#a much longer coherent fic. i am not doing more

[curiosity-killed]

inexplicably craving a dongfang qingcang character study focused on the absolute shitshow experience of realizing his tree of emotions is growing again (ep 16) not from the humorous side but from the political and psychological nightmare side

[auroracalisto]

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

[kirain]

Part five of my appreciation project.

@bbluxart A fic based on their wonderful art piece here and here. Thank you for feeding the fandom!

Emmrich sat at his desk, the soft scratch of his quill the only sound in the dimly lit study. His brows were furrowed in concentration as he penned the final lines of his acceptance speech, each word weighed with meticulous care. Though sleep clouded his mind, he ignored it—this was far more important.

"'You cannot imagine how much I'... no. 'I cannot thank you enough'? No, that's not it."

Stacks of parchment surrounded him, some filled with earlier drafts, others littered with notes and revisions. The candle beside him burned steadily, casting a bright glow over his work—until a shadow suddenly fell across the page.

Kalais, his elven goddess. She leaned over his desk, arms braced against the wood, her face close enough that he could smell the faint trace of lavender on her skin.

"Are you really going to spend all night scribbling away when you could be spending time with me?" she asked, her voice lilting with mock petulance.

Emmrich chuckled, not looking up. "Tempting as that is, I do have to finish this. The university expects something... coherent, at least."

Kalais sighed dramatically, shifting so that she blocked more of his light. "Are you saying I have to wait to be showered with attention?"

"That does seem to be the case." He finally lifted his gaze, amused. "Though, if it helps, I'm already looking forward to it."

Kalais smirked but said nothing. Instead, she pushed off the desk and stretched, as if preparing to wander off and find something else to entertain herself with.

"Wait, Kalais? Before you turn in," Emmrich said, his voice unusually timid. "I did want to ask—would you accompany me?"

She froze. "To the... ceremony thing?"

"Yes." His expression steeled, no longer flirty, but earnest. "It would mean a great deal to me if you came along."

Kalais forced a smile before he could see the apprehension flicker across her face. "Is this, uh... fancy-fancy? Like, with wine and cheese and hors d'oeuvres and... all that?”

"Yes, but don't worry about that. I just want you there. To celebrate with me."

Kalais hesitated for only a moment before she gave him a breezy grin. "Well, when you put it like that... how can I possibly say no?"

She sounded excited—at least, she hoped she did. Inside, doubt churned in her stomach, but Emmrich was looking at her with such expectance, such conviction, she couldn't bring herself to refuse.

"Marvellous," he sang, relieved. "It wouldn't feel right without you there."

Kalais turned away before he could catch her uncertainty. "Guess I'd better find something to wear, then," she winked over her shoulder.

"Oh, you'll look stunning no matter what you choose, my darling."

Kalais flashed a cheerful wave as he watched her go, her playful bravado intact. But as she closed the door behind her, her smile slipped, and she wondered if she'd made a mistake.

-----

The grand hall of the university glistened with an inescapable air of prestige. Golden chandeliers loomed over rows of blackwood tables and chairs, their polished surfaces reflecting the green glow of countless candles; all lit with a necrotic magic Kalais couldn't even begin to comprehend—and the room was bustling. Scholars and dignitaries from across the kingdom and beyond had gathered to celebrate Emmrich's vast achievements.

Emmrich.

Professor Emmrich Volkarin of the Mourn Watch—a title she'd heard him use only once, the day they met. Yet tonight, it was spoken by every person who shook his hand, clapped his shoulder, and vied for his attention. It was so formal. So unfamiliar.

"I am profoundly grateful to be standing among you this evening. May we continue to expand our knowledge for centuries to come, and make the unknown known."

Applause thundered through the chamber as the university president fastened a medallion of honour around Emmrich's neck, its emblem catching the light. Kalais couldn't be on stage with him, but she smiled as she watched, his speech brief yet brilliant. She knew almost nothing about his research, but she did know this meant a lot to him—a recognition hard-earned and long overdue.

As he accepted his award, she stood at the back of the hall, clutching a single branch of lilacs in her hand. The flowers were delicate, their fragrance a comfort to her anxious heart. She had spent the last of her coins on it, knowing it was Emmrich's favourite; rivalling even his love of Weeping Widowers, but she'd kept it hidden until the proper moment, hoping to surprise him.

Once, he had shared a memory of his late mother tending lilac bushes in her garden—a memory that often brought him peace. He didn't remember much of his parents, but those memories were bright, often triggered by the syrupy-sweet scent and pastel purple hue. Perhaps, Kalais thought, it would make him feel as though she were there, relishing in her son's achievements.

As the awards drew to a close, he stepped off the stage, waving her forward. Kalais nodded, but as she moved closer, her confidence wavered. Emmrich was surrounded by nobles in tailored suits, scholars in richly adorned robes, and students whose laughter rang with the ease of privilege. She wasn't one of them. She wasn't an academic or a necromancer. She had never belonged in a place like this, and she knew that sentiment was shared.

"Goodness, look who's here," a sharp voice cut through the crowd.

Kalais paled.

Vanessa Schulzer, one of Emmrich's fellow professors, stood with a small cluster of colleagues, all of whom had made their disapproval of their relationship abundantly clear. Kalais had met them once before in the Necropolis, during a perilous expedition. They had mistaken her for a tomb robber, their accusations tempered only by Emmrich's intervention.

"If it isn't... what was your name again? Kaless?"

"Kalais," she answered plainly.

"Oh, that's right," the woman cooed. Her vibrant gown and pearly chains of office glittered—a stark contrast to Kalais' threadbare dress. "I must say, I'm surprised to see you here," she continued, her tone pure politeness and venom.

"Is there some reason I shouldn't be?" Kalais asked, holding back for Emmrich's sake.

"Not at all. As I said, I'm just surprised. After our... introduction in the Necropolis, I didn't get the impression you had much interest in our craft."

"I wasn't stealing," Kalais groaned.

"Of course you weren't, dear. Of course you weren't. I only meant you seemed slightly out of your depth."

An uncomfortable silence, before the woman laughed delightedly, swirling the glass of wine in her hand.

"Quite the evening, isn't it? A true celebration of academic excellence." She took a sip, her cold, azure eyes studying Kalais like a jeweler appraising a flawed gem; searching, scrutinising. "Would I be correct in assuming this is your first time attending an event such as this?"

The others snickered, the gibe conspicuous.

"First time, yeah," Kalais smiled. "We've been so busy saving the world, we haven't had much time for diversions. But we made an exception for this."

The group frowned, visibly irritated, but they recovered quickly, Vanessa's eyes flicking to the lilacs in Kalais' hand.

"And what's this?" she asked, her lips curling in amusement. "A gift?"

Kalais flinched, tucking the branch somewhat behind her back. "For Emmrich. To congratulate him."

Another professor, Enrique Webb, chuckled at the display. "How... quaint. I'm sure it will slide in quite nicely with one of the many bouquets he's already received."

"He likes lilacs," Kalais said, trying not to sound defensive.

She failed.

"He does," Vanessa chided. "But lilacs are a copper a dozen. The professor is being honoured for a lifetime of contributions to necromancy, Fade exploration, and magical theory. A single stick of lilacs compared to the rest of the accolades he's receiving tonight—" She winced, feigning sincerity. "Well, I don't mean to disparage your efforts, but it does feel a little insulting. Don't you agree?"

"It's a nice thought," another professor chimed. "It just doesn't fit the occasion. We call that 'undervaluation', and it's taken very seriously here."

"I bought him one of those revolutionary new pens I've been hearing so much about," Enrique said proudly. "It will be instrumental in aiding his work to come."

"I bought him an engraved cluster ring," another woman added. "Enchanted, of course, to read the proximity of spirits."

"Doesn't he already have one of those?"

"Yes, but it's tarnished. Volkarin appreciates..." She looked Kalais up and down. "Finer things."

Laughter rippled through the group, their words cutting deep, while Kalais' grip tightened around the branch of lilacs. She had known they wouldn't welcome her, but the sting of their mockery still burned. She glanced towards Emmrich, still engrossed in conversation with the elite, unaware of the exchange. Perhaps they were right, but she wasn't about to give them the satisfaction.

"You don't know Emmrich like I do. He appreciates the finer things, yes, but he appreciates affection more. His mother—"

"Excuse you?" Vanessa snapped. "We've been working with him for decades. Some of us went to school with him. You've known him a total of... six months? That hardly makes you an expert."

"And what exactly are you an expert in?" Enrique pressed. "Volkarin is an intellectual. Above all, he appreciates intelligence the most. You're here to celebrate his accomplishments, but do you even know what they are? Do you understand them?"

"I..." Kalais looked away, her ears drooping.

"We mean no offense, of course," Vanessa sneered. "You're very pretty. I think we're all just a little shocked Volkarin chose such an... unlettered inamorata." She took another sip of her wine, her eyes boring through the young elf like a spear. "I would be happy to educate you on our craft, of course. I am an excellent teacher, after all. You only need to ask."

"That's right," Enrique tittered. "You know what they say—the first step is admitting you need help."

Kalais tensed, her arms shaking. She wanted to tear into them; she could have, but this was Emmrich's night—and they were right. She didn't belong there. Without another word, she turned away, the group's jeers echoing behind her. As she passed a waste bin, she dropped the lilacs inside, their petals trembling, mirroring her despair.

Then, she headed for the doors.

-----

As the celebration wound down, Emmrich wandered the hall, his thoughts preoccupied. He was looking for her, cutting every conversation short as his eyes scanned the room.

"Kalais?" he choked, his tone laced with concern. "Darling, where are you?"

"Good evening, Emmrich," Vanessa said, slithering up beside him. "I believe congratulations are in order—"

"Have you seen Kalais?" he asked hurriedly.

The woman stifled a groan. "Kalais? Who was that again?"

"You know very well," Emmrich huffed. "I arrived with her."

"Ah, yes, the elf woman. Last I saw, she was heading for the buffet."

"She isn't there," he countered, his head turning in all directions. "That was the first place I searched."

"I'm sure she's mingling elsewhere," the woman decried. "In the meantime, I have something for you." With a suggestive glance, she pulled an ornamented box from her purse. "It was a challenge to find, but I managed to—"

"Forgive me, but I really must find her," Emmrich interrupted.

And he walked away, leaving Vanessa shunned and forsaken.

"Kalais!" he yelled over the music and chatter. "Kalais, can you hear me? Please, darling, where are you?"

As he neared the back wall, his eyes caught a flash of mauve, stopping him in his tracks. In the bin, a branch of lilacs lay atop a pile of trash, the colour standing out amongst the manilla wrappers and containers. Curious, he picked it up, its inexorable scent stirring something deep within him.

"Who left this here?" he murmured, running his fingers over the delicate petals.

A voice, faint and otherworldly, answered him.

"One who admires you greatly, Professor."

Emmrich turned to see a translucent figure manifesting behind him—a spirit draped in soft, glowing light. It wasn't uncommon for spirits to gather in the university, especially during celebrations, where emotions ran high.

"With whom do I speak?" he asked, respectfully.

"I am but a watcher of moments, drawn to the pain I witnessed here tonight," the spirit replied.

"An observer," Emmrich said, fascinated, "who witnessed... pain? Here, in this merry hall?"

The spirit nodded. "A pain not marking the flesh, but scathing the soul."

Emmrich's back stiffened with a strangling sense of dread. "Would you be willing to show me?"

"Behold."

The spirit lifted its hand, and the air around them changed. Through its eyes, Emmrich saw the night replay before him like a vivid dream. He saw Kalais approach his colleagues. He saw her expression dull as they spoke cruelly—taunting her, humiliating her. He saw her leave, her head bowed. He saw her drop the lilacs in the bin.

