie! Give up your heart and surrender to your senses, abandon your form to whatever fate lies for us, and break free of it all! Aah, words simply aren't enough! I need music~! Anyway, prepare for our war, my "Knights"! Let's go, I feel like overthrowing a chessboard for old times sake! No one will be able to get rid of me, as I am the naked Emperor! Wahahahaha ☆

[secret-engima]

spideypoolalways

Does Regis ever ask how Titus has papers for the boys? Whats Cor or Clarus' PoV of this? What are some things (fluff or humor) that the boys get up to? Because I can see them getting adopted into the Ulric Clan because of shenanigans and Nyx going 'Yes, these are my people' since LCs just remind me of Ulrics with magic. And how do the Galatians take to the nephew of the Nif Chancellor and clone of the Crown Prince? Since I'm imagining that Titus told some of them and the

spideypoolalways

rest are guessing anyway. And does everyone assume that Noctis and Nox's magics resonated since they're kinda sorta close to each other/are the same person? How does Regis take the news that the only reason that Noctis got healed is because Nox pretty much felt everything Noctis did? /Both/ of his sons were basically attacked by a daemon and he only knew about one of them at the time and didn't do anything to calm or reassure Nox? (Clarus: Only because you didn't know

spideypoolalways

About him, Regis. Regis: Thats no excuse, Clarus.) Does Iris get to be a Shield or did Nox latch onto Axis or one of his kids? Does Acastus find Prompting and drop him off with Noct/Cor? Does Nox hang out with Noct, Ignis, Gladiolus and Prom all the time or does the memories act up enough to make him feel weird about it? How does Regis take his brother and son's Sick Days? What about Dissidia? The 3 youngest Royals getting snatched and the group watching on Crystal

spideypoolalways

Vision? Dad Titus/Regis freaking out over their kids having been summoned to a death match? And how exactly does Titus see the boys? Sons, brothers, cousins? Oooh, more Trauma. Noct, Nox and Acastus w/others playing and end up in the Crystal room. Cue the boys lighting up, maybe passing out because the magic hits their young system really hard (its why Royals aren't supposed to be Presented until 18) and everyone freaks out, and news makes it to Regis and Titus that they

spideypoolalways

Are in the infirmary and the gist of what happened via panicked guards and rush there immediately and are jumped by panicked kids talking and crying about what happened. I didn't realize I had so many questions. But now I need to know. 👀👀 Please!🙏

spideypoolalways

Oh! Just remembered a little more! Does anyone pick up on the people/places that he shouldn't know? Do they assume that Nox got some of it from Noct, like with the Marelith? Or are they assuming LC/ Oracle DNA mix?

Me: Yes, Regis asks about the papers and Titus doesn’t OUTRIGHT admit he did an illegal but he does grudgingly explain that he needed papers in case the NIfs came looking and he ... knows ... a few people who can help ... “recreate” papers for refugees who lost theirs in whatever fire or tragedy drove them from their homes.

Regis mulls over that for ten long seconds then blatantly pretends he never heard it in the first place. Those “people” likely saved the life of his son and half-brother, he can let it slide this once.

I need Nyx Ulric to adopt these two now JUST so Nyx can tease that he’s related to Captain (then later when he learns that they’re Lucis Caelums he can quietly die in a corner because OH NO HE’S RELATED TO THE KING). Not sure how or when Nyx adopts them, but he absolutely does.

It probably happens when he's just a wee bit sloshed. Not enough to be incoherent or insincere, but enough that he doesn’t feel any fear offering to adopt the pair while babysitting them because Captain had to work late and Nyx is off the combat roster until his ankle heals. Once he’s sober he is a Panic™, but Captain takes it surprisingly well and Nox loves his new braid. Acastus just looks Amused™.

Lib slaps Nyx over the head because IDIOT THINK THIS STUFF THROUGH then gives him another drink because TWO MORE ULRICS. It’s a good thing Nyx is an Ulric Keeper in this AU, because he can teach them most of the Ulric Clan stories and dances and make them proper Ulrics.

Acastus loves introducing himself as Acastus Ulric Drautos, both because it’s fancy like “Lucis Caelum” is and also because it made both Titus and Nyx spit their coffee the first time they hear it.

The Galahdians ... have mixed feelings at first. But the predominant one is that it doesn’t matter that this kid is clearly related to the Chancellor (at first they all think the Chancellor bedded Captain’s Aunt, since they don’t know about the LC blood, and that’s why he looks like Ardyn) because Captain has clearly staked a claim on him. Galahd (in my HCs) is a Very Adoption Heavy culture and big on judging people by their current family rather than any previous blood ties, so ... mostly the Chancellor thing gets intensely ignored. Acastus isn’t an Izunia, he’s a Drautos (and then later an Ulric). So they will treat him as such.

But in private there is some debate on exactly what happened, for the Chancellor to vanish around the time his ... relation (son? They mostly assume son), shows up in Drautos’s care.

No few number of them think Titus stumbled on Ardyn with the two kids and killed the Chancellor to save them.

For Nox ... the Lucis Caelum blood is basically impossible to hide. This boy LOOKS like a literal carbon copy of the Prince but younger and he’s young so his control over his magic is ... not. Not that good. Especially not when there’s so mUCH of it.

All of Galahd listened to the Glaive who was on babysitting duty when Nox had a rare tantrum and skewered the wall with ghostly blades and all privately, immediately agree to Never Tell Anyone. Ever.

Well. To be fair, they do debate whether they have a duty to tell Regis, but again the Adoption Culture comes into play and they decide it’s up to Titus to spill that secret. A few Glaives do ask Titus about it (Titus nearly has a heart attack because SINCE WHEN DID THEY KNOW) and when they ask if they know who the mother was, Titus looks very grim and very, very quiet for a long time, then admits:

There is no mother. There never was.

They stare at him in confusion until Acastus, lurking nearby with too-sharp eyes, gives a smile that could cut and says brittlely that “amazing things that can be done with science these days you know. Truly amazing. Why, get a blood sample and a tank of the right solutions and you could probably grow anything you wanted”.

The Glaives are Horrified™. So is the rest of Little Galahd when it gets around and then is made a Clan Secret by all the Clans unanimously. The secret never leaves the borders of their little slum.

Also yes, people assume that Noctis’s and Nox’s magic resonated because Nox is a clone and it freaks them out.

Regis is Such A Guilt when he finds out how Acastus knew about Noctis’s injury. No it doesn’t matter that he DIDN’T KNOW NOX EXISTED. One of his son’s (his FIVE YEAR OLD son) was suffering. Was screaming in agony and terror and Regis didn’t do a THING about it and no amount of logic can make that better.

Nox latches onto Axis’s triplets in this AU so while Iris will be best friends with him, his Shield, Hand, and Sword are actually all made up of Axis’s three kids. Axis is a BIT of an internal Scream when Nox is at the age people start making noises about him building a Retinue and taking Iris as his Shield and Nox goes, “NO. I have a Shield already! A Hand and Sword too!” And stuff spirals out to reveal Axis as Clarus’s kid (Clarus takes it much better than Axis thought he would, tho Axis didn’t expect to see Lord Amicitia go deathly pale and sit down hard in the nearest chair).

Honestly Iris might be the future love interest in this AU you never know. It would be hilarious if nothing else.

Bold of you to assume Acastus didn’t find Prompto early and bring him home to NOX because “Look Beloved Nibling I Found You A Friend!”. Prompto is a confusion because Nox is like- 4 at the time. But Prompto likes babysitting and playing with Nox and hearing Acastus’s stories and Titus just kinda- sighs his way through the playdates until he realizes that Prompto has been staying in his house for about two weeks with no sign of the parents.

Titus, after much snooping later, sitting at the kitchen table of Grandma Ostium quietly pulling his hair out: HOW DO YOU ADOPT A THIRD CHILD. DOES IT COUNT AS KIDNAPPING IF THEY COME OVER AND STAY WITH YOU FOREVER AND THE LEGAL PARENTS NEVER NOTICE. ACASTUS WHY DID YOU DO THIS TO ME.

Acastus: I regret nothing. Do you want me to fake Prompto’s death? I’m sure there’s enough Prompto’s out there that nobody will notice if you gain a nephew called Prompto Drautos.

Titus, holding his face in his hands while Grandma Ostium laughs at him in the corner: NO, ACASTUS. DO NOT FAKE THE DEATH OF THE CHILD. How do you even know how to do that? Nevermind I don’t want to know.

Roughly a year later when Everything Gets Revealed, Titus and Cor: *intense staring contest over Smol Blond Child*

Cor: You don’t know where he-

Titus, growling like a cranky Behemoth that might very well bite off someone’s head: He’s a Niflheim created clone. I know.

Cor: ....

Titus: He's been living in my house for a year. I’ve seen the barcode. It’s not like I wasn’t raising one already.

Cor: His legal parents-

Titus: Is me. The Argentums were emotionally neglectful and didn’t even notice when he hadn’t come home for a week and a half.

Cor: *guilty angry silence*

Titus: ...Kid could use an uncle. If you want to man up and be part of his life.

(hgfhg this is post is getting long Imma try to speed through the last questions a bit)

Yes, Nox hangs out with the Chocobros when he can because he adores them (especially Brother Prompto and Team Mom Iggy) but he also has his own friend group in the Little Galahd community so it doesn’t strike anyone as odd really. Nox is a naturally loving child for all he’s shy and Iggy and Gladio are Noctis’s friends and Prompto is his adopted brother (and later Noctis’s best friend).

Regis does Not take the Sick Days well. It makes him alarmed and angry because Lucis Caelums aren’t supposed to get sick days from their own magic and it speaks of BAD THINGS that both of the presumably experimented on and tortured LCs have them.

I’m going to have to come back to Dissidia another time (someone remind me) because this post is too long to ramble here but it would be- it would be Great. Honestly. It would either be the 3 littlest, just Acastus, or just Acastus and REGIS for some brotherly bonding and any of them would be Great and Chaotic. Crystal-o-vision absolutely happens.

The Crystal Room is under 24 hour guard so I don’t think the kids could wander in by accident, plus Acastus would actively avoid the area because of his Trauma.

Now Acastus being presented when he turns 18 on the other hand... >:))))))

Short Version: Much shouting, much alarm, much angst from Regis and Titus and everyone and also the first Sick Day Acastus has had since he turned 17 and by far one of the worst he’s ever had in his (second) life.

I might to a longer version later but not right now.

For Nox’s oddities and odd knowledge they kind of assume both? At first they think it’s just him resonating with Noctis so deeply that there’s a transfer (cue angst from Regis because what is going to happen to Nox when Noctis fulfills his destiny as Chosen King???) but then when Nox starts knowing stuff Noctis doesn’t/can’t know, they start to wonder if the scientists ... Tampered with his DNA. If they got their hands on Noctis’s, which should have been impossible, then it’s not all that out there they got their hands on Oracle DNA.

Sylva is ... very alarmed and very confused when Regis secretly contacts her on a secure encrypted line to ask if there were any ... symptoms to look for in an Oracle child. Because- yes there were but WHY DO YOU NEED TO KNOW?

Regis: they wouldn’t happen to be *lists very specific things*

Sylva: ....Have you seen any Messengers nearby lately.

Regis: Carbuncle, a black puppy that disappears into thin air, and a bird woman who can summon wind storms. She calls herself Garuda.

Sylva, having a minor crisis behind her Queenly Facade: I am Very Sure I only have two children so please explain this. Right Now.

Regis: Well............. NiflheimclonedmysonandIthinkmixeditwiththednaofyouoryourdaughterandhehasseerpowersandImayormaynotbepanickingrightnowpleasehelpme.

Sylva, slowly running that over in her mind and figuring out what Regis just said:...

W H A T.

XD Honestly Niflheim might invade Tenebrae only to find the royal family gone because Sylva coincidentally packed her backs and took her and her children on a secret trip to Lucis to have a look at Nox, then since they’re there when Niflheim invades and a spy gets word on what just happened Sylva and Co just- stay there. Oracle Mom Death averted.

Also they absolutely think that it’s Luna’s DNA they used to make Nox because of how instantly Nox gloms onto Luna like a limpet- JUST like he did with Noctis and Regis, and how Luna gets this dazed look in her eyes as their magic tangles and she whispers, “I ... I know you. I know you, don’t I Little Prince? I met you in a dream.” Luna starts crying softly as she pets Nox’s hair and when Sylva asks in alarm why she’s crying, Luna blinks and whispers, “Because he was crying in the dream, and I couldn’t comfort him.”

Acastus lurks in the shadows, watching it all with ... very mixed feelings.

Oracles. He could have gone his entire second life without meeting anymore Oracles. Aera she looks so much like you is that what our daughter would have looked like and oh astrals I KILLED her. I killed the girl with your eyes and your smile and laughed about it later.

[thiswasinevitableid]

for mermay, 9 indruck nsfw?

Here you go! #9 was folklore, Indrid’s design is based on a blue-ring Octopus, and I borrowed from one of the Discord convos we had about mer Indrid recently.

Content note: there is implied transphobia/misgendering in the reason Duck ends up in the water.

Duck goes to the depths still protesting, hands and ankles bound in rope and dark water closing over his head. 

