#a letter titled : I Hope You've Been Doing Well

[solomonyau]

what it's like inside my mind - Chapter 13 : 'a letter titled : I Hope You've Been Doing Well.'

I hope you’ve been doing well. 

This may not seem like the most conventional way to send my letters, but I figured you’d never open them anyways so I thought I’d let you know that -

If I could nail my hands to the closest things that reminded me of you, I’d nail them to your smile

Your scent still lingers on the hoodie that you often times deliberately stole & wore to every single time we met 

The pictures, still littered on my wall felt as though as if they were glued with the strongest glue in the entire universe

Funny enough, I never really believed in the thought of love until I met you

But now I understand that loving you was the best thing that I’ve ever done 

& maybe it’ll never be the biggest mistake that I’ll ever do

But if the law of love was timing & chemistry - then maybe according to physics I’d be off exactly the amount of spaces between calloused hands

This empty squared-foot of a structure would be broken down, rebuilt with constant defence’s known as heartbreak 

Shattered glass - impending ambulances with the sirens on 

Whaling at the footsteps of heavens gates, structuring procedures to stitch this torn up vessel 

Doctors yelling ‘He needs a love transfusion, we need a donor!’ 

Watching you walk out that heavy door only known to lovers

So, I hope he’s been treating you well

I hope he loves the way you smile as it grins across your face

I hope he wears your colours, as I’ve only known to wear black

I hope he holds your hands, when they get cold & lets you pull away when you are embarrassed for your sweaty palms 

I hope he gives you hugs, when the darkness gets so unbearably cold

I hope he fills your void, for I was never enough to eclipse the moons that were covering your star signs

But lastly, I hope he kisses you, in the small doses that you ever so love

So, I hope you’ve been doing well

I hope you’re achieving the happiness that ever so eluded you, 

& just know that this will be the last ever letter I’ll ever send to you.

[ariadnes-elixirs]

thinking of an isekaied reader and a yandere noble boy...

(gn reader x male noble yandere)

part 1 / part 2 / part 3

tw: none (?) so far, just some obsessive sounding letters

you were currently staring at a face that wasn't yours, in a castle you've never seen, surrounded by people you don't know. you look down at you hands, now covered in jewelry you could have never hoped to afford in your previous life. your unblemished, dainty hands that have never seen a day of work.

the first couple days you spent in this body were spent in bed. you were told by the nurse that you had collapsed while leaving supper and had been asleep for several days.

your father, the count, made the estate's staff keep you in bed and well taken care of. he was a tan and muscular man with a scar across the left side of his face. at first you were intimidated by his rough appearance, especially because these settings usually accompany a stereotypically abusive family for the female protagonist.

however, you found that he was a kind and gentle man, genuinely concerned for his child's well being. his eyes soften as they turn to you, and after asking around, you found out that he has been working remotely from the estate ever since you passed out.

you found out from a maid that he was born a commoner, but excelled at combat and battle strategy. which caught the eye of the grand duke, and his daughter.

the grand duke's daughter was about the same age as him, and there were rumors floating around about them meeting in secret as children, then falling in love as they grew older.

he was able to prove his worth to the kingdom and earn his title through battle. although, it was unclear if he did this just to obtain status, or if it was to impress a certain grand duke.

your mother was usually busy tending to the estate's financial affairs, but the few times you saw her around were when she was at your bedside, reading a book in her lap while playing with a strand of your hair as you were tended to by nurses and maids.

apparently, regardless of the status your father obtained, the grand duke was insistent that his daughter was too good for him. he would shout and scream like a child about how she would marry the prince, who is now the king. when she refused to do so, he disowned her.

with your father's newly obtained title of "count" he obtained land, and greatly assisted the men and women he paid to build the estate you and your family currently live in.

your mother apparently knew that she would get disowned as soon as they made their relationship public. so, they strategically announced their engagement and wedding so that your mother could simply move in with your father as soon as she was disowned.

she usually appeared cold and didn't say much, but the way she looked at your father made you believe she had no regrets and loves him, you, and the life she has. the way your father looked at her also made you believe that he was deeply in love with her, as he borderline worshipped the ground she walked on. they were a private, yet happy couple and you were their beloved only child.

this scene was familiar, but you couldn't quite place it. you were an avid reader of "otome isekai" manga and manhwa, but nothing about this seemed familiar to you. so, when you were finally allowed to leave your bed, you tried to deduce as much as you could about where you were.

eventually, you decided to ask your parents. claiming that you were having issues with your memory since you collapsed. technically not a lie, and they looked concerned while they answered your questions one at a time. as you got up to leave, you noticed a pile of unopened letters on the windowsill of your parents' joint office.

your parents sighed as their attention shifted to what you had been staring at.

your father spoke up first, "that friend of yours has not stopped sending letters ever since he found out what happened to you," he continued, "i knew it was a mistake telling him you collapsed."

your mother expression shifted into a sly yet knowing look, "well, i can't blame the boy for being concerned. the two of you have been attached at the hip since childhood."

your father makes an abstract motion with his left arm, vaguely gesturing at the pile of letters. "we didn't want to disturb your rest or worry you, so we decided to hide the letters until you recovered." he pauses, "feel free to take them on your way out."

you walk over to the windowsill and slowly start collecting the letters. all addressed to what is now "your" name. as your eyes shift to the return address, you notice they all came from an oliver northwood.

you say your goodbyes to your parents, and make your way back to your room. once you've arrived, you set down the letters on your bed and slowly realize just how many letters he's written to you within the past four days. you begin with the earliest ones, all of which contain very sweet and concerned messages, wishing for you to recover soon.

as you keep reading, you start to feel a sense of dead wash over you as the contents of the letters become more... unsettling. shifting from statements like "i wish you a speedy recovery and can't wait to see you again!" to "every day i go without seeing your face is a day wasted. i wish i could go over there to see you, even if you 'aren't awake.'"

you push on, finally getting to the more recent letters. the contents causes a small shiver to run down your spine. "i miss you so so so so much. my darling, my love, my closest friend. please please get better soon. i feel myself slowly going insane when you aren't near me. sometimes, i feel like you are the one thing keeping me stable. please get better. please..."

you don't know this man, but the person whose body you now inhabit did.

you try to recall every male lead you could. oliver northwood... oliver northwood... doesnt sound like any male lead youve read about. you did read... so much otome isekai though. so its also possible you just cant remember.

just who is he?

please let me know if you want a continuation! :)

[lehguru]

GYM (STAFF) CRUSH + RORONOA ZORO

getting a part-time job at your local gym during the summer sounded like a good idea. the guy you've been eyeing for months thought the same thing.

info: my submission to the help wanted! collab hosted by the @interstellar-inn!! its been sum time since i last wrote sum this big sob. wc 1.5k — warnings: gym talk, a gym goer is a bit of an weirdo towards reader, swearing || ko-fi

if you focused enough, you could see the heat waves coming from the asphalt outside. the sun seemed unbearable—you felt bad for the people that left their cars in the parking lot—, but the air conditioner hitting you right in the back of your neck ensured you were comfortable. as you were typing away in the reception computer, pretending to do the spreadsheet the manager asked you to fill (before she simply left, the surfboard on top of her car a good clue to where she went), you lost yourself in the song playing on the loud speakers.

fortunately, you managed to put your playlist on that day. All the songs playing not only were the ones you listened to while working out, but also were your favorites to daydream with too. while you were softly dancing and shaking your head to the beats, you didn’t notice one of your coworkers approaching you.

the burly man rested his forearms against the counter, his gray eyes started to watch your movements and one of his eyebrows raised. you finally turned around, you wanted to get some documents to actually submit something to the spreadsheet, and jumped back, one of your hands coming to rest against your chest. your eyes locked into his cold ones, your cheeks immediately heating up. his eyes narrowed for a split second; if you weren’t staring at his face, that would’ve escaped you.

“dude! you scared me!” you took a deep breath, trying to ignore the heavy gaze staring at you.

“sorry,” he muttered, his deep voice making it sound almost like a growl. he placed a clipboard in front of you, the title ‘storage’ making you hum softly. “the inventory and stuff we need to buy.”

you nodded, thanking him quietly and smiling at him. the man didn’t smile back. he never did, anyway. he nodded and turned around, walking back inside the gym and leaving you with your inner turmoil. as you sighed loudly and turned to the computer again, you tried to focus on the work.

getting a summer job wasn’t a bad idea. as a college student, you could use some extra money for emergencies—even if you knew you would end up spending it anyway, it was still extra money. your local gym had some job openings and you, someone who went there everyday, thought it was a good idea to send an application. it was indeed a good idea, the job was easy, you could stay in a cool environment while the heat outside seemed to cook you alive, plus it paid you enough. the only problem was that he had the same idea.

roronoa zoro was your gym crush for a while. you were convinced he was everyone’s gym crush, though. throughout the couple of months since the first time you saw him—you still remember how your eyes widened seeing his broad back flexing during pull ups—, you noticed that you both went to the gym at the same time and, fortunately, sometimes your workout would match his. the longest interaction you two had, before starting to work together, was him asking if you were done with using a specific bench. you murmured a quick and embarrassed ‘yes’, almost tripping over your own feet in the process, and he just nodded, taking your place in the bench as you walked to your next exercise.

you thought that having to see you almost everyday would make him open up, but the green haired man always kept you at arms length, never letting you past the ‘we are coworkers’ wall. you sighed once again, frowning slightly and erasing another random line of letters you typed to look busy. a small cough and an ‘excuse me’ took your attention from the screen, from your thoughts as well, and you turned around, hoping to see zoro standing there. unfortunately, it was one of the guys that always caused some kind of trouble around the gym—your manager didn’t really care enough to kick him out or even give him a warning.

you put on your best customer service smile and blinked sweetly at him. “yes, sir? how may i help you?” you said, trying to not sound like you wanted him gone… which you did.

“can you change the music or something?” he said, placing his hands on the counter and leaning towards you, almost as if he was trying to intimidate you. you raised your eyebrows at his behavior and he carried on, not caring about your reaction. “i forgot my headphones, so i have to listen to what you guys play.”

the smile on your face faltered for a second. the urge to just tell him off, say that him forgetting his headphone wasn't your problem, overwhelmed you quickly; biting your tongue, you answered:

“unfortunately, there's nothing we can do. the playlist is selected by the staff and—”

“you're staff, you can change it then.” he cut you off and smirked, making you almost roll your eyes. “c'mon, this playlist fucking sucks. anything will be better.”

before any other word could escape his crusty lips, a voice you grew used to interjected into the conversation. “i like this playlist.”

you both turned to look at zoro and you bit your lower lip to hide a smile. your coworker was looking terrifying; his arms were crossed, his biceps and shoulders seemed like they were about to burst open the black sleeve of his shirt, and the absolute angry gaze he shot at the man—who was now cowering a little—made you almost feel bad for him.

“is there any problem, sir?” you placed a hand over your mouth, trying to hide your giggle in a subtle way. if you looked at zoro, you would see how the corner of his lips curve up for a moment.

the guy shook his head and put his hands up, slowly backing away from the counter and leaving through the front door. as soon as he left, you allowed a soft chuckle to escape your lips. before you could thank zoro, or call the other guy an asshole, the man in front of you murmured loud enough for you to hear:

“fuckin’ asshole.” he turned to look at you. a deep breath made his chest wave up and down, your eyes flicking from that movement back to his eyes. “you good?”

you nodded. the muscles on his jaw flexed and roronoa opened his lips slightly, as if he was about to say something, but he closed them again. you wish you could be inside his mind, the curiosity of what he wanted to say made you lean forward; you hoped it would make him want to say.

instead, he uncrossed his arms and rubbed the back of his head. “i will be in the back.”

you felt a little bit…disappointed. you hoped he would stay there and talk to you a little more. the situation you just went through was shitty, but it made him stand up for you. you wanted him to stay there, to use the situation as an excuse to be with you for the rest of your shift, but you just nodded.

“i— your buzz cut looks nice.” you blurted out of nowhere, making you want to slap yourself in the face. you prayed he wouldn't notice your embarrassment.

if he did, he didn't mention it. he just chuckled, a deep and husky sound that almost made you giggle again, and growled a ‘thanks’.

as you tried to settle back into your work, you couldn't shake off the small feeling that settled in the pit of your stomach. it wasn't necessarily bad, it just…annoyed you. having the man as your gym crush was already annoying, how would you work with him if you had a real crush? you felt your face heating up even more, but you were pulled away from your thoughts by zoro himself; not even five minutes after he left, he came back to the reception.

“actually…” he started, his eyebrows furrowing. “do you want to work out with me tomorrow?”

the way your eyes widened gave out your surprise, but you quickly answered. “su— sure!” you licked your lips—you were obvious to the way he followed the movement with his eyes and licked his own lips—and sighed. “but the manager did say that thing about ‘no workplace relationships’... not that this would be a relationship, i mean—”

“fuck the manager.” he growled, shutting you instantly. you smiled with joy at his audacity, you wanted to say the same out loud for a while. “see you at the same hour tomorrow, then?”

you nodded. “yeah. same hour.”

he nodded too and walked away, this time a big smirk—it was your first time seeing anything like that—stamped on his face. you scoffed. did you seriously let him defend you and be the one to take the first step?

well…at least that gave you a push to be the one to initiate a kiss.

2024 © content belongs to lehguru, do not repost, translate or feed it into ai without permission

[endearng]

The books that I keep by my bed — are full of your stories

Pairing: Spencer Reid x reader Summary: The answer is: you don't. | Part 2 to Lifeline. WC: 1.9k Warnings: none :) this is pure fluff and maybe a little delusional lol considering reader's background A/N: I have no excuse for myself, I love to call people I love and read to them. I feel like Spencer would love that as well. The title is based on the song 'Sloom', by Of Monsters and Men. <3 | masterlist

Now, a year after the incidents that made your life change for the better, as you wake up every day, you can remember the first thing you see. Maybe the white ceiling as the soft fabric of your duvet grazes your skin. Maybe a vision of your window. Maybe your nightstand, where you keep sort of a shrine — a current read, a picture of you as a kid, your reading glasses, a lamp, your favorite watch, the sobriety chip that you always put in your pocket whenever you went out. And the letters you got from Spencer, of course.

Things had been getting better, even if you had ups and downs. You slowly made your way back to college and were taking your last classes before graduation. You had an internship in a practice that allowed you to be in contact with the career you wanted to pursue, helping others through therapy. You also found your family again, having moved out of Richmond, but staying in touch and casually visiting them when you were in need of a shoulder. through it all, you got letters from dr. Spencer Reid.

You haven't met much, of course. He had stayed with you as long as he could when you were at the hospital, but he claimed that he would stay in touch. True to his words, you got letters weekly and sometimes he would call you late at night, being forced to by the timezone, in need of someone to talk to. You picked up every time and, at some point, you went to sleep hoping you'd get woken up by the sound of your phone ringing.

His letters always told stories that helped you fall asleep: creative, funny, gut wrenching at times. As time went by, you found out that, besides a great friend, he was also an incredibly talented writer. Spencer wasn't very good at disguising that it was he and his experiences that he talked about, no matter how hard he tried to convince you otherwise. You'd laugh about the fact that you were able to see right through him.