Then, the vision faded.

Emmrich gripped the branch tightly, his heart twisting with anger and sorrow.

He had no idea.

-----

A fair walk from the university, Kalais sat on a bench beneath the night sky, the distant hum of the celebration fading into silence. The cool breeze pricked at her skin, crisp and invigorating, yet it did little to soothe the ache in her chest.

"I'm sorry..." she grimaced.

Her eyes fell to the grass, shame whirling through her like a fever. She had left Emmrich behind, but it was for the best. As insufferable as his colleagues might have been, they belonged in his world—she didn't. He deserved someone who could stand beside him, not someone who struggled to understand the simplicity of self-abnegation techniques for sub-astral navigation.

"Darling?"

Kalais looked up, startled to see Emmrich standing before her.

"Emmrich?" she whispered, rising to her feet. "I just... needed some fresh air." She forced a smile, unaware that it broke him inside and out. "You didn't have to come looking for me. I was just about to head back in—"

"This," he said, holding up the flowers, "means more to me than all the grand speeches and applause I received here tonight."

Kalais gasped, but quickly looked away, embarrassed. "I didn't think you'd want it," she admitted, her voice low. "It just seemed... out of place."

"Out of place?" Emmrich frowned, then stepped closer, his boots nearly touching hers. "You belong, my darling. You belong with me. Never let anyone tell you otherwise." A faint blush spread across her cheeks as she saw the veracity blazing in his eyes. "Those who tried to belittle you this evening—they have much to learn about strength of character. It seems they've forgotten that I myself came from nothing, and I have no qualms about reminding them."

"Emmrich, you don't have to—"

His hands came up, gently pinning the flowers to her dress like a corsage. "Darling, do you know what the lilac represents?"

Kalais paused, her heart racing. "No. What?"

He smiled handsomely. "Love, innocence, youth, and nostalgia." As the stem slipped into the perfect position, he moved his hands to her waist, admiring the way the petals accentuated her natural beauty. "You are my lilac, my love. The sweetest, most precious thing in my life."

"Emmrich..."

Before she could say another word, he leaned in, capturing her lips with his. It was soft at first; gradual, searching, as if coaxing her back from the depths of her insecurity. His lips were both desperate and patient, and the way he kissed her sent a shiver down her spine.

"Mmhm..." Kalais moaned, melting into him before she could realise it, her fingers gripping his coat.

He felt it—and he deepened the kiss, parting her lips with the barest flick of his tongue. The teasing brush sent heat curling in her stomach, and then lower as one of his hands roamed to the back of her head, his fingers lacing through her hair. Kalais responded in kind, parting her lips further, inviting him in as she slipped her arms over his shoulders.

He tasted of wine and something richer—something uniquely him. His tongue stroked against hers, hungry and lingering, turning the kiss from a gentle reassurance into something far more intoxicating. As another moan escaped her throat, he swallowed it thirstily, his other hand squeezing her waist just a shade tighter.

To remind her she was wanted.

In that moment, the world blurred. There was no university, no judgmental scholars, no crushing self-doubt—only the warmth of Emmrich's mouth, the press of his body, the delicious drag of his tongue against hers. This kiss, possessive and passionate, proved to her that he believed she was worth holding onto.

Then—a shimmer at the edge of their vision. A flicker, soft and ethereal. Another. Then more.

Wisps.

Like fallen stars, they drifted from the trees, gliding in slow, captivating spirals. Drawn to the bond between them, they circled the pair, their spectral glow bathing the moment in a hushed, enchanted light, silvery-blue and striking. Kalais felt their presence, the air thick with magic, and nearly pulled away—but Emmrich wouldn't allow it. His hands tightened, his lips pressing harder into hers, sealing them in this perfect, fleeting eternity.

At that, the wisps pulsed, their light swirling in time with the beat of their hearts, as if blessing their love with mystic approval.

They were meant to be.

When Emmrich finally pulled away, Kalais' eyes gleamed, welling with tears. He always saw her, even when she tried to hide herself.

"Do you want to go home?" he asked suddenly, wiping her tears with his thumb.

"But... your party," she wheezed, basking in the sensation of his touch. "And all that... food," she drooled.

Emmrich laughed, her pain seeming to vanish at the prospect.

"Then let's go feast," he said, cupping her chin. "On the wine and cheese and hors d'oeuvres and... all that." Kalais giggled, making his chest swell with ecstasy. "But only if you promise to be the loudest, most outrageous person in the room. No apologies."

She grinned, hugging his arm. "I can do that."

"Good. I wouldn't have it any other way."

Together, they walked back towards the university with their heads held high, the lilacs a solace in the corner of Emmrich's eye.

[mt-oe]

I love ur workkkk 🥺🥺 … my heart melted

Can I request a mizu x reader in which reader was upset with mizu , and mizu trying to make reader feel happy with her ( I know I worded it poorly 😭😔. English is not my first language 😔). this can be sfw or nsfw. u write the spiciest nsfw stuff 😉

✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋆⋄✧

Hey dear!

Thank you so much for requesting! I'm so sorry if this was WAY overdue. I'll try to make up for it by writing as best as I can <3

Also, please don't think too much about how you worded it. Trying to communicate your ideas, regardless of how you worded it, is already enough.

On an unrelated note, I am temporarily closing my inbox so I can catch up on requests. I wouldn't want to rush since that might compromise the quality of the fics. I deeply appreciate the messages and comments and would really like to answer them but I'm still too shy ;; I promise I'm really trying. Please don't get mad or disappointed in me. Thank you for understanding!

Anyways, I hope you enjoy! Mwa mwa :*

warning/s: not proofread, she/her for mizu, implied afab reader

Mizu has done a lot of things before. Her sword has known the blood of many, cut through numerous organs, and had seen death like it was the next door neighbor. The fights she had fought were more ferocious than what most warriors could stomach. With a will of steel and the mind of a tactician, a capable swordsman she truly was. But...

How the hell was she going to get through this one?

Cerulean orbs narrowed as she watched you, or more precisely, your back. Her gaze roaming from the tips of your hair to the way your back slumped. Your huffs and whispered grumbles were the only sound that could be heard from the room.

She could feel her palms sweating and her fingers running cold. Not a single coherent thought formed in her brain from how unnerving the situation was. For the first time in her life, she was faced with an opponent she did not know how to defeat.

And this opponent was strong. Not even the swing of her sword or the strength of her hands could quell the wrath and sheer rage of this enemy. Mizu knew she had to plan her next move well or this could cost her everything.

And this opponent...was her wife's anger.

Yes, the ronin who quite literally bit someone's nose, survived a fall from several stories high, burned down Edo, was utterly helpless under her lover's wrath.

"I said I was sorry. What else do I have to do?" she asked, placing a hand on your shoulder, trying to pull you to face her. A groan of frustration boiled at her throat as you shrugged her hand off harshly. "I said I was sorry. What else do I have to do?" you mocked her, imitating her low voice before sticking your tongue. "Go figure it out yourself! Hmph!"

This was so stupid, she thought. But despite the words in her head, she was utterly lost.

All this drama just because she missed a kabuki show that you wanted to watch?

Sure, you had told her ahead of time. Sure, you already planned it out. Sure, you were already at the venue. But it was just a goddamn stage play, what were you so upset about? There would be another show next week with the same story anyway, and if you were so excited to watch, you could have watched it without her.

So what was the big deal about it?

She rolled her eyes before standing up, looking at you in resignation. "Fine, sulk," she grumbled in response, to which you stuck your tongue out. She rolled her eyes once again before strapping her sword to her waist. "Talk when you're no longer acting like a brat." And with those words, she left, slamming the door and causing it to bounce open slightly.

Upon hearing her footsteps fading, you immediately let out a loud sigh. You turned to look at the spot where your lover had previously sat on with a sense of hurt. "But I wanted to go on a date..." you whispered to yourself, throat tightening.

This was one of those moments where you really just had to say, 'it is what it is', and pretend to not get hurt.

You knew Mizu wasn't the most romantic person on the planet. Hell, it was even a surprise that she asked you out. However, there were times when you wished you could open her head and shove some cheesy romance novels, because how the fuck did she not get that you were asking her out on a date?

Urgh.

"What am I even expecting?" you asked yourself out loud, bringing the tickets you had bought for both of you. Tickets that were wasted just because she thought training and buying supplies were more important than spending 4 hours watching a play in a theater with her wife. "Maybe next time I'll just watch her train."

You love her. Of course you did. And you knew she loves you too, but sometimes her inability to understand or express romance made you question it.

Slowly and painfully, you tore up the tickets and fed it to the candle flame, watching as it turned to ashes. Welp. There goes your idea of a romantic evening. "And I planned it for so long too," you sighed as you brought your knees to your chest.

Unbeknown to you, your wife had secretly sneaked back, sitting beside the small door crack she had intentionally made earlier. A small frown on her face as she realized how much she fucked up.

You were right.

You did plan it for a long time. She could see your eyes widen every time the two of you passed by the theatre whenever you went out for supplies, filled with excitement that she couldn't understand then. And you already told her early, so it wasn't like it was out of the schedule or out of the way. Most of all, you were already at the venue.

You were waiting for this for such a long time.

You were waiting for her for such a long time.

And she wasted your efforts. She somehow thought that what you were so eager for was something she could trade for a few hours of extra training.

Guilt welled up in her as she continued to listen to your sighs, peeking inside the room every now and then to make sure you were okay. Her heart clenched in an odd, unfamiliar, yet extremely uncomfortable way at the sight of your frown.

Damnit. Mizu knew she messed up big time. However, even if she felt absolutely terrible, she also knew she couldn't just come back in and reveal that she had just watched you go through five stages of grief in less than an hour or else you'd feel like you forced her to apologize. But how could she make up for this?

As she was deep in thought, thinking of ways on how she could apologize, she suddenly heard the soft padding sound of your feet on the tatami mat as you stood up. "I guess I'll take a nap. Maybe I'll feel better when I wake up," she heard you sigh for the umpteenth time.

Her eyes watched you stretch before pulling the futon out of the closet and set it up. Your hands carefully undid the pins stuck to your hair before laying down, pulling the covers over you, the frown you wore never dissipating.

She could feel her conscience weighing down on her, telling her what a dense idiot she was. The feeling hitting her like a ton of bricks as she watched you slowly fall asleep with a heavy heart.

No, she wasn't going to let your day go on like this. If she fucked up, she's fixing it up.

Slowly and carefully, she got up and sneaked away, leaving the inn and going to the market. No matter how unexperienced or how unknowledgeable she was with how to comfort a person, Mizu was going to try her best.

-

Hours passed and the short nap you had planned turned into one of the longest one you've had yet. It wasn't a pleasant one, but it wasn't the worst either. Your eyes slowly fluttered open before squinting at the faint glow of the candle. The world felt slightly heavy and tilted as your head spu—wait? The candle?

"Oh shit," you whispered, shooting up and looking around in panic, head still spinning from grogginess. Oh no, you forgot to blow out the candle before your nap and accidentally kept it burning. Mizu was going to pissed at you, especially since it was the last one.

But wait—

Shouldn't it have burnt out already?

You brought the back of your hand to your eyes, rubbing away the sleep and grogginess to have a better look around. However, upon looking up, surprise took over your senses.

The room was...decorated?

Or at least there was an attempt.

At a distance from the foot of your futon sat your lover with a wooden crate in front of her. A bit of relief washed over your body as you realized that she had taken care of the candle for you, but still, you were heavily confused. "Mizu...what's going on?" you asked, yawning a bit.