No amount of insisting he was the man he said he was or appealing to logic was enough; a woman aboard, even when he isn’t a woman, is bad luck and must be gotten rid off. So here he is, drowning for the sake of superstition, folklore and nonsense the reason his lungs scream in protest, denied air. 

Whoever said drowning was like falling asleep was a damn liar; he’s in agony, reduced to his most basic state of a creature that wants to stay alive and cursed with the knowledge that he won’t. He shuts his eyes, as if that might make it more dreamlike, and circles past him, he feels fingers on his cheek and then, and then....

Then he’s waking up, chest rising and falling with ease. No more than a nightmare, then, he’s still on the ship-

No, wait, his blanket is floating where he kicked it away. He’s alive, he’s in some sort of bedroom, and he’s fucking confused.

Voices float in under the door, a lilting one reaching him first, “...most stubborn set of legs I ever encountered. A kiss is supposed to be enough, yet while his body can survive in our realm, it insists on remaining like itself.”

“Indrid, his majesty is going to be unhappy when he finds out.”

“I am aware, Vincent. And if my brother finds a drowning man, he may rescue him or not as he sees fit. He does not get to dictate my conscious.”

“I mean, I think you did the right thing” A woman’s voice now, “but he’s still pretty angry at you for the whole giving me legs incident.”

“You wanted to see your beloved, and I am almost as fond of Aubrey as I am of you. A charm that allows you to go between worlds is hardly cause for such a fuss.”

“It was the no-voice thing that bothered him.”

A sigh, “Time and again I have reminded him that strong magic comes with a price. In your case it was easily paid, because Aubrey recognized you instantly and kissed you. As if I would send my own niece into a situation where she might be trapped.” The last sentence is muttered, like the speaker knows no one will listen.

“I know that. That’s why you're my favorite uncle.”

“I am your only uncle” the smile is audible, “and I am just glad the two of you will be married soon. Now if you will excuse me, my foresight tells me my guest is awake.”

A door opens and shuts, and a moment later the curtain of kelp at the end of the room parts. Duck’s never believed in mermaids (or mermen), but that’s what swims to him now, human face and torso giving way to eight silvery tentacles dotted with deep blue rings. They’re almost as striking as his face, his features sharp and alien, crowned with silver-white hair. 

“Hello” The mer smiles with sharp teeth, “How are you feeling?”

“Uh, not as confused as I could be on account of what I heard, but still tryin to work out why the fuck you saved me at all.”

“Three reasons: for starters, I dislike having corpses floating around the kingdom. I also do not see the point in having the power of foresight if I cannot use it to prevent suffering when possible. And finally I…” The calm smile on his face falters a moment, “I saw the moments that lead to your being thrown into the waves. You were condemned for being something you are not. I, ah, I could not let such an injustice come to pass.” His mask remakes itself, “and so here you are, Duck Newton.”

“And the kiss?” Duck raises his eyebrow.

“Ah, yes. If a mer kisses a dying human, that human will become a mer themselves. Except in your case, you have-”

“-Stubborn legs?”

A light laugh, “And here I thought I would be the one interrupting you. Yes, exactly. I have no idea why. I’m simply glad the magic worked well enough to help you breathe. There is a, ah, an issue however. My visions show that in your current state, you will not be able to survive on land.”

“But you said somethin about a charm to your, uh, niece?”

“That worked because it simply had to take her from mermaid to human; you’re stuck between forms in a way that, were I to apply the same approach to you it would end badly. As in accidentally turn you into a fish badly, at least in most timelines.”

“Huh” Duck worries the inside of his cheek with his tongue, “so I’m stuck here.”

“Indeed. I’m sorry.” Indrid sits on the foot of the bed, tentacles moving this way and that to fidget with the blankets, the bedposts, and the stray shells on the floor, “This has never happened before, and I did not mean to trap you in this way, I only meant to save you, to give you freedom.”

“That’s more than a lot of folks’ve tried to give me lately.” Tentatively, he touches the tentacle tip nearest him. It weaves between his fingers, the pressure from the suckers on the underside oddly pleasant. He rubs his thumb over a blue spot, which draws Indrid’s attention. His face goes pink and he pulls the tentacle back.

“Apologies, they have a mind of their own at times.”

“Don’t bother me. I, uh, I was just tryin to show you I ain’t mad. Feel a little adrift, but that’s a damn sight better then bein’ dead.”

“Adrift--OH, oh I see, you are going to say you do not know what to do now. The answer is heal; even though you are alive, your body and mind suffered before I saved you. You need rest and care, and I promise you shall want for neither. You are my honored guest, Duck Newton. My home is yours. I, ah, I would offer to let you leave the instant you are feeling able, but as you heard there are some issues with you being seen in this state.”

“Used to layin low.” Duck sighs, flopping back on the bed (or trying to, as he floats down onto the mattress instead).

“I gathered. If I had things my way, you would not need to do such things here. Alas, until my brother gets eaten by a shark, we may be dealing with this arrangement for some time” he gestures to the room, bathed in blues and greens as light filters down from the surface and in through the windows. Two tentacles gather the blanket, spreading it back up Duck’s body and smoothing it down. 

“Rest now, Duck Newton. In the morning I will have much to show you.”

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

Duck wakes up clawing at the water above the bed, heart beating fast enough he fears it might eject itself up his throat. 

The nightmares a fewer these last two days, but whenever they want to be done for good is fine by him. 

He gathers seaweed green robe Indrid gave him and makes his way out of the bedroom and down the hall. Indrid gave him a bracelet of cowrie shells that’s enchanted to let him walk without floating away. He’s a strong swimmer, but without a tail to aid him he tires quickly against the force of the water.

The merman’s house is huge, an attempt by the king to keep him happy without giving him any useful power. Most rooms are cluttered with etchings and drawings or items salvaged from wrecks or the shoreline. There are spare beds, but after the night where Duck awoke in a panic and could not calm down, where Indrid found him the next morning exhausted and shaking, the mer offered to sleep in the same room with him. Duck pointed out that it was technically Indrid’s bedroom anyway and he could sleep there if he wanted to. The mer dragged a variety of comfy pillows into the corner and declared he would be quite happy there. More than once Duck’s woken up first to see him sprawled out on the cushions, always clinging one against his chest. Duck wonders what would happen if he offered to take it’s place. He suspects he could  do so without issue. 

He’s no stranger to being admired, though the last time someone eyed him so approvingly he ran off to sea to avoid marrying them. Indrid’s red eyes contain the same desire but none of the entitlement. The merman’s been staring at him since that first day, though it’s only recently that he let’s Duck seem him doing so, after Duck caught his eye and stared right back. 

Teasing Indrid is more fun than he expected, because while the mer usually gives as good as he gets, some days he blushes and wiggles his tentacle tips under Ducks attention. Indrid is obviously high status and, in Duck’s view, the most captivating mer in the kingdom; making him go pinker than a virgin at a striptease from a little flirting is gratifying. 

His absolute favorite part of his new home, aside from Indrid, are the gardens at the center. Coral glistens and rainbows of fish flit across his path, sea flowers bloom and wave as he passes by. The best place to sit is in a massive clam shell with an excellent view of the grounds and the city beyond. It also happens to be Indrid’s preferred location to draw. 

The mer takes one look at him and extends a tentacle, guiding Duck down to nestle close to him. When they’re with arms reach, one hand leaves his drawing to pet Duck’s thigh soothingly. He tilts his head, intending to study the sketch and ask about it, but ends up with his head on Indrid’s shoulder, slipping back into sleep. 

“Oh dear.” Indrid murmurs, closing the book as a flurry of voices swim towards them. 

“So, the rumors are true; you’ve brought a human into our domain.”

“Good morning to you as well, dear brother.”

The king crosses his arms, glaring at them, “if you cannot provide a decent reason for your having him here, I will make exile him myself. Right now.” 

Indrid’s expression and voice remain calm, but one tentacle coils around Duck’s ankle and his hand clings to the loose trousers, “He, ah, he is, ah”

“I thought as much.” The king swims forward.

“Pet!” Indrid grins triumphantly, “he’s my pet. You keep saying you wish I would find a way to occupy my time and stay out of trouble, and here he is.” Indrid pulls Duck into his lap, patting his head with such exaggeration Duck has to stifle a laugh, “I have been so busy with him the last few weeks I’ve had little time for anything else. Isn’t that right, Vincent?”

Their friend nods, “Yes, your highness, the prince has found Du--, uh, the human most diverting.”

The king narrows his eyes, “Very well. The human may stay in that capacity.” With that, he swims from the gardens, trailed by his advisors. 

“I gotta start wearing a leash now?” Duck teases, realizing too late that he’d do so in an instant as long as Indrid was holding the other end. 

The blue of the rings deepens, “Not at all. Apologies for referring to you as my pet, but the timelines shifted so heavily in the direction of him casting you into the open sea that I panicked.”

“Aw, you lied to the kings face just for me. Must really like me.”

“I do! I, oh dear have I not made that clear?” Indrid gathers Duck’s hands between his own. 

“You have, I was just teasin you. I don’t mind playin your spoiled pet to get one over on him, provided you keep spoilin me.”

Indrid’s grin returns, “I’m certain I can manage that.”

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

“I hate it when he calls my bluffs.” Indrid glowers into the jeweled box just delivered to their doorstep. Right before Duck asks what’s wrong, the merman hands him a small piece of parchment. 

Prince Indrid, 

Included is a gift for your ‘pet,’ as you are apparently in need of it. It would be a shame for him to get lost, after all.

The note ends with the kings seal. Duck looks up as Indrid turns the box his way, revealing a collar studded with abalone shells and a leash woven from dark, sturdy seaweed. So many obscene images flood his mind it takes two tries before he can focus on Indrid’s words.

“...Thought I kept us clear of anyone who would bother to report us. I’m sure there’s a way around it, ruse aside you are my friend and equal and I will not ask you to humiliate yourself. Hmm, oh goodness, we will need to send word to Dani and Barclay that we cannot come to dinner to tonight, that’s not enough time to draw up a solution, though perhaps we can invite them here instead.” His tentacles trawl the ground as he paces the room.

“‘Drid?”

“Yes?” The mer stops, then his eyes widen, “you are serious?”

“Gotta let me offer first.” He replies with fond exasperation, “I fine with wearin it while we’re out. I know how you really feel about me and, uh, it, uh, makes me feel...safe?” It’s right on the border of a lie by omission, but he manages to get it out. 

“I see” Indrid swims casually towards him, as if that will distract Duck from the pink creeping up his cheeks, “in that case, may I put this on you, pet?”

“Uh huh.” Duck tilts his chin up, shuts his eyes with a happy sigh as Indrid latches the collar in place. The mer stays chest to chest with him, testing to be certain the collar is comfortable. 

“How is that?”

“Woof” Duck deadpans.

Indrid blinks, confused.

“It’s the noise a dog makes.”

Another blink.

“Y’know those things that are like sea lions but on four legs instead of flippers?”

“That’s what those are called. Fascinating.” Indrid loops the leash into place and Duck growls playfully. The mer pats his cheek, fingers lingering on his skin as he purrs, “good boy.”

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

“Are you ready?” Indrid tips to vials of purple powder into a bowl, causing sweet smelling swirls of color to fill the room. 

“Yeah. Been ready for years.” Duck stands opposite from him, drumming his fingers nervously on the rim of the bowl. 

A week ago, Indrid asked in that blunt way of his if Duck wanted his human form to be different than it was. When he said yes, the mer immediately swam from the table and into the library to pull books from shelves. 

“It will take a few days to prepare; I am careful in all my spells but, well...well I suppose when it is you I am inclined to take even more care than usual.”

It’s not the spell that’s making his nerves bubble up his chest; it’s the component of it he has to contribute. A secret, a precious one, because powerful magic will not give something for nothing. 

“Whisper it into the foam.” Indrid gestures to the golden bubbles on the surface of the bowl. 

Duck keeps it short and sweet. Then blinding light surrounds him, pure white spiked through with pink and blue, and he collapses to the ground, unable to do anything but hold himself as the spell courses through him. When the colors fade and the room returns to view, it’s all he can do to make his legs stand. 

“How, ah, how do you feel?” Indrid taps his fingers together nervously, four of his tentacles following suite. 

“Like I got trampled by a horse and came out a new man.”

“Oh. Good.” The fidgeting intensifies. Duck can only think of one reason for that.

“‘Drid? Did, uh, did the spell mean you learned the secret?”

“Yes.”

“Does it bother you? What I said, I mean.”

“No.” 

A pulse of water, flourish of blue and silver, and Indrid’s lips find his. Arms and tentacles lift and hold him as they spin slowly across the room, the mer moaning when Duck drags his hands up his chest. He keeps kissing him as he speaks, mouth growing needier after every pause, “I, there were only a few timelines where you confessed your feelings for me and I, I wanted them so badly but I swore I would only act on your feelings if you used them in the spell, not simply because I saw futures where you might.” Tentacles slide under his shirt and up his pant-leg, “ohhhh, touching you in visions is nothing compared to feeling you for real.”

“Can feel me as much as you want, darlin. Got some things I wanna get my hands on too.” He tangles his fingers in Indrid’s hair, glides his mouth down to kiss his collarbone and tease a nipple with his tongue. 