As soon as the phone stops ringing, letting him know you've taken his call, his face lights up in a smile. "Today was a good day."

"Is that so? What happened?" He asked, heart skipping a beat at the sound of your voice.

"I made some new friends at university." You squeal in excitement. He can feel the smile on your face. "They are a bit younger than me, but they are very supportive."

"I'm glad you have new friends now. University can be very demanding and overwhelming. It's important to have good company." He said, picking on a fingernail.

"I have you." You said, clutching the locker between your fingers.

He faltered.

"Y-yeah, but, you know... I'm not always around."

Glancing at your bedtime stories, you say, "You are". Yes, they are yours, because he wrote them for you.

Spencer gulps. God. This... This is getting out of hand.

Quietness. "Anyway, how was your day, Spencer?"

"It was... good. We just solved the case, but we're too tired to go back to Quantico now." He replied mindlessly.

"Then why aren't you getting some rest?"

He blurted out, "I needed to check on you."

A sigh from your end. He didn't quite know how to read that, since he was unable to look you in the eye, but he preferred thinking that you were happy that he called. "Thank you for doing that. But, you know, I'm doing good." Silence. "Are you?"

"I am, yes. I'm happy to talk to you."

"I always look forward to our calls. And your letters. You know, you're getting better at disguising yourself, Reid." You chuckle, imagining him rolling his eyes at you. "Don't say a word. Come on! A guy who sits and watches time going by? That's you! Although I was a little shocked to see that he wasn't stuck in place forever. That's a first."

He chuckled. "I assume you like it, then?"

"Very much," you quip. "I have a question, though. Is this a metaphor?"

"What for?"

"I was thinking. That guy you wrote about stays in place, apparently rooted to the spot, but suddenly he witnesses something unsettling in front of him and decides it's time to go, right?" he nods, although you can't see him. "Where to?"

"To his place."

"As in his house? Does he have one?"

Lying down on the mattress, he closes his eyes, focusing on your voice and how absolutely naive you were. "He might, yes. I might write about it whenever I can."

Again, he can feel your smile. "I'll be waiting, then. I'm glad you called."

Spencer falls asleep to your voice reading the short story he had written you, his phone clutched near to his wild heart.

—

Tonight, Spencer would actually come in to visit you. It was about time you two properly hang out together, after endless months of phone calls and letters sent to you — you had joked once that maybe he should come over. That made him drive all night to get to you.

You were a mess, having meticulously cleaned your apartment over and over so that it would be spotless when he arrived. You looked around and felt a strange sense of pride; the decor reflected the new stage of your life, the best one so far. The plants that adorned your living room, as small it may be, made you feel like you had something to care for, something to come home to. Something to be here for.

The doorbell rang. You thought you felt a ghost of sweat run down your back. Taking a deep breath, you saw Spencer Reid.

"Hi," you breathed out, the biggest, most honest smile on your face. He smiled back.

If the sun was a person, it would look like you.

In a hoarse voice, he greeted you back. "Hi."

Spencer took in your appearance. Your cheeks were fuller, your eyes were now brighter and your smile reached them. He had never seen such a sight before, and he felt his heart rate speed at the thought that it was for his eyes only. You were smiling at him. He fought the itch to give you a hug, thinking that it would be too much for you. A thought hit him then: that he would, that he could never do anything to upset you in any form.

All that from a smile alone.

"Come in, please," you said, making room for him to enter. "I'm dying to show you something."

Entering your apartment, he muttered, "I'm dying to see what it is."

Upon his arrival, the light seemed brighter and you could barely stop yourself from grinning like a damn fool. What did you do to my eyes?

"It's just a draft. I'm still working on it."

Pulled out of his reverie, he managed a small grin. Your hair was thicker, fuller, framing your face so beautifully. Your clothes fitted you a lot better and you looked very happy. Whether it was from seeing him or in general, Spencer didn't know, but he allowed himself to indulge at the precious thought. Your big, round eyes looked at him expectantly as your delicate hands held a paper out to him. Your graduation speech.

Looking at the yellowed sheet, he took it in his hands, fingers subtly brushing yours. You look at your hands. His touch doesn't make your skin crawl. It burns it.

This is the draft of a speech. I'm making sure to point this out because I must know what I'm going to say and what I won't. These last few months were challenging, but I'm finally starting to feel like myself again. I can see myself in the mirror and it's not a stranger. I'm no longer a stranger to the world, either. I talk to people. I understand them. I feel like doing things. It turns out that it wasn't too late. That I wasn't dead. I am not dead. And it took me bravery, a few people to whom I owe my life and that's not an overstatement, but that I'd like them to know that I'm immensely grateful for not letting me bleed myself out of my body. There's still me in here. And I'm nurturing her back to health with the help of my loved ones.

I'll never forget how you made me heal.

"I know it's not the best and I have a lot to say, but, um, I wanted you to see my first thoughts and I'm a bit scared you won't be there to hear me say it." You said, looking at him, who still glanced at the paper. "It's not like anything you write, because you sure have a way with words that I don't, but the thing is, I want you to feel like you've saved me. Because you did."

Unable to control his expressions, his brows furrowed as his eyes watered. You widened your own at him. "Shit. I... I'm sorry," you chuckled once he grinned at your curse. "You made me feel and realize so many things with no need for words. You looked at me and I felt seen, not wanted, not desired, not frowned upon... I felt seen. And I remember the look on your face every time I lay my head on the pillow."

It escapes him. He thinks he is just thinking it, but his mouth, lips, voice, everything betrays him. "You're the most beautiful person I've ever known."

Your flushed face, your mouth agape and your averted gaze make him smile. Warmth floods his chest when you say, "I'm lucky you think that."

"I'm lucky we met."

"I wanted to be the same way I once was before everything happened. But I guess that, I think I like me now. I like moving on. I like finding life again. And I know that whatever happens to me, I know it's better than anything."

"I want to happen with you."

Wrapping your arms around his torso, listening to his frantic heartbeat, you inhale deeply, your senses going haywire by the sheer presence of him. Your conversations made your heart feel fuller, his desire and questions to find out about you made you feel whole and you nurtured your curiosity about him as well. "Tell me how the drive went."

"It went well."

It is funny how people tend to shift between preferring the destination or the journey. To Spencer, it was both, and his analytic mind had, for once, trouble deciding between two things: the journey, where the anticipation of seeing you made his heart feel overwhelmed with joy over the mere prospect of looking in your eyes after months of falling asleep to the sound of your voice; or the destination, where he finally held you in his arms and your body pressed to his made everything feel realer than it ever was on his life.

Spencer smiled, unable to look away or to fight the blush creeping on his cheeks. Her genuine compliment left him speechless. "You... you have a way with words, you know that?" He inquired rhetorically with a tone that was a mixture of vulnerability and genuine surprise. "Your... compliments, they're..." He clears his throat, smiling dumbly, giddily, as his mind tries searching for the right adjective on his brain that apparently had short-circuited.

Smiling softly, you look up at him to brush a strand of his hair out of his face. His heart flutters because of your adoring gaze. "I love your eyes. Um, I think that they are gorgeous," you remark in that soft melodic voice that read him his short stories.

"... All yours. They are all yours."

The man rooted to the spot made his way back home.

[yanderegrizzsworld]

Heyyy. I just got into the digital circus fandom and I'm HOOKED with how well you write down the characters (even if it's only a few works) Not really a request but I just got an idea to share y'know. What if the Reader found a way to get out of the digital circus but can only transport themselves out, leaving the circus gang behind. What do you think they would be like?

In my opinion I think they would go nuts, because now their friend (and emotional support) is gone and it would increase their risk of getting abstracted.

Anon, I love how generous you are about how you think their abstraction risk levels would merely increase, as if they wouldn't just already abstract by the mere moment the learn the reader somehow managed to leave the circus.

Most of the crew would have a similar reaction, that of initial shock & disbelief. But afterwards, emotions differ slightly between each before an inevitable abstraction happens, but who would be the very first is hard to say.

Characters like Pomni, Ragatha would absolutely deny the possibilities of you escaping at first. How could you escape? More so, How could you escape without them? Why without them? Between the two, it's a pretty close tie on who abstracts first, but I'm of the belief that Ragatha would beat Pomni.

Kinger & Gangle would have a complete mental breakdown by your disappearance. Everyone viewed you as emotional support, but this two in particular made it very obvious that you were their support through this. I can imagine Ragatha attempting (& failing) to keep this two calm while she's trying not to abstract as well, yet their screams & cries echoing all around them is making it very difficult for her to.

Then you have Zooble & Jax, who both show little to no concern about the sudden problem. Hell, Kinger or Ragatha might even call them heartless (they don't actually mean it, they're just full of so many conflicting emotions & thoughts). But they both do care, & they feel just as heartbroken & empty of the fact you've left without even telling any of them. To an extent, they feel slightly at fault, that maybe if they were there for you more, that if they were softer with you, less rude, more open, perhaps you would've stayed? Perhaps you would've turned your back at the opportunity to return to the real world? For them?

Ragatha is already very close to her breaking point by the digital realm & she's my pick for the first one of the crew to abstract first. She's most likely/definitely seen previous performers abstract right before her eyes, any sense of self identity & awareness fully gone by the shatter of the mind. She held on to her self well & seemingly even better with you around! But now? I truly hope deep down she'll be happy to at least see Kaufmo down there, somewhere.

Pomni, I feel like, would ponder if she did something, for you leave without anyone, without her. Did she upset you? Did she annoy you to the point of using the opportunity to escape her? Why didn't you at least leave a letter or something? Her mind, so full of endless questions & what if's, completely consumes her. She won't feel or notice her body shifting & contorting as she abstracts, or maybe she does, & somewhere deep down in her, she feels she deserves it. You were arguably the only reason she didn't abstract yet & she was grateful for that, but now? She'll at least finally meet the other perfomers down there.

Kinger might honestly be the first to abstract the moment such words are uttered out loud. How?! When?! ...Why? Getting him to quit screaming at the top of his lungs will be high feat alone, but keeping him from abstracting? That's close to impossible now. He can at least have the "title" of the oldest & longest lasting performer who's been in the realm without abstracting.

Gangle is, pure & simple, an absolute mess. I don't personally think she'd abstract immediately after hearing the news, but she does become a ticking time bomb until her abstraction. She's very similar to Kinger, only difference is she sobs profusely instead of screaming. She most likely can't find the strength to wear a newly fixed comedy mask, the tragedy mask permanent on her face, regardless of Caine's insistence that she puts on a smile for the "audience".

At first everyone would believe Jax simply didn't care about the fact that you're gone. It wouldn't help his case if he were to say some snarky remark along the lines of how now he has to find a no one but himself to execute his pranks. Whatever he says most likely gets him a slap on the back of his head from Zooble. Yet under all that I don't really care attitude he has, he is just as devastated as the rest, he feels like some form of void has been born within him, everything from astounded to seething to desolate, an ardent & overwhelming collision of emotions that threaten to rip out of him with sick firmness. He feels at fault, he feels he's pushed you too much, made you feel unwanted. His guilt eats him alive, but he won't show it, he can't, he's the "funny asshole" of the crew! He's got a image to uphold here! But sometimes, when no one is around to see, he might knock on your old door or leave something in there, maybe in the hopes you'll return? Reveal it was some sick & unfunny joke on all of them? I feel like he's abstraction would be slow, but when he does, he's much more violent & seems almost desperate, perhaps looking for you?

Zooble is very similar to Jax in the way that their tone & general attitude come off as they don't care. Unlike Jax however, it is possible to see that they are affected by us leaving if one looks closely. Zooble is moodier than usual, quicker to snap at others (especially Jax) & is more adamant at being left alone, yet there's a palpable tint of sadness in their voice –slight cracks even– & when not locked up in their room, their found in areas that we frequented or liked the most. We've essentially become a touchy subject for them & the moment we're brought up, the room becomes a landmine. Their abstraction is also a slow one, yet everyone feels & expects it to come at some point now, when Zooble's ticked off, most back away in fear they'll abstract & attack them. Zooble's incredibly hard to read, & that makes them scary when abstracted.

[moodymisty]

Instead of Lorgar getting cucked by Erebus (shudders) what about Argel Tal? He’s a Word Bearer space marine and I’ve heard good things about him. Also, this way we can have had Lorgar get cucked by his father (Emepror), his brother (Horus), and his son (Argel Tal)

Author’s note: I’m sorry I couldn’t not do it XD I'm normally really not a cheating/NTR type of person, but i had this idea and decided to just go for it.

Warnings: very vaguely lewd, Cheating, You are Lorgar’s beloved but he’s been gone for almost two years so Argel’s gonna tap that

Lorgar was often gone for so long.

For months, months apon months, It wasn't uncommon for life ending droughts and city destroying floods to happen in his absence. Entire building erected or torn down.

It's approaching a year and a half now since he left, and if it weren't for the murals, tapestries and art, you would've sworn you had begun to forget the details of his face.

You've stopped sleeping in his room since. You couldn't do it anymore. Something about it just felt so empty and cold.

He’s due to be gone for months longer still, as his crusade has drifted him so far from home. The letters and vox calls have stopped since, it's too far for them to reach Colchis.

It’s been so lonely. The emotional loneliness, the lack of someone to talk to…

The physical loneliness; The want for a hug, and a warm bed.

Argel Tal has at least been saying your need for the first type, talking with you as you look over the balcony. You’re leaning against it, dress gently flowing in the wind as the cool night air hits your skin, while Argel grasps it with a single, armored hand. You're surprised he's made such good company, normally the astartes are so stoic that it's hard to speak to them for more than a bit at a time.

Then again, you also think he's doing it because Lorgar ordered him to. To keep an eye on you. You only have an inkling, but even if he was, at least he seems to be enjoying it a bit none the less. You are as well.

The conversation has tapered off however, and you watch lights in the far distance flicker while the stars shine in the sky. It's peaceful. Argel breaks the silence with his voice- deep and rumbling in that odd astartes way.

"...Do you miss him, my Lady?"

He takes off his helmet, looking down at you. You hear the soft clink as he hangs it on his belt. It takes a moment for you to gather the words.

"I do, more than anything, but..."

You hesitate. Argel Tal is his son, one of his prized captains. His look is expectant, and for some reason you perhaps naively think he won't misconstrue your words.

"He's been gone for so long that I almost miss him less. Like when someone dies and you miss them with all your heart, but the wound slowly fades."

Argel looks down at you, jaw shifting as he thinks.

“Perhaps the others might not but, I understand.”

You breathe a sigh of relief.

“Thank you, Argel. You are a good man.”

Argel smiles, his tan skin scarred across his cheeks but still warm. You can't help but smile back at him as a cold breeze makes you shiver.

“I am honored you think that.”

Argel has so much humility compared to the other Word Bearers you’ve met, it’s refreshing. It also helps that he isn't as dedicated to Lorgar's titles for you; And had listened to your request when you told him to not use them.

You've been always looking forward to seeing him in these moments. It's the most joy you get in weeks long stretches at a time.