She looked at you with the same emotionless stare she had before sighing. Her hands slowly turned the crate around so the opening was facing you. It was decorated too, and even if it was poorly recreated, you could recognize the setting. It was very similar to the kabuki theater you wanted to go to.

From her back, she brought out two dolls. One wearing a kimono in a color similar to what you were wearing, and one male doll that looked like a samurai. A heavy exhale could be heard coming from her as the embarrassment started kicking in. Was she really going to do this? Yes, yes she was.

Clearing her throat, she moved the dolls to the makeshift stage as she began her narration. "Once upon a time, in a small village, stayed a ronin and her wife." She glances momentarily at you before looking down again, a faint dust of blush on her cheeks. "Her very beautiful wife," she clarified.

Your eyes widened with a mix of delight and surprise. The grogginess from your sleep wore off at the sweetness of your lover's effort. You couldn't believe it. It was a stage play. A stage play about the two of you.

Her hands moved the dolls on stage, making them hold hands as she narrated the events in the story. "But one day, the ronin, being very foolish, decided to go up in the mountains and train instead of accompanying her wife," she said, dolls moving to match her words.

"And her wife..." she continued, moving your doll to look like it was sulking, "...got very upset." Blue eyes looked at you once again to check if you were still watching. You could tell that she was being very sincere about this.

"Not knowing what to do, the ronin went out to think and realized that she was indeed wrong and had been inconsiderate, that her wife was really just trying to bond and spend time in merriment."

She slowly set the dolls down and readjusted, sitting up straight before bowing her head slightly. "And so, the ronin apologized," she said with all seriousness. "I'm sorry, love. I knew you wanted to go out for so long. I should have appreciated your efforts more. I have no excuses."

Silence embraced the room after, completely amplifying the pounding of her heart as she awaited your response. Jitters ran through her body from nervousness. Mizu didn't dare look up, not until you gave her a response.

Seconds felt like minutes as she waited. An unexplainable kind of anxiety holding over her. What if you didn't like the little show she put? What if she just made your anger worse? Her thoughts were scattering by the millisecond. She wanted nothing more than for you to forgive her.

Her heart stopped as she saw your hands reach for the dolls, looking over them before making your doll face her doll.

"And the wife accepted the apology," you giggled, bending your dolls head slightly so it would kiss the representing her. Before she could speak, she felt your lips on her cheek. The sweet sound of your laughter soon followed, making her blush.

You lifted the dolls up to eye level and looked at them fondly. "You really went out and beyond, didn't you?" you laughed, wiggling them around in some form of cuteness aggression. She lifted her head and smiled softly. "I didn't know what to do," she admitted, finding your fondness for the dolls adorable. "And I really wanted to go back to my wife."

"You could have just said sorry, dummy. But.." your voice trailed off, eyes looking back at your wife's, leaning closer to her. "This made me unbelievably happy," you admitted. "Thank you, love."

Your wife's smile widened as you leaned in and kissed her softly. Her hands instinctively pulling you closer. Love and affection radiated from her as both of you pulled away, gazing lovingly into each other's eyes. Her breath hitched as you opened your mouth, anticipation building up regarding what you were going to say.

"But next time you do that, you're sleeping without a futon."

"Yes ma'am"

[tenjikyu]

Okay! With your earlier reply in mind, here is my second request *slides it across the nonexistent table*

I've been having major Mitsuya brain rot so obviously this request will be about him :>

Picture this: Final timeline adult Mitsuya doing all his fashion designing stuff x house spouse (gn version of housewife/househusband).

Genre can be fluff, maybe a bit suggestive if that's okay with you, I don't mind either way, I am just dying for some Mitsuya works cuz I swear I've read most of the gn and male reader x him fics out there and I am starving for new content with him

Hopefully this was coherent and had at least something you could work with (if you need anything more specific, I can send another request)

— 🎭

𝘋𝘦𝘢𝘳 𝘍𝘶𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘏𝘶𝘴𝘣𝘢𝘯𝘥

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ mitsuya x GN!housespouce!reader , pure fluff n slightly suggestive but it’s nothing more then kissing, I 💗 mitsuya omg, still haven’t rewatched Tokyo rev I’ve been slack 🙁, short n sweet but I was struggling to finish it and I didn’t wanna keep the people waiting much longer so I do apologise.

౨ৎ ⋆｡˚ I’m so sorry for how long this took!! I desperately wanted to get this out before it hit the 1 month mark but I’ve been super duper busy with personal shit! Hope it’s still good enough lmao.

Takashi ironed the fabric with the upmost care, fondling the silk around the board with a low heat level on. The design itself was a dress resembling a lotus flower. The top was beaded with pale pink rhinestones and the bottom consisted with an array of green silks and gems. It had a sharp yet form fitting feel and anyone could tell the designer put the upmost love into the piece.

A gentle knock came from the other side of his work studio, and there was only one person it could be.

“Here darling, I made you some miso soup to have. Light enough it’ll keep you full but still good for dinner”, your voice charms his ears. Ever since moving in with him, you’ve taken on the role of housespouce. You clean and cook for him, in order to provide the best possible space for Takashi to work in.

It had been twelve years since the two of you got together in middle school. You were the schools vice president, and he was a gang member. Despite the opposite worlds, you hung out frequently and even babysat his sisters when he was unavailable. The day Takashi knew he wanted to some day marry you was the day he came home to his two younger sisters resting in your lap, washed dishes and comfortably lying on the futon.

Now, the two of you reside in an upper class place with lots of room for Takashi’s designs, and none of them are anything short of ethereal. Behind every design he creates, inspiration of you seeps through the thread and needle. Your favourite flower, animal, colour and styles all influence Takashi’s dresses and all of them are of the highest quality.

So, whenever you come into the studio, Takashi gives you a big grin and awaits a hug from his favourite partner.

“How’s your day, darling?” He asks you, and you smile gently at him.

“I’ve missed you, I can’t deny. It seems you’ve been locked in here forever”.

“I apologise my dear”.

“I know another way you can’t make it up to me..” you grin at him, and his cheeks flush with a pink hue.

Kissing his Adam’s apple gently, you guide him up and out of the studio, into your bedroom. Lying his cherished body onto the bed, you feel up his torso as you continue to litter him with small hickies.

He soon follows your lead, pressing a loving kiss to your cultivating lips. You swear there’s nothing closer to heaven than this man’s touch, and you’re convinced you’ve ascended as he grips your cheeks to deepen your kiss.

“I’ve missed you too, darling”, Takashi presses another kiss to your collarbone and manoeuvres his hands around your waist, and you sigh gently at his grip.

“I promise you I’ll give you what you want, after we eat dinner “, you giggle, and his pout is nothing short of cute.

“So you lead me to bed and suddenly leave me high and dry? I’m hurt baby”, he chuckles out, pressing one last kiss to the wedding ring on your finger.

“After dinner, I’ll give you all the desert you desire my love”.

[malk1ns]

In the newer photo of geno and Nikita at the steelers game, geno's shoes have interesting velcor straps... looks like maybe his dom (sid) likes to keep geno in casual straps all the time as a possessiveness thing... yum...

so true, mystery caller. photo reference here. (for the record these are the shoes geno's wearing, but it's much more fun that they're restraints instead)

for this one i am removing nikita from the equation. sorry nikita, you're a cute kid and your dad loves you, but i can't do kink-adjacent fics with children involved even on the periphery, it makes my brain shy away like a skittish pony.

Sid doesn’t say yes to Geno going to the Christmas Day Steelers game with the rest of the guys until Geno’s sobbing so hard he’s barely coherent, choking the words out through a throat rough and swollen from where he’d taken Sid’s dick earlier.

Sid had told him to ask nicely, after all, and one of the nicest things about Geno is his mouth. And if Sid had held him down until he gagged, pulling back barely long enough to let Geno gasp in a breath before fucking into his throat again, well, Sid’s a hedonist who believes in enjoying his things to the fullest.

He does say yes eventually, though. G loves football, loves getting together with the guys in the most expensive suite at Heinz Field and yelling his head off after a few beers. And Sid likes giving Geno things he loves…provided, of course, he’s earned it.

Nursing Sid’s dick to hardness and then taking it with no complaints, mouth soft and throat open for as hard as Sid wanted to fuck his face, hands lax at his sides without even a hint of creeping towards his own groin to touch himself, definitely qualifies as earning it.

It’s too cold for Geno to wear his Polamalu jersey, even up in the suites. Sid lets Geno shower on his own in favor of digging through their closet, picking out base layers and a cream sweatshirt that makes Geno’s skin glow.

He also pulls out a set of ankle cuffs.

They’d been in fashion over a decade ago, with designers rushing out styles and fits to suit all types of pants from casual to white-tie formal, but they’re a little passé now, a little dated. Sid doesn’t care, though; the nature of their jobs and the time they need to spend apart during the summers to fulfill professional obligations mean that Geno can’t always wear a traditional collar or even wrist cuffs. Sid suggested Geno go without for convenience’s sake once; the resulting tantrum had earned him a month without orgasm and nights spent chained at the foot of Sid’s bed like a dog. He’s never asked Geno to go in public without some sign of ownership again, though, and the ankle restraints suit them both.

Sid even lets Geno dress himself for once, but when Geno makes to pick the cuffs up Sid slaps him, smiling when Geno’s mouth drops and his pupils expand. “Mine,” he says, snatching the cuffs and kneeling at Geno’s feet, biting back a smirk when Geno gasps in an unsteady breath.

He takes his time snapping the restraints into place, pulling them down over Geno’s white shoes so they’ll stand out and yanking them tighter than will be comfortable over the duration of an NFL game. By the time he gets back to his feet, wincing as his knees crack, Geno’s practically in a swoon, swaying in place with a dazed look on his face.

This is why Sid made Geno start getting ready earlier than was strictly necessary. He lets Geno suck his toes while he fixes his hair, bringing him back up when the clock says they really can’t wait any longer to leave or they’ll be late.

During the game, Sid hangs in the back of the suite. He doesn’t like being at the railing where the cameras can catch him; he likes football well enough, but missing out on individual plays in favor of having a little privacy for once is a fair exchange. He watches Geno instead.

Geno’s in fine form, jumping and screaming with every bit of forward progress and booing loudly whenever the Chiefs score. He and Ricky cook up some drinking game that they rope most of the guys into, which Sid pretends not to notice.

Karl catches on, though, elbowing Sid when Geno glances over his shoulder before tossing back the rest of his beer in response to…something that happened on the field. “Getting soft, Crosby?” he says, but he’s teasing, so Sid doesn’t bother to posture back.

He takes a small sip of his own beer, catching Geno’s eyes again and smiling. Geno’s body language practically melts in response, head tilting to one side invitingly. “Nah, he knows how long his leash is,” he replies, nudging Karl back. “If he pulls, it’s because he wants to choke.”

[percyluvr]

Hiii,i love your blog and your writing sm and that’s why i wanted to be brava and make a request!If you like the idea,can you please write a Percy imagine were reader is the daughter of Thetis(the water nymph/goddess and mother of Achilles)and she is the one that helps Percy with his water powers?Like they bond over that and fall in love with each other?Thank you very much!🩵🩵

percy jackson x daughter of thetis!reader summary: percy meets a nereid; the rest is history wc: 2524 note: thank you so much for reading my works, i'm vv glad u love my blog & i hope i could do this request justice. i wasn't exactly sure if her kid would be a demigod or a nymph, so i thought because i haven't really seen any fics w a nymph!reader, i would get a lil creative w it! i do know that achilles was considered a demigod, but i figured maybe her female children would be nereids(?)