“Oh my sweet little human, the things I am going to do to yo-”

The doorbell times and Indrid nearly drops him. 

“Damn it all, I forgot we were hosting game night.”

“Don’t worry ’Drid,” Duck pinches the base on one tentacle, “I ain’t goin anywhere, we can pick this up another time.”

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

“I call that a success.” Indrid ushers Duck into the house. They’re returning from Aubrey and Dani’s engagement party (Indrid having provided Aubrey with a mer-charm of her own. As much as he loathes the idea, King Woodbridge has had to give the marriage his blessing; Dani is his only heir. If he disowns her, his throne passes to Indrid, a scenario he hates even more than a human/mer wedding. 

Duck wore his collar all evening in case one of the king’s toadies got it into their heads to tell on him. It also matches the clothing Indrid bought him exceedingly well, and he’s not ashamed he admired himself while passing the mirror. 

Indrid doffs his cloak as Duck closes the bedroom door, “You can remove that now my sweet.”

He leans against the carved driftwood, “And, uh, what if I don’t wanna?”

The mers hand pauses where it’s setting the leash on a table, “then I suggest you come here at once, pet.”

Not for the first time, Duck longs for a tail so he could speed through the water into Indrid’s arms. The mer is impatient as well, gives a wickedly charming grin as the lease whips out on it’s on to connect with the collar so he can yank Duck flush against him. 

“Better, but you are still not as I need you.” Keeping the leash wrapped around one hand, the other starts on the buttons of Duck’s shirt. The human tries to help, only for tentacles to trap his wrists together, “thoughtful, pet, but I do so enjoy unwrapping you myself.”

“‘Drid, pleaseplease hurry.”

“Manners, pet” A tentacle thwacks his ass just as two others pull his pants to the ground. 

“I said please” Duck laughs as Indrid nibbles his neck. 

“Is that sufficient for someone who spoils you as much as I?” Indrid flutters his eyelashes.

Duck bumps their noses together, “Please, ‘Drid, want you to fuck me, you take such good care of me, wanna take care of you right back, I’ll make you feel so good darlin please.”

“Much better”

His remaining clothing falls away. Out of habit, he moves to cover himself, only for his arms and legs to be pulled outwards, leaving him spread-eagle in Indrid’s hold. 

“Do not so much as think about hiding this perfect form from me, pet.” In the front folds between his tentacles, Indrid’s dick begins to emerge.

“Someone get off on admirin his handiwork?”

The smile softens, “I am admiring you, sweet one. You have the finest body I have ever laid eyes on; you did when we met, and you do now. I delight in holding it, touching it, these days I delight in seeing your comfort in your own skin.” A predatory glint returns to his eyes, “and of course, I like fucking you in it. In fact, that gives me an idea.”

Tentacles spin Duck in a half circle as Indrid swims to the mirror, meaning the human sees their reflections as the mer purrs in his ear, “I want you to see just how perfect you look on my cock, pet.”

“Jesusfuck, ‘Drid, yes” His own cock is hardening between his legs as small tendrils part and prod his ass; Indrid’s cock resembles a human one until it reaches it’s base, where the tendrils wait to push his partner further open or coax them to climax. They took some getting used to at first, cool and slick as the teased into Duck’s ass. Now he welcomes them, savors the tenderness with which they ready him. 

Indrid coos and purrs in his ear, chirping whenever his cock grinds between Duck’s cheeks. The hand not holding the leash caresses his face while the tentacles see to everything else. And he means everything

“Fuck!” One coils around his dick as another rubs gently at his balls. The first time they tried this they were cautious, unsure how human anatomy would respond to the pressure and suckers. In Duck’s case, the answer was “cum so hard and fast it takes them both by surprise.”  Indrid had taken one look at the cock with cum still beading at the head and swallowed it to the root, not relenting until Duck came a second time. 

“Ohhhnnnyes” The head of Indrid’s cock presses into him, “oh I never tire of how you feel, pet. So warm and welcoming for you, ah” he whispers in Duck’s ear, “master”

“‘Drid you, you keep that up I’m gonna cum any second.”

“Not before I show you something important. Look” Indrid forces his head forward with the collar. His reflection writhes and bounces eagerly on a cock he can’t see but can definitely feel, lips parted in a prolonged moan as Indrid lays claim to every inch of him. 

“My perfect, handsome pet, letting me play with him as I see fit.”

“Damn rightAHfuck, I’m close, if you twist like that again I’m gonna-”

“Cum” Indrid orders. Duck obeys, spilling into the water with a groan of thanks. The mer waists no time, traps him in place with his tentacles so can fuck him hard and fast, one hand tugging the collar and the other fisted in his hair, “oh yes, yes pet, just a little more, you can take a little more, you must, because you are my spoiled little treasure and I can cum in you whenever I please.”

“Fuuck” Duck turns his head for a messy kiss as the mer empties into him with a muffled trill. 

One by one, the tentacles relax, Duck’s feet gradually meeting the floor as Indrid trails kisses down his spine. 

“Goodness, whatever did I do to deserve you, Duck Newton?”

“Save my life?” Duck turns, gathering the mer into a hug.

“I did that because it was the right thing.”

“You’re right. Hmmmm” he peppers Indrid’s face with kisses, “must be because you’re so damn perfect.”

Indrid hums happily as Duck maneuvers them into bed, “I doubt that’s it, but I am too tired to argue.”

Duck lays down beside him, looping his leg over Indrid’s waist as tentacle twines around his ankle. Maybe one day it will cling to his fins instead, but he’s not all that worried about that now. However he ends up, as long as he’s with Indrid, he knows life will be perfect. 

[addaellisplaysgames]

((Just something inspired by the new Mysteries of the Lost Gold Trailer. Probably not canon-compliant and at least a little OOC. Luke x MC/ Raven x Rosa.))

WC: 1854

His Rosa was scrutinizing something from a market stall when he found her. Luke watched fondly for a while before softly tapping her and taking her hand, careful now to startle her. She rewarded him with a relaxed smile.

“Look, it’s seaweed!” She showed him the hair clip. At first he thought it was a regular poppy flower, carved out of wire and cloth. But as his Rosa had observed, the texture of the flower, the thin carved veins on the surface, and the way it was folded resembled red seaweed with small silk beads for stamens.

“I didn’t even know red seaweed looked so different,” she mused. “It must have taken a lot of effort to carve the flower like that.” She set the hair clip down and turns to him. “Did Adjudicator get in contact with the dealer?”

“Yeah,” Luke replied. “We’ll talk about the details later.” He pinned the hair clip on her, replacing the usual clip. “It’s cute. You should get it.”

“You always say that,” she said, but her cheeks blushed happily from his compliment.

“Well, you’re always cute.”

“You silly….”

“Excuse me storekeep, how much for the hair clip?”

———

Rifle. Check. Scope. Check. Ghille. Check. Wind. Check. Target…in sights.

Luke carefully tracked the man between his crosshairs as they walked to the meeting point. He looked up and could see Libra and Rosa standing a few feet away, calmly keeping the target in position. He hated that she was so close yet so far away, and he hated that she was in danger again. But he was proud of how calm and brave she was even facing off a notorious criminal who called himself the “God of Death.”

Luke returned his eye to the scope. In the National Security Bureau, snipers were sometimes called gods of death themselves, for being able to rain silent death from afar. He preferred his Sherlock Holmes moniker, but if being a God of Death was what it took to take down this criminal, then that’s what he would have to be.

Luke took a deep breath…And fired.

Luke’s heart jolted when the rifle went off. It wasn’t the recoil or even the dulled bang of the gun. It wasn’t even the prospect of killing another human, even if the shot had been lethal. But just as he’d fired, he could have sworn he’d seen a flash of familiar red through the crosshairs.

———

Artem Wing was having a very surreal day. Raven and Rosa flirting over a hair clip was nothing unusual, and neither was arguing with King or even Adjudicator agreeing to this whole ridiculous plan with a creepy smile. But the sunny beaches and clear waters seemed too idyllic to be hiding a gang of murderers. For the legend of gold to be poison…this whole paradisal island was built on poison and blood.

Still, setting the target up for a sniper’s bullet—even if it was simply a tranquilizing bullet—sounded awfully like an assassination to him. Artem was an attorney after all, a pillar of justice and legal operation. Due process wasn’t just a motto, it was a creed he solemnly swore by. But the dealer this time was a confirmed killer, and had already escaped justice multiple times. Taking him down by normal means was simply out of the option. And if Raven was as good as he was confident, if they got the right suspect immediately…then this could be over in one shot.

The meeting and conversation itself seemed to go smoothly. Too smoothly. It was like he was in a dream world, and he didn’t even have to think to say the right words to placate the dealer. As the interaction was wrapping up, his partner suddenly whispered to him. They had the wrong guy. This had been a set up—They had to let Raven know the right target right away before a potential innocent was hurt in the crossfire—

But when that one shot happened. Artem watched in slow motion as the supposed dealer was flung back, clutching his shoulder and screaming in shock. His partner collapsed on the ground. Her eyes squeezed shut. There was blood in her hair.

Next to her laid the tattered remains of the poppy hair clip. The tiny beads scattered like dark red grains of pepper sunk into the pristine sand. The carefully carved red seaweed folds were torn to mangled shreds of cloth, like another life sacrificed before the golden alter of the God of Death.

———

According to the plan, Artem would be doing most of the talking. She glanced around, noting the dealer’s bodyguards around the space.

The dealer seemed nervous, but that wasn’t itself unusual. They were attorneys after all, and anyone would be hesitant to talk to lawyers, regardless of how many times they had gotten away. But she studied how his too-casual crossed arms contradicted the fidgeting with the cuffs of his sleeves—which were a tad too long for a dealer that could more than afford to have every suit hand-tailored. Yet his head seemed unusually still, as though the hat on it was a crown. Hm…

She kept one ear on the conversation as she studied the bodyguards again surreptitiously. The dealer hesitated. And then she saw one bodyguard shift—his face barely moved, but his neck moved as though he were speaking. He stopped, and the dealer spoke again.

She suddenly remembered how the ex-con had said the dealer was particularly paranoid, and how he continued to avoid capture and death. Calling himself “God of Death”, he seduced his victims with golden poison, and commanded loyalty through fear and an antidote just out of reach. All who voiced complaint would mysteriously vanish….

The conversation was coming to a close. The dealer signaled for his bodyguards to leave, and she knew the way were running out of time. The suspicious bodyguard was turning around to leave, and she noticed he was slightly taller than the dealer. And his shoes—brand new boots, without a scratch.

“This is the wrong man,” she said quietly to Artem. “The real culprit—“

She held her hand up to reveal the decoy, and suspicion and alarm flashed through the fake dealer’s eyes. He dealer grabbed her, pulling her in front of him and shouting for Artem not to move, else he’d snap the pretty girl’s neck. But before anyone could do anything, an invisible force whistled past her head, throwing the fake dealer back. He howled, but all she felt was ringing in her ears and a forceful tug, like someone yanking her braids. The world around her turned black for a moment, and she found herself on the ground, covered in sand.

“The bodyguard!” She called out, pointing. She struggled to move but her legs felt like jelly and her head was spinning like she was thrown into a centrifuge. She tried calling out again, because Artem wasn’t looking—he was kneeling by her side, eyes blown wide with concern and fear. “The bodyguard is the real dealer! He’s getting away!”

The suspicious bodyguard was running without a backwards glance for his decoy, and the groups as quickly collapsing around him. She fought through the throbbing in her head to keep an eye on him. Marius was nearby, she knew, ready to be backup. Her fingers trembled on the phone. “King! The real dealer is reaching the road now, the one on the motorcycle—don’t let him get away!”

———

It was over. Marius had pulled some crazy motor-cross stunts and managed to take down the suspicious bodyguard. The police had arrived to take all involved into custody, and the decoy had joined them once the tranquilizer wore off. As obnoxious as the little brat was, Luke had to give Marius credit for understanding what happened and taking down the target before they could get away.

The real hero though, was perched on the couch talking to him. He handed her a cup of tea, and took the ice pack from her ankle. “Wasn’t this supposed to be for your head? Are you feeling that much better already?” He asked lightly.

Rosa simply nodded, sipping lightly on the tea. Luke had made sure it was cool just enough so she wouldn’t be dangerous even if she did spill it. “The ringing stopped a while ago. I think I twisted my ankle trying to run in the sand though.” She sat up straight. “Are you okay?”

Luke sighed self-deprecatingly. “Shouldn’t I be the one asking you that? You’re the one that nearly got shot.”

She set the tea aside, cupping his cheeks to look her in the eye. “Dr. Ritcher said there doesn’t seem to be any damage, psychological or physical. I guess I was too focused on the case to realize I was nearly shot. You and Artem were the ones that had to watch.”

He nuzzled into her soft touch. “My heart nearly stopped,” he confessed. “He moved so suddenly. I thought I’d accommodated for that, but then I saw you fall….”

“But it was a tranquilizing dart, not a real bullet.”

“But he’s a much bigger person!” Luke exclaimed. “That dose might have been lethal for you. And it wasn’t supposed to be delivered to your head! And then…there was blood in your hair…I’m so sorry.”