“I,” You don’t know why you hesitate, for a moment. “I should head to bed. Thank you for your time again, Argel. I hope you know how much I appreciate you being here.”

The astartes nods, pulling away from the railing as you do the same.

"You make good company as well. Astartes like I don't often get to speak with normal humans beyond giving orders." You give him another smile, before wishing him good night. He nods and leaves you, after you politely declined his offer to bring you to your quarters.

When you had, he seemed like he had something a bit more to say, but instead closed his mouth and walked away.

You decided about halfway that you would return to Lorgar's personal quarters instead; Perhaps to read a few of his books before trying to sleep. It probably wouldn't help, but you still wanted to try anyways. It was a long walk to get across the palace to where his quarters were, and by the time you got there you felt like sitting down.

You close the massive doors behind you, looking around. The bed is made from the last time you were in here, not a thing out of place. All the papers on his desk are scattered just the same, things half written or abandoned; Almost as if frozen in time.

Suddenly the sound of footsteps right outside causes you to turn back towards the door with a look of surprise, which only grows widen when the door is shoved open to reveal Argel. He’s removed his armor in the short time since he left, walking towards you in only his loose robes.

You don’t have time to say anything; Argel’s hands grab your face with both hands around your jaw- ignoring your shock gasp and instinctive fear has massive hands reached towards your neck - and leans downward to smash his lips against yours. He is rough and unforgiving, but even in his forcefulness you can feel something gentle there.

“You cannot tell Lorgar about these sins I have already committed,”

He says, lips brushing over yours. You could say the same as well. You are his beloved, but not yet wife.

But you are also so, unbelievably lonely.

“I won’t, I won’t ever-“

His lips are back on yours, and you attempt to pull him towards the bed. Any hope in realizing you shouldn’t do this is gone, you lost it as his hands gripped the thin fabric of your nightdress. You lost it in the desire for some sort of company, to fill the places in your heart Lorgar's constant abandonments leave ripped open.

Your back hits the bed and Argel follows.

“Tell me what you want, before I lose myself to my own selfishness.”

His body is so heavy, but he’s unfraid to push his weight against you. He takes the breath from your lungs, his hand tight on your waist.

“Just… Just touch me.”

[lucysgraybird]

whoa...part 3 of modern!university!coriolanus x fem!reader, and it's 18+? who is she. anyways part 1 here, part 2 here

warnings: mdni, oral (f&m receiving), p in v (unprotected), blood mentions (minor), religious imagery (minor)

The summer between junior and senior year comes and goes, as does the first semester of your last year in college. It's filled with internships and grad school applications, but you're still going strong with Coriolanus. You get through the most unguarded you've ever seen him – the weeks leading up to the release of LSAT scores. You're actually unaware that it's coming up because he's been so private about the whole process until you get into a screaming match in the Snow apartment with him about something you can't even remember now. When you threaten to leave if he can't be polite, he breaks down crying – something you didn't even know he was capable of. He apologizes and explains himself, and though you suspect his tears aren't genuine, you catch him in a hug and hold him on the couch until he falls asleep. 

A week letter, his score comes in the mail: a perfect 180. The celebration is quiet – just you, his family, and his boss, who Coriolanus is closer with than you knew. He's an interesting man – his name is Strabo Plinth, and you learn that he's the CEO of a company that manufactures weapons for the government. You want to tell your boyfriend that such a job may not play well on his resumé at the polls, if that's where he wants to end up, but it's not your place and you're sure he's thought about that. 

All in all, by the time the spring semester rolls around, your futures are beginning to take shape. You both get into your dream schools, him for law and you for intelligence analysis. When that letter comes in, Coriolanus teases you up and down about being the stereotypical academic recruit into the CIA, but you care more to understand these agencies than work for them. You won't attend school together anymore, but it's not more than an hour by train to visit, and there's been no indication of the end of your relationship nearing. In fact, when your parents come down for parents’ weekend, Coriolanus spends about forty minutes talking to your father away from you and your mother, and when they rejoin the group, your father claps you on the shoulder and tells you that you found a good man.

There's a brief, blissful period at the end of the year before graduation when everything's been turned in and you can just enjoy the sunshine and new warmth. One of these days finds you and Coriolanus lounging on the quad on a blanket. Your head is in his lap as he plays with your hair, working his fingers through the small tangles that the early May breeze has created. It is quiet, and you are bored.

“Oh, Coriolanus,” you say, opening your eyes to lock on his. The midday light turns them almost white, like his eponymous snow. It takes a lot of willpower not to pull a face. 

“Yes, darling?” A nickname he's picked up in the last month or so. It made you laugh in shock the first time he said it, but now it feels lush. 

“I got an email from the dean the other day. I made valedictorian,” you say with a toothy, cruel grin.

You're hoping for a reaction, maybe a flash of anger. It dances across his features for the barest fraction of a second, enough to work a little adrenaline through your body, and then you get a neat smile and a cock of his head.

“Congratulations.”

“You're not mad?”

“Why would I be? You've worked hard, you deserve it. I'm not going to get upset over a silly title.”

You sit up and turn to stare at him. “What do you mean, silly?”

Coriolanus rolls his eyes. “Don’t be like that. I mean that I decided it wasn’t important to me anymore, now that I’ve gotten into law school. I thought you had gotten over it too, but since it’s important, congratulations.”

He’s deflecting, obviously, and you tell him as much. 

The corners of his mouth quirk up and he shrugs. “Okay.”

“No, you are! What, did you get salutatorian? Since when are you fine with second place?”

“Since first place wouldn’t have gotten me anything, darling. You’re ruining this for yourself, okay? I’m glad you got what you wanted.”

You’re left with nothing to say, searching his face for any mark of that brief rage from earlier before flumping back into his lap. He laughs. 

“I’m sorry, baby. You don’t need to pout. I would’ve said something else if I had known it was going to upset you like this.”

“I’m not upset.”

“Whatever you say.”

“I’m not,” you say, giving him a gracious smile, having found a new mate-in-one. “Whether or not you wanted the title anymore, we’ll always know who’s smarter.” 

Your face says teasing – your tone has teeth. Coriolanus’ eyes narrow. 

“That’s not what this means.”

“It’s what it means to me. And you clearly don’t care about that, so it should be no problem if that’s how I’m taking it.”

And ooh, you know it’s petty. You know this is possibly the most childish conversation you’ve had with anyone in years. But he doesn’t reply, opting instead to settle back on his hands and stare across the quad. There’s a mean tension in the air now, blooming hot, fizzy pride in your sternum. It’s nearly suffocating, but you breathe through it until it’s just another triumph. 

Graduation goes as smoothly as anything run by the school can – which is to say, too long and a bureaucratic clusterfuck – but you give your speech and get your diploma and take about forty pictures of Coriolanus onstage, and it feels like the perfect punctuation on this chapter of your life. After seemingly endless festivities and photoshoots with various family members, you’re dropped back at your apartment. There is no work to be done, for once: nothing to write or study, and your lease doesn’t end for another month, so nothing to pack. For the first time in your memory, you are truly idle, and you’re learning that it is not a feeling you enjoy. You pick up your phone and call your boyfriend.

“Hi, darling,” he says when he picks up. His voice is brighter than usual, a sure sign that he’s been drinking. “Did you get home okay?”

“Mhm. Did you?”

“Just laying in bed now.”

“Oh.” You try to keep yourself from sounding too disappointed, but from the huff of laughter on the other end of the call, you know he’s picked up on it. 

“What’s wrong?”

“Well, I was going to ask if you wanted to come over, but if you’re in bed, then nevermind.”

“Come over, like–”

“If you want.” You have yet to go this far with him, but tonight seems like as good a night as any. 

“Um, okay. Yeah, I’ll be right over.” 

The line goes dead, and you have to laugh. For all his airs and poise, he is still just a man. 

The benefit of today being important is that you’re already pretty done-up: your makeup is still perfect, though your lipstick gets a reapplication, your hair looks good, and you have matching, nicer undergarments on. Honestly, you’re not really sure what you’re supposed to do for this, not with him, and the confidence you had calling Coriolanus is fading fast. 

Unfortunately, it’s too late to be having those thoughts, because within twenty minutes, he’s knocking on your door. You let him in. He's still in his button-down, tie, and slacks from graduation, though he's shed his suit jacket. He leans down to catch you in a quick kiss. You wrap a hand around the Windsor knot in his tie, though whether it's to steady yourself or pull him closer is a mystery even to you. Not like it makes a difference; it elicits an electric, low groan from him anyways, his mouth opening over yours and deepening the kiss. He tastes like champagne, sweet and shimmery and young. It is a contrast to the way he grabs your waist with a heavy hand and presses his tongue in to fight yours, which feels like whiskey; all heady, stinging heat. You have not had anything to drink: you are starting to wish you had. 

When he pulls away to catch his breath, his lips are swollen and slick and stained with your blood-red lipstick and finally, finally, something alights in your chest and in your stomach and even lower, a ball of fire sitting in the cradle of your pelvis. You release his tie and drag a manicured thumbnail under the line of his bottom lip, smudging away the rouge you left there.

“Pretty,” you murmur, though you're not sure where that comes from. He is pretty, though, especially like this; undone and imperfect and desperate (you can tell as much by the way he's pressing into your hip), all for you. 

A growl releases from Coriolanus' throat and his hand goes to the belt of your dress, deftly undoing the buckle. He is desperate, but desperate for you to know that you haven't made him weak. You can only have from him what he is willing to give, he will take from you anything he wants. Or, at least, that's how he thinks as he starts dragging the zipper of your dress down, crowding you against your apartment wall.

“I have a bed, Coriolanus,” you protest weakly, the complaint dying on your lips as his latch onto your pulse point. He scrapes his teeth over the tendon in your neck, and you recall how he smiled at you when you were first dating, like he wanted to eat you. You realize he could now, if he tried, open his maw wide and sink sharp canines into the side of your throat, pierce the carotid artery and stain perfect teeth red with blood. Tipping your head back against the wall, you shiver and give him better access.

“Let’s go, then,” he murmurs, not stopping his ministrations on your collarbone, where he's working a bruise into the hollow between your clavicle and the muscle of your shoulder.

You shove his head back gently and lead him to your room, which is tidy save for your desk, which is still scattered with papers from exams. Coriolanus doesn't seem to care, just crowding you back towards your hospital-cornered bed. Once you're down, he's crawling over you and returning to suck marks down your shoulders and chest as he tugs your dress off your body. When he gets to your bra (a small, silk thing, meant to lay smooth under the dress you wore today), he just stares for a moment, tracing a finger over the fine fabric. Just as you're about to tell him to do something, Jesus Christ, he latches his lips over your nipple and mouths at it through the cloth, sending sparks down your spine and a wavering moan up your esophagus. When he switches to the other side, the wet patch is exposed to the air and the sudden chill is almost more electric than the warmth of his tongue. You wonder if he could push you over the edge with just this; it certainly feels like he could. Then he shoves a hand under your back to release the clasp and tear your bra off, and the two seconds his mouth is off your skin gives just enough reprieve that when he returns and bites down, the rush of pleasure drops straight to your core with an ache that has your hips canting up. This inspires a breathy, warm chuckle from Coriolanus.

“Impatient,” he teases. 

You swallow hard. “It's not my fault you're…”

“Good at this?” He says, dipping his hand between your legs and dancing his fingers over the gusset of your panties, eliciting a whimper and an honest nod from you. 

“You don't know the half of it, darling,” and he hooks his arms under your knees to drag your hips forward until they're nearly off the bed. He's knelt between your legs like he's taking the Eucharist, ready to devour the blood and body of all that is holy. You watch his blonde head through fluttering lashes as he licks a line up the inside of your thigh before biting down right where it meets your hip. He breaks the skin, soothes the little wound with his tongue as he works your underwear down your legs. The way he stares at you – all of you – while he's still fully clothed, no mark of the past half-hour except his loosened tie and lipstick-marked mouth, makes you squirm. He braces your hips down with a strong forearm and looks up at you with a hunger in his icy eyes that is yet unfamiliar to you.

“Pretty,” he whispers like the beginning of a prayer, echoing your earlier utterance, and collects your wetness on his index finger as he runs it through your folds. 

The foreign feeling makes you whine. Coriolanus’ tongue flicks out over his lips like a snake before he dives into your cunt like a man starved. When your hand shoots down and grabs his hair, the groan that he lets out against you has you jerking like you've been electrocuted. He only grabs the fat of your hips harder, the pads of his fingers pressing in so hard that you're sure you'll have little dotted bruises there in the morning. It's almost embarrassing how quickly he works you to orgasm, your body trembling and your breath stilted as you teeter on that peak. His eyes flash and one hand releases you. Before you can ask what he's doing, he plunges two fingers into you and curls them up right as he sucks your clit hard, and that pain-pleasure of the sudden intrusion combined with his mouth has white-hot flames engulfing your body as stars explode in your vision and your legs very nearly go numb. His tongue and fingers don't stop until you're coming down and pleading with him in a broken voice, an orison to the congregant turned deity drunk on newfound power. He acquiesces, though, crawling up your body to kiss you and lick the taste of your pleasure into your mouth. Underneath it, there's the bitter, sanguine taste from his bite to your thigh, a reminder of the vulnerability necessary for that blessing. 

Legs still shaking, head still a little fuzzy, you use his determination to kiss you breathless to flip the narrative so you're straddling his hips, his growing need heavy and hard against you through the fabric of his dress pants. One eyebrow twitches up as he grins, though it wavers when you shift on him. 

“My turn?” He asks as he smooths his hands down your thighs, and you know he can feel the way your muscles twitch and jump under your skin.

“Your turn,” you reply, and shift so you can undo his belt. 

The metal of the buckle is cold in your hands, your skin still feeling a little like it's been set aflame, but you get it off and shove your hand into his boxers, unceremoniously pulling out his cock. He lets out a choked groan at the speed, and you think his eyes roll back in his head when you slide down his body. You allow yourself a moment of hesitation, having never done this before (or even really thought about it) before taking the head in your mouth and swirling your tongue around it. The moan he lets out is primal, raw, and you are determined to get another from him as you hollow your cheeks and sink down further, minding your teeth enough to let them just graze the shaft. He shudders and jerks upward, hitting the back of your throat, and though it makes you gag, there's a certain pride in knowing you're breaking his composure, so you hold him there for a moment until he whimpers and slides a hand into your hair and you know you've taken the power back that he stole from you a moment ago. You swallow around him there before slowly moving back up, flattening your tongue against the underside before licking over his slit and sinking back down as far as you can bear, and his voice cracks around a moan as he cums down your throat. 

When you pull off him and swallow, he has an arm thrown over his eyes as he catches his breath.

“Where did you learn to do that?” He asks. His hair is tousled, sweaty strands stuck to his forehead and you grin, toothy and mean.

“Beginner’s luck,” you say as you take his softening dick in hand and watch how quickly he sits up.

“What are you-” he starts, but cuts himself off with a whine as you slide your hand up and down a couple times, trying to work him back up. “Stop, stop, that-”

Another moan, and you watch, pleased, as he starts to harden again in your grip. To be honest, you don't know where you're going with this, or what you expected to happen, you just wanted to see what other reactions you could get from him, how far you could take your regained power. 