Percy had been claimed as a son of Poseidon about a month ago at this point, and he was desperately trying to understand his powers. When he was claimed, he assumed that it would be easy to harness the power of the sea, since, well, his dad was the literal God of the Sea. Unfortunately, it was not coming as naturally as he had hoped and assumed it would, and so he now found himself swimming in the sea near Camp Half-Blood, searching for someone or something to help him get a leash on his powers.

He tried contacting his dad, to no avail; now aimlessly swimming. The only thing that had truly come natural to him was the ability to breathe under water, which was helpful now, since he didn't have to keep coming up to the surface for breath and could now just focus on finding help.

It'd been about 2 hours of just what others would consider mind-numbing swimming, but Percy enjoyed it anyhow.

He eventually found himself face to face with a young girl whom he would consider one of, if not the most beautiful person he'd ever come across. Though he was a son of Poseidon, Percy swears that he found it increasingly difficult to breathe. The longer he looked at you, the more and more aware he was that he was underwater, and all he could think was 'I'm a son of Poseidon and I'm going to drown, and because somehow it can get more embarrassing than that, I'm going to drown in front of a beautiful girl and she's probably going to laugh and I'm never even going to get to know her name or hear her voice, which is probably the most heavenly thing anyone would ever get a chance to hear and-'

His thoughts are broken when he hears you speak, and somehow your voice sounds even more heavenly than he had assumed it would be.

"Hello, Perseus," you say, smiling, and Percy thinks that his heart might just burst into a million little pieces that will eventually drift out into the water surrounding the two of you.

"Hey, hi, um," he struggles to assemble his thoughts into a coherent sentence.

"Take your time, Perseus. You will not run out of breath, as I believe you thought you would just a few seconds ago," you speak, fighting the urge to giggle at the silly boy that has found his way to your home.

"Um, first, you can just call me Percy, if you want. Second, I know I won't, I was just, uh, distracted for a second. And third, I'm here because, embarrassingly enough, apparently the fact that I'm the son of Poseidon doesn't matter to this water, which will not do anything I want it to unless I'm in a life or death situation, which does happen to occur quite often, so really I'd probably be fine, but I would sort of like to be able to have the comfort of knowing that I can actually use these cool powers that every tells me I have," he rambles. "Sorry, that was kind of a lot," he concludes.

"Do not worry, I followed along quite easily, actually. Anyhow, if you require assistance with your endeavors, I am here to aide you. When I'm not busy helping your father at the castle, that is," you offer.

"Really? I mean I was hoping you would say that, but I wasn't sure you would. But yeah, I'll take you up on that, thanks," he flashes you a smile.

"Wonderful. Feel free to stop by or call my name into the water, and I'll hear it and come to you if I'm able."

"Right, uh, not to be rude, but uh, what's your name?"

"Ah, right, I forget how you demi-gods don't bother to learn the names of the Nereids anymore."

When you tell him your name, you believe you see his eyes glisten in adoration, unless, of course, you're making that all up in your head because the boy in front of you is way cuter than you had ever imagined when you had just heard his name being thrown around by the gossiping Nereids around the palace.

"Well, then, Percy, you should be on your way. I have things to be doing now."

"Right, bye then. Thanks for, y'know, offering to teach me pretty much everything," he says bashfully.

"Of course." He begins to swim away and all you are left with the ability to do is wave as he slowly gets farther and farther away.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It'd been not even a week since Percy had been, in his descriptions to his friends at camp, blessed by your presence, and though the two of you had barely become acquaintances, he found himself missing the sound of your voice and the odd, in his opinion, outdated way that you spoke.

This type of yearning for a person's presence is not the type of yearning he feels for his mother, Sally, and so, this feeling is quite new to Percy. Of course, as a teenage boy, he doesn't know how else to manage this intense feeling, so immediately he goes to the beach and calls your name into the water.

"Hello, Percy, I can't say I'm surprised that you're this eager to harness the power of the sea. I was also very invigorated when I first learned of what was possible once at one with the sea."

"Am I not already one with the sea? My dad is literally the God and King of the sea. And are you not also one with the sea from birth? Aren't Nereides water spirits or whatever?"

"Ah, Percy, you misunderstand. You are not born one with the sea, even as a Nereid. You must prove to the sea that you are not afraid of it, and that you will not take advantage of it. It may takes days, or weeks, but I suspect that you will do just fine."

"And how exactly am I supposed to prove that?"

"You will see," you said cryptically, and before Percy could object to this statement, you were gone, and he was staring out into the clear blue water of the Atlantic Ocean.

"Jeez, when someone offers to teach you, you would think they would actually teach you something and not just say some weird cryptic stuff and then disappear," he grumbles to no one in particular.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Of course, you were correct in your assumption that Percy would quickly prove to the sea that he could be trusted to harbor its power. He manages to form a ball of water the size of a fist before losing focus, leaving the water to splash back down and become one with the sea again.

However, he was not discouraged, and in his invigorated state, he calls out for you without even realizing it.

"Hello, Perseus. I see that I was correct," you said, a bit smugly, Percy must say.

"Yeah, yeah. Will you actually teach me now?"

"Indeed. I wanted to be sure that you were competent enough for my help, so I do apologize for how ominous my words were."

"You're all good. I do have a question though, and feel free to try to drown me if this is rude."

"Do proceed with your inquiry." At that, Percy nearly bursts out laughing at how much you sounded like an office e-mail from someone's annoyed boss, but managed to somehow keep composure.

"Uh, why do you talk like.. I don't know, so formal. Aren't you my age?"

"I do apologize. I do believe you are older than me, which may come as a surprise to you. But to answer your main question, I talk so 'formal' because that is simply how everyone at the palace speaks. I suppose we do not have much contact with anyone outside of the ocean, and so we have not picked up on all of the latest dialects and ways of speaking."

"Well, I guess that makes sense then, my bad."

"Do not worry."

"So, uh, do I get to learn more about 'harnessing the power of the ocean' or whatever now?"

"I suppose now would be as good a time as any."

"Cool, cool, where do we start?"

You lift your fist into the air, a large section of water rising into the air and forming into the shape of a large sea turtle, forming into different animals as you rotate your hand in the air.

"Are you able to do that? Even a basic animal shape would be fine, but if not, we must begin, well, at the beginning."

"Oh, man," he grumbled

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

It'd been a few months of you popping in a few days a week to assist Percy with his ambitions, and he was finally able to wield the power of the sea like he once hoped he would be able.

However, September was rapidly approaching and Percy would soon have to return to school, meaning he would not get to see you nearly as often, which certainly put a damper on what was already a terrible week leading up to the start of the wretched school year.

And so, he resolved that the two of you would talk every day until he had to leave. He didn't care that he had progressed past the point of needing your help anymore, he just wanted to be in your presence for however much longer possible.

It was nearly instinct at this point for Percy to call your name out into the sea, and he was not one to fight it.

"Good to see you, Percy. But as I'm sure you're fully aware, you do not need my tutoring anymore. Perhaps I'm getting ahead of myself, but I do believe that you've even surpassed me, and that doesn't come as a surprise," you praise.

"I don't know about that, but I am pretty cool now," he says jokingly.

You smile. "But uh, I didn't call you for practice, I just thought that, uh, that maybe we could just hang out, y'know? I mean you did help me a lot, so I figure why not give you some company outside of all those old people or whatever back at the palace," Percy admits.

"That doesn't sound horrible. You are quite interesting, I would like to get to know you more as well. And yes, I could use some time away from my fellow Nereids at the palace," you sheepishly say.

"That's what I thought. Hey, by the way, you never told me who your parents were. You know who my dad and mom are, but I don't know either of yours."

"Ah, my mother is a bit more obscure nowadays, as she's not one of the Goddesses that the Greeks traditionally worship as they do the Olympians. She is a water nymph, but also a Goddess, and unfortunately is no longer worshipped in the same proportion as she was in Ancient Greece," you sadly explain.

"Huh, that's pretty cool. I mean, not the part that she's not really worshipped anymore, but the part of her being a nymph and a Goddess. Um, anyways, do you ever talk to my dad?"

"Occasionally, your father will ask me to accompany him or to do various tasks. He is a kind man, I do like his presence, if that is what you were trying to get at."

"That's good. I've only talked to him a few times, but I figured he was a nice guy," Percy grins, "Do you ever get to talk to your mom?"

"Yes, my mother, Thetis, and I are quite close. She lives in the palace with me."

"Wow, I'll be honest, I'm kinda jealous. I mean, I think my dad is cool, and I know he's like a big shot Olympian and whatever, but I think it'd be nice if we could actually talk in person and bond or whatever," he admits.

"Yes, I understand. It must be hard, but for the majority of the year, you have your mother, yes? Or are you a year-round camper?"

"Yeah, you're right. I do have my mom for most of the year, so it's worth it. She's the best," he cheers up at the mention of his mother.

"I figured you would say that. She raised you well. You are much kinder than some of the campers here, but I suppose that is not their fault."

"Nah, it's not. It is what it is sometimes."

You nod, and the conversation flows smoothly on.

𓂃 𓈒𓏸

Today was the last day that Percy would be at camp, since his mother was picking him up later that day after lunch.

He decided that since he only had a few hours left at camp for the summer, he would spend them with the person he now considered one of his closest friends, even though he'd only really known you for a few months at this point.

When he called your name, you appeared almost instantly.

"Hey, Percy," you said, grinning.

"Switching up the greeting today?"

"I suppose since today was your last day here, I would start trying to speak like you and perhaps by the time you came back from school, I would speak more 'naturally,' as you put it."

"Huh, the way you talk doesn't actually bother me, y'know."

"That may be true, but I would like to learn to speak more modernly anyhow."

"If you want to, go for it. But uh, I thought maybe we could do that thing, it's called like, Iris messaging or something? With the drachmas? Then we could keep in touch while I'm at school, too," Percy says nervously.

"That does sound like a good idea. Now that we're friends, I think it would be optimal that we spoke frequently and updated each other on our lives. Good thinking."

He chuckled. "Good, good. I, uh, also wanted to say that... well, I think you're really pretty, and I thought maybe next summer, we could, uh, maybe go on a date or something. I don't know if you feel the same way, but if you do and you do want to, that would be pretty cool," he rambles, interrupted by the foreign feeling of your lips on his.

After a few moments, you detach your mouth from his. "Was that, uh, alright?" You quietly ask.

"Yeah, jeez, that was way better than alright. That was perfect," he says, a deep red adorning his cheeks.

"That is excellent to hear," you say, smiling wider than you'd ever in your life.

"Well, I need to go to lunch, and uh, then my mom is picking me up. I'll Iris message you as soon as I get home, okay? So make sure you're ready."

"See you tonight, Percy," you happily state, dissolving back into the water as quickly as you had appeared.

He stares into the beautiful clear water for a bit before he walks away, unaware that you had appeared again and were watching him walk away, a look of adoration decorating your features.

[gravity-between-us]

Gravity Between Us

Chapter 11: Between Two Suns

Summary: Caleb and I have known each other for as long as I can remember. We were once childhood friends, our bond as natural as the stars in the sky. But now, everything has changed. What used to feel like a safe, familiar orbit between us now pulses with unspoken desire.

Our friendship is no longer enough to keep the tension at bay, and the distance between us feels unbearable. Secrets, lies, and unhealed wounds stand in our way. I don’t know if we can survive this new gravity pulling us together... but I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to try.

Pairing: Female! MC x Caleb

Spoilers: Spoilers for Caleb's Myth's as well as memories. Read at your own risk for these. Lore spoilers.