His Watson—his brave and clever Watson—was undeterred. She patted him gently as she explained again. “It was just the decoy yanking my hair so suddenly and the sound of the dart so close that startled me. And it was his blood. I’m fine.” She smiled brightly, banishing the dark clouds that had been swirling around his heart with radiant confidence. “I never doubted you’d hit your target precisely. You’re my beloved Sherlock, right?”

He hugged her close, hoping he could shelter her from everything, even himself. “I’m yours.”

———

It had been a few days since they returned to Stellis. The bell of his antique store announced a visitor, and Peanut’s excited chirp announced his girlfriend. “In all the commotion after the case I forgot t give this to you,” she said, approaching the desk. She paused to hold out a finger to Peanut, who landed with a happy trill. “I thought your old keychain could use a well deserved break.”

Luke took the tissue-paper wrapped gift. It was a keychain of a distinctive detective’s hat and pipe, carved out of a seashell and coated in resin. “This was what you had gotten? I thought…I thought you’d gotten yourself a present.”

“A present for you is a present for me, silly,” she replied, entertaining Peanut with a toy. “Do you dislike it?”

“No, it’s amazing,” he said, immediately attaching the keychain to his camera. “Actually, I have a surprise for you too,” Luke said. He set a hair clip in front of her: gentle red cloth and wire, etched to look like red seaweed, but folded like a flower.

“The hair clip! You remade it?”

“Except this time as a rose,” he said shyly.

She pinned it to her hair immediately, twirling to show it off. “How is it?”

“Cute,” he said, wrapping his arms around her gently. “You’re always cute.”

“I think I like this one better,” she murmured against his chest. “You made it for me after all.”

“I do too. Truly, a rose represents you best.”

[thereluctantinquisitor]

WIP Whenever

Thank you for the tag @captainsaku! At the moment, I’m still limping through the opening chapters of Stonebreaker, trying to get a feel for the story and work on strengthening my atrophied writing muscles. Anyway, I figured I’d share what I have so far of Adiran’s introductory chapter. It’s basically just an awkward, descriptive mess, but at least it’s something. At this point, I’ll count that as a win!

I also put a short glossary at the end in case some terms were confusing. <3

Chapter 3 - A Scene

Be present. Do not cause a scene.

They were simple enough requests, Adiran supposed, as he braced himself and drained his third flute of wine. He knew it was poor form to cringe after swallowing, but the dry white was about as pleasant as a mouthful of sand and only went down half as well. If he was the paranoid type, he’d think the servers were offering him the worst vintages on purpose.

Then again, the celebration had stretched into its ninth day, now. Even the royal cellars had a limit.

Despite overstaying its welcome, the event remained at a predictably lofty height of splendour. In the ballroom - Vetrose’s famed Silver Font -  delicate rivulets of water, no wider than the span of a hand, curled their way across the marble floor, draining into a shallow pool at the base of the royal thrones. Above their heads, weavelight strings were draped elegantly between pillars and across wide arches, their glowing pinpricks joining the blazing chandelier to bathe the room a honey-gold.

Beneath that radiant light, the Talveran nobility moved like swans, jewellery glittering, ankle-length gowns and embroidered jackets flashing enough to catch the attention of nesting crows. Hundreds packed the Font that night - an entirely different crowd to the evening prior, and likely the one prior to that. Attending Talveran court, with its litany of demands and expectations, was an exhausting and expensive affair. Every evening demanded a new outfit. A new glittering showpiece. A new plan for navigating the treacherous waters of social interaction, careful not to show too much interest in any one person. One night was difficult enough to survive. Very few could afford to be present for an entire turn’s worth of celebration.

Unfortunately, Adiran had no choice in the matter. It just had to be his brother returning from the northern border. As if no one else had ever come back from that waste of a campaign.

Another mouthful. Another weary swallow of something half as strong as it needed to be. Honestly, he’d almost rather be swallowing sand. At least that meant he’d be in the arena, getting his ass kicked practicing for something that mattered, instead of wasting his time decorating the wall. Divider’s Own, Lorvain was meant to have arrived by the third day! Adiran might have been able to slip away if he had been around to soak up the attentions of the lords and ladies. But no. The beloved Crown Prince had probably stopped to fawn over milkmaids and shepherds at every town between here and Morgate. Really, they should have accounted for that before throwing such a ridiculous event...

 A prince should want to know his people, Adiran. I thought you understood that?

Threading paths expertly between the nobility were almost three dozen servers dressed in vibrant Volise green. Silver trays were held aloft on the pads of their gloved fingers as they moved in rehearsed patterns around the room, making sure every hand that sought a glass found a delicate stem. It was a different sort of dance; the kind that typically went unnoticed, the same way a clock’s hands are appreciated more than the mechanism behind the face. They knew the position of every crack in the stone; every rivulet.

None of them ever looked down.

Speaking of timing, the only reason Adiran paid the servers any heed was to make sure he got his right. On cue, he finished his wine with a grimace and thrust it towards a well-groomed young woman, her dark hair braided and pinned neatly around her head. Without so much as an errant blink, she bobbed carefully at the knees, accepted the glass, and replaced it with a new one from her tray. 

“Careful not to drop that,” Adiran said, taking the drink and giving it an experimental sniff. Sweeter. Thank the Divider for that.

The server hesitated. They always did. Every night. “Your Highness?” she asked, and her lilt was perfection. Just the right amount of simpering, blended with polite curiosity. Someone had taken her training seriously.

“Am I slurring already? What I’m saying is that if the Crown Prince finally shows up and you’re in the middle of mopping a puddle, the King will have your hide for saddle leather. So...” He extended one bored finger towards the tray, a smirk curling the corner of his lips. “Tread lightly.”

The server’s mouth opened, and for a moment no sound followed. For just one blissful, fleeting second, Adiran thought he’d finally done it. He’d finally won. 

Then, like underappreciated clockwork, her lips shaped themselves into a beatific smile, and she dipped into a curtsy. The tray never even wobbled. “Thank you for your concern, Your Highness. On my word, I will remain diligent. I would not dare bring shame on our King’s house.”

Damn it. The smile Adiran flashed back - half a sneer - could cut glass. But the server had already completed her parting bob and returned to her dance, weaving and gliding among the gaggle of silver-bloods with her tray of weak wine. Expression turning brittle, Adiran huffed and leaned back against one of the massive marble pillars - just one of fifteen lining the room. He’d claimed it on the first evening, like a hound staking its territory. Most people knew better than to bother him once he’d found his haunt, but the serving staff simply didn’t have that luxury. He supposed it was probably unkind, to force them to speak to him. But Divider, he was just so bored...

Scowling, he took a long swallow of his new drink, the chilled, sweet liquid a welcome enough sensation as it ran down the back of his throat.

So he was unkind. So what?

“Are you finished losing to the servers for tonight, or should I come back later?”

A familiar voice, and right on time. Adiran gave no indication of surprise, barely even turning to acknowledge the man. After all, this was just another ritual for them; a way to take a knife to long hours of affluent, barely drunk loitering. “Yeah, I’m done. An earthquake couldn’t shake them.” His gaze finally cut across, delivering what he hoped was a scathing look as Riin settled against the pillar beside him. “Took you long enough. Get distracted by all the pretty gowns and pouting lips?”

Folding his arms across his broad chest, Riin chuckled softly, utterly immune to Adiran’s glare. “Could you blame me if I was? Everyone looks appealing under this light.”

“That’s generous of you.” Sniffing, Adiran glanced up. Even with the smoke-glass covers encasing each glowing orb, he still had to squint against the brightness of the weavelights. “Guess it could be worse. We looked more like corpses before the covers were put on.”

“Really? I’m glad I missed it.”

“Yeah. Being dead inside is more than enough.”

Riin laughed, and a faint smile curved Adiran’s lips. He quickly hid it behind his glass. Truthfully, the entire ‘weavelight saga’ had been ridiculous. The King and Queen had commissioned hundreds of them from Tel Shival, purely because no one else had ever done it. Even the wealthiest families only ever had a few per household, usually kept in a lantern or a sconce in the most frequented rooms. After two seasons of painstaking arrangement that nearly killed two of their staff, the Silver Font soon found itself bathed in a thematically violent silver light. It had been an exciting novelty, at first; nobility flooded in from all over Talvera just to bask in the glow of thousands of wasted sicets. But then they quickly realised that colours didn’t behave the same way. Their favourite jewellery didn’t catch the eye. Their skin didn’t appear as youthful and rosy. Instead, every flaw - every stray hair or unpolished button - was placed on stark display for the vultures to pick at.

The weavelights were as bleak and clinical as a physicker’s ward. They sucked the warmth out of everything they touched.

In Adiran’s mind, the wash of corpse-light over each soiree was a perfectly fitting thing. But, as was typical, no one else agreed. So, they decided to encase each of the weavelights in honey-tinted glass and returned the room to almost exactly how it looked before. Back when it was lit by oil and flame.

That was how things were in Talvera. Decisions were made, sicets were spent, and then everyone just wanted to go back to how things used to be. Like nothing had ever happened.

GLOSSARY

Weavelight - spheres of crystal or glass, with a light-bearing glyphstring engraved by a thaumist specialising in Weaving. Maintains a bright, steady silver light. Cannot be dimmed or turned off at will. Thaumist - a well-trained practitioner of the thaumic arts, capable of manipulating thaumic essence. Turn - ten days. Tel Shival - An independent, famously insular city dedicated to the training and cultivation of thaumists and thaumaturgical study. Sicet - Currency used in the Allied Kingdoms.

---

Tagging: @frenchy-and-the-sea, @leothelionsaysgrrrr, @bladeverbena, @thefluffynug, @rufinagertrude, @arduyn, @anarchyduck, and anyone else who has a WIP they’d like to share!

[scribeofmorpheus]

Himmeløyne [27/?]

Pairing: Loki Odinson x Reader

Catch Up Here | Masterlist

Warnings: None

A/N: Wowieeee, it's been a long time since I've written a chapter this long. It feels like the old days. But also, I wrote this without my glasses, so... there will be errors.

Taglist is open! Reblog, comment or leave a like please ☺

~Y/N

“Do you think we’ll be hanged?” Fandral asked from his cell. It wasn’t intended as a question to the room. From his tone, he certainly wasn’t in the mood for conversation, but in need of anything besides the quiet of the prison area. “I think I’d hate a hanging. There hasn’t been one in centuries. You think it will be public?”

In the parallel cell, Sif paced about. Checking the golden barriers of her cage and then pounding her fists against the barrier couple of times. Each hit barely made a sound, let alone a dent. Adjacent to your own cell, Heimdall struggled to stay upright. He looked won out. In need of a long, long sleep. Normally, seeing him in distress would make you worry, but nothing felt normal with the amulet on.

“I’m not sure I’d prefer banishment either,” Fandral kept speaking.

“At least you’ get to keep your pretty head,” Volstagg chimed in, annoyed. His face was getting redder. It seemed his friend's ruminations were becoming tiresome to listen to. “Which is better than what I’ll do to you if you don’t shut up for a minute!”

“Yggdrasil’s branches!” Sif huffed. “I can’t hear myself think with you all yapping like starved pups!”

Her tone was different from everyone else’s. Sharper. That made them afraid. Talking was a way to keep distracted. With Sif’s outburst, everyone was forced to face that silence they were too afraid to let settle. Well, everyone except Heimdall and Hogun. You, on the other hand, weren’t feeling much of anything. Strange…

“Leave them be, Sif,” Hogun said softly. His face was calm, legs crossed at the ankle as he reclined comfortably on his cot, eyes closed. “Everything will work itself out.”

“You sound so certain,” she seemed surprised. “Why?”

“Because,” Hogun stretched, sitting up on crossed legs. “One way or another, everything always reaches a conclusion.”

 Fandral let out a shaky laugh, “You’re a real comfort.”

 Hogun shrugged, “Could be worse. You could have had Thor for a cellmate. You know how he hates small spaces. Especially if he’s confined in said small places.”

Sif tried to fight her smile, a reminiscent look on her face. All the warriors had it. Even Heimdall. It must have been a shared memory. Before your time.

“That big oaf,” Sif finally let her teeth show through the smile.

As the others began to trade anecdotes from the past, mainly about Thor’s claustrophobia and a previous stint in prison, Heimdall scooted closer to you, his back pressed up against the barrier o his cell, head turned at an angle to meet your eyes.

“Are you alright?” he squinted at the amulet and then focused on your face. He was searching for something, you weren’t quite sure he found. A moment later, he sighed. “Can you even hear me?”

Yes, you said. But he didn’t respond. He didn’t hear.

He wasn’t discouraged by his inability to communicate two ways with you. He soldiered through and found another question to ask, “Does it hurt?”

It doesn’t feel like anything, you said. Again, he didn’t hear.

He was frowning now, asking question after question as if the right one would get you to open your mouth. A task so simple, yet so difficult to do.