As it stands, not very far, because he's hissing as you slide your thumb over the tip and flipping you over again so his elbows are braced next to your head.

“You're on the pill, right?” He reaches down between you to swipe his fingers over your clit.

You nod and buck your hips up into his hand, and with a breathy chuckle, he takes himself in hand and starts to guide himself into your entrance. There's a slight sting - he's bigger than anyone you've ever been with before - but he takes it slow, an uncharacteristic tenderness.

That is, until he's buried to the hilt and staring down at you, then snapping his hips in a way that should hurt but doesn't. It feels full and close and warm, his skin sliding against yours, sweat and other fluids mingling. You sneak a hand down to your clit and rub quick and hard, the way you do when you're alone at night and just need to get off and go to sleep. You're determined to reach your release before he does and you succeed, catching him in a kiss just as you cum, muffling your moans against his lips. The way your walls clench around him has him going rigid and giving you the most raw, tearing groan as he spills deep inside you, clearly not having expected to get there as quickly as you forced him to. He doesn't pull out immediately, opting instead to kiss you again, and you're not sure where you end and he begins, every bit of you mixed, in some way, with every bit of him. You stroke over the tense muscles in the back of his neck and he lets out a shaky breath onto your skin. Somehow, you know you've won this round, taken a weakness from him that he never meant to show you. When he rolls off you and tugs you into his side, you close your eyes, sleepy and sated in more ways than one.

[strawberrynightmere]

Bad Cats!!! [Part 3]

Warning ⚠️: yandere tendencies, mention of (temporary?) re-homing, mention of financial struggling (idk how to exactly put it), an attempt at writing a professional sounding email.

A/n: Sorry, this took a while, I had things to do. This is a bit longer than what I expected.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

It finally happened. Your boss' incompetence has set back the whole company. You knew it would happen eventually, but you thought that by then, you'd be working somewhere else. There's still no reply from the places you applied to and the bills! What are you going to do now? The obvious thing is to cut your food supply short, but that's still not enough.

And how are you going to take care of Andrew and Ashley? You can't just toss them outside. That's inhumane! You've grown attached to those two and they have also grown attached to you. Besides, they've been living here with you for some time, and you're afraid they won't be able to adjust to the streets again.

All of this has been brought up in your conversation with Julia. Unlike Nina, Julia knew how to offer helping you.

"What if I take them in until you get back to your feet."

"You would do that? Even take in Ashley?"

"Yeah! You said they got tamer over the time, besides when introduced to new people. I can deal with that for the time being."

You wanted to cry in releaf. Like a boulder just fell off of your shoulders. You make the arrangement with Julia and end the call.

"Meow?"

Andrew was right at the doorway looking at you with what you can pinpoint was concern.

You crouch down to his level and pat his head. "Everything is alright."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You were waiting for Julia in the park, where you said you two would meet. Andrew and Ashley were in their cat carriers wondering why they were here and what was happening.

You hear footsteps running in your direction. It was Julia!

"Sorry I'm late. Traffic." She said out of breath.

You take her to the bench you were sitting on to rest a bit. While she was resting, you, for some reason unknown to anyone, spoke to Andrew and Ashley.

"Listen, you two will be staying with Julia, temporarily, please be good to her. I'll come back for you as soon as possible." Then you turn to and tell her what she needed to know about the two.

Meanwhile, Andrew and Ashley were confused, to say the least.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The time the cat siblings spent with your friend was unpleasant. Ashley hated everything about this situation. She hated the place they were living in. She hated Julia. She hated how she treated them as babies. She hated that Andrew was unresponsive the whole stay.

"Are you still going to stay quiet?"

At this point, she'll die of boredom and frustration.

Speaking of which.

Ashley slaps her brother with her little back paw.

"Are you gonna talk now?"

"She left us."

"Huh?"

"She. Left. Us." Andrew repeated, emphasizing each word.

"Well, watcha gonna do about it?"

"Something I should've done before."

That surprised her. It took only a moment for her to realise what he meant.

"Oh. Oh! My god, really? Are you actually gonna do it? You are gonna listen to me. This. This moment is so much bigger than me! I'd like to thank myself for holding up for so long. My parents... can continue to rot in Hell where they belong."

Andrew just rolled his eyes at his sister's dramatic speech, like she was gonna get some kind of reward.

"But anyways. This episode is titled 'Andy and Leyley and the-"

"You're not going."

"Huh?!"

"You'll stay here and distract the human. She still can't tell the difference between us."

Ashley sinks down to the floor.

"And Leyley is stuck with the crumiest job possible."

"Daww, don't worry, Leyley. We'll pick you up very soon." Andrew assured in a teasing tone.

"Ha ha ha! Fucking asshole."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

One rejection letter after another. You were losing hope. You're gonna end up homeless at this point.

Slumping your head on the table.

Ding!

An email from your current job. It's probably gonna beo something like half of the company being let go. Whatever. You click on the email.

---

Respected workers of [COMPANY],

It has come to us with a heavy heart to announce that [REDACTED] from [DEPARTMENT NAME] has been forced to let go.

As you are all aware of the current setback in this company. We are glad to announce that this is just a small hiccup, and in soon time, the company as a whole will soon be able to function like before, and you'll be able to receive your full payments.

For any questions you have, please email us.

With full regards

[RANDOM NAME]

P. S. As for the new manager of [DEPARTMENT NAME], the position will be vacant until further notice.

---

This has to be a dream. You rub your eyes to confirm. Yep. It's real. So many questions were forming. Was any of this possible? What was this feeling right now?

Who cares! You won't have to worry about this anymore. You won't have to worry about finding a home for Andrew and Ashley or the possibility to send them to a pound. You won't have to worry about starving or being homeless.

And the best part? That sucker of your boss finally got fired.

Wait. Andrew and Ashley. You'll have to see until next month if you'll be able to take them back. Right. It's late. You'll tell Julie about the good news in the morning.

"Meow."

What the...

Black fur, green eyes. Either you're hallucinating from the lack of sleep and the lack of nutrition, or that really was Andrew sitting at the doorway.

You carefully get close to the cat and stretch your hand out to him. And then you feel his little head rubbing against your palm.

"What are you doing here?" You ask in a voice that was right above a whisper. "I can't take you back just yet. I need to call Julie."

Picking up your phone from the table, you dile Julie and wait for her to pick up, but there is no answer.

"Gess, I'll return you back there tomorrow."

As you say that, two arms trap you at the table where you were sitting. Turning around, you see the same man from your dreams. Black hair and green eyes. It suddenly dawned on you.

"You're not taking me anywhere."

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

A/n: There were a lot of possible plots I was working on, and honestly, this one was the only one that was working out for me. Hope you enjoyed it.

[kbz-writes]

Here is my Winter Gift Exchange '24 fic for @kamiya-travis. I hope you like it! It's my first time writing so much Hiruma & Mamori interaction.

Shout out to @eyeshields for organizing, thank youuu!

Title: Any Other Name

Rating: Gen

Relationship: Hiruma & Mamori

Summary: During the Hakushu game, Hiruma's injury happens right before halftime. His conversation with Mamori goes differently.

The gift of being an eldest daughter is that it's also a bit of a curse. Granted, Mamori is an only child. However, she and Sena were close since they were little. They were practically siblings. Caring for someone came naturally to her when they'd play together. The effect compounded from there. She took care of people because she was a caretaker, and she was a caretaker because she took care of people. A cycle. The gentlest ourobous.

That's why, with Hiruma on the cot with his broken arm bandaged, she has to put her foot down.

"There's no way you can keep playing with your arm like that!" she yells, unable to keep her voice calm. The envelope she tore up and then painstakingly taped back together shakes in her hand. "After halftime, we'll have someone else be quarterback—"

"Third question," Hiruma says through gritted teeth, ignoring her completely. "There are idiots in the NFL that have kept playing matches with broken bones. True or false?"

Mamori knows she's trapped in the cycle. She can't let him hurt himself any more.

"If I say true, then you'll just keep playing," she says, unable to keep her eyes from welling with tears. "So I'll say false."

"Wrong." A slash of a smile streaks across Hiruma's face. "I win."

"What? Third... question...?" Her mind goes back to the beginning of the year. Their bet. How could she have forgotten?

"As you promised, you'll work obediently."

"You're an idiot," she whispers. "Bringing that up after all this time."

"Just keep your promise. Open the letter."

"By process of elimination, it has to be Ishimaru." Her fingers work stiffly pulling out the single piece of paper inside. Reading the name feels like gibberish at first. "It's—my name?"

"Oh, good, you're not illiterate. Almost had me fooled."

"You can't be serious. I'm not on the team!"

"You're on the roster."

The Bando game. She had thought it was uncharacteristic for Hiruma to add her as a form of sentimentality. 

"I don't have a uniform." Even as Mamori says that, she knows Hiruma already has an answer. (Suzuna teasingly making Mamori try on Sena's uniform. It'd be easy enough to get her a spare knowing her measurements.)

"That chibi cheerleader is useful sometimes."

Mamori is left standing dumbly, at a complete loss of words. Up to this point, her role on the team has been all about analysis: film, developing plays, planning for every possibility.

"Are you doing this because I know our playbook?" she asks.

Hiruma scoffs. "So does the team."

"But I can't throw—" But she has thrown a few times, she thinks, a little with Suzuna, even once with Hiruma when they had needed to take a break during a particularly long film session. She hadn't been all that good, but she had caught on to the basics.

Her eyes widen.

The weight training she had tried out of curiosity with the team.

Cycling alongside them during their runs.

Ladders with Sena every once in a while.

Even the games of sand football.

She'd been training with them all this time, hadn't she?

"You've been planning this for a long while, haven't you?" she asks. "You always have backup plans just in case, even if something like this happening was almost impossible."

"I've told you before, we make our own luck. Now, don't tell me you'd be satisfied with just being a fucking manager this whole time."

Being the manager for the Devilbats had come naturally to Mamori. It was a challenge she happily accepted. Just like Yukimitsu, Mamori hadn't joined any other clubs. It would have interfered too much with the Devilbats demanding schedule. Her kinship with Yukimitsu is different than her friendship with Suzuna. (Suzuna is part of the cheer team and the Devilbats.) Mamori and Yukimitsu only have the Devilbats. She'd been so happy for him when he joined the field against Shinryuji, even if she felt like she'd been left on the outside looking in.

Mamori had made peace with giving up her last year of athletic eligibility to help the Devilbats.

And yet.

(She placed eighth overall for the girls' heat in the last sports festival race. She beat out a couple of the girls on the track team.)

(She’d thought about joining the track team actually. Something to keep her in shape. Something fun to do. A different form of challenge. But there was never any time.)

"The team has worked so hard to reach the Christmas Bowl," Mamori says. "Somewhere along the way, it became my dream, too." She folds the paper back into the envelope and sets it to the side, all business. "What's your plan? You can't expect me to last the whole second half. I can't throw like you."

Hiruma keeps grinning sharply despite the pain he must be in. "Who the fuck asked you to do that? Your head's getting stupid from all the cream puffs. You're not my replacement. We're going two quarterbacks."

She lets his barbs slide off of her. If anything, his insults are a good sign. They're also reassuring. (Seeing someone as unflappable as Hiruma fall is distressing to the say the least.)

Mamori taps her chin. "If you're going on the field, it must be because you still have a card up your sleeve. Throwing has to be impossible—which is why you'll still do it, won't you?"

"Realistically, I got one good throw left. My arm'll be useless after that."

"But Hakushu doesn't know that. Just you being on the field will make them hesitate with how unpredictable you are."

They lock eyes.

"We're cursing them so they can't fucking look away. Gonna drive fucking eyelashes insane trying to predict what we're gonna do. Might've been close if it was just one quarterback, but luckily we got the smartest bitch joining the field."

"You're terrible," Mamori says. This insult doesn't bother her either. No, her system's already start to fill with adrenaline. She's more concerned with other things. She's seen how big the linemen are. 

Reading her mind, Hiruma says, "Can't guarantee you won't get hurt."

"It's a full contact sport," she says, blunt. Her voice shakes. This is how Sena and Yukimitsu must have felt their first game. She gulps. "I'll do it."

"As if there was any question. 'Sides, the Devilbats don't let fucking cowards on the team."

Their talk takes them about a third of the way through halftime. They hustle getting ready. Following Hiruma's instruction, she bandages both his arms up, and he waits for her to change into her uniform. She is a bit touched to find it's modified for women, more room in the chest padding.

When she puts on her helmet and stares into the mirror, she doesn't recognize herself. All she sees is an American football player. (She likes it.)

She steps out of the changing room, and they walk in-step together to the field, but when Mamori steps onto the pitch, she does it as part of the team.

She does it for herself.

[blizzardfluffykpop]

Love Letter

Summary: There’s only one thing you love more than the library, it’s the owner’s son. 

Oneshot

Fluff, Non-idol au

Possible Warning?: Slight height difference 

Word Count: 2,395

Juyeon X Reader

[A/n: I’m currently so soft from this… Anyways, @jinkoh thanks for rotting with me 🥰]  

------

If there’s one place in your life that’s remained consistent, it would be the library. You've been going to it since you were five. While you've traveled the world, you'd always return to it because it always felt like a home away from home. While the books on the shelves were ever-changing, it always felt the same. From the warm browns of the shelving to the sage green carpets to the enormous piles of books all waiting to be shelved. Everything felt like it had its place, even if it wasn’t in the correct spot. The books that made it to the shelves were always tightly packed in. But you knew where all your favorites hid. 

The best spot in the library was your reading nook. In the furthest corner, near the staircase, was a chestnut table and a lamp in front of a soft armchair where you curled up to read. Like clockwork, by the time you were in the middle of a book, Mr. Lee would check up on you. He'd always bring you something to drink while you read. Or if you were hungry. He’d grab you a snack from upstairs. When you were younger, you used to worry, “What if I spill something on the pages?!” He’d shrug and go, “Well, don’t.” And you’d both laugh before he set your tea down next to you before going back to organizing the ever-growing piles. 

There were so many things you enjoyed about the library. The list was never-ending. And at the top of the list was Lee Juyeon, Mr. Lee’s son. While you were in school, you used to see him a lot more often. You both would head to the library for different reasons, walking together and conversing before he headed upstairs to their living area. While you stayed downstairs, either studying or reading a new book before heading home. Sometimes he’d come downstairs to talk to his dad, and you’d secretly look over at him past the pages. And on the lucky occasions, you’d end up studying together for exams you shared. 

But since you’ve both gone your separate ways, you haven’t seen him since. It bummed you out every time you’d go in, hoping he’d come down the stairs only to finish your book without a sight of him. But now, when Mr. Lee would give you tea, he’d tell you life updates about Juyeon, keeping you up-to-date about him before asking you what you were up to with all your travels. You’d happily tell him before he’d let you get back to your reading. You’re sure he’d love to hear about your latest adventure, just like you can’t wait to hear about how Juyeon's been. 