WARNINGS:

Unlikely to be completely canon. The other love interests will not be likely to appear in this fic.

MC is named. MC is socially awkward. MC can be depressed at times.

Very? Slow Burn.

Very explicit smut (Chapter 12 onward): PiV/oral (male and female receiving)/anal sex. Fingering. First time. Pet names (angel, babe, baby, pip-squeak). Kinks: Praise, breeding, creampie, light dom/sub. Rough. Some consensual degradation talk (MC is into it). Probably many, many more that I am forgetting to name. If you see one that should be listed that isn't, feel free to let me know. (MC is a repressed deviant, and so is Caleb.)

Awkward blend of darker moments, angst, fluff, and humour.

Drinking. Questionable life decisions. MC spirals.

Protective Caleb. Both MC and Caleb are a little obsessive and overly protective of each other, which could be considered an unhealthy relationship.

We will revisit memory scenes, but they will be different from the memories in-game.

As proofread as I can get it, but not beta read, so probably some mistakes.

Limited plot - most focus is just on their relationship and interactions.

More warnings could be applied, but as a general rule of thumb, please read at your own risk and do not continue if you find the content triggering.

From up here, I can only see a glint of Skyhaven’s steel and glass towers between the tears in the clouds as they drift lazily through the sky. The heat of Caleb's lips still lingers on mine; his touch branded against my skin. One minute, his hands were on me, his breath tangling with mine, the weight of years pressing in around us. 

Just as quickly as it all escalated, it crumbled. He was gone before I could even form a coherent response, his expression closed off, his voice clipped and professional. The moment we had shattered in an instant.

I rake my fingers through my hair, exhaling sharply. A sharp chime interrupts my spiralling thoughts. My Hunter’s watch vibrates against my wrist, its display flashing a stark red.

**Urgent Mission Alert: UNICORN Team Deployment Required.**

Normally, I wouldn’t think much of it—urgent missions come and go. But something about this one makes my stomach twist before I even look at the details. I tap the display, and a holographic interface flares to life.

Metaflux Surge: Detected

Wanderer Attack - In Progress  

Location: Skyhaven

Threat Level: Critical

To get the exact coordinates, I need to accept the mission. My fingers hover over the command, but my mind is already ahead of me, racing through possibilities, through logistics.

There is no way off this damn island. Caleb took his plane. I curse under my breath and push off from the railing, rushing inside. The sleek, minimalist interior feels too pristine, too still. I grab the remote and flip on the news.

Smoke coils into the air over Skyhaven, thick and black against the blue sky. The camera feed jitters as a news drone zooms in, capturing the chaos unfolding in the heart of the city.

We are bringing you live coverage of an ongoing attack in the East Nexus District,” the news anchor says, voice tight with urgency. “Authorities have confirmed that a Class-7 Ignitus Wyrmlord has emerged near the main transit hub, causing massive structural damage. The Fleet is currently on-site, working to contain the threat.”

My breath catches. The Fleet is on-site. Is this the ‘minor problem’ Caleb had to go look into? I clench my fists. Did he sideline me—again?

I spin on my heel and storm inside, shoving past furniture as I snatch my phone off the table. I dial Liam without hesitation.

He picks up on the second ring. “Colonel’s adjutant, Liam.”

“Liam, I need a transport.”

There’s a pause. “Inara?”

“Yes, me. I need to get to the station in Linkon—Association business.”

Another beat of silence, then, “The Colonel didn’t mention any Association assignments.”

I grit my teeth. “Because it just came in. It’s urgent.”

“Inara—”

“I’m not asking, Liam. Get me a shuttle.”

A sigh crackles through the speaker. “You’re really putting me in a bad position here.”

“Liam,” I say, forcing my voice into something softer, more pleading. “Please.”

A long pause, then a resigned exhale. “Shuttle’s en route.”

I tie my hair back, securing it tightly before strapping my holsters into place. Caleb’s room is my last stop—I grab my guns and extra ammunition before sprinting back outside. The minutes drag by agonizingly slowly before the shuttle finally arrives, but at least the descent is swift.

The moment the transport lands in Skyhaven, I move quickly. The officers accompanying me attempt to guide me towards the train station, but I have other plans.

“Sorry about this.” I barely give them time to react before knocking them both out cold. 

They really should train their recruits better. I make a mental note to tease Caleb about their training program after I’m done chastising him for leaving me behind.

Lunging into a sprint, I bring up my Hunter’s watch and accept the mission. The real-time GPS flickers to life, mapping out my route.

The city is a mess of noise and motion, people fleeing in all directions, alarms blaring, the sky stained with plumes of thick, black smoke. The closer I get to the fight, the more the air thrums with the crackle of energy weapons and guttural roars.

Above me, through gaps in the steel and glass skyline, I catch fleeting glimpses of the hulking, winged monstrosity, its body like dried, cracked magma, glowing veins of molten red searing through its form like rivers of fire. Its wings beat against the sky, the force sending gusts of scorching wind spiralling downward. 

The ground shakes as another explosion rocks the district, debris pelting the street ahead of me. I don’t stop. I leap over fallen signs, weave around abandoned vehicles, push past the few stragglers still too stunned to move. I barely register the sting of smoke in my throat, the acrid taste of burning metal on my tongue. 

I skid around a corner, nearly colliding with a barricade hastily set up by the Fleet. Heavily armed officers stand guard, rifles slung over their shoulders, their faces hidden behind tactical visors. 

Beyond them, I can see the towering wreckage of a collapsed building and, farther ahead, the sky boiling with embers as the Wanderer banks in the air, its massive form circling like a vulture. 

“Let me through,” I demand, barely stopping myself from shoving past them outright. “I’m with the Association—Deepspace Hunter, UNICORN Team.”

The nearest officer, a woman with a sharp stance, doesn’t so much as flinch. “This is Fleet business. You don’t have clearance.”

I grit my teeth. “You’re looking at a Hunter. My jurisdiction is wherever a Wanderer is.”

“Not today.”

I inhale sharply, forcing myself to stay calm. “I can help. I have field experience, and I can—”

“You’re not authorized. Step back.”

Every second I waste here is another second Caleb is out there, fighting that thing. Every second is another chance he gets hurt—or worse. Frustration coils in my chest, burning hotter than the embers still floating through the air. 

I clench my fists, weighing my options. I can’t just stand here. I have to get through. One way or another.

Before I can make a move, an explosion rocks the barricade. The force sends me stumbling, hands flying up to shield my face as shards of glass and steel rain down. The Fleet officers duck, turning toward the source of the blast, their attention momentarily diverted.

That’s my opening.

I lunge forward, shoving past the first guard. Another reaches for me, catching my wrist. I twist, using my momentum to wrench free, planting my foot into the side of his knee just enough to make him stagger. Someone else grabs my arm, but I ram my elbow back into his gut and pull away before he can tighten his grip. 

Another officer tries to tackle me outright, and I barely manage to slip under her grasp, rolling forward and springing up into a dead sprint.

The battlefield is chaos incarnate. The streets are torn apart, flames licking up from shattered vehicles, debris scattered like a warzone. 

The Ignitus Wyrmlord wheels overhead, its molten veins glowing brighter as it gathers power. Fleet soldiers scramble for cover, weapons firing in desperate bursts. Some are down, clutching wounds, and I don’t hesitate—I duck behind cover, drag an injured officer away from the open, tucking them behind a crumbling wall before leaping back into the fray.

The Wanderer lets out a bone-shattering roar, swooping low, and I seize my chance. I spring onto the hood of a burnt-out car, vault off it into a backflip, firing mid-air. My shots strike true, the beast reeling back with a snarl.

I land smoothly, pivoting, eyes scanning the battlefield. Where the hell is Caleb? A man that tall shouldn’t be this hard to find.

The Ignitus Wyrmlord is fast in the air, but its wings are too heavy to keep it aloft for long. It has to land often, claws slamming into the pavement and sending fresh cracks splintering through the ground. 

That gives me my chance.

Between lunging strikes, I finally spot him. Caleb is directly beneath the beast’s molten belly, his Evol engaged, hands braced upward, holding back its crushing weight. His entire body strains, muscles taut with exertion, veins prominent as he keeps it from flattening him and an unconscious officer at his side. His knees are bent, feet planted, but he won’t be able to hold it forever.

No time to think.

I sprint, dodging the burning slag that drips from the cracks in the creature’s hide. My feet barely touch the ground as I throw myself into a slide, skidding on debris and dust, right underneath its stomach. Caleb doesn’t see me—his jaw is clenched, eyes fixed upwards, focused on not being crushed—until my hand clamps around his wrist.

The moment our skin connects, raw power surges between us, an energy that crackles and hums through my very bones. His strength expands like a dam breaking. 

With a snarl, Caleb heaves, forcing the Wyrmlord’s bulk upward just enough to shift its weight off them. It stumbles back, unbalanced, and he seizes the moment to shove it away. It lurches backward, buying us a few precious seconds before it regains its footing and takes to the sky again.

The unconscious officer is still sprawled beside us, and I grab her under the arms, dragging her away from the fray. Caleb is already moving to help, despite the exhaustion evident in his posture.

As soon as we have the officer tucked behind a slab of fallen concrete, Caleb turns to me, panting, “What are you doing here?”

I flash a grin, breathless. “Apparently, saving your dumb ass.”

His lips press together in a thin line, but I see the way his shoulders lower a fraction. He’s relieved, even if he won’t admit it. He shifts, checking the ammunition left in his gun, exhaling sharply when he realizes it’s not enough.

I casually hold out a new clip, wiggling it between my fingers, smug. “Looking for this?”

Caleb snatches it from my grasp with an irritated grunt, but the corner of his mouth twitches, betraying him. He reloads with practiced efficiency. The gunfire around us is relentless, but the bullets barely scratch the Ignitus Wyrmlord’s molten hide.

I snap a fresh magazine into place, double-checking my clips while I talk. "Its weak spot is near the top of its head."

Caleb leers at me. He knows exactly where I am going with this before I even say it. "No."

I arch a brow at him. "No?"

"No, I am not liftin’ you up there."

"Well," I say, gesturing vaguely to the beast still circling overhead, "it is either that, or we just plug it full of bullets until they run out. And then what, Colonel?"

His eye twitches. "I will suck it into a black hole."

I snort. "Oh, sure. If you weren’t already so damn tired, I might actually believe that is an option. I can do this. Trust me.”

With clear reluctance, he snaps, “Fine.”

I nod. “Wait until it lands, and then get me up there. I'll do the rest.”

There’s no more time for second-guessing. We break from cover, guns blazing, the sharp retort of bullets cutting through the air. The Wyrmlord snarls, wings beating as it dodges, but we press it, pushing it lower to force it down. It slams into the ground with an earth-shaking impact.

The moment it touches down, I move. Sprinting full speed, I launch myself at a steel beam jutting from the street, using it as a ramp to propel myself higher. The second my feet leave metal, Caleb’s Evol surges around me, gravity bending in his command. I feel it—an unseen force gripping my body, flinging me upward with a sudden, stomach-flipping burst of power.

I’m weightless—suspended in the ash-laden air as I arc toward the Wyrmlord’s back. I land hard on the beast’s neck, knees bending to absorb the shock. Heat radiates, searing heat through the soles of my boots, warning me that one wrong move could cook me alive.

It screeches, body twisting violently, trying to shake me off. I stumble but lurch forward, sprinting up the sinuous column of its neck. Every step is a battle for balance as it thrashes to throw me off. 

The beast jerks, throwing itself into the sky. My stomach lurches as the ground vanishes beneath me. Damn it. I reach for any handhold, fingers scraping against the jagged cracks of its molten hide. Heat licks at my gloves, blistering even through the reinforced fabric, but I grit my teeth and hold on.