Minutes passed—or maybe hours—when guards came to round everyone out of their cells. Everyone except you. There was a commotion. Some unpleasant words exchanged. Someone tried to rile up the Captain from before. She ignored them, acting above reproach. An impenetrable shield, shining with true Asgardian worth. The guards never lowered your cell’s barrier, and after another minute—or hour—you finally registered that you were alone in the prison ward. It didn’t bother you though. Nothing did. Not even the spot of blood that marked the spot where two guards were knocked unconscious by Loki’s hands. Two more stood slack, in a headlock between Thor’s large arms. Frigga was with them too, casting sleep spells on the last few on guard duty.

The barrier to your cell faded in the blink of an eye.  Faster than lightning, Loki rushed to your side, cradling your body against his own. He felt strong, like an anchor in the impossible storm. Smiling seemed the right thing to do, but you weren’t sure if you managed to.

He was trembling, his body hot from exertion. He kept his voice a whisper, his words only for you. “When I saw that the cells were empty, I thought… I don’t know what I thought. But you’re here. I wasn’t too late. I found you again. I have you in my arms again and I promise not to let go. Never to let go.”

Those words should have meant the world. You should have been elated. Relieved. But there was still nothing.

When you didn’t reply or lean into his touch, Loki pulled back to study you. He tugged at the clasp, but the amulet refused to separate. It took a while for Frigga to understand what was happening, to notice the amulet for what it was.

As Loki turned to use his magic against the amulet’s hold, Frigga raised a hand in warning, “No, Loki, wait—”

Loki’s magic was invasive to the amulets, and you felt the ancient device retaliate, slapping his magic away. He was knocked back on his ass before Frigga could finish her sentence.

She knelled next to you, tearing a piece of fabric from her skirts and chanting below a whisper. The fabric began to shimmer, imbued with magical essence.

“The amulet siphon’s magic, drains the wearer and attacks anyone who tries to take it off,” she explained. “You have to trick it into focusing its curse on something else, and then…” She wrapped the fabric around her hand and used it to unclasp the amulet. As it fell, the fabric was turned to nothing in a flash of cold fire. The amulet dropped onto the floor. Loki and Frigga were cautious not to touch it.

You shuddered to life. Everything bright and real. The floor was cold. Your body was every bit as tired as you remembered. And the pull of Loki’s magic returned. Beautiful. Right.

He rushed to hold you again, and this time you reciprocated. Wrapping your arms around his midriff and clinging onto him as if he were the source of all life.

“I love you,” you said abruptly.

The air left his lungs. His chest grew still. Unmoving. You loved how that sounded. His heart racing. Your words. Everything about that imperfect moment suddenly became perfect.

You laughed, euphoric. “I really do. I love you.”

You looked up to him, saw his shock and adoration and a mix of every look he’d ever given you worn under one instant. His lips quivered. He tried to speak. To breath. But he was stunned in silence.

“I regretted not telling you before,” you kissed him. Your body finding solace in the proximity. Your heart beating strong and steady, in a way it never had before. In a way that promised forever. To love forever. To live forever. To be near him forever. You had forgotten what it felt like to be exhilarated. To actually cherish each heartbeat. And, as if a flood had passed over your body, you felt renewed. Loved. You poured all of yourself into the kiss, into him. And he drank gleefully. Greedily.

“Ahem!” Thor cleared his throat, obviously flustered from witnessing you and Loki’s moment. “I’m… Uh—I’ll just… be… over there… keeping watch for patrols.” He stalked over to the staircase and pretended to keep watch. Cheeks turning tomato red.

The kiss finally broke and you both needed more than a few seconds to fill your lungs with air again.

Loki grinned from ear to ear, “To think, I’ve waited countless of your lifetimes to feel this way about anyone, and you only needed the one. I knew I was missing something since I was a little boy. You restored that part of me. Gave me the chance to see that I could be something whole. You’ve healed a broken prince, and I wish I could give you more but… I suppose… this will have to do…” He trailed off, staring intently at your face. “I’ll love you fiercely for every lifetime I spent without you. Half-mortal or not, I’ll love you a thousand year’s worth every moment of every day. For as long as we have.”

“That’s a big promise.”

“No. It’s just what you deserve.”

“Then you deserve the same. It goes both ways, so that makes two thousand year’s worth.”

He arched his brow, some of that self-assuredness he used to carry with him returned. “That’s technically not true.”

A mounted torch holder fell off the wall with a loud clang! Everyone turned to see Thor kicking the polished bronze ornament into a darkened corner. He held up his hands in a silent apology. Loki rolled his eyes.

“My brother with his insightful contribution,” Loki said, tongue-in-cheek. Loud enough for Thor to hear this time, he asked: “Would you like to make a little more noise? I don’t think every guard in the lower levels heard you.”

“I just might,” Thor grumbled, placing his hand close to another torch holder. Daring his brother to say another word.

“I don’t mean to cut this short,” Frigga interjected, helping you up off the floor. “But if we mean to do this, we must get to the others before Odin has had time to pass judgement. After that his will is paramount. Not even the Rite of Conscription will save your companions.”

You wobbled on your feet and Loki instinctively slinked an arm around your waist. You leaned into him.

“What is the Rite of Conscription?” you turned to Loki.

He frowned, “It’s… It’s the best of my bad ideas. Conscription can only be evoked by senior members of the Asgardian royal family. Once enacted, it places a subject in a position of servitude. They become agents of the court and crown. And it also means, they cannot be tried as traitors. Once conscripted, they have full protection under the King, or, in this case, Queen.”

“Sounds simple enough,” you said. Loki’s expression didn’t reassure though. “But… it’s not, is it?”

 “No. Conscription for you, given how little we know about your true lifespan, it could end up being a life sentence.”

“But I have no home to return to. No family besides Heimdall…” you felt a wave of dizziness and had to clutch onto Loki’s jacket to keep steady. His fingers found yours. He twined them together, holding them close to his chest. You looked up at him. “Up until recently, I was ready to accept Asgard as my new home. For good.”

“But it wouldn’t just be you, my dear,” Frigga pointed out. “We’d have to conscript them all to Asgard’s service. Forever. They’d never have the chance to become anything different in the future. Neither would you.”

A life of servitude in exchange for freedom from Odin’s unpredictable wrath. Or was it his illogical fear? If you had to make the choice alone, you wouldn’t hesitate, even if it landed you in a precarious position in the future. But you couldn’t dare play arbiter of fate over everyone else’s lives. That would be selfish. And you’d be no better than Odin.

“I don’t think I can agree to this,” you said solemnly. “If it was only me that had to make the decision, then… maybe. But, I was only just beginning to get to know everyone. I don’t want to be a source of tension. And Heimdall’s the only family I have left. From what he’s told me, of the Great War, of his people, conscription would be a cruel thing to do without even talking to him about it. This whole mess started because of scheming and secrecy. We can’t continue that pattern.”

Frigga’s eyes flitted to your hand interlocked with Loki’s, a new thought percolating to the surface. “Family,” she murmured.

“What?” you asked.

“Handfasting!” she said hastily, her voice the loudest you’d ever heard it.

Loki’s eyes went large, “You can’t mean…”

Frigga nodded, taking one of your hands in each of her own.

“We don’t have a priestess,” Loki spoke too quick, anxious.

“I don’t—” you tried to get a word in, but Frigga talked over you.

“It’s the best alternative. At the very least, it will grant us a year of peace. A year we can use to persuade Odin to forgive whatever transgressions he found so grave that he’d risk imprisoning the protector of the Bi-frost. I know him. If he truly wanted this, he’d have acted without hesitancy. This—” she gestured towards the prison “—this is all to buy time. He’s undecided. So we must decide for him.”

Loki brushed off her explanation, unwilling to listen, “He’s the king. His will is law. If he truly didn’t want this, he wouldn’t have done it.”

Frigga shook her head, a wizened edge hanging on her words, “Only tyrants rule in that manner. And he is not his father.”

“What does Bor have to do with any of this?” Loki said, eyeing his mother suspiciously. She dismissed his prying with a flick of her wrist. She did it with the same flourish that Loki did.

You looked to Thor then back to Frigga, lost. “Is anyone going to tell me what handfasting is, or—”

“It’s a marriage,” Thor blurted out.

Now it was your turn to go silent.  

“Subtle, brother. Thank you for that,” Loki chided. He placed his attentions back on you in an effort to explain things more smoothly, avoiding your gaze. “Handfasting isn’t exactly as binding as marriage. Handfasting is like… a trial period. It was used in arranged marriages to see if the betrothed were… agreeable. It was also a way to end disputes politically. Give the respective sides time to assess and recuperate.”

“I see,” was all you could muster, your voice small.

“In fact, Odin and I were handfasted,” Frigga said. “And if you have any doubts, remember, as Loki said, it isn’t binding. But as a betrothed, your family gains diplomatic immunity. And since Heimdall is Vanir, both of you fall under allies, not subjects.”¨

Finally, you found your voice. “What of Sif and the others?” 

“They’d be protected too,” she assured you. “The handfasting period is a period of peace. If anyone acts out violently, then they disrespect the old ways. And Odin is too traditional. The old ways are his ways. His father’s ways. He will respect the year of peace. I’ll make sure of it.”

You took a sure, deep breath. Steeling yourself. You had dreamed of a future with Loki. Years spent discovering each other, learning of intimacies beyond touch. Sharing desires and thoughts. Spending days in the library, discovering more about your peoples, more about your magic. It may not have included a mysterious boy from Verdenspeil. Or a handfasting ceremony as a last-ditch effort to one-up Odin, but then again, your life on Asgard had been far from ideal. Loki waited for your answer, his eyes holding a darker edge to them; desire. Frigga and Thor waited with bated breath, both their postures too ramrod straight, towering over you. Expecting an answer.

“Then, my answer is yes.” You smiled, both anxious and excited. There was a shared sigh of relief in the room.  

Frigga turned to her son, happy for him. He pressed his forehead to yours and mimicked your actions.

“Yes,” he said with a laugh caught in his throat.

Frigga whispered a spell, and suddenly, a spool of ribbon inked itself between your hand and Loki’s. Twisting into an infinity loop at the wrist. You thought of the snake from the cave, then immediately, you remembered the dream with the snake in the cave. Something in you stirred. Through your conjoined hands, you felt Loki’ magic reciprocate that feeling. A yearning. He looked at you with a devilish smirk, making heat spread in your belly. You almost turned away, face too hot.

Frigga’s chant ended. The lyrical music notes of it lost to your unfamiliar ears. Loki and Thor seemed to recognise some of it. You made it a point to remember to ask one of them about it. Especially since the last line made Loki blush.

“I need something to seal the incantation. Something with magic imbued,” Frigga said, searching the surroundings for anything that could work.

Thor opened his fist and after a few seconds of awkward silence, his hammer came crashing through the walls perpendicular to where he was facing. Rumble rolled to your feet, and Frigga looked at him with the most motherly expression you’d ever seen.

“Will this do?” Thor shrugged and held the hammer above you and Loki’s linked arms.

“Just,” Frigga said as she finished off the incantation. A torrent of light, holding all the colours of the rainbow encircled the spot of union.

Everything was as clear as a summer’s morning. Colour giving life to the room. Magic tingling everywhere.

Frigga cleared her throat, “Marked by magic, and witnessed by a prince of Asgard, do you, Loki, and your betrothed, vow to keep the peace and set aside any grudges and conflicts for one year? Do you vow to share, in confidence, the truth of your thoughts and the full extent of your feelings for one another, whatever they may be, however they might grow?”

“I vow,” he said, openly.

A roucus above the floor alerted you to a group of guards immobilising on your position. Distracted, your head tilted up, as if you could will yourself to see through the stone. Your heart quickened and Frigga nudged you. Thor’s jaw tightened, but he didn’t move his hammer an inch.

“Dear, you have to vow,” she brought you back to the present.

“Yes. I vow,” you nodded, trying to stay calm.

Frigga concentrated her magic, her palms coming close. “Then, with these words, I bind you to one another. Bind you in peace. And hope a union will spring from your time together.”

Frigga’s eyebrows drew close together, her hands straining to maintain the magic. A bead of sweat meandered across her temple. And with a grunt, Mjölnir went flying into the wall, a burst of energy exploding out war. Frigga released her grip, panting. “It is done. You are handfasted.”

“Was that supposed to happen?” Thor pointed to the new hole in the wall.

Frigga shook her head, “No. There was…” she regarded you carefully, making sure not to let her face betray whatever she was thinking. “Resistance. It—It’s probably nothing. We’re all tired. We’ve all been through ordeals. It could simply be fatigue.”

You glanced at your tattoo. It had cracks along the artificial ribbon, as if unfinished. The colour of bright emeralds flawed by golden veins. Hints of cerulean in the right lighting. The triquetra, Mjölnir’s symbol, had formed an endless pattern on the ribbon. Easily missed, and of delicate line work. The prick and bristle of the tattoo's magic was bewildering. Sparking with a deeper connection than you could articulate. It wasn’t just the symbol of a bond, but an actual link to both you and Loki.

Loki rushed to his mother’s side, placing a hastened kiss on your forehead beforehand. Thor’s palm called out to Mjölnir and it returned with the sound of thunder rumbling outside. The hoard of guards descending upon you sounded closer. Their voices louder.

“Bit much, don’t you think?” Loki frowned at Thor.

 “Subtlety is lost on me,” Thor said.

“Yes, well… you wouldn’t be my brother if it wasn’t.”