As you walk to the library, you can’t help but feel excited to see it’s the same as you left it. You chime as you walk in, “Good morning, Mr. Lee!” Expecting to see the friendly man behind the counter. But instead, you see Juyeon standing behind the counter. He awkwardly smiles, “Hey, (Y/n).” And you blink at him, not expecting to see him the slightest, “Juyeon?” And he scratches the back of his neck, “Yeah.” You ask, “What are you doing behind the counter?” He looks over the store before making eye contact with you again, “I own the shop now…” Your eyes widen, “Is Mr. Lee okay?!” He laughs, “Yeah, Dad’s fine. He and Mom are traveling the world now and left it in my hands.” You sigh in relief, “Ah, okay. Well, it’s nice to see you again.” He gives you a small smile, “Same here.” You look behind your shoulder over at the packed shelves, “I’m going to find some stories to read.” He nods, and you walk away, searching for something that catches your eye. When you spot the new title you’ve meant to read after asking Mr. Lee to order it, you take it off the shelf before heading to your reading nook. 

It’s been about an hour when you hear something rustling beside you. You peek up and see Juyeon coming down the stairs. You smile at him, and he comes over. “I remember Dad always doing this for you, so I thought I’d um…” You see the teacup and saucer in his hand, and you grin as you take it from him, “Thank you! Sure you’re not worried about me spilling it all over the book?” He shrugs as he puts his hands in his pockets, “You never have before.” You nod, “You have me there.” He nods before backing away, “Later!” You hum as you go back to reading, calming your heart, “Later.” 

You finish your tea and book at the same time. Thankful that Mr. Lee got it in for you before traveling the world with his wife. You get up from your spot and find Juyeon staring absentmindedly in your direction. You shrug, not thinking much of it. He’s probably just trying to pass the hours. You put your book away before collecting your things and heading his way. He smiles at you as you walk up to him with the saucer cup and tell him, “Thank you.” He shrugs, “It’s no problem.” You smile, “It was sweet that you remembered that.” He nods, and you give him one more smile before telling him, “I have to get going, but I’ll see you soon?” He grins, “Yeah, I’ll see you when you come back.” He heads upstairs while you head out the door. 

—

It’s been over a week since you’ve last been in, trying to find free time to return. All you wanted to do was kick back and read the rest of your day away. When you walk into the library, you see Juyeon putting books on the top shelf with his sleeves rolled up above his elbows. You silently watch him until the door rattles closed behind you, ruining the moment. He turns around with a big smile on his face. And you smile back, “Good evening, Juyeon!” He smiles, “Good evening, (Y/n).” He turns to put more books away, and you look around for something to read. 

Nothing catches your eyes until you see a title you’ve read front to back a hundred times. And unlike before, where it usually was on lower shelves, it’s now on the top shelf. You resist your grumble about someone placing it up there. You do your best to grab at it, hoping not to make much noise to alert Juyeon. And just as you manage to touch it, he comes around, “Woah! Hey, let me get that for you!” You gulp as his chest grazes your back when he reaches over you and grabs the book you were struggling to get. You blush as he moves back and hands it to you, “Here.” You thank him quietly as you take the book, “You used to read this all the time…” You nod, “It’s one of my favorites.” He smiles, “It’s been well loved.” You smile down at the book, “Hopefully, by many.” He looks at it, “Just a few.” “Oh...” He continues, “Just you and I.” “What do you mean?” “I mean… I uh only picked up the book 'cause you read it… And uh Dad keeps a log of what books are read by who...” You look at the shelf, “Is that why it was so high up?” He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck, “It’s a comfortable reach for me.” You laugh, “Of course. Did you enjoy it?” He smiles, “It was a beautiful love story. I see why you read it all the time.” You grin as you look at the weathered spine, “Yeah.” He tilts his head back to his work, “If you need anything else off the higher shelves, I’ll be over there.” You nod, and he lets you go to your reading nook. You curl up in the armchair and read it for the nth time. 

—

“Oh, Dad said you wanted to read this.”  You peek up from the love story you’re immersed in, nearly to the end. And see Juyeon holding the new book that you read last week. You look back down as you tell him, “Oh, I already read that one.” You don’t see his disappointment. But you hear it, “Oh... Okay, sorry.” You quickly go as you lock eyes with him, “But it’s okay if I read it again!” He smiles at you as he puts it beside you before nodding, and as he starts to walk away, you ask, “What if we read it together? If you liked the last romance, you’ll probably like this one.” He lets out, “Huh?” So you reiterate it, “Would you like to read it together?” His voice is soft as he asks, “You would like to read it with me?” You tell him, “Yeah, I’d love to.” He gives you a small smile, “Okay.” You tell him, “I just have to finish these last few pages…” He nods, “That’s fine. Would you like some tea to go along with it?” You grin, “I’d love that.”

As you finish reading the last few words, he returns with two teacups and sets them down. He pulls a chair over as you close your book and ask, “Would you like me to read first, or would you like to?” He shakily replies, “You first, please.” You nod and wait for him to sit beside you and get comfortable before opening up the new book and skipping past the foreword. In a silly voice, you start, “Chapter One~! How I fell in love with him.” He laughs, and you smile before returning to your regular voice and reading the first few pages before handing the book to him. His voice was soft yet rich as he continued where you left off, “I watched as he sorted his papers before returning to my work. How could something so simple be so attractive?” You could ask the same thing about him while he read to you. It wasn’t extraordinary, but because it was him? It made your heart swell. He hands you it back, and you start chapter two. 

Every couple of pages, you two would trade-off. You were almost to the middle of the book when you both finished your teas. Juyeon starts reading chapter eight to you and after a few more pages. He hands it back to you. You watch from the corner of your eye to see him resting his head on his arms with his eyes closed, just listening to you read to him. That’s when you start to feel something stuck between the pages. You don’t acknowledge it but decide to read until the page to find out what it is. When you finally turn the page to it. You can’t help but feel giddy. Excited to see what it was until you realize it's a letter. 

You tilt your head at it, pausing your reading to open the letter sealed with a heart sticker. And wordlessly begin reading the letter, “(Y/n), I knew I wouldn’t be able to say these words without taking one look at you and forgetting all I wished to say. I’m not sure when I’ll even get the courage to give you this…” You hear him rustle beside you and catch him hiding his head in his arms. You nearly giggle but continue reading, “And I’m not sure what started it all. But I’ve known since I was a kid that I've loved you as more than a friend. You make my heart swell. I can't stop thinking about you. I don’t think I ever have. When I was away, I’d always ask Dad to tell me about what you’re up to. And now that I can see you, it’s like all these feelings came back in full force.” You pause before taking a breath to continue, “You don’t have to reciprocate my feelings, but since we’re both back home. I think it’s best I let you know while I still have the chance to tell you.” 

It ends there, and you have to hold your tears back as you look over to see Juyeon peeking his eyes over his elbow, trying not to look you in the eyes as he apologizes, “I’m- I’m so sorry- I thought you’d read it by yourself- and then as you read to me… I forgot that I put it in there…” You shake your head with tears in your eyes, “Juyeon, I’ve always watched you over the top of my books when you’d come down to talk to Mr. Lee. I love this library with all my heart. But every time I come back. It wasn’t just to read. I desperately wanted to see you again. And I’m not sure when it started either... But when you’d walk here with me. I tried to slow my pace. So I could be with you for at least a second longer before you headed upstairs…” He blinks at you, “You, what?” You smile, and a few tears finally break free, “I’ve loved you since I was a kid, too.” His jaw drops, immediately adjusting his posture, “You have?” You nod, and he asks, “Seriously?” He reaches up and wipes the tears that have slipped out of your eyes away. And you see he has tears pricking his own. You put the letter and book down before asking, “Can I make a childhood dream of mine come true?” He whispers, “Which?” You put your hands on either side of his face, mirroring him, “The one where I kiss you for the first time?” He sighs softly, “Please.” You bring his face to yours and kiss him for the first time. 

It wasn’t fireworks, but it was soft and tender. Just as you always wished it would be. When you both pull away, he rests his forehead against yours. Breathlessly telling you, “My inner kid is cheering. How about yours?” You grin, “Mine too.” He brings your lips to his, giving you a peck before asking, “Want to continue reading?” You smile as you both pull away from each other, “I’d love to.” You lean your head against his shoulder as he reads to you again. Now, you no longer had to sneak glances at him. You could look at him whenever you wanted. 

[sky-fire-forever]

Responding to your line that you put in the water for izzyxreader asks —

Maybe reader is super tough all the time, and so they and Izzy bond over repressing feelings and everything, and then Izzy goes through his transformation and healing era and the reader feels abandoned because everyone on this crew is touchy-feely and now they’re all alone in putting mind over emotion

But then they find out some really bad news (maybe they lost a loved one or something) and fall apart at the seams, and Izzy is there to pick up the pieces

Idk

[AN: I try to leave it vague as to what the bad news actually is, so I'll leave it to your imagination! This is my first time writing X Reader fic, so I hope it's any good! Also, I am posting this on mobile, so I apologize for any formatting errors]

FALLING APART [IZZY HANDS X GENDER NEUTRAL READER]

Izzy Hands is the only one on the ship who understands you. Or so you thought.

These days, it doesn't seem like anyone understands you at all. Izzy included.

It used to be you and Izzy against the world. The two of you understood what it means to be pirates: It means bottling up the fear and the sadness and the… all of it. It means facing the world with a brave face despite how you might feel inside.

You both understood that. Once.

Izzy seems to have forgotten. He wears his emotions on his face now. He talks about them. He wears the title of Unicorn with pride. Things that Izzy wouldn't have been caught dead doing once upon a time.

It seems so easy for him now. He sits with the crew, smiles with them, congratulates them on a job well done. He belongs with them.

And all you can do is watch.

You're almost envious of his ability to change, to grow. It was less lonely being an outsider when Izzy was on the outside with you. Now, you just have to look in and watch as he builds this fantasy family. You wonder how much it will hurt him when it comes tumbling down.

"You could join us, you know," Izzy tells you one night as the crew huddles together by the light and you stand on your own. "No point in you drinking all alone."

You scoff and wave him off. "I don't do well with people." It's an old excuse, one you've used for years.

Just as he always has, Izzy sees through it. "You don't need to push them away. They're... not what we thought they were."

You narrow your eyes at him. "Just because you've gone soft doesn't mean we all will."

Izzy looks at you with something like sadness in his eyes. "The invitation's open."

But it wasn't an invitation you could accept.

Not until later, when a letter comes for you.

As you read it, your hands begin to shake. Your vision gets blurry as your eyes fill with tears. Before you know it, your entire body is trembling.

"Fuck," you whisper. "Fuck!" You shout it at the sea, crumpling the letter in your fist and hurling it at the ocean.

You can never catch a break, can you? The world loves punishing you no matter what you do. People like you don't get a happy ending.

That's something you've always known. You're a pirate and pirates' lives are full of bloodshed and misery and death. A happy ending has never been in the cards for you. Hell, you never even expected a happy middle.

You've never seen the point in crying over the shitty hand you've been dealt. Expressing emotions changes nothing, fixes nothing. So what's the point?

But in this moment, you can't hold it all in. You fall to your knees as tears hit your cheeks. You sob so hard you can hardly breathe. The world around you becomes a blur as you begin to cry.

Strong hands come to wrap around you. Your first instinct is to fight, to shove away whoever is offering you comfort. But you're just too tired and weak to bother.

"I've got ya. I've got you, love." Izzy's soothing voice washes over you as he pulls you into his lap. "I'm here."

Not long ago, the idea of Izzy Hands gently holding you as you fall apart would have been laughable. But here you sit, curled up against his chest as he rubs circles into your back.

You hiccup, trying desperately to regain some control over your breathing. "H-Hurts," you whimper through the tears. "Fuck, it hurts."

"I know," Izzy says softly. "I know, love. I know it hurts. Just let it all out, yeah?"

He presses a kiss to your temple and you squeeze your eyes shut. Sob after sob wrecks through you and you're powerless to stop it.

There's a reason you keep your emotions to yourself. Crying is painful and it's weakness and it fucking sucks. Why would you choose it if you could lock it all away instead?

But somehow crying in Izzy's arms doesn't feel quite as bad as you feared. It still fucking hurts, but he holds you through it, whispering gentle assurances all the while.

And when you've finally cried yourself out, a part of you feels… lighter. Like a great burden has been lifted from your shoulders and all it took was falling apart.

"Shit. I'm sorry," you mutter as you wipe your eyes on the back of your sleeve.

"Nothing to apologize for," Izzy says. "How are you feelin'?"

You hesitate before answering. "Better," you admit somewhat grumpily.

He smiles like he knows how much it pains you to admit that crying helped. "It's easier to fall apart when someone will help pick up the pieces." He reaches up to cup your cheek, brushing away a few stray tears with his thumb.

You swallow and if you had any tears left to shed, you're certain you'd start crying all over again.

Instead, you just wrap your arms around Izzy and hold him close, burying your face in his neck.

"Thank you," you whisper.

He holds you close like it's easy to do it. Like being there for you isn't the burden you know it must be. "Always, love."

And you believe him.

[nyxthepixystick]

The Worst Person to Get Gifts for

Jude Jazza x Lillianne (oc)

Content Warnings: Fluff, swearing

Word Count: 992

A/N: I did it! Posted a fic for a holiday on time. Happy Holidays to everyone! I hope you enjoy this fluff centric fic with Jude. Sorry for the bad title, couldn't think of anything else. Also thanks to @wistfulwanderingone for beta reading it.

Grey clouds gloomed over the busy streets of London. Only a few days before Christmas, and Lillianne closed up her shop early to look for the perfect present for her partner. He was the only one who she struggled to get a present for, even though they have known each other for so long. Placing her shop key into her pocket, Lillianne crossed the street to start her hunt. She better find the perfect gift. All of her lovely Crown members had a present wrapped in her room, except Jude. Jude was nearly impossible to get anything for. For the first year, she tried to get him a new pocket watch, and he did not care. She even just slid money at him once, and he didn't care. He was impossible. She felt like she could never make him happy when it came to gifts. 

Lillianne entered a small jewelry store, hoping she could find him something. Why was her favorite person in the world also the hardest person to give gifts to? She did not want to give him another birthday disaster. She did attempt to bake that cake, but it ended up being burnt and inedible. For the past decade, it had been impossible to give him two good gifts. At this point, she’d just accept debt letters from him to repay somehow. 

She smiled at the shop attendant that greeted her as she peered within the glass. The cufflinks were gorgeous, but nothing would suit Jude. Nothing in this store seemed to fit him. She started to look at the chains and decided to get something simple. It was just a small gold chain, but she was sure he might like it. 

Lillianne paid the attendant and took the small box with the chain. She left the store and started to walk the cold streets again. She shivered as she started to walk towards Crown Castle and wrapped her crimson cloak around herself tighter. 

Even though she was in a hurry to get home as fast as possible due to the cold, she couldn't help but stop at the bridge and glance at the river below. It was frozen and had a slight sheen glistened over the ice. As she stared at her reflection in the frozen river, she began twiddling with the box that she held. She just hoped that Jude would even like this gift. 

The smell of cigarettes hit her nose before she even realized that a hand snatched the box in her hand. “So whatcha got, lil wolf?” His voice made her turn around and try to reach for the box that he decided to hold above her head. 