It thrashes again, twisting mid-air. My grip falters—I slide, my body dangling off its side, only held up by sheer desperation. The sky spins in a dizzying blur, the ruined city below a patchwork of fire.

Gritting my teeth, I haul myself up and push past the burning ache in my muscles. I swing a leg over, straddling the beast’s neck again as I finally reach the vulnerable patch at the base of its skull. I press the muzzle of my gun flush against the exposed, softer tissue.

I empty the clip in rapid succession, each round ripping through the weak spot, dark ichor splattering across my arms and chest. The Wyrmlord lets out a piercing, gut-wrenching shriek that rattles my bones, its body convulsing as its wings seize.

Then, everything gives way. It disintegrates into a cascade of embers and ash, vanishing into the wind like a dying star.

And I’m falling. No time to think. No time to scream. Just the cold, crushing realization that the ground is rushing up to meet me at a speed my body will not survive.

Fuck.

Caleb's Evol slows my descent, and then he catches me in his arms. He's sweaty, covered in ash, dirt, and blood. I know I have probably fared no better. My damp clothes cling to my body, hair sticking to my forehead. Still, we just stare at each other.

Until someone calls out for Colonel Caleb, and the moment breaks. His expression shuts down, his face smoothing over into that unreadable mask of his. He sets me down without a word.

"Get the medics in here to treat the wounded," he orders, striding away. "Evac any civilians still in the area. Secure the perimeter, and make sure none of those bastards are left lurking in the rubble. I want a full report on my desk within the hour. And someone call the cleanup team—we need to clear the debris before the next patrol shift."

I leave him to it, stepping off to the side to find a relatively intact piece of debris to sit on. Pulling up my Hunter's watch, I report back to the Association that the area has been cleared. 

The message is barely sent when hands clamp around my arms from behind. I jerk instinctively, but another set of hands grabs my wrist, twisting it just enough to make me stop struggling. I whip my head around and recognize them instantly—the officers from the barricade. 

"You are under arrest for assaulting officers of the Fleet," one of them snarls. "You ignored direct orders and interfered with an official operation. Your reckless actions endangered personnel, and you will be detained pending further investigation."

I laugh. Actually laugh. "Oh, come on. Do you know how many Fleet officers I just saved? I should be getting a damn medal, not—"

They yank me forward, cutting me off. I wrench my arm, but their grip tightens. "You do not get to disregard Fleet authority just because you are a Hunter."

"Unhand her.” Caleb’s voice is cold, commanding, and immediate. 

The officers freeze. 

"Sir," one of them starts. “She—she assaulted—"

"She assisted in neutralizing a critical threat to Skyhaven and prevented further casualties," Caleb states flatly. "If you have an issue with her methods, you can take it up with me. Understood?"

There is a beat of silence before the officers reluctantly let me go. Caleb’s gaze doesn’t shift from them, his stance rigid. "Dismissed."

They nod stiffly before turning on their heels and walking away. 

He doesn’t even look at me before saying, "It’s time to go. Our evac is here."

I rub my wrist but don’t argue, following him to the waiting transport. The flight back to Fleet Headquarters is silent. Caleb sits stiffly, arms crossed, staring out the window. I know that look—he’s thinking, dissecting every moment of the battle, calculating his next move.

When we land, he doesn’t even wait for me to get out of the shuttle before asking, "How did you get to Skyhaven?"

I blink, feigning innocence. "Oh, you know. I jumped off the edge and flew down like an angel."

His glare could cut steel. Without a word, he presses his earpiece. "Pull the Fleet shuttle logs for Skyhaven."

Shit.

I sigh, knowing Liam’s about to get caught in the crossfire. "Okay, okay! I called Liam and had him send a shuttle. But it wasn’t his fault! I lied to him, told him I had urgent Hunter’s business and needed to get to the Association right away. He even sent guards to escort me to the station!"

Caleb’s eyes narrow slightly. "And what happened to these guards?"

I scratch my cheek. "Well, I might have, kind of… well, you see… I… knocked them out."

Caleb pinches the bridge of his nose. "Of course you did."

Something inside me snaps. I keep my voice low, but the anger is there. "You sidelined me. Again. Just like when we were kids. You can’t keep doing this, Caleb."

He lifts his head slowly, expression unreadable. "Can’t I?"

There’s something dark in the way he says it, a quiet warning—almost a threat. My anger boils hotter, but before I can say another word, a voice interrupts.

"Colonel Caleb."

Aurelia Voss.

I turn, immediately not liking what I see. She side-eyes me—not in a dismissive way, but in a calculating, judging-my-worth kind of way. Like she is trying to determine if I am even worth acknowledging.

Caleb steps aside with her, far enough that I cannot hear their conversation. My anger simmers, but my focus shifts. I watch the exchange unfold with a growing sense of irritation. She stands too close to him. Leaning in, batting her lashes, laughing at something even though Caleb’s face is as flat as a white wall.

What could she possibly be laughing at? Colonel Caleb does not joke. He does not even smile unless it is at someone else's expense.

Oh, and now she is touching his arm?

My jaw tightens. I cross my arms, glaring daggers at her back. If looks could kill, she would have dropped dead the second she walked up to him. My fingers twitch with the urge to—no. I cannot just shoot people.

…Can I?

If she leans in one more time, I might just have to conveniently trip and spill something on her. Shame there is no coffee around.

She laughs again. My eye twitches. Aurelia is practically purring at Caleb, her voice all sugary and sweet, like she’s auditioning for some romantic drama where she gets the guy. Every little movement she makes sends my blood pressure skyrocketing.

What if I shoved her into one of those industrial trash disposals? I could make it look like an accident. Yeah, nobody would miss her.

My foot starts tapping, a telltale sign that my irritation is growing. God, I hate her. She puffs her chest out like a peacock, parading around like she’s the queen of the universe. I can almost hear her in my head, like a broken record: “Oh, Caleb, you’re so strong, capable, and devastatingly handsome. Can I lick the sweat off your abs?”

I scoff loudly, so loud even I’m surprised. They both look at me. She bats her stupid lashes and turns her head slowly, like she’s just realized she has an audience. Caleb doesn’t even acknowledge me, his eyes flicking toward me for a second before he returns to listening to her.

But she? She smirks. That smug little, “I’m-better-than-you” smirk. My teeth grit as I stare at her. I’d like to see her try this crap when I’m holding a gun.

The tap-tap-tap of my foot is getting faster with every second she stays there. It’s so hard not to do something ridiculous—like just storm over and slap the shit-eating grin off her face. I cross my arms and lean against the wall, eyes glued to them like I’m watching some soap opera unfold.

The conversation finally ends, and Caleb strides back over to me. "Come on," he motions toward the flight deck. "The plane is ready. I'll take you home."

I walk beside him, grumbling under my breath. Caleb has always had ample admirers. In middle school, high school, and college, he had me pretend to be his girlfriend on several occasions lest he have to beat them back with a stick. I mean, I get it. Look at him. He's handsome, talented, and caring. The whole package, really. 

It didn't irk me as much back then, but it downright pisses me off now. I should not even be focusing on this. I should be focusing my rage into trying to get Caleb to see me as someone capable of walking beside him instead of behind him. 

We climb into the plane, buckle up, and I sit there with my arms crossed and stew in my jealous spiral.

"Whatcha grumblin' about, pip-squeak?" Caleb's voice is back to being animated and warm. 

"She was flirting with you," I snap.

"Was she?" He shrugs. "I didn't notice."

I gawk at him, my mouth hanging open for a second, stunned by his complete lack of awareness. “You didn’t notice?” I practically choke on the words, my voice a little too high-pitched with disbelief. “She was literally batting her lashes at you like she was trying to hypnotize you with them, and you didn’t notice?”

Caleb shrugs again, the casual, unfazed idiot. “Guess I was too busy focusin’ on other things. It’s not like I’m interested.”

I scoff, rolling my eyes. “Uh, hello? Newsflash, Colenol Caleb, you’re always the centre of attention. It doesn’t matter whether you’re interested or not. It’s just… the principle of it. She was all over you!”

He leans back in his seat, giving me a sideways glance. “You know, you’re adorable when you’re jealous.”

I freeze, my heart skipping a beat before my temper catches up with it. “I am not jealous!” I snap, trying to bite back the sudden flare of heat in my chest. I cross my arms even tighter, as if physically holding in all the ridiculous feelings I’m having. “I’m just—ugh, whatever.”

He tilts his head. “You don’t have to worry about her.”

“Well, maybe you should show her that you're not interested,” I grumble, staring out the window, willing the irritation to just dissipate. “Because I swear, if I see her trying to wrap herself around you like that again…”

“Again? You’re really worked up over this, aren’t you?”

“No!” I almost yell, but I manage to keep my voice from fully rising.

“Alright, alright,” he says with mock surrender, leaning back in his seat. “But you know… I think it’s kind of cute how worked up you get. Makes me feel important.”

“Do you wanna pretend to be my girlfriend again to scare away any potential advances?” Caleb teases, his voice dripping with mischief.

I freeze, the words catching in my throat. Could I really go back to pretending? I’d slip into the role of his fake girlfriend, and bam, problem solved. Something about the notion stings.

I stare out the window for a moment, my mind racing, and then I murmur, “What if…”

“What if what?” Caleb asks, guiding the plane into an easy bank as we near his house. His voice is casual, but there’s an edge of curiosity there.

I shake my head, trying to push the thoughts back. “Nevermind. It’s stupid.”

Caleb glances over at me, one eyebrow lifted in that infuriatingly calm way of his. “C’mon, pip-squeak,” he urges, leaning a little closer, like he’s genuinely interested. “What if what?”

I glance down at my lap, my fingers playing nervously with the edge of my sleeve. I’m quiet for a moment, my thoughts all tangled up in each other. The words finally slip out, quieter than I intended. “What if I don’t want to pretend anymore?”

It feels like I’ve just dropped a bomb, and I don’t know how he’s going to react. My heart races, but I can’t take it back now.

Caleb is silent for a second, and for a moment, I think maybe I’ve said too much. Then, his expression softens. A wide grin spreads across his face, and his voice, usually so cool and composed, comes out with excitement, almost breathless.

“You don’t?” he says, his eyes lighting up. “You mean it? You’re serious? This isn’t a prank, right?”

I blink, taken aback by the sudden change in his energy. “Yeah, I’m serious.”

There’s a lightness to him that’s contagious. His hand reaches over, and for the first time, it doesn’t feel like a casual gesture. It feels right, and I let him take my hand without hesitation. 

“It’s always been you, pip-squeak,” he assures, his voice suddenly low, full of sincerity. “It always will be.”

Chapter Masterlist

[tenpintsof-sundrop]

I really really hate to be that person - especially because I know a lot of people are under the impression that fanfic authors are greedy and we should be grateful for any comments we get, even if those comments are full of unauthorized concrit, even if they're kind of rude, even if they're weirdly self-shaming (sometimes insinuating that people should feel bad over reading the dark or smutty content in the fics or that we should feel bad for writing it in the first place even though you're also reading it??).

But like, lately, I have been getting so many comments along the lines of "this fic should be longer!!" "I wish this was a series!!" "please turn this into a series!" "I would read endless sequels of this!!!" - today someone literally commented on one of my fics saying that it was a war crime that the fic was 30k instead of being 'a whole series'. And I totally understand the mindset that if something is good, you want more of it. If you enjoy something, you want more of it. But these comments are definitely not as flattering as people think they are.