Thor and Loki shared a moment. Their bickering giving way to something deeper. Something neither of them would voice aloud anytime soon. It was trust. A different kind of love. Greater than blood.  

“We should get out of here,” Thor began spinning his hammer and suddenly a gut-punching realisation hit you.

You yanked on Thor’s bulky arm, “Wait! Where’s Baldrick?”

All three of them looked at you, confused.

“Who?” they asked simultaneously.

 ~Odin

The child that had come through the portal with Heimdall and Y/N was strange. Odin had brought him to his study and asked him questions.

The boy—Baldrick as he came to introduce himself—possessed knowledge beyond his years. An aura to him, almost ancient, yet also too young, too powerful. Odin had given him a puzzle to solve, one that required intimate knowledge of magic and science. Baldrick had fiddled with the pentagon-shaped object with a blasé expression. He had solved it faster than Odin had when his father had presented him with the same challenge.

“Astounding,” Odin remarked as the boy set the puzzle down. Baldrick busied himself by staring at the books in Odin’s study. He had made it a point not to speak beyond saying his name.

The boy seemed so familiar. A likeness in his small face.

Odin knew he was biding time by trying to figure out how Baldrick’s mind worked, but he was thankful for the distraction. When Loki had pounded at his door, demanding an audience, Baldrick had studied Odin as if he was the old man and Odin was the boy. It was a peculiar feeling.

When Aisling had been the one to knock on his door, hiding her true thoughts behind pleasantries, he knew he couldn’t put it off any longer. A judgement needed to be passed. After all, the Allfather does not lash out on a whim. He’s concise. Calculative. And pragmatic. And he had pushed things too far when he’d sent the Destroyer.

Regret. That’s what had been eating him since Loki fell unconscious. And what had he done once his son awoke? Cowered away. All in the name of protecting his family’s legacy and keeping the truth of his father’s reign buried. It was his curse. His duty. But, at least it hurt less than what he did to Hela. That was a transgression he could never make right, failing as a father.

 He left the boy in his study. Odin feared he may have been more perceptive to emotion. And emotion was the last thing he cared to face.

 Heimdall was held down by the straining arm of a member of the royal guard. His knees kissing stone. Beside him, Sif and her companions held the same posture; necks refusing to stay weighed down, heads facing Odin with arms tied behind their backs, armour stripped for simple clothing.

 “What am I to do with you?” Odin finally spoke. His fingers ghosted over the intricate designs carved into his stave, feeling the schism between each drawn line and folded knot; feeling the obvious divide in his family and peoples. With a sigh, he continued, “Disobedience, theft, evasion and escape. Worst of all, you all knowingly defied the will of your king. One son wasted away in a tower, the other in taverns. And Frigga… My health is barely as it was. What would you have me do? Make an example of you? Show you lenience? Leave you to the mercy of the Destroyer?”

“Do as you wish. I have made my peace with my decisions, and I’d do it all again to ensure my daughter was safe,” Heimdall said.

His voice wasn’t intended to sound defiant, but lately, to Odin’s suspicious ears, everything sounded suspect.

“Safe?” Odin didn’t mean to condescend, but he couldn’t help but laugh. “And can you say the same for everyone in this room? Sif? Volstagg? Hogun? Even you, Fandral? Could you all say that you’d go to the gallows for an outsider? A mortal?”

“Half. Mortal.” Heimdall corrected. A withheld threat somewhere beneath his red-hot glare.

“Now, hold on a minute,” Fandral’s voice fumbled, “that seems an overreaction.”

“Is it not part of our teachings to show benevolence to those that see us as more?” Sif challenged, hurling the guard that held her down over her shoulder. “A mere mortal? You’re the Allfather, the one Midgardians pray to, the one whose story they carve onto mountains. Even if she wasn’t Heimdall’s daughter, it is our duty to protect her, to protect all of them.”

The guard tried to retaliate, but Odin held up his hand, stopping their advances.

“Your notions are young,” Odin said with a sad smile. “I miss seeing the world as simply as you all do, but that is not our reality. And that is why you do not bear the weight of a ruler. I hope none of you do.”

Heimdall watched him closely as he stood to walk closer. Some of that trust they’d built over years of infighting and war was still there, despite them both trying to act otherwise. Bonds of war and patricide were hard to shake.

“Are you still willing to risk everything to keep this fragile peace? This lie?” Heimdall asked. When Odin did not give an answer, Heimdall lamented to himself, “So, this is how it is then.”

“I must pass judgement now. Chaos cannot stand,” Odin quieted the room with a strike of his stave. The room grew very still. Then, Thor’s hammer burst through the door, causing a commotion.

Odin’s breath was stolen away when he saw Frigga stride in a few paces behind their son. And his heart stopped entirely when he saw the tell-tale ribbon tattoo shared between Loki and Y/N.

To his surprise, he was relieved.

“No judgement shall be passed today!” Frigga announced. “No judgement shall be passed until the year is over.” She walked over to pull attention to Loki and Y/N’s matching tattoos. “They are handfasted, and the rules of the old ways are clear. Y/N and her Father, being both of the Vanir, both of my homeworld, cannot be harmed. Nor can they be tried by the king of another realm. Especially since it is your son who is handfasted.”

Odin smiled, and everyone in the room was shocked by his response, “The old ways are sacred, and so, I accept your conditions.” His smile grew wider, “My Queen.”

Frigga walked over to his side easily.

He struck his stave once more and gestured for the guards to stand down. Y/N rushed to Heimdall’s side helping him up, while Sif and Thor and the Warriors Three had their own little reunion.

Yes, he thought to himself. This is a far better outcome.

“Mark today as the start of a passive year. A year of peace,” he decreed.

“Where’s Baldrick?” Y/N demanded, a protective scowl on her face.

Curious, he thought. That they’d form such a bond in such small time. The boy obviously had a way of influencing those around him. Albeit, passively.

Odin was about to answer when the boy shimmered into the room as if summoned, a favourite of Loki’s tricks. Loki stared at the boy, noticing the same thing.

“I am here,” Baldrick said. Y/N took large strides to his side and offered her hand to him. Baldrick walked to the other side, accepting the arm that wasn’t marked by the tattoo instead.

“Well, that was rather unpleasant,” Volstagg stretched, his stomach growling deeply. “How about some good, old fashioned merriment and song tonight?”

“Aye! I have a bone to pick with you all for abandoning me in a tavern to go off on your own adventure,” Thor pouted.

Sif ribbed his arm casually, “You were brooding. You’re utterly useless when you brood.”

“I am not!” he refuted.

“You are too,” Fandral and Loki said simultaneously.

Hogun patted Thor’s back, a teasing smirk on his lips, “Wait until you hear of the snake made of stone.”

Frigga walked over to Loki’s side, whispering something in his ear. He adjusted his collar as if he couldn’t breathe. His gaze fell on Y/N as he strode purposefully to her side. But before he could reach her, Heimdall blocked his path, imposing and large as he looked down at him with a set jaw.

“You and I have much to discuss,” Heimdall glanced at the handfasting tattoo with disapproval. “But,” he sighed, letting his body shrink lower, “it can wait till the morning, I suppose. Your father and I have much to sort through.” He turned to Odin and they both nodded in agreement.

Loki heaved a sigh when Heimdall turned his back. Y/N and Loki shared a secret laugh--the kind Odin had shared with Frigga in youth--before he got on his knee and extended his hand to the small boy.

“I’m Loki,” he said. “I take it, you’re Baldrick?”

Heimdall came to stand close to Odin, arms folded. “Where do we go from here?”

Odin sat back on his throne, his bones aching. “We let them savour their youth.”

“And what happens once the year is done?”

Odin eyes the dispersing crowd, unsure of how to answer that question.

 To be continued...

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[thefinalcinderella]

Kaze ga Tsuyoku Fuiteiru Chapter 4 - The Track Meet (Part 4)

Merry Christmas guys

Full list of translations here

Translation Notes

1. Not really a translation note but King calls Kakeru a “hentai” as in pervert here

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At the second TSU meet at the end of June, Prince finally got a time of 16:58:14. All of the members of Chikusei-sou had at last earned the right to participate in the Hakone Ekiden qualifiers.

After the race was over, the residents joined hands in a corner of the field and rejoiced. They danced in a circle with their hands still joined as their happiness intensified. They continued to turn around in their ring formation, which looked like a ceremony to summon a UFO, until a totally exhausted Prince sank down to the ground.

Kakeru didn’t join the circle, instead watching the residents from a short distance away. He did feel happy and relieved that they were able to participate in the qualifiers now, but he thought that it was too early to be that happy.

Seeing the excited members of Chikusei-sou, the runners from other universities started murmuring to each other.

“I heard that they can join the qualifiers now. That’s pretty good.”

“But there’s no way they’re going to pass the qualifiers, no matter how you look at it.”

“Well, it’ll be a nice memory, so isn’t it fine?”

They talked among themselves, laughing slightly. Kakeru could keenly sense the various implications in those laughs.

Spotting Kakeru standing a short distance away from the circle, TSU’s Sakaki approached him.

“I heard you guys are aiming for Hakone. Make sure not to embarrass yourselves at the qualifiers.”

Kakeru glared at him. He was frustrated, but couldn’t say anything back.

“Kakeru.”

Kiyose waved him over, and he left Sakaki to walk over to the circle.

“You all did a great job,” Kiyose said, showing his appreciation simply. “We’re a step closer to Hakone. From now on, we’ll train to increase our distances. But first, we’ll have a grand party tonight; after our evening jog, gather in the twins’ room.”

“Woohoo!” the twins cheered. Kakeru hid cool feelings beneath his smile. We have parties all the time, don’t we?

He called to mind each member’s best official records at this point in time.

Kakeru   14:09:95

Haiji                 14:20:24

Musa      14:49:46

Jouji                15:03:08

Jouta      15:04:58

Yuki        15:36:45

Shindou  15:39:23

Nico-chan       15:59:49

King                16:03:83

Prince             16:58:14

They were now able to participate in the qualifiers, but rather than being set free from his impatience, Kakeru’s mind was becoming increasingly filled with frustration. That was why the alcohol didn’t taste good at all even during the party in the twins’ room. Unable to join in with the rowdy atmosphere, Kakeru sat by the window.

Kiyose’s home cooking was almost entirely eaten up, and after taking a rest, the residents all began to praise Prince.

“I was afraid of what might happen, but Prince pulled through,” King said.

“Today’s last spurt was amazing. You made it to the finish line in just under seventeen minutes,” Shindou said.

“Yes. Prince’s gallant figure brought a few tears to my eyes,” Musa said.

As a reward for Prince, the twins presented him with the weekly manga magazine that had gone on sale early, which they had gone to buy from the shopping district. He immediately put aside his drink and started reading it at rapid speed. Nico-chan and Yuki laughed as they watched him.

Irritated, Kakeru muttered, “Is it that great?”

Startle gazes gathered and fell on Kakeru. Unable to stop now, he spoke again.

“Prince-san’s time is not something to be proud of.”

“Well, yeah, that’s true,” Prince agreed, nodding without lifting his eyes from his magazine.

“What do you mean by that, Kakeru?” Jouta stormed, turning on him. Even Jouji, who was always cheerful, protested with a forceful tone.

“Prince-san shortened his time a lot in three months, you know? If he keeps going at this rate, he’ll be able to run five-thousand meters in an instant by the time the qualifiers come around!”

“I highly doubt that,” Yuki quipped. Kakeru ignored him and turned to Prince again.

“Do you understand, Prince-san? This is no time to be reading manga.”

“Not at all.” Prince paid him no mind, but the twins stood up angrily.

“Stop it, Kakeru! You’ve been weird lately. It’s kinda scary.”

“He’s right. Quit blaming Prince-san. If you have something to say, say it to all of us!”

“I will!” Kakeru put down his cup and stood up, too. “We’ll never make it to Hakone if you guys keep running at a snail’s pace like this! Never! So I have no idea how you guys can drink so carefreely!”

“Kakeru, Kakeru. You’ve been drinking a lot too, haven’t you?” Shindou frantically gripped Kakeru’s ankle. “You’re drunk. Right? Just sit down.”

Musa tried to calm the twins as he held them back under his arms. However, the three first-years of Chikusei-sou shook off their seniors’ restraints and started grappling with each other.

“Don’t talk so high and mighty just ‘cause you can run a bit faster!”

“You told me to talk, so I did!”

“There’s things you can and can’t say, you know! Not everyone can run as easily as you!”

“You can say those kinds of things after you practice more! But it might be pointless no matter how much you practice!”

“That’s too far, Kakeru.” Nico-chan tried to sit up.

“Don’t get too full of yourself, you asshole!” King tried springing at Kakeru faster than the twins, but he didn’t make it.

Kiyose, who had been quiet until that point, ran up to Kakeru with a leopard-like agility and ferocity and grabbed him by the collar. “You idiot!” he yelled. “Wake the hell up! Why won’t you acknowledge that Prince and everyone else are trying their best! Why are you denying their sincere running! Is it because their times are slower than yours? Is speed the only thing you value? If that’s the case, then there’s no point in running. Ride the train! Take an airplane! Those are faster!”