“Give that back, Jude!” she complained as she tried to reach for it. “That box is none of your concern.” 

“Oh really? Then ya don't mind me openin’ it,” he started to open the box as Lillianne tried to lunge. 

Lillianne lunged to get the box, “I do mind!” 

Jude stepped back as Lillianne only managed to pull the second half of the box away from him as the chain went crashing to the ground.

Jude leaned down and picked up the chain before Lillianne even had a chance to get it, “So what's this for?” 

Lillianne blushed as she realized he had seen his own gift. “It's just a gold chain. You know for things…” 

“Things? What idiot needs a gold chain for things?” 

“Christmas gifts…” she mumbled definitely embarrassed at this point. Why did he have to be so judgy? 

“And who needs this?” 

Her face was as dark as her cloak as she looked up. “It's your stupid gift! You're impossible to shop for! I ruined your birthday with such an inedible cake and for these past years, you've been impossible to shop for!” 

Jude chuckled a bit as he looked at the chain, “Lil’ Wolf, ya really think I care for Christmas gifts or gifts in general?” 

Lillianne scrunched her eyebrows together, “Well, yeah. Doesn't everyone need gifts? I mean it's Christmas the season of giving. You're also you. You get mad at me when I drool on the sheets and make me pay it back!” 

Jude sighed and flicked Lillianne's forehead, “Princess, for ten years, ya been givin’ me a headache. I don't need no stupid gift.” 

“But-” Lillianne tried to start as she was rubbing her head from the impact of him 

“No buts. I don't give a shit about them. Most times, they're meaningless items.” Jude wrapped his hand around his partner's waist, “People give things and don't mean it. An empty promise.” 

Lillianne looked up at him and nodded. “I do it to thank you for saving me all those years back and keeping me company.” 

“Meh, he just happen’d to break a promise. I did nothin' more than that.” Jude grimaced at the thought of it all before using his other hand to push back some of Lillianne’s hair, “I just got a girlfriend who ended up being extremely clingy and overthinks. I don't care for gifts. Just havin’ ya is enough.”

“I promised to never leave your side, and I didn't,” Lillianne wrapped her arms around his waist and leaned up to give him a kiss. As she gave him the kiss, it was like a romance book opened. Snow started to fall from the air. 

Jude pulled back from the kiss, “C'mon. Gotta get ya inside ‘Fore ya complain bout the cold.” He started to walk back to the Castle as he left her standing there. “O, ‘fore i forget,” he stopped as she caught up to him confused. He leaned in and whispered something in her ear that made 

Lillianne blush. He laughed as he started to walk as she stood there dumbfounded at his words. Before long, she was yelling at him to get back and talk to him again about what he said. She was going to have a long few nights. 

[simshousewindsor]

IN NOT OUT

[Beaverdam Castle, Brindleton Bay]

[??]: (driving)

[??]: (driving)

Prince Rainier: (walking)

Prince Rainier: Here you are.

Queen Katherine: I was hoping to be alone.

Prince Rainier: Fine. (clears throat). If you want me I'll be in the guest wing.

- - - - - THE NEXT DAY - - - - -

Prince Rainier: Hello?

Prince Rainier: Hello?

Queen Katherine: (silent)

Prince Rainier: This isn't really like you.

Queen Katherine: I disagree! This is the most like me I've felt in a long time.

Prince Rainier: I know things are hard for you right, the family, the commonwealth, the government, losing the Queen Dowager, your mother, all of it... but you can't shut me out. There are some of us who are here for you no matter what.

Queen Katherine: If only.

Prince Rainier: If there's something you need to say, say it. Be a grown up, Kate.

Queen Katherine: Alright. Ezekiel Birch.

Prince Rainier: Who?

Queen Katherine: The osteopath?

Prince Rainier: Oh! Boring man. What about him?

Queen Katherine: In searching his office and home after his suicide, detectives found a hand drawn portrait, by him, of you.

Prince Rainier: What? I don't have an explanation for that.

Queen Katherine: The detectives believed there were more and hence followed through and tracked down quite a few more. It was a great expense! Could you image if the press got ahold of even one? The speculation? The scandal?

Prince Rainier: Kate. I don't know what to tell you. They must have been done from photos of me on the internet, or who knows where. Our faces are everywhere. He treated my neck.

Queen Katherine: So you do know the man.

Prince Rainier: Well, yes. He treated my neck once or twice. That's what osteopaths do but he was insane with all his theories, and plans, and talks of emotions of such. I ended up going to an old navy buddy and he fixed me right up.

Queen Katherine: So he never invited you to any of his "party's"?

Prince Rainier: (awkward) He may have. I'm sure I never went.

Queen Katherine: That would mean the mystery man the press has been talking about isn't you either?

Prince Rainier: (chuckles) What? That's absurd.

Queen Katherine: Well, you've become a mystery man to me, and to our children. I don't know where you are most of the time, or what you're doing. I can process the truth but you have to talk to me, Rainier. I demand it.

Queen Katherine: Your recent trip to Dacana.

Prince Rainier: What about it? They invited me.

Queen Katherine: From Cmd. Eldridge's letter, you all had quite the time!

Prince Rainier: Ah! I can see this is a question of appearance not reality.

Queen Katherine: No. Some things are perceived only one way because there is only one meaning.

Prince Rainier: Like?

Prince Rainier: Like?

Queen Katherine: (opens red box)

Prince Rainier: (stunned)

Queen Katherine: (silent)

Prince Rainier: Look. Kate, I am not like Keller. He is weak and treacherous but had the image of trustworthiness and reliability. I am not like that. I am complex but more dependable than anyone imagined. Your father also made it perfectly clear what my duty is. It is you. You are the essence of my role.

Queen Katherine: I get all that. Blah, blah, blah but we're both realists. Marriage is a challenge, and we are doing this under the rarest circumstances. I can understand if you need to do things to decompress, so that you can stay strong, hold your duty I get it.

Prince Rainier: Hey, hey. I don't want you to "get it". There's nothing to get. There's no looking the other way. I'm yours. Forever. In not out. Not because of titles or agreements but because I want you, Kate. I love you.

Previous | Beginning | Next

[sadiecoocoo]

Attack on Titan Fanfiction - The Sorrows We Drown Chp. 1

Summary - Two years after the Rumbling, the alliance has been going back and forth between Paradis and the rest of the world. On a week off, disaster strikes. People start getting sick, rumored to have caught a plague from the dead bodies still yet to be cleaned on the edges of the Rumbling's reach.

a few days later, titans destroy the new city of Liberio.

Relationships - Reiner Braun/Jean Kirstein, Reiner Braun & Connie Springer, Jean Kirstein & Connie Springer, Reiner Braun & Jean Kirstein & Connie Springer, Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart

Tags - Whump, Hurt/Comfort, Psychological Horror, Horror, Blood and Injury, Blood and Gore, Reiner Braun Needs a Hug, Reiner Braun Has Issues, sad Reiner Braun, Protective Jean Kirstein, Soft Jean Kirstein, Connie Springer is a Little Shit, could be reiner/connie/jean, still debating that, Roadtrip, but the violent running from the law kind, Post-Rumbling (Shingeki no Kyojin), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Post-Canon, Minor Armin Arlert/Annie Leonhart

Word Count - 2,583

Read on AO3

Notes: This could be seen as Connie/Reiner/Jean but I haven't explicitly tagged that and so far haven't written any intimate scenes between all three of them. honestly Connie is just an oblivious third-wheel during the apocalypse. the title is from the song, Writing on the Wall, by Will Stetson. it's meant to symbolize how Reiner gives himself up to protect others as a way to try and atone, and if you've listened to the Alhaitham version of the song, how Jean wants to help him. this is gonna have a bit of gore, but this chp. is mainly build up, and I do have a few chapters written already so they'll be a few weekly uploads before I catch up to where I've left off (if I don't finish it by then lol) anyways, please enjoy!

Armin hummed along to the slow, yet upbeat tune coming from the radio as he helped make dinner. It wasn’t anything fancy. Really, he hadn’t had much better than the rations from his scout days, even after the world started to heal from the Rumbling.

It had been about two years since then. In that time, Armin and the rest of the Alliance had been going back and forth between Paradis and the rest of the world for peace negotiations.

 Overall, Eldians were being treated better too. There was still some resentment, bigotry didn’t go away that easily, but it was fading as time went on.

Armin and Annie had moved in together recently too. Though both of them had their own duties to take care of, they still spent plenty of time together. Sometimes he was still amazed that he and Annie, of all people, were able to work out a healthy relationship. He cherished it greatly.

The others were all doing well too. Connie, Jean, and Reiner were all living together. They visited often when there weren’t any politics to worry about. Pieck had stayed with her father, but still went with them all on diplomatic missions when needed. 

Levi was healing well, though he was still bound to a wheelchair. The former captain had been staying with Gabi and Falco’s families in another town. He sent the bare minimum of letters, but they all knew he cared.

Mikasa was the only one Armin wasn’t entirely sure about how she was doing. Last time they saw each other, she had grown out her hair again, and seemed to have permanently given up being a soldier. She still had a gloomy aura around, and he doubted that would go away any time soon.

As Armin was cutting up some potatoes, there was a loud crash outside. He jumped, and accidentally cut his finger in the process. The knife clattered to the floor in his moment of panic.

“Shit,” he muttered, grabbing a cloth and placing it on his bleeding finger. He leant over to pick up the knife, then placed it in the sink to wash later.

Armin went over to the window after the crash was followed by yelling. He let out a sigh, hoping it was just another incident of road rage. There hadn’t been cars that survived the rumbling, and the roads were mangled still, but some people managed to afford one of the vehicles left.

Peering out the window, he discovered that it was indeed a small car accident. He couldn’t tell if anyone was hurt from his view, and debated for a moment going outside to check on things. He lived on the second-story of an apartment complex, so he at least got a decent bird's-eye-view.

There was muffled yelling as one man got out of his car and started towards the other. Armin was starting to get the feeling that he might be needed to break up a fight, given how the man seemed to stalk towards the car with his arms waving wildly.

He stepped away and headed towards the door. Armin left the bloodied cloth on the counter, first checking to see if his finger had stopped bleeding. It wasn’t hurting and had already scabbed over, so he figured it would be fine. He guessed he hadn’t cut too deep, despite the amount of blood at first.

Grabbing his coat, he swung it around his shoulders and walked briskly through the halls. It was a dingy place, really, with stains on the walls and wet patches on the carpet from leaking pipes. A majority of the rooms were the same story, though Armin and Annie had managed to get fairly lucky.

After rushing down the steps and heading through the small lobby, Armin opened the front door to the outside world. For a moment the change in lighting made him squint, but he quickly adjusted. It was a nice day, despite the small car crash currently in front of his apartment building.

“Hey, is everyone okay?” He yelled over to the man.

Armin jogged over to the other vehicle. The first man was standing in front of the open door, his shoulders strangely slumped. Armin stopped behind him and placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Sir, are you alright-” He stopped as soon as he saw what was happening in the driver’s seat of the vehicle.

Armin urgently pushed the first man out the way, and he backed up obediently. The driver, another man, looked to be in his late twenties to early thirties, was sat convulsing. His mouth was agape; a line of drool went down to his chin, and his eyes were rolled so far back Armin wondered if perhaps he could see his own brain.

“Get a doctor!” Armin yelled urgently, turning towards the bystanders in the streets. “Someone go get a doctor now!” He repeated.

Someone was crying in the backseat, though he hadn’t noticed it before. He rushed to the back of the car and started to pry the door open.

In the backseat there was a little girl bawling her eyes out. Armin tried to shush her gently, to reassure her that everything would be okay. He reached towards her with as calming a smile as he could muster, and she quickly leapt into his embrace. This girl couldn’t have been older than seven.

“Shh, it’ll be okay. We’ll get your Daddy some help, sweetie.” He said, rubbing her back gently. He pulled her out of the vehicle and set her on the ground, where, thankfully, a kind lady knelt down to help look after her.

As he extracted the girl from his arm, his eyes landed on his cut finger. The scab was completely gone. It had only been a few minutes since he had even been cut in the first place. If he really looked close, he thought he could see wisps of something rising from his finger.

Steam.

Doctors are not certain of the cause of the strange new affliction, but hospitals are full of its victims! It is unsure if the sickness is contagious or not, but it is recommended that people stay in their own homes for the time being. If you are experiencing symptoms of great fatigue, chills, nausea, dizziness, or seizures, do not wait to get help!

Jean put down the paper. It landed on the table with a light slap, causing Reiner and Connie to both lift their heads up expectantly. 

They were just trying to have dinner. A nice meal of Butternut Squash Pasta, something only recently shown to Jean and Connie. Sometimes he wondered how Reiner could stand the transition to such shitty food, then he remembered that to Reiner this was probably a meal saved for holidays.

“Something the matter?” Reiner asked with an arched brow. The blonde had recently shaved his beard, having decided after too much teasing from both Connie and Jean that it really did make him look too old for his age.

Without answering, Jean slid the paper over to Reiner. Connie leaned over to read it as well. Jean could only put his head in his hands as he waited for their own reactions.

“There had been a few cases of plague where the cleanup wasn’t as thorough.” Reiner muttered after a moment, almost as though he were speaking to himself.

“Are seizures really symptoms for a plague, though?” Connie asked, his nose scrunched worriedly. Reiner only shrugged.

“How could this have popped up so suddenly? And so quickly?” Jean asked, though he knew none of them would have the answer. Reiner looked at him as if he were sorry he wasn’t all knowing, and Jean suppressed an eye roll. 

He was so tired of Reiner looking sorry all the time. At least now the brute smiled more often.

Jean was starting to feel like he had truly gotten to know Reiner, not the Scout Reiner, or Warrior Reiner, or Titan Reiner, just Reiner. It was honestly refreshing.

 He was a lot more sheepish than anyone would have guessed back in training. When he wasn’t moping around feeling guilty, he was surprisingly sweet too, and most of the time it looked like he didn’t even put any effort into it.

Jean was glad that the three of them had decided to move in together. There was no way he’d be able to survive Connie’s annoying dumbass without someone to suffer through it with, and he would prefer to not live alone.

“Either way,” Reiner started, heaving out a sigh, “There isn’t much we can do about it other than try not to catch it.” He said. The blonde had started pushing his food around on his fork mindlessly.

“Right,” Connie agreed uneasily. Jean felt bad just brushing it off like that, but they all knew, logically, plagues weren’t something that veteran soldiers and peace ambassadors could fix.

The rest of their dinner went on in relative silence. Eventually Connie started to talk about what all he saw at the ever-growing market. It seemed like every day a new part of Liberio was being rebuilt. It felt like it was in such little time too.

Once they’re all done eating, Jean takes it upon himself to clean up the kitchen. They had all fallen into a strange routine, somehow wordlessly. Connie would go to the market and get whatever they needed; sometimes they’d talk about it beforehand and sometimes the numbskull would just grab whatever for them to experiment with. Reiner would cook most often, he had a strange talent for it, despite his lack of experience. Finally, Jean would clean everything up. Of course, none of this was set in stone, it just happened naturally half the time.

