#a3 imagines

[imaginesfora3]

Fushimi Omi

Falls First: You

Falls Harder: Omi

Omi always noticed you, a photographer could not simply ignore a work of art like that, but it does take time for his feelings to grow. He wants a genuine friendship with no pretenses, no expectations, just two adults who enjoyed each other’s company. And yet when he does fall it’s like jumping off a cliff and belly-flopping into the water below. It was an inelegant descent with a lot of emotional fumbling, some denial of the situation at hand, but some things were just inevitable. Once he took that leap and realized there was nothing to fear, the sting would wear off and make way for an Omi who was much willing to take chances.  

Izumida Azami

Falls First: You

Falls Harder: Azami

Azami does not think of romance much. You can tell when he shies away from a simple, friendly hug it’ll be an uphill battle to win him over (but it would be well worth the fight). Respecting his boundaries but making your interest in him known would catch his attention, but don’t push too hard as even his heart has its limits. A certified tough guy and your self-assigned protector, he lets you get closer to him than most. He might make you go through a slow-moving courting process but it doesn’t mean his heart doesn’t beat for you, or that he wasn’t haunted by dreams of how perfectly your hand would fit in his.

Nanao Taichi

Falls First: Taichi

Falls Harder: Taichi

Taichi has always been very unapologetic about being your number one fan, and it’s been clear that he had a major crush on you from the start. It takes time for you to judge the sincerity of his actions but you also enjoy the ride, as Taichi was an incredibly fun and easy person to get along with. Whether you’re just a fleeting fancy or his one true love like his diary states, you never regretted a moment that you spent with him. He’s ready to worship the ground you walked on for the rest of his life if it would prove to you that he’ll never stray; a loyal puppy who only has eyes for you.

Tsukioka Tsumugi

Falls First: You

Falls Harder: You

Tsumugi is not a very romantically aware man, at least not in reality; you’ve never seen someone so capable of emulating a person in love without realizing there’s someone enamored with him right before his eyes. It would take him some time to notice you, and even more before he considered you as romantic partner potential. Even after recognizing your feelings and acknowledging his own Tsumugi walks a tightrope of indecision. Your relationship is invaluable to him so it’s not as if he’ll set you aside, it’s simply that you’ll have to learn to live with a theatre addict. Still, to even tear his eyes from the stage for a moment is a feat to be proud of.

Yukishiro Azuma

Falls First: Azuma

Falls Harder: You

Azuma felt your connection from the very moment you meant, like two lovers who had been fated to meet by the stars. He was entirely unashamed to say that he had fallen for you first. Luckily he had waited for you to stumble into his life long enough that he had practiced patience, waiting for you to come to him before he dazzled you with his charm. He has you on a course to an abrupt crash landing directly into his arms, blinded by his charms, unable to pinpoint when you had fallen just knowing there was no place more comfortable than by his side.

[multimilfs]

Agatha Harkness x Fem!Reader: The Reigning Game, Chapter (5/?) - Vows Made With Sacred Blades

Summary: With a new threat brought to light and victory on the horizon, what will you do next?

AO3

A/N: Not me showing up 3 years late to my own party...

In all seriousness, this story underwent HEAVY edits. I recommend rereading the whole thing as I added scenes and adjusted old ones. Also, I answered a bunch of questions in my end note on a03, so I'd also read that xoxo

Tag List: @white--lillies @escapetodreamworld @multifandomfix @ghostsunderstoodmysoul @imtrashinflames @thatmacrameisnotgonnahitchitself @thoroughly--confused (apologies if i missed anyone, it has been a while)

Warning(s): Blood, Suicide Mention

(Previous Chapters)

“Reality is that which, when you stop believing in it, doesn't go away.” P.K. Dick

You don’t remember when Agatha fell to her knees.

The sword catches the light, dripping with