“Haiji-san…”

Not just Kakeru, but everyone in the room was shocked still by Kiyose’s furious look.

“Know this, Kakeru. You can’t only pursue speed; that’s empty and pointless. You can figure that out by looking at me, right? It’ll be too much someday…”

Kiyose’s words were suddenly cut off. He staggered as the strength went out of his hands, which had been grabbing Kakeru’s shirt.

“Haiji-san!” Kakeru panicked, supporting Kiyose’s body. “Haiji-san, what’s wrong!”

Kiyose was pale, his eyes closing languidly.

“Hey, Haiji-san! Stay with me!”

He didn’t react even when Kakeru slapped his cheek.

“What do I do, he’s not conscious!”

“What!”

The room fell into panic. Yuki immediately took Kiyose’s wrist and checked his pulse.

“Twins, lay out a futon! Someone call an ambulance. Actually no, it’s faster to call a doctor. Tell the landlord to ask for a house call right away!”

Jouta and Jouji took out a futon from the closet, sobbing, “Haiji-san, don’t die!”

Shindou and Musa leaned out of the window and shouted towards the main house, “Sir, we need your help!”

A flustered Prince went down to the first floor to get water, and King, disconcerted, just wandered around aimlessly.

Kakeru, along with Nico-chan, laid Kiyose down on the futon. Even though Yuki told him not to worry so much, Kakeru refused to leave his bedside. Until the neighborhood family physician the landlord called arrived, Kakeru stayed next to Kiyose, his head hanging down.

Consultation hours had finished long ago, but the old physician was an acquaintance and immediately came running. The doctor pushed his way through the residents gathered around the futon and approached Kiyose. He checked under his eyelids, pressed a stethoscope against him, and checked for the presence of heat in his palms. Finally, he looked around at everyone and spoke a single word: “Overwork.”

“He seems to have anemia, but right now he’s more asleep than unconscious.”

“He’s…sleeping?”

The residents shifted their gazes from the doctor to Kiyose all at once. Certainly, Kiyose’s chest was peacefully rising and falling with regular breathing. It was good that he wasn’t seriously ill, but they felt drained, wondering why there was so much fuss over calling a doctor.

“I’d say he’s been accumulating fatigue from lack of sleep.” The doctor searched through his black bag and quickly prepared a syringe. “I’ll give him an injection with some nutrients. Let him rest tonight. If anything happens, you can call me again. Now, take care. Don’t let him work too hard.”

“Thank you very much.”

All of them said their thanks, and Yuki and Shindou accompanied the doctor to the front door. Kiyose had continued to sleep, even as he was being pricked with a needle, and the twins put the blanket over him again.

“It’s my fault. I made Haiji-san worry…”

Kakeru hung his head, watching Kiyose’s sleeping face. He felt frustrated and pathetic. Even Rokudou’s Fujioka had perceived that Kiyose was not in good shape, but Kakeru hadn’t noticed anything; he was so focused on running that he couldn’t even see the people he was living together with.

Prince, who was sitting across from him on the futon, weakly shook his head. “That’s not true. It’s my fault that I can’t run fast.”

Like the forest animals after learning of the Buddha’s death, Kakeru and the others solemnly gathered around the futon. Yuki and Shindou, who had returned from seeing off the doctor, recoiled at the wake-like atmosphere before they sat down on the tatami.

“If you think about it, we have been leaving everything up to Haiji-san,” Musa said.

“Yeah.” King crossed his arms. “Haiji was doing the administrative stuff like applying to meets and even cooking all the meals.”

“He worked like a coach-slash-manager-slash-dorm parent,” Jouta said.

“It’s partly because we’ve been so busy training and training, but we’ve been putting too much pressure on Haiji-san.” Shindou seemed to be chewing on bitter thoughts.

Jouji made a proposition with a purposely bright tone. “From now on, let’s at least take turns cooking. Let’s all work together.”

Sounds of agreement rose up here and there.

“If that’s the case, let’s make up,” Nico-chan said as he looked between Kakeru and Prince.

“Yes.” They both nodded, Prince readily and Kakeru timidly, embarrassed by his childish attitude.

“The twins should forgive Kakeru too,” Yuki said, and Jouji and Jouta glanced at Kakeru embarrassedly.

“Of course,” they said in unison.

“Come on, let’s all get along.” Nico-chan took the lead. “Don’t let Haiji’s dying wish go to waste. Let’s go to Hakone as one.”

“Yeah!”

The residents of Chikusei-sou gripped each other’s hands tightly over the futon where Kiyose was sleeping.

“I don’t remember being dead. I hope I’m not.”

Surprised, Kakeru looked at the pillow. Kiyose’s eyes were opening.

“Good grief, what’s all this?” He moved the residents’ arms that were complicatedly tangled over his stomach out of the way and tried to sit up.

“Please sleep!” Kakeru hurriedly pushed Kiyose’s shoulders and made him lie back down on the futon. “Haiji-san, you collapsed. The doctor said you got anemic from overwork.”

“I see. Sorry I caused trouble.” Kiyose looked up at Kakeru’s face, who was peering down at him. “But it looks like the fight is over—that’s good to see.”

Kakeru shifted to intentionally sit in seiza. “I’m sorry,” he said with his head bowed. “I’ve been so on edge and impatient for a long time.”

“Was it because the music coming from Yuki’s room is too loud?” Nico-chan said, a sympathetic look in his eyes that said, “I feel you.”

“If you ask me, it’s the creaking in the ceiling.”

Yuki’s words scared Prince, who felt guilty.

“No, that’s not it,” Kakeru hurriedly said. “I’ve felt that way since before I came to Aotake. I was just running and didn’t see much of what was around me.”

He still didn’t actually know what he should do; Kakeru still hadn’t figured out what he should be running for, other than speed. “But,” Kakeru started, lifting his face up. “From now on, I will also aim for the Hakone Ekiden seriously.”

 “What!?”

The twins’ room shook with astonishment.

“’From now on?’ What were you doing until now?” Jouji looked like he was about to jump down his throat.

“No, I just thought I would play along with it somehow,” Kakeru said honestly. “I thought everyone would get bored and quit soon anyways. I’m sorry.”

“You can train that much, even though your motivation was so low.” Shindou was deeply impressed.

“I’m not good at anything other than running, after all,” Kakeru said seriously.

Yuki shook his head with a “Good grief,” and a stunned King said, “You really are a weirdo, Kakeru.” (1)

“You’re incredible, Kakeru. You’re so incredible it’s funny.” Jouji stifled his laughter. A bit angrily, Kakeru wondered what was so funny, but then he saw that even Kiyose was nodding and decided not to object.

“I can’t stop reading manga, but I’ll work even harder too,” Prince declared, raising his face.

It wasn’t that there weren’t any ill feelings, but it was the first time that the desire to aim for the same thing had budded equally in all their hearts.

Kiyose, who was watching the scene, called out, “Kakeru.” Still in seiza, Kakeru shifted a bit closer to Kiyose, whose head was resting on the pillow.

“Do you know what’s the best compliment for a long-distance runner?”

“Is it ‘fast’?”

“Nope. It’s ‘strong,’” Kiyose said. “It’s not enough to be fast to finish a long-distance race. The weather, the course, the development of the race, your physical condition, your own state of mind... Runners calmly analyze those various factors and persist in moving their body forward even in difficult situations. What long-distance runners need is strength in the true sense of the word. We run everyday for the honor of being called ‘strong.’”

Kakeru, as well as the other residents, listened intently to what Kiyose was saying.

“As I watched you run these three months, I became more and more convinced,” Kiyose continued. “You have talent and aptitude. That’s why, Kakeru, believe in yourself more. There’s no need to be impatient—it takes time to become strong. You could say that there is no end; just as there are people who jog and do marathons even into old age, long-distance is a sport that is worth tackling for life.”

 Kakeru’s passion towards running had always been an ambiguous emotion, making his mind waver unsteadily. But Kiyose’s words skillfully cut through Kakeru’s murky and wavering inner world; they were a light that flashed into his heart and flooded it, illuminating him.

However, Kakeru rebutted, partly due to embarrassment. “But the elderly can’t set new world records.”

“That came out of nowhere,” Nico-chan teased. Kiyose smiled, as if to say there was no helping it.

“I thought that way too. Until I got injured,” Kiyose said gently. “But it’s the older runners who are more likely to be ‘stronger’ than you, Kakeru. That’s what’s profound about long-distance.”

Kiyose’s words were aimed not just at Kakeru, but at everyone present. Perhaps tired, he stopped talking and lowered his eyelids.

“Haiji-san, you can’t sleep here!” Jouji and Jouta shook Kiyose.

“Shut up. You’re dismissed,” Kiyose mumbled.

Everyone quietly took their leave of the twins’ room.

Kakeru was the last to go into the hallway. As he closed the door, he turned around and saw the twins squeezing into another futon from the closet.

What is that strong running Haiji-san talked about? Kakeru was pondering it. He knew it wasn’t about arm strength or leg strength. But, it didn’t seem like he was referring to just mental strength, either.

Kakeru suddenly recalled the snow-covered field he had seen when he was little. When he had got up early and gone to the field in his neighborhood, the snow that had accumulated during the night had completely changed the familiar landscape. Kakeru had run on the white field where no one had left any footprints. He had run as his heart desired in order to draw beautiful patterns. That was his very first memory of thinking that running was fun.

Maybe strength was something beautiful built upon a delicate balance—like the patterns he had drawn in the snow back then.

While thinking that, Kakeru quietly went down the stairs, careful not to make too much noise.

The next day, the skies were clear for the first time in a long while. When Kakeru returned after his early morning jog, Kiyose was feeding Nira in Chikusei-sou’s yard.

“Welcome home,” Kiyose said when he saw him.

“I’m back,” Kakeru responded.

The morning light was shining clearly. It was the beginning of a usual, new day.

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[bitterlikesweets]

Love Bites Ch 19

This is the nineteenth chapter of a modern/vampire AU ereri fanfic. You can also read it on Ao3. 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | Special | 15 | 16 | 17 | 18 | 19

Next

It would be a stretch to say that Eren and his older brother ever got along well. Zeke hated him. He had since the day they met.

"Met." Because Eren didn't know Zeke existed until he was ten years old.

When Eren was a little kid, he didn't know anything. His parents were the epitome of being in love. Every time they were together, his father would shower his mother in kind words and affection. He always made her smile. He would even bring her gifts every time he came back from his monthly family reunions.

His dad never got Eren anything, but that was okay. As long as he got stuff for Eren’s mom. As long as his parents loved each other, Eren didn’t mind. That was enough. Because it made his mom smile. And Eren’s mom loved Eren no matter what. Eren loved her no matter what, too.

She loved Eren more than usual during his dad’s family reunions.

When Eren asked his father why he never brought Eren and his mother along, Grisha Jaeger just said it wasn't time yet.

They never really explained to Eren how it all happened. Why things with Grisha's first family didn't work out. Zeke just showed up one day, Grisha's hand on his shoulder as they stood in the doorway.

"Eren, this is your older brother. His mom's very busy, so he'll be staying with us over the weekend."

It took Eren awhile to wrap his head around it. How was it possible for Zeke to be Eren's brother but have a different mom? Why was Zeke not living with them?

Why did they look so different?

Eren's mom was very patient. She explained about falling in love. About falling out of it. And how sometimes people are left behind when that happens. She told Eren he could still believe in love. That sometimes it ends, but a new one could start in its place.

"I might not be his first love," his mother said, "but I am his favorite."

His favorite? Eren believed that for a little bit. But he always wondered why his dad kept going back to visit his first love if that was really the case. It wasn't to visit Zeke. Sometimes their dad would still go to see Zeke's mom, even if Zeke was staying with them, babysitting Eren.

"If it wasn't for you," Zeke always used to say, "he would still be with us. He would be my dad, not yours."

Why? Why was it Eren's fault?

When did his parents start arguing in the middle of the night?

Zeke started getting nicer to Eren eventually. When Eren was thirteen and Zeke was sixteen, Zeke started to be almost kind. Saying that it wasn't Eren's fault after all. They just needed time, and everything would work itself out.

Turns out, everything "working out" meant Grisha going back to his first love. Which meant Carla Jaeger was not his favorite, after all.

It made more sense to Eren that love just didn't exist. Romantic love was stupid and fake and wasn't real.

His mom finally agreed with him when Grisha moved out.

When Eren was fifteen, he saw his brother for the last time. He dropped Eren off at his house after school and told Eren he wasn't going to come back anymore. That Zeke no longer had to pretend they were really family.

Eren and his mother got the news a few months later. Somebody broke into the Jaeger household—the other Jaeger household—and now everyone in that other family was dead. The police told them it was a burglary.

That's what they said about Eren's mom too, in the official reports. A burglary; a mother dead, and a son injured, but otherwise fine.

Eren should've realized it then. A burglary with nothing stolen. A report he'd already heard once before. He should've recognized the similarities.

But he didn't connect the dots because things were different then, with his dad. When it happened to Eren and his mother, it wrecked him. It still wrecks him now. It didn't feel real at all. And now he misses her so, so much.

When Eren was fifteen, finding out that his father and older brother were gone for good, he doesn't remember feeling wrecked or sad or missing them.

He doesn't remember feeling anything at all.