Once, Reiner had gotten sick with a light fever. Both Connie and Jean were paranoid that they’d catch it, so they decided to try making something simple. It may or may not have ended with small fire, and them being banned from the kitchen unless they were preparing war rations.

Either way, they all helped around. It was a fair solution, and still gave them all plenty of time to do their own thing later, even if they had gotten a ton of paperwork to do.

Jean had picked up art again in his free time. Connie really just did whatever he was in the mood for, which was usually either annoying one of them or getting them to play some card game. He had noticed that Reiner read a lot, and occasionally saw him writing down a few things in a small journal.

Once, Jean had peeked over the blonde’s shoulder. The journal had been filled with neat cursive handwriting in what he assumed to be the Marleyan written language. He could only make out every few words, the written language was still a pain to memorize.

“Do you think we should check on Peick?” Jean asked over his shoulder as he worked on scrubbing up an annoying piece of gunk off one of the plates. “Y’know since her dad is already sick?” he added.

“Nah, don’t wanna risk giving it to them.” Reiner answered. “I’ll send a quick letter, though.” he decided. 

Jean hummed to himself and went back to work.

Several hours later, long past midnight, Jean had woken up in the night with a parched throat that he couldn’t ignore. He dragged himself out of bed and slunk through the short hallway and into the kitchen again.

He poured himself a small glass of water and chugged it. He finished with a soft sigh. Jena filled the cup again and took it with him back to his bedroom.

As he was passing the bathroom, however, he heard the telltale sound of someone dry heaving. He groaned internally at the obstacle between him and going back to sleep, but knocked lightly on the door anyway.

“Hey, you okay?” He asked through the door. His voice sounded a bit deeper from sleep.

There was a sputtering cough behind the door, and Jean fought the urge to just barge in. at the lack of whinging, Jean guessed Reiner was the unfortunate soul to be getting sick.

“‘M fine!” the blonde finally answered. Though, by the way his voice shook, and the declaration was quickly followed by more coughing and dry heaving, Jean sincerely doubted that he was fine.

“You decent?” Jean asked. He was soon answered by a very pathetic sounding affirmation.

Jean quietly opened the door to see the sad sight of Reiner leaning over the toilet and fighting to not throw up. Jean shut the door behind him as he moved to the sink and turned on the water. He threw a washcloth in the sink as it ran.

After the water felt somewhat warm, he wrung out the washcloth. Jean moved to kneel down next to Riener.

He placed the warm washcloth on Reiner’s nape, trying to soothe the nausea. He rubbed Reiner’s back as well, tracing calming circles and smoothing out wrinkles in the fabric.

“Food bad, or are you getting sick?” He asked after a minute or two of relative silence.

“‘M hoping it’s the food.” Reiner answered, turning his head up ever so slightly to look at Jean. The bags under his eyes seemed impossibly darker, and Jean felt a pang of worry tighten in his chest.

His still sleep-addled mind finally remembered the damn paper. If Reiner had somehow caught the plague going around, they were all screwed. The blonde had explained that his titan would mostly keep him from being sick along with healing injuries, so his immune system was shot. Jean didn’t want to know what this new plague looked like on someone who could barely handle more than a cold.

“Yeah,” Jean mumbled in response. He continued to rub Reiner’s back, and at some point the brute had leaned into his half embrace. His head was resting on Jean’s shoulder now.

“Think you can go back to bed?” Jean asked softly. Reiner hummed a quiet affirmative in response.

It wasn’t long before Jean had helped Reiner up and gotten him to his room. Reiner staggered over to his bed and plopped face first into his pillow. He let out a groan as he reached his hand back and flung the blanket over himself haphazardly.

Jean could help the breathy laugh that escaped him. Reiner never complained about anything until he got sick, then the entire world had to know of his suffering.

Jean moved to readjust the blanket, pulling it over Reiner’s shoulders. The younger man then sat down on the edge of the bed and patted Reiner’s head playfully. The blonde leaned ever so slightly into the touch.

“If you still feel bad in the morning we should get you to a doctor.” Jean suggested softly. He knew Reiner wasn’t particularly fond of hospitals, but if there was the possibility of him having caught the plague, he would have to ignore his discomfort.

“Whatever.” Reiner mumbled into his pillow, almost quiet enough for Jean to not hear it. He lifted his hand and gave the smallest of waves, “see you in the morning.”

Jean let out another soft laugh as he patted Reiner’s head again and got up. He closed the door to Reiner’s room softly before heading back to his own room.

As he laid down on his bed, he couldn’t ignore the knot of worry worming itself in his gut.

End Notes: yay I set up some exposition!!! and gave you guys a soft moment between Reiner and Jean and also showed them living a nice and happy life… it'll TOTALLY last anyways, gore in the next chapter <3

lmk if anyone would like to be tagged in the next chapter, I'd be happy to do it!

Chp. 2

[givemea-dam-break]

a/n: since quite a few of you wanted a part 2, here it is for this request - heyy could you do anthony lockwood x reader, where they used to be best friends but something bad happens to the reader and they stop talking and after years they reunite because of a case. maybe angst and fluff - i hope you all enjoy! on my masterlist, it's titled Downfall

warnings: mentions of deathh, spoiler (for those of you who haven't read the end of the whispering skull aka end of s1's book), mild language gn reader taglist: @tellmeoflegends @shampoocovers99 @nessa-stark @moonysstarconstellation

part 1

Your coffee went cold about ten minutes ago, and yet still you wait. Begrudgingly. Hopefully. God, who knows why you're waiting?

Lockwood's almost half an hour late. Really, you should've left twenty minutes ago. Really, you should've never agreed to come out to get a coffee with him, but it felt necessary. He and his friends had just rid your house of the ghosts of your mother and aunt, and you'd been feeling particularly emotional at that moment, so you'd agreed. Now, you're beginning to regret it.

The sun gleams through the windows of the café, one you used to frequent with Lockwood the morning after he'd had a case while he was still working as an apprentice. You chose it simply because of how much you loved their coffee.

You've not had a sip.

Even though it's a drink, it carries memories almost as bitter as the taste of it, and you can't bring yourself to have a bit. It feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong. The way you look at the door every time the windchimes sound; the way your heart is pounding in your chest with apprehension. You should be at home, making sure your dad is all right. Not meeting up with the guy who ignored you for years for something outwith your control.

You check your watch, frowning at the time, when once more the windchimes jingle.

This time, it's not an old man or a young couple that walks in, but a tall, slender boy in a far-too-long coat, a rapier by his side.

When Lockwood spots you, he smiles and hurries over, sitting down slightly out of breath. His cheeks and nose are a rosy pink.

"So sorry," he says. "I was running late."

"Clearly." You nudge your mug around on the maple table, watching the sun reflect off the white porcelain. "I was about to leave."

He grins in a way that was once contagious. No longer. "Well, I'm glad you didn't. What did you get? The usual? Back in a moment, I'm going to get a tea and a muffin."

In seconds, he's away and at the counter ordering, and you can feel all of your energy sap out of you and into him. You're not sure how he's so high-spirited, nor so energetic. You're positively shattered. But his temporary absence allows you to try and gather your thoughts and emotions.

It's like the barista knows your predicament because she's taking obscenely long to make Lockwood's tea. Not that you're complaining. Just as well you tipped her beforehand. Maybe you'll tip her more.

"Ah, nothing like tea on a cold day," Lockwood says as he sits down again, placing his mug on the table gently. "So, how are you? Good, I hope, seeing as you're ghost-free."

You shrug, watching the coffee in your mug follow the swirling motion of your spoon. "As good as I can be when my mum and aunt are dead, and my dad is losing his mind. What do you want to talk about?"

"Straight to the point, as usual." He smiles brightly, and it retains even when you don't return the gesture. "I just thought it'd be a good idea if we worked things out."

"Worked things out? Lockwood, there isn't anything to be worked out. I moved away without a choice, you got mad at me and never answered my letters. What more is there to say?"

For a millisecond, his joyful mask slips, revealing something that looks like a mix between guilt and irritation, but it's back in place before you know it. "Can I at least properly explain why?"

For lack of better judgement, you nod and cross your arms, sitting back in your seat. There's a weird feeling in your stomach, almost like squeezing. Like how some snakes wrap around their prey, squeezing the life out of it to consume, Lockwood's words do the same to your very soul.

How long have you waited for this conversation? To finally get clarity as to why he just cut contact with you?

Well, you know some of it. After the deaths of his family, you were the only person he had left, and his biggest fear was losing you, too. He clung to that fear for the five years between Jessica's, his sister, death and your move as if it were the only thing keeping him afloat in a dark, endless sea. It's why you insisted on writing and sending letters every day even when you had nothing of interest to talk about. You didn't want him to feel alone.

What more could there be?

Much more, apparently.

"Well." For the first time in this whole encounter, Lockwood seems nervous. His fingers are tapping against his mug, occasionally making little clicking sounds when his nails make contact. He keeps looking at the bridge of your nose instead of your eyes like he used to do when he was a kid and wanted you to ask your mum to get you both ice cream. "You were my closest friend. Nigel Skyes, you remember him? My first employer? Well, he was great, but I'd never consider him a friend, so you were essentially it for me. I mean, you know as well as I do, that all this charm? The bravado? It's fake, (name). You were the one person who could see through it and still accepted me as I was.

"So, yes, it hurt more than anything when you left, because I needed my shield up all the time. After my parents, after Jessica -" He pauses for a moment to slow himself down. He had started to ramble. "It was hard, but around you, I didn't need to be brave or happy all the time. Then you left, and - and I can't even begin to explain the fear that ran through me. What was I meant to do without my rock? The one person who saw what a mess I am but didn't care, because they were just as bad."

"Thanks," you mutter.

"You know what I mean, though," he continues. "It's like... When you're on a rope swing, really high in the air, and then the rope snaps and you can just see the clouds growing distant and the ground rising up to meet you before you crash into it. It was disorienting not having you around, and it felt like that when you told me you were leaving."

You only speak because of how final that last sentence sounds. "I didn't leave. Leaving implies I chose to go, which I didn't."

"The premise stays the same. You were here, and then you weren't."

"You -" Taking a deep breath, you compose yourself. You'd both chosen to meet out in public so you didn't start shouting at each other. "Okay. I understand how you feel."

His eyebrow quirks up as if to say, Is that so? But he says, "Thank you. Your turn."

For what? you think. You've got nothing to explain, no actions to justify. You did everything in your power as a teenage kid to stay with your best friend, and you got the response most teenagers would receive from their parents for such a request. No. What more could you have done?

"You could've replied to my letters," you say quietly, unable to look at him.

"I did," he says. His voice is soft, and you can feel his eyes on your face. "I just didn't have the guts to send them."

The emotions that overtake you then are overwhelming. Sadness because you never got to read these letters or see the stupid responses he came up with for the even-stupider things you said. Anger because he never sent them, never even sent one to tell you that he couldn't handle it. Regret because you never should've sent any in the first place. Comfort because he spent time actually reading your thoughts and ramblings and sat down to respond, even knowing he wouldn't send them.

But there's that little part in you that doubts what he says. How are you to know that he's not lying?

Swallowing the clog of feelings in your throat, you say, "I just wanted my best friend. Even if I couldn't stay here and see you all the time, I wanted to know how you were doing. If you thought of me as much as I thought of you."

"I never stopped."

You take a sip of your cold coffee then to hide the tears clouding your eyes.

"You could've taken the train to come back and see me, you know," Lockwood says. "A visit every now and then wouldn't have hurt."

"And so could you," you retort. "I gave you my address. I had school to think about, and I couldn't spend however many days a week on a half-hour ride there and another back. There was too much going on,"

His lips purse, and there's a little pang in your heart seeing him without his smile. You had forgotten how fulfilling it had always been to see it, even when you were mad.

"Did you mean it when you said you've not made any friends where you are now?"

As embarrassing as it is, you say, "Yeah. It's not easy when you're the new kid with social issues. Why do you think I always made you do the talking?"

He breathes a laugh then, a faint glimmer shining in his dark eyes. "I suppose you never were very good at talking to people."

"No." You tuck your hair behind your ears, staring down at your mug. "I never realised how hard it was to make friends. With you, it had been easy. You were just some chatty kid who wanted some of my doughnuts. No one could compare to you, so I never bothered."

Lockwood hesitates, breathing in as if to speak but no words pass his parted lips. With the sunlight streaming through the window, he looks like he's been painted onto the scene in front of you with those shadowed eyes that hold a lifetime's worth of mystery and an almost unrealistic air about him. The golden light splits across his face far too perfectly. It's infuriating. It never does that for anyone else.

"I think what hurt the most," he says, and his voice holds a very unrecognisable note of trepidation, "is that I had been planning to ask you out the day you told me."

Your hands, which had been tapping the tops of your thighs, stop short, and you look over at him in shock.

"What?"

His smile this time is small, bashful almost. "I'd liked you since we were twelve, in all honesty. But I never acted on it because we were kids and I was still grieving. Admitting I loved you felt like sentencing you to death, and I didn't want that for either of us. And then I worked up the courage, got my shit together, but look where that's got me."

It hurts a little to breathe. "You're kidding."

"I'd never joke about that." He's the one who won't meet your eyes now. "It hurt twice as bad getting the news because I was losing my best friend and the person I loved most on the same day. But I went on."

You note the wording then, how he didn't say move on, and an old, almost foreign spark of hope flickers in the dark abyss that once held your heart. Like every minute spent with the boy you left it with makes it slowly return.

"I loved you, too, for what it's worth," you murmur. "But, you know me and talking. I couldn't get the words out."

The nature of his smile shifts to something more remorseful. "I wonder how much trouble we would've avoided if we'd told each other."

"Or caused, you mean."

And he laughs softly at that, bringing a little smile onto your lips and a warmth to your chest. Something about the conversation, even though you're still insanely mad at him for the things he's done - or not done, more correctly - has made you feel lighter, liberated, in a way. It's easier to smile and laugh and feel a little okay. To allow yourself to connect with him in a way so minuscule to how you once were years ago but so tremendous compared to your time apart.

You never thought you'd be sitting here with him now, sharing smiles, and the thought makes you tear up again.

"Do you think we could ever be friends again?" he asks hopefully. "I mean, I know you'll still be a half-hour journey away and all, but I'll send my letters this time. I swear it. I want to hear all about your life at university."

No, a little part of you cries. You'll just end up hurt again.

But you don't want to listen to it. You want your happiness back, your best friend. You want to be able to wake up in the morning happy, knowing you're not all alone in your life anymore. You want to suffer through a stuffy train journey on weekends and holidays to come and see him and drink bitter coffee and eat stale doughnuts like you used to when you were fourteen.

Most of all, you want him again. A week ago, you would've scoffed at the notion and told anyone who thought it to go screw themselves, yet this one conversation...

It has given you clarity, along with a lot of anger and frustration and sadness, but sitting across from him? It feels worth it. Everything from the past three years feels worth it because now you're across from him and you're smiling and so is he.

So you say, "Yes."

And while part of you screams that you've made a mistake, another tells you that you made the mistake of falling into his web so, so long ago and never yearning to leave it, instead calling it home.

"Yes," you repeat because at least he's your mistake, your downfall, your home.

[corpocyborg]

Secure Your Soul: A Cyberpunk 2077 Fanfiction

This fic was previously published under the title “Before the Event Horizon.”

Summary: Six months ago, V’s boss at Arasaka ordered her to assassinate his rival. Instead, with the reluctant but invaluable help of her old friend Jackie Welles, she pushed them both off their thrones and claimed one for herself. Now the new Director of Arasaka Counter Intel has a problem. She’s uncovered information that indicates that Yorinobu Arasaka, the heir apparent to the Arasaka dynasty, is a traitor. But without solid proof, she’s forced to take matters into her own hands.

An AU in which Corpo!V never leaves Arasaka.

CHAPTER SEVEN: THE BEGINNING IS THE END IS THE BEGINNING

[read on ao3]

SIX MONTHS LATER

"Johnny Silverhand?" Frank Nostra repeated, incredulous. “The old-school rockerboy?”

"That's correct," V confirmed. "His engram, anyway. On one of our Secure Your Soul relics. My source doesn’t know why NetWatch wants it, but he’s sure that’s what they’re purchasing."

Nostra furrowed his brow, his gaze shifting distractedly to the holographic koi fish circling outside the windows of V's office.

V rapped her knuckles quietly against the surface of her desk as she waited for him to speak. She respected Nostra, and their quarterly reviews proved they worked together far more harmoniously than their predecessors had, but the burning knowledge of this particular piece of intel would not allow her to remain inactive for long.

"And you're sure—one hundred percent sure—that the seller is who you think it is?"

"Yorinobu Arasaka," V enunciated the name clearly. "You can say it, you know. My office isn't bugged."

"You'd better hope it's not," Nostra retorted sharply. "That's the emperor's son you're accusing. The heir apparent. If you're wrong—"

"And if I'm right," V interrupted him, "then there's a crack in the very foundation of Arasaka's legacy. If a splinter like that is allowed to spread—"

"Okay, okay," Nostra interrupted her in turn, "Let me think for a minute."

"All right, Frank. I understand your caution completely. But we're on a sensitive time table here."

"So you've mentioned. This source of yours at NetWatch—what did you say his name was?"

"I didn't." V frowned. "And I won't now, either. He’s risking his life by bringing me that intel."

"I'm sure he is, V, but without proof, I don't see how we can go any further up the rungs with this."

"We are, respectively, the Directors of Counter Intel and Spec Ops, and you're telling me there's nothing we can do about intel that indicates that Saburo Arasaka's son is a traitor?"

Nostra winced, and despite her earlier claims of security, V felt a slight twitch in her neck. She had to restrain herself from turning her head to check that they weren't being overheard. 

"I didn't say that," he clarified. "I said we need more proof."

"Nostra, I told you, the deal's supposed to go down tonight."

"Yes. At Konpeki Plaza. I understand." 

“Then you understand why we can’t afford to wait.”

“I’m not telling you to wait, V.” Nostra’s face was thoroughly neutral. “I’m telling you that you need more proof.”

V was silent. Her heart began to beat more rapidly. She realized what he was implying. He wouldn’t officially recommend that she obtain proof on her own, but he was letting her know that that’s what was necessary. It was a risky endeavor, and she wasn’t entirely sure yet how she’d accomplish it. But the idea filled her with eager anticipation. 

“Okay,” she told him, folding her arms neatly on the surface of her desk. “Understood.” 

Nostra nodded. “I hope so.” He stood. “Keep me updated, Director Locke.” He left the room with one last backward glance at V. 

His use of her official title was deliberate, she was sure. Almost everyone she knew at NCHQ called her V. The single letter alias had been assigned to her during her first year at Arasaka Academy as part of a particularly challenging group project—a simulated undercover operation. V’s plan had led her team to victory, and she’d spent a blissful two weeks of fame at the top of the student leaderboard before someone knocked her off it again. Since then, the nickname had just stuck, even though it was an atypical form of address between coworkers. By using her title instead, Nostra reminded her of her position and her responsibility to look out for Arasaka’s best interests.

V swiveled her chair slightly to the right so she had more room to comfortably cross her legs. She leaned back into the cool, supple leather. As always at the start of a new mission, V began by considering what she already knew about her enemy—Yorinobu Arasaka, Saburo Arasaka’s second-born son and presumed heir, since the death of his first-born son way back in the 2020s.

She knew his sordid history, a rebellious youth messing around with Japanese gangs. By all accounts, however, he'd been brought back into the fold since then, becoming leader of the Taka Faction and the most likely of Saburo’s potential heirs to actually take control one day. 

Even as a Department Head, V was far too low-ranking for her viewpoint on the issue to truly matter, but she privately thought that all of Saburo’s potential heirs fell short of him in various ways. His daughter, Hanako Arasaka, was reclusive and cautious—she was unlikely to be able to command respect to the degree that her father could, and her preference for playing the waiting game could result in missed opportunities. On the other hand, Michiko Arasaka—Saburo’s granddaughter via his first-born son—was well-loved by the public, but not so much by high-ranking executives in Arasaka, and the reform policies her faction lobbied for were too restrictive for V’s taste. And Yorinobu himself…

His faction’s namesake was the hawk for a reason: Taka was the most militant faction, and they were also globalist in scope and innovative in approach. All this, V appreciated. Yorinobu himself struck her as quick-tempered and headstrong, qualities that he shared with his father, but overall he seemed to have more passion and less restraint. That was a useful insight, at least. Emotional people were always easier to predict and manipulate.

All right then. That was the gist of what she knew about her enemy, little though it may be. Now onto her goals. Step one: getting into Konpeki Plaza. 

Luckily, as Director of Counter Intel, there were myriad possible excuses she could come up with for her presence at a place like that. She had several upcoming meetings in the pipeline that she could easily reschedule to tonight. What could be more natural than to apologize for the abrupt scheduling change by choosing a highly comfortable meeting venue, like say… Konpeki Plaza, for instance?

But then she'd have to figure out how to sneak into Yorinobu Arasaka’s suite while working around the schedule of the meeting, which might not leave her with sufficient time. And sending a delegate to replace her at the meeting would be suspicious at worst and extremely rude at best, considering she’d be the one who’d demanded the meeting occur on such short notice in the first place. No, that wouldn’t do. She needed an excuse that explained her presence at the hotel, but didn't draw anyone's attention to her specifically. 

Time for another approach. 

She used the optics display on her Kiroshi to pull up a calendar of events at Konpeki Plaza. She scanned through the conferences scheduled for tonight. If she could find one that could function as a realistic cover story, she could purchase a ticket and use it to get into the hotel. Her early exit from a large, crowded event was unlikely to be noted. And, better still, the conference rooms were on the ninety-eighth floor of the Plaza. Yorinobu was almost certainly on the hundredth floor—the penthouse suite. Anything less would be unseemly. She'd only have to find a way to go two extra floors higher.  

She scanned the possibilities. She was hoping to find a talk on something related to her work to buff up her cover story, but no such luck. One event did stand out to her, however. At 8pm in the Sapphire Conference Room, Hideyoshi Oshima, the famous braindance producer, was hosting a conference on the implementation of multifaceted emotional states in next-gen BDs. The timing was perfect, though the content of the meeting was ill-fitting with the type of events V typically attended. It certainly didn’t have much to do with her career. Still, she could plausibly claim a personal interest in the topic. 

She pulled up the event’s seating details and purchased a ticket. They were pricey, but what was the point of that ample Arasaka paycheck if not to spend it? She checked the time. She had about twenty minutes to change into a fresher suit and get to Konpeki Plaza, if she wanted her timing to seem realistic for the event. This called for her fastest ride. 

—

Fifteen minutes later, her Rayfield Excalibur touched down near the Arasaka waterfront, just outside Konpeki Plaza. She exited and was immediately greeted by a young, gold-skinned valet. Literally gold-skinned. One of the requirements of a job at Konpeki Plaza was a uniform you could never take off—you had to replace your natural skin with a shiny coating of metallic, gold Realskinn. V appreciated that level of dedication. 

“Hello, Director Locke,” the valet said. “Welcome to Konpeki Plaza. I’ll take care of your AV for you.”

She didn’t miss the excitement in the kid’s eyes. He may have been accustomed to luxury vehicles, but the Excalibur was the best of the best. V understood his enthusiasm. It was the fastest street-legal vehicle in the world, not to mention safe, comfortable, reliable, and absolutely gorgeous. V’s was off-black in color, exterior embellished with the Arasaka logo, and so polished that it gleamed even in the low lighting of the parking area. She smiled at the valet, waving her right hand in the signal that transferred a generous tip from one of her bank accounts to his. “Take good care of it."

“Of course, Director.” He nodded deferentially.

V made her way through the front doors of Konpeki Plaza, breezed through the security scanners, and walked up to the check-in desk. The receptionist recognized her on sight. “Director Locke,” she said. “Welcome back. Here for another meeting?” 

“Not this time, ” V answered, already placing her hand on the scanner to verify her SID chip. “I’ll be attending a conference tonight.”

“Ah, yes,” she responded. Her eyes lit up momentarily as she received the upload of V’s data. “Hideyoshi Oshima’s talk. He’s very good.” Her eyes faded back to their normal color and focused on V again. “Are you interested in braindance advancements, Director?”

“I am,” V responded, smiling warmly at the receptionist despite the irritation she felt at the question. She always strove to be courteous to the help—they were perfectly placed to overhear a treasure trove of gossip. Besides, she’d rehearsed a point of view on the topic during the AV ride. “I think Oshima has an interesting premise, but I maintain that experiencing a heightened sense of passion is actually a major selling point of BDs, and that therefore complicating that would actually counterintuitively cheapen the experience. His ideas, in my opinion, might not apply as well to the medium as he expects.”

The receptionist nodded earnestly. “I hadn’t thought of it that way. You may be right, Director.”

“Well, we’ll see if his speech impresses me,” V said, leaning towards her over the countertop with a conspiratorial look. “If you see me leaving early, then you’ll know I haven’t changed my initial assessment.”

The receptionist laughed. “Come down to the bar if he bores you. No sense in wasting the evening.”  

“None indeed,” V agreed. “Perhaps I’ll take you up on that offer.” She threw one last smile her way, then turned to leave. “Have a good evening.”

“You as well, Director,” the receptionist responded cheerfully. 

V heard her voice from a distance. She was already halfway towards the elevator. But as she passed the bar, a snippet of conversation caught her ear. 

“You wanna know what a bearer of bad news looks like?” A drunken businessman was gesturing wildly at a disinterested bartender and shouting loud enough for half the bar to overhear. His speech was slurred, and he occasionally interrupted himself with a hiccup. “What’s four hundred yards long, weighs a hundred thousand tons, and is nuclear powered? The answer’s docked in the bay. Hanako Arasaka decided to take a little vacation!”  

Hanako Arasaka was in Night City? V slowed down, her mind reeling. Her source at NetWatch hadn’t mentioned anything about that. It was possible he was unaware of her presence, but the odds of it being merely a coincidence were not great. 

V adjusted her course, heading towards the bar. By now the drunk had calmed down a bit and was staring morosely into a glass of golden liquid the bartender had handed him. V slid up next to him but faced the bartender, who turned his attention to her as well. “Evenin’,” he said. “What can I get you, baby?” 

That was the second time tonight she’d been addressed casually. No wonder the Night City Konpeki Plaza ranked below so many of the others in quality of customer service. “Evenin’,” she responded, mirroring his tone. “A glass of Centzon, please.” 

“Of course,” he said, pulling the appropriate bottle and a lowball glass from the shelf behind him. He poured the tequila and handed it to her. “Enjoy.” 

V took a small sip, savoring the taste. It was her favorite drink, but she wanted her mind to remain clear tonight. She watched the drunk from out of the corner of her eye and plotted her opening line. 

“A word of advice, if I may,” she spoke to him quietly, without turning her head. “Be careful what you broadcast for all the world to hear.”

He jumped slightly, no doubt pulled suddenly out of some private train of thought. A splash of his drink flew towards the floor. He stared at the stain for a moment, then looked up at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. “What d’ya mean?”

“Your speech earlier, about Hanako Arasaka’s visit,” she reminded him. When he startled again, V explained herself. “You were loud enough that I could hear you from the other side of the room.”

“Was I?” he asked, momentarily abashed. Then a flush of anger returned to face. “Well, good! ‘Cause this affects us all. It’ll slap everyone in the face!”

“I get it,” V said. She propped her elbow up on the bar and placed her hand on the side of her neck, turning her full attention to him. “You’re pissed off. That’s fair. But you’re not gonna fix anything by mouthing off in a bar. You’re just gonna make things worse for yourself.”

At first, he looked angrier, and V feared she’d taken the wrong approach, but then all at once, the anger drained out of him, and he just looked tired. He took a swig from his nearly empty glass. “Why do you care, anyway?” he demanded, his voice a desperate whisper. 

V shrugged. “I guess because I’m in the same boat. I’m a tech specialist with Arasaka Counter Intel. I know how this shit can get.”

“Yeah,” he admitted, a trickle of relief creeping into his tone. “You would, wouldn’t you?” He scratched his head, a thoughtful gleam lighting up his slightly more lucid eyes. “Didn’t you have a big crisis a few months ago? Some psychobitch director shooting up the competition?”

“Something like that, yes.” V looked away from him, fixing her gaze on a point in the distance and letting her eyes glaze over like she’d seen Carter’s do when he’d spoken to her about finding the bodies. “It was terrible. If you’d have seen it… all that blood…”

“Hey, now,” he said, adopting a soothing tone. “You can’t go getting worked up over a little blood. You’re gonna see way worse things if you stay in Counter Intel. You need to be prepared.”

V analyzed his demeanor, checking if he noticed the irony of their role reversal. But he seemed too pleased to care. If only she knew how to cry on command. She took a deep, shaky breath instead. “How do you cope with it?” she asked him. “Is it always like this for you?”

“No, not always,” he reassured her. “I mean, I’m a liaison. That’s a sort of go-between from one branch of Arasaka to another. I represent the Night City branch in negotiations with the Tokyo branch. It can get stressful, but situations that get me this stressed aren’t usual.”

“I feel like things like this happen all the time.” 

“Nah, of course not. I mean, there’s no way something like this happens all the time.”

She looked at him doubtfully.

“No, really,” he insisted. “I mean, Hanako just had to follow her father…” 

He broke off his sentence hastily. V struggled to maintain her composure while she waited for him to resume it. Saburo Arasaka was in Night City??? Did he know about Yorinobu’s plan? Was he trying to stop him? Was he in the building right now? 

But there were some dangers so great that even intoxication and a pretty girl couldn’t make a man walk into them. When he began stuttering and trying to take a sip out of his empty glass, V knew she’d lost him.

“Look,” he said, finally putting his glass off to the side. “I should really get back to my room. It’s getting kinda late, and I’m probably gonna have a killer headache tomorrow.”  

V was far too shaken to try to convince him to stay. “All right,” she said simply. “Be careful.”

He looked at her strangely. It wasn’t until after he’d walked off that V registered why that must have been. Unlike everything else she’d said tonight, that warning had been genuine.