When reading those comments - it doesn't always come off as a compliment. Most of my fics range from 5k to 30k on average, and they are usually oneshots or oneshots that I have split into multiple parts in order to be more readable - most of my longer, ongoing series are abandoned because I didn't have the steam to maintain them. (Most people don't know at all how hard it is to write a good, coherent, well-plotted 100k fic and actually keep up with it.) After I post the fic I have written later this week, I will have written over 400k this year alone, with my entire AO3 having over one million words split between 79 different fics.

So often, having people look at my fics and having their only comment be to 'write more' - feels like an insult. Because I do write more. I have written more. I write consistently. (It just sucks that people have almost nothing to say about what I have already written.)

Having people look at my fics - usually very long fics - and go "hey, this would be better if it was longer!!" or "hey, that was good, but the only productive thing I have to say about it is: make it longer" - it always feels very discouraging.

It doesn't make me want to rush to write more of that fic. In fact, most of the time, I actively avoid working on sequels to fics where the only comments are 'more please' because I know the only thing people will say about the sequel is 'when are you gonna make more?' - and oftentimes, I don't intend to make more.

I have said this in another post, but the ending to my fics are always intentional. I don't write fics with the mindset of turning them into a 100 part series. I write fics with the mindset of making them like a film or a short TV series - telling a capsule of a story with a very intentional beginning, middle, and end. And if I write a sequel, it's because I feel there is more to be told - but I will also cap off that sequel with a very intentional ending.

(Also, don't get me started on the complex of - if fics don't have the classic 'happy ending' people feel like every single thread needs to be resolved until it gets to a more classic happy ending, when I love writing intentional melancholic and thoughtful endings.)

Also - in general, I feel like people don't understand how much work goes into a fic. It might take you about 2 hours to read a fic that's 30k (and a lot of people who are avid readers probably read faster than that, reading it in an hour or less) - but concepting that fic, writing that fic, and meticulously editing that fic so that it can be readable and pleasant for people takes upwards of 20 hours of work. I would say realistically, upwards of 30 hours. And those are just working hours - hours sitting at the computer actively working. That doesn't include the time spent in between workshopping the ideas in my head while I am doing other mundane tasks in life.

It's very, very easy to consume a 30k oneshot in one sitting and then hold out your plate and go "more please!!" without putting any thought into how much work went into the original fic.

All of this just to say - please think about these things next time you are commenting on a fic (or even closing a fic without commenting at all), or doing something stupid like generating a fic with AI - which steals from everyday hard working fanfic writers. Fanfiction is hard work - it's a labour of love, and it shouldn't be about blind consumerism where you finish one and then rapidly start looking for the next one. You should appreciate each one like a good, hand pulled taffy instead of gobbling them all down like cheap candy mass made by factory machines.

Yeah - I think that's it.

-your local over worked (but still passionate) fanfic writer

[vamphorica]

i just finished reading the entirety of the hinterland doctrine.

there are rare occasions when a piece of media transcends itself to become something so much more, and i mean it with all sincereity when i say that, having spent exactly two months reading 710k words hours everyday, this series is no longer just a fic to me but something else entirely.

i cannot really explain how much of an impact it has had on me because frankly, i have tried and failed to coherently explain it well enough to do it justice. i began reading it with a curiosity about its premise as an alternative universe satire fanfiction series, and am now completely beside myself having finally finished it. it has been such a tumultuous journey, and now that i am done, i really don't know what to do with myself.

suffice to say, i will never have a healthy relationship with this song ever again.

[gretel-moonlit]

I want to hear your rant about your dr1 simulation au I am so serious

ok here is the celesgiri part and the tldr, the full exposition of the au is under the cut

basically, after waking up from the simulation, the students are all taken to a kind of dorm situation by the future foundation, but they don't really have the staffing to properly pay much attention to them or how or what they're doing. Celeste is basically holed up in her room, ignoring everyone and when she isn't in her room, doing her best to put on her persona and act like everything is fine and the same, making everyone generally just kind of fed up with her because she refuses to open up to anyone or be at all helpful or cooperative. Kyoko on the other hand, is constantly given tasks and responsibilities because everyone just kind of assumes she's fine and just not as affected by everything because of how she acts, since they're all worried about their own stuff. (essentially she's overworked, tired, and doesn't want to acknowledge that she's a person with emotions, what's new.

honestly idk how to explain it more without just straight up giving you the plot of the fic I got halfway through writing lol

exposition:

the dr1 killing game was a simulation put on by Junko because she wanted to be able to see all the different outcomes that would be possible and she decided that only having one chance was boring, essentially. the canon of thh was the final run, the survivors solving the mystery behind hopes peak being what ended it. (I haven't decided what to do with Junko, I will probably have it that her final execution involved destroying the simulation and whatever is keeping her alive while she's unconscious or something)

most of them just remember the last run (the canon of thh), but because of something glitch with the way more of Kyoko’s memories had to be wiped, she has vague memories of bits and pieces of the past runs (like extremely vague, just flashes of certain deaths and events, nothing coherent. she only gets these after they get out of the simulation though, during the actual killing games she just gets kind of a strange sense that she's done this before) and Mukuro, who remembers how the simulation was set up, and that it is a simulation, but nothing about which run they're on, or any of the previous ones, she just knows that it's a simulation and a new run will begin when only one person is left at the end, or if Junko gets bored enough with how things are going and resets it.

The future foundation exists as an organization created by the remaining school staff and some outside help to essentially figure out what happened and to save face and get themselves out of trouble, Jin is still dead, but other staff members are still alive and running the foundation

after the dr1 class wakes up from the simulation, they are taken by the future foundation to live in some sort of dorm and aren't able to leave until things are sorted out.

basically, no one is having a good time. There's some kind of simulation data to show that every one in the class killed someone at least once over all the versions of the simulation even if they only remember the last one, so they're all on fairly equal footing regarding that. some of them take longer to wake up from the simulation than others, and there's a theory that it's based on how many times they where executed (and therefore, committed murder) over all the different game versions, but no one knows for sure. so all of them have to stay with the future foundation until things are figured out and more under control, and it's pretty tense between everyone, especially based on the version of the killing game they all actually remember.

[groenendaelfic]

Hey,

haven't seen you around a lot lately. Just writing to check in. how is it going? Wish you a nice evening

it is going, thank you for asking!

Life has been very busy these past few months but is moving in a hopefully good and definitely exciting direction.

In this particular order (if memory serves correctly) I've:

decided to move halfway across the continent

marked the one year anniversary of the worst time of my life

had other people mark the one year anniversary of the worst time of my life with all that entails

quit my job (I'd been planning that for a while)

had my boss and hr offer to let me go instead and half my notice period to two months (aka 'give' me more money and facilitate my move, yay pity)

started looking for a place to live and organizing my move

found a new job in a slightly different corner of halfway across the continent (I start July 1st)

got my request for citizenship approved (epic timing guys)

found a place to live in an awesome area (I will be able to do all my errands on foot and my new job is only a short bike ride away)

told everyone I was leaving for sure

signed the paperwork to have my uncle in law take over the place here

had my cousin offer to move my stuff with his remodeled fire engine in exchange for gas and (bridge) tolls

did all the paperwork in the universe ever

started saying my goodbyes for now (I still have lots of family and friends etc here so I'll be back a lot)

had my cousin tell me he'd make a bro trip out of the move because his friends really wanted to see a basic bridge, and room and board plus no girls was all the compensation they needed for getting to carry my boxes

said thanks but no thanks to citizenship (sorry Wille, you'll always be my King)

was asked if I minded the move taking a bit longer because the guys wanted to stop for totally unplanned soccer (a not insignificant part of their motivation if not a deciding factor I dare say)

did more move and job leaving planning and paperwork

welcomed, fed and watered a bunch of guys really into soccer bridges and very disappointed I didn't have more boxes they could compete carrying

prepared a big lunch basket and said goodbye to said guys and my boxes

sat down to write this list wondering where I should celebrate midsummer (aka do I want to travel back and forth to get everything ready or stay until it's time to hand in my work laptop etc)

Phew, yes. Also a million other things which won't come to mind right now. Thank you to everyone who left me such kind messages btw. I appreciate them so much but am still learning to respond to kindness and compliments without awkwardness. They nevertheless give me life.

In more interesting news to everyone here I've also done a lot of writing.

Mostly on One Wild Summer, which has already grown into a monster, but I've been writing the exciting parts later on and still guesstimate a 15k or so stretch which needs bridging to get to all the fun stuff I've already written.

but also on The Prince and the Barista and As Long as We Have Each Other. I only need to make it coherent and once again fill the gap to where I stopped posting.

plus *cue exasperated sighs* I'm also 9k+ into a new fic! The (once more) absolutely most self-indulgent thing I've ever written in this fandom and something I swore I never would turn into a proper fic. Expect the prologue for that (which was meant to be 500 words and not 5k) soonish.

Everything else including regular updates not before mid to late July though I think. Because moving and starting a new job and life means busy times and while I can write scribble down connected sentences with half a mind, I can't beta read and edit with half a mind.

tl;dr: I am still writing yr fic and haven't abandoned my fics, but am also busy moving. goodbye cloudberries and lingonberries, hello wineberries vineyards and appleberries apple orchards.

[liminalmemories21]

Hi, I am fan of your 911 ls fics.

Now the show is ended, are there any fic ideas you want to work on other than Knave...?

Also have you thought about writing a crossover fic for 911 and 911 ls, as you seem to enjoy writing for both the shows.

Sorry it's taken me so long to respond to this, I've been thinking about it and about my reaction to the last two seasons of Lonestar, and I wanted to get what I feel in some kind of coherent order before I responded.

First of all. Thank you!

The short answer is, probably not. 

Maybe I'll do a Knave 5 if I can ever figure out a plot I like.  But, I don't think I'll do anything that is more canon-adjacent than that.

Longer answer is, for me a lot of the fandom discourse over this season was tense and uncomfortable and unpleasant.  That was true for S4 too, and two seasons in a row of discourse that made me feel slightly queasy every time I logged in is kind of too much for me.

I also just didn't like a lot of the choices that the writers made with Season 5 (and to a lesser extent Season 4).  I thought they were sloppy, and inconsistent, and done for the Drama, not to serve the characters (or, let's be honest, reality).

To be clear, I am not talking about Carlos's grief, or his focus on finding his father's murderers.  That was one of the only parts of S5 that really felt honest to me.

Even longer answer below the cut for anyone interested.

I am talking about - in no particular order (And, please, bear in mind - these are just my opinions and my reactions.  There's no gospel here).

The way they wrote Grace off the show.  There were more subtle ways to have her gone - one of her sisters was sick and needed help, for example.  The idea that Grace disappears and leaves her husband and daughter for an undefined period of time with little to no contact is ... frankly unbelievable.  The idea that she'd stay gone once Judd moved Charlie over to her parents because he couldn't take care of her?  Nope.  Does not track, even a little bit.

The entire Jonah plotline.  I'm okay with the idea that they take Jonah. The way they did it was stupid.  You can still have the same conversations about whether Carlos is ready to be a parent - about the ways it will change their lives - and still pay lip service to reality.  You don't actually need to manufacture additional drama for this.

As soon as Enzo was arrested someone should have approached TK about taking custody as Jonah's only living relative, one that is, hey is conveniently already in Austin.  They would not let Sophia take Jonah to Switzerland.  Being a paramedic and a Ranger would not be check marks in the negative column.  I know the show likes to pretend that Texas is apparently some kind of liberal bastion where the fact that they're gay doesn't matter - but honestly, that is a much more likely strike against them than being fully employed and owning their own home.  Or, alternatively, the fact that they do not have a private space for Jonah would actually probably count against them (although probably would not outweigh brother who wants to take him - especially if they had a throw away line about, this is temporary, we'll look for a bigger place where he can have his own room).