Seven years later, knowing who killed them, Eren feels…

Eren feels exactly the same.

Maybe he's been a little monstrous since way back then.

~ ~ ~

Eren wakes up to moonlight, rain, and the smell of smoke. He blinks up at the unfamiliar gray ceiling, unconsciously fiddling with the fleece blanket loosely draped over his body. He's too big for it; it's pulled up to his chest and his ankles stick out the bottom. It's strange though; he remembers dropping onto the couch with nothing but his sweater as a makeshift blanket. The curtains too. He swears that he closed those last night, and hey—Eren can hear rain, so why is everything so dry outside?

Eren sits up slowly, his eyes scanning the room with narrowed eyes. There are a few more things different from how Eren remembers them. The wooden knives and stakes he remembers putting in front of Levi’s small closet are nowhere to be seen, and there’s a light on in the kitchen. The rain sounds seem to be coming from there too.

When Eren gets up to investigate, he finds Levi sitting at the kitchen counter, a mug in his hands as he stares blankly down at his steaming drink. There’s a candle in front of him, and a little speaker by the wall at the edge of the counter.

Eren knocks on the wall, and Levi looks up, his gray eyes brighter than before, a bit more alert.

“Good night,” Eren says with a nod.

The corners of Levi’s quirk up for a moment.

“Good night,” Levi says, moving his mug up to his lips.

“It looks like I turned you nocturnal,” Eren says, pulling up one of the tall chairs beside Levi’s.

The smell of smoke seems to be coming from the gray candle in front of Levi—its label says “Fireside”—and when a single tap of Levi’s finger against the speaker causes the rain to stop, all of Eren’s questions are answered.

...All of his more trivial questions, anyway.

“I should make a midnight shift at the Kitchen just for you as revenge,” Levi says.

“Hmm…” Eren drops his chin into his hand, stroking an imaginary beard with his fingers. “Doesn’t sound like too bad of a deal, honestly. How much do you pay?”

Levi scoffs instead of answering, and Eren smiles, moving his chair closer so that he can bump shoulders with Levi. Levi leans against him in response.

“Thanks,” Levi says quietly. “For yesterday.”

Eren’s smile softens, and he presses his face into Levi’s shoulder.

“Anytime.”

“I…” Levi clears his throat. “I was pretty out of it. If I had known that you—”

Levi clears his throat again.

“You didn’t have to sleep on the couch,” Levi says, his ears getting a pink tint. “If I had known you were staying over, I’d have told you so.”

Eren’s face burns. He’s immensely grateful that his head is tucked against the fabric of Levi’s shirt and out of sight.

“O-oh. I, uh—Yeah, I’ll keep that in mind, f-for next time.”

“Yeah,” Levi mumbles. He’s leaning more heavily onto Eren, though his head is turned away. “Good.”

And then things are quiet for a moment. Eren absentmindedly shifts his face from Levi’s shoulder to Levi’s neck, a deep sort of relaxation pooling in his chest and shoulders when he does. Something about it sets him at ease, even despite the slight throb in his fangs that comes from his close proximity to Levi’s veins.

Though his bite scars do start to itch a bit. Again.

“Eren,” Levi says.

“Hmm?”

“I’ve been… thinking about some of things you said yesterday.”

An image of his blond brother’s face flashes through Eren’s mind, and he stiffens. One of Levi’s hands immediately finds its way to Eren’s back, resting hesitantly there.

“We don’t have to talk about it though,” Levi says. “If you’re burnt out.”

“No,” Eren says quickly, raising his head out of the crook of Levi’s neck and pulling away slightly. “No, that’s, uh… We can talk about it.”

Should Eren tell him? He really doesn’t want to tell him. It’s probably hard enough on Levi with that family as strangers with no other connection to him. If he finds out that that man was Eren’s dad—that the Feral King is Eren’s brother—

“Alright,” Levi says, though he sends a confused frown Eren’s way. “Just tell me if it’s too much.”

“I will.”

It’s not like it changes much for Eren either way anyway. They’ve been dead for seven years already—he thought they all were anyway—and he was never angry at that anonymous killer. His mom was devastated, and that made him sad, but…

Shit, it’s fucked up that he didn’t care, isn’t it? He was fifteen, and on TV, people were always telling their parents to go die, so, at the time, he thought it was just one of those “hormonal teenager things” that every adult in his life was always going on about. It wasn’t like he was relieved or happy when they died! He was just… indifferent.

...Maybe he should’ve taken his mom’s offer when she told him she’d take him to see a therapist if he needed one.

“That thing you said,” Levi says, though Eren’s only half-listening, “about people changing. About how not everyone does. I think that… helped a lot. For a while, I didn’t think I…”

Eren tries to redirect his brain. It’s far too late to be over analyzing his teenage brain. He thought his dad and his brother were dicks, and he never knew Zeke’s mom, so he didn’t give a fuck when they died. Is that awful? Probably. But that’s not the thing Eren’s worried about right now.

Should he tell Levi? Now that he’s thinking about it, it might be worse to keep it from Levi. If they go and try to kill those vampires who turned Eren, they’ll probably run into Zeke. Zeke will probably recognize Eren, and springing that whole “yeah, this asshole is my brother” thing onto Levi in the middle of a life or death situation is a terrible fucking idea. So, Eren definitely has to tell him. Should he tell him right now? How is he even going to explain—

“...Eren.”

Eren blinks, green eyes wide as he looks over at Levi. Levi just sighs, setting his mug down on the counter.

“I told you we didn’t need to talk about it.”

“No, no,” Eren says quickly. “That’s my bad. I don’t mind talking about it. I just… Have a lot in my head right now.”

Levi’s expression softens a little, and he reaches up to rest his hand against Eren’s cheek, the tips of his fingers settling in his long brown hair.

“We’re a fucking mess,” Levi says.

Eren can’t hold back a laugh, covering Levi’s hand with his own.

“Good thing you like cleaning,” Eren teases, and Levi rolls his eyes.

A pale thumb gently sweeps back and forth across Eren’s cheek, and Eren leans into the touch, his mind clearing a bit. His thoughts are no longer quite so fast, so frantic. It’s a bit easier not to focus on them with Levi there as a physical distraction, pulling Eren out of his own head a bit.

“What’s in there?” Levi said, shifting his hand to knock his knuckles against the side of Eren’s head. “I’ll help clean it up.”

Eren’s smile wavers, his gaze lowering.

“It might make your own head messy again.”

“That’s fine.”

Eren takes a deep breath.

“Furlan… Yesterday, when I called him, he told me the name of the Feral King.”

Levi nods.

“Zeke.”

“Zeke Jaeger,” Eren says.

Levi frowns slightly but nods again.

“I’ve… never told you my full name,” Eren says. “It’s Eren Jaeger.”

Levi’s eyes grow wide, his hand falling away from Eren’s face, but Eren hurries to grab hold of that pale hand before it can fully retreat.

“Eren—”

“Just wait,” Eren says. “Please. Let me explain.”

Levi scowls, but he keeps his lips pressed shut, even as his hand fidgets in Eren’s grasp.

“He’s my brother,” Eren says. “My older brother.”

“But I—” Levi clutches his head with his free hand. “Your… your mother—”

“No,” Eren says quickly, leaning towards Levi. “No, Levi. Not my mom. Zeke’s my half brother. We only share a dad. My mom was killed by ferals, just like I’ve always said.”

“You—” Levi shakes his head. “You talked with Furlan—You’ve known this since yesterday—why are you still here?”

“Levi, that doesn’t change anything for me—”

“Why the fuck not?” Levi snaps, yanking his hand out of Eren’s grip. “Eren, I—I killed your family!”

“Levi, no—”

Eren tries to reach for Levi’s hands again, but Levi abruptly moves them out of reach, his chest heaving.

“Don’t.”

Levi tries to wipe off his hands, his black eyebrows pulled downward into a deep scowl. Eren clenches his hands into fists, struggling to get air into his lungs.

Levi’s angry—not at him. Eren has to fix this. Levi’s hands—where are the paper towels? If he turns away, will Levi run? Does Levi even want his help? He wants to touch Levi. Levi doesn’t want that. He needs to finish explaining. He doesn’t want to go into detail about that time. Zeke, his dad—they’re haunting him like unruly fucking ghosts. He didn’t want to make Levi spiral again—He feels fucking sick, like his stomach is boiling—

“I don’t get you,” Levi snaps. “Why—knowing what I did—did to you—why are you still here?”

“Because I love you—”

“Why? Why are you siding with me over them?”

“Because they never fucking did!” Eren exclaims. “Always—it was always only my mom, just my mom—my dad never—Zeke never—”

Eren’s eyes are burning. His throat aches. He hates this. He doesn’t want to yell at Levi. He’s not yelling because of Levi. It’s because of his fucking dad, because of Zeke, because of those bastards that he was finally able to not think about after all these years—

“Why would I choose them over you?” Eren’s hands are clenched into tight fists. He feels a sharp pain in his palms and ignores it. “They never loved me. You do.”

Eren looks over at Levi, who’s staring at him, practically frozen.

“...Don’t you?”

Levi’s mouth opens and closes without words for a moment before he manages two words in a quiet, hoarse voice.

“I do.”

Eren’s eyes are still burning, aching. When his eyesight blurs, he wipes at his wet eyes. Pale hands are retreating from him when his sight is clear again—Levi reached out to him but is already pulling back. Frustration burns in the pit of Eren’s chest, and he’s reaching out before he can think better of it.

“For fuck’s—I don’t care, Levi, just get it on me,” Eren snaps, grasping Levi’s hands and covering them with his own. “It’s not like it’s going to fuck me up even more—I’m already—”

Eren goes stiff when he catches a glimpse of Levi’s face. It’s flat, masked, emotionless. Whatever anger that was in him cools immediately, and Eren quickly releases Levi’s hands, internally cursing himself for his insensitive, stupid mistake. Has he learned nothing from everything that happened yesterday? This is it. He’s fucked up absolutely everything—

“You…”

Levi’s eyes are on Eren’s hands.

“You don’t make any sense,” Levi says.

“I… I’m sorry.”

“You really… don’t care?”

Eren winces, his gaze dropping to his lap.

“That’s not what I—it was a bad choice of words—”

“It doesn’t change how you feel about me?” Levi asks, his voice a little louder, more insistent.

“N-no,” Eren says. “It doesn’t.”

“Even though it’s your brother.”

“My brother’s a murderer.”

“So am I,” Levi says, shifting his gaze from Eren’s hands to Eren’s eyes.

“Yeah, and I will be too, soon,” Eren says. “But I love you and my brother runs a murder cult that lead to the death of my mom.”

Levi stays silent, and Eren bites his lip.

“...Does it change things for you?” Eren asks. “The fact that I’m not bothered by it?”

“No,” Levi says immediately. “I just… don’t… It’s hard to believe. For me.”

“That I don’t care about my brother?”

“That you love me,” Levi says. “Because when I did that, I… I still don’t… Trust myself.”

Eren’s shoulders lower slightly, his expression softening.

“Do you want me to prove it?”

Levi frowns.

“...Can you?”

Eren holds out his hand. Levi just continues frowning at him.

“What do you see?” Eren asks. “When you have to clean your hands off like that?”

Levi’s mouth opens and shuts once before he answers.

“Blood.”

Eren's breath stutters a bit. He'd been wondering about that...

Slowly, he reaches out to grab Levi’s hand again, pulling it closer until Levi has to lean forward. Eren keeps pulling until Levi’s hand is flat against his chest, right over where his dead heart lies beneath the surface.

“Levi,” Eren says, smiling slightly in spite of everything, “I’m a vampire.”

He slowly raises Levi’s hand higher, pressing his lips against Levi’s knuckles.

“It’ll take more than a little blood to scare me away.”

“That…”

Levi lets out a deep sigh, getting out of his seat.

“That’s the cheesiest fucking shit you could’ve said.”

Eren’s face grows hot at the unexpected insult, and he drops Levi’s hand, unable to make anything more than incoherent noises of offense in his current headspace. By the time Levi has stepped closer, all Eren can manage is—

“Wha—I’m out here trying to prove my love to you, and that’s what you—”

Eren is interrupted by Levi dropping his entire body onto Eren, and Eren wraps his arms around the man’s back to stop them both from falling off of the chair.

“Levi?”

“Sorry,” Levi says. “It’s… habit.”

“You need to work on that,” Eren grumbles, burying his face into Levi’s neck again, the action immediately setting himself at ease. “One of these days I’m seriously going to get offended.”

Levi nods, still leaning heavily on Eren and showing no sign of trying to hold up his own weight.

“I hope…” Levi says quietly. “...Nothing’s able to scare you away.”

Eren smiles, holding Levi tighter.

“Nothing will,” Eren says. “I promise.”

Not the blood on Levi's hands, not Eren's dad, not the Feral King. Nothing's going to scare Eren away. He's certain of that now.

Levi sighs, and Eren’s fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt.

“What about you?”

“Hm?”

“Is anything going to scare you away?”

Levi scoffs, pulling back just enough to look Eren in the eye.

“You’re going to wish something could.”

Eren grins, leaning in to press his lips against Levi’s.

“No, Levi, I don’t think I will.”