I also hate how much they did not talk to each other - that there was one semi-argument and we never saw anything else except that TK was ready to leave Carlos over it.  I hate that it felt like they leapt to adoption without discussing custody while Enzo was incarcerated.  I hated the way that felt like (to me) they were erasing or invalidating Enzo as Jonah's father.

I - personally - did not like the way that the show felt like it was pushing an agenda that a child needs to have one parent stay home.  It felt both unrealistic - I don't know anyone who can afford to do that; and also reductive - I don't know anyone who wants to do that.  All my friends love their kids, they also love their careers, and there is nothing wrong with that.  But, on the show - Tommy quits work to stay home with the twins.  She only goes back to work because Charles loses his restaurant.  The conversation with Marjan and Joe - Joe will stay home with the kids because he makes less than she does.  TK quits work to stay home with Jonah - which was a decision the show's unrealistic narrative forced.  Grace is the only parent who goes back to work, and is unapologetic about it because it is clear that she loves her job, and I really valued that.  But S5 has her disappearing and leaving her child behind.

I get that this is an ensemble show - but given how little we saw of most of the rest of the cast (whither Asha?) in comparison to how much we saw of TK and Carlos - either give us a more complete emotional arc of TK and Carlos, or give us less.  Halfway is a cheap cop out.  This was a lot of the season - too much tell, not enough show.

And, again, I get this is an ensemble procedural show.  But it's also an ensemble procedural show that gave us a pretty nuanced depiction of addiction, and gave us a pretty nuanced depiction of the different ways you can be queer and the different ways you can be out to yourself and to your community and to your family.  So, when they throw nuance out the window it feels like a deliberate choice more than a structural necessity.

Also, and this is actually a pretty minor thing in the scope of this answer.  But, the last two Lonestar stories I wrote - Knave 4 and S5 Interstitials I wrote for apparently five people.  And, don't get me wrong, I love those five people, and they loved those stories, and I appreciate every response they had to them, and I don't write for kudos or comments, I write for myself.  But, I kind of forced myself to write the S5 Interstitials because I'm a completist, not because I felt a real emotional response to the season.  And, if I'm doing that and only doing it for five people, it's not really worth my time or emotional investment.

This is not said to denigrate anyone else's response to the show or the season.  I am not here to dance on anyone's joy.  This is how I felt, nothing more.

Probably more of an answer than you were really looking for. Sorry.

[ihaveforgortoomany]

What a Sonetto and Vertin "breakup" would look like (aka the Foundation finally forcing Sonetto to choose Vertin or the Foundation)

(Aka I will start throwing random fic ideas to people here in hope more fics are written for R1999, and because Im better at anaylsis than writing a coherent story with dialogue lol)

A running theory of sorts Ive had for a while in terms of main story (global friendly btw) is the critical point in Vertin and Sonetto's relationship, that at one point Sonetto will be forced to choose between Vertin and the Foundation. It is inevitable that Vertin's quest for the truth of the Storm, her mother and desire to save as many people from the Storm will and has come into conflict with the wishes of the Foundation - as seen in Book 3 with the Reformation Bill.

So what will finally cause such a dire situation to force Sonetto into such a situation? @sleeplesssmoll brought this idea that its Vertin that creates this tension, taking a path even the loyal puppy cannot fathom to follow and default to the Foundation. I would wager the Manus will present an offer so beneficial to Vertin that she will eventually side or at the very least need to partner with the Manus for a bit. Much to the surprise of everyone.

(Lets say on a critical mission either Sophia or FMN present a particular good offer to Vertin, a solution where very risky in Vertin's eyes may be the solution she is looking for - maybe the opportunity to save reversed individuals or a way to bring them back, the only thing stopping Vertin accepting on the spot is her being called away by fighting against Manus forces. Still the offer still stands)

What exactly? Maybe it is information about the Storm (we know so far either the Foundation or the Manus know the full intent of the Storm, only finding ways to benefit from it. And yes the Foundation does benefit from the Storm, Ill talk about this at a later point). Alongside this Manus proposal the Foundation has started to crack down on Vertin, pressuring her for more results and attempting in every way to limit her actions - this pressure starts becoming very intense on Vertin, even with Madam Z's aid her workload is needlessly increasing and borderline impossible to stop. We dont know who the White Marble House is, only that they are the ultimate power in the Foundation - maybe it is them holding all the secrets to Vertin's past that they choose to hide.

What I am getting at is a situation where the Foundation no longer benefits Vertin, instead is just detrimental that this starts to waver her alr shakey relationship with the Foundation. Less and less (in small ways) does she comply to their wishes the more the Foundation (mainly Constantine) look to pressure Sonetto into doing something about it.

Sonetto slowly (but noticeably) starts to question Vertin, Constantine's influence does have a large impact on Sonetto, making her second guess herself and her confidence (Book 3 gaslighting). Sure Vertin doesn't mind Sonetto's questions, she loves to answer Sonetto's inquires about the outside world but recently the questions have been ... concerning.

Questioning her goals, is what she is doing even correct; all framed as Sonetto's genuine concern but unconsciously laced with Constantine's influence enough for Vertin to feel pressure on all sides.

Until suddenly something happens, big enough for Vertin to finally express her frustration at everything, the Foundation refusing to cooperate with her as before, this feeling of a bottleneck hold growing tighter and tighter until now she cannot simply brush aside and bottle down. This spirals out in a mission in a cave, maybe alongside Foundation operatives under Constantine that start to question Vertin's leadership, where Sonetto can do nothing to help.

(Its hard to write Vertin actually voicing her frustration)

An argument might break between Sonetto and Vertin, not a full on screaming match of course, but a noticeable outcry of frustration at Sonetto, Constantine and the Foundation - at how every time Vertin suddenly gains ground or takes a step towards the truth the Foundation finds ways to circumvent this progress under the mantra "For the Good of Mankind". Maybe Vertin finally does voice this frustration at Sonetto just accepting everything, a crack in that Timekeeper facade Vertin always holds - all the signs are there Sonetto, why can't you see? Or rather why don't you see the world with your own eyes? Not clouded by Foundation dogma but truly your own eyes?

At this point Vertin chooses to go with the Manus, recreating that scene in the Breakaway (will some of the suitcase follow her? I wouldn't think so, many join Vertin due to their grievances with the Manus). Sonetto is finally ordered to restrain Vertin against their wishes - and Sonetto with only a moment hesitation begins her attack.

(I really do like fight scenes in fics huh?)

Vertin only can outsmart Sonetto here, Sonetto isn't the Foundation's failsafe for her without good reason. Maybe she fakes Sonetto greatly injuring her to incapacitate her temporarily. Enough to run away and create distance, through the collapsing of the cave they are in. @sleeplesssmoll brought up an idea that Sonetto says a line that mirrors the one she said in Book : "It was the pleasure to be your Chief Assistant, Vertin".

(Thoughts? Feel free to run with this and make something out of it, and feel free to run any ideas with me about this)

(I have a couple ideas of scenarios running around I might throw here, its a mixed bag between angst and fun, ill post them eventually)

[liloinkoink]

as someone who also has so much homework to do. what are your thoughts on treesekai ren (speaking of treesekai, i actually sent that fic to a friend like a year ago who doesn't watch hermitcraft etc and i remember we had fun reading it and giggling over the anime of it all so tysm for that ♡)

i am no longer doing homework so i can share thoughts. it is almost 3am tho so idk theyll be coherent

first im glad you two enjoyed it! dont know how i feel about the fact it's breached containment but it is good to know it holds up

[speaking of, this fic was posted a year ago, so if you dont know what treesekai is, here is the link for you]

second i think all the time about just how lonely treesekai Ren is. ive made posts like this before but Ren is just... he's so lonely. Ren is a character with a lot of love in him, always. he always wants someone to care about. often many someones! he gravitates towards big loyal teams, and he usually spends his time at home building a place for that team to be protected and safe, and is willing to die to defend that home (and he has. twice.)

dogwarts was a big team whose loyalty he took seriously and whose home he died to defend. the shadow alliance had matching skins and, until they went red, all ren's loyalty, and their base of operations was one of the last bases standing bc Ren continually put it back together for his teammates. Ren and BigB died on the doorstep of of box, with ren's last words being about defending it. home and the people in it are important to him

treesekai Ren is the same, but he doesnt really have anywhere to point it. he has a home, but what matters to Ren about a home is that theres people in it. he loves the country he rules but he thinks if he does that hard enough he'll have someone, and he just doesnt. he assumes he can trust his staff, thinks he'll be able to make alliances with other nations, hopes his fiance will be that person he needs. but he isnt! and Ren cant trust him! or his staff! or other royalty! no one else in the world cares about him! many of the people close to him ultimately want him dead!

so, in the game, he ends up paranoid, and he ends up evil, and he ends up dead

but in the fic he meets Martyn, and he gets that connection and affection and care hes been looking for all this time. and like. it fascinates me how much Martyn doesnt know how much hes changed ren's life. Ren isnt evil for nothing--above all he's lonely and hurt. by saving him from loneliness, Martyn saves his life. he could abandon the game plotline then and there, completely forgoing all the normal isekai tropes of running thru every event w future knowledge and picking the best possible outcome, and Ren would no longer die. just by being there and sincerely caring for Ren, Martyn has already achieved the best of all possible worlds. and he doesnt even know it!

i just. i love how lonely he is and how simple he is. he just wants to be loved. he just wants to love someone. he's a dating sim character, after all, and that's the whole point, isn't it? his world exists just so the people in it can be loved, and he's not allowed to have any of that. if youd just give him a romance, he'd be more than happy to be a love interest instead, but he isnt! he isnt allowed! no wonder he loses it. on some level, maybe he knows hes being denied the fundamental purpose for existence in his universe

this is rambly bc its rlly late but im just. it must hurt more than anything to be the one character in a world about love who is meant to be completely unlovable

[skimmingmilk]

I'm going to ask this as calmly as I vsn because of randomly woke up at 4 am to see this on my timeline and I'm half awake rn....

BUT HOW DO YOU MANAGE TO WRITE OUT ALL OF THIS GOODNESS IN SUCH DETAIL IN LESS THAN 24 HOURS?! What skill points did you gather to make it happen to such a pristine extent? I NEED to know your secrets /pos

But jokes aside, wonderful little story as always 👍

I'm going to try and answer coherently because I'm still awake at almost 2am for reasons beyond me xD but thank you!

I honestly can't explain it!! I wish I knew :') I've been stuck on the same part of a chapter for "When the World Breaks" for months, but this just popped into my head about an hour after I watched it while I was making a balloon arch for the work party and it stayed there all day until I could crawl back to my computer, lol

I think the trick might be to not overthink it. I wrote as much of it as I could in one sitting, with one break to drive home, and didn't give myself time to start second-guessing or adding onto it. It already ended up way longer than I expected, originally I planned on stopping with Tails seeing Sonic on the steps of the university with this feeling that things would be okay, but then they started talking instead xD I do like the pep talk though! I'm glad I added a bit more of a moment for them. I'm very happy with this version <3

It's not pristine by any means though, omg, I already found a few things to edit, lmao. But, again, I didn't give myself time to overthink it. I know that's when I get in my own way.

Maybe this insight will help me make some progress on my longer fics. We can only hope <3

But thank you so much, I'm delighted you enjoyed it! Your fic senses must've been tingling, lol. But I hope you're able to get back to sleep and get more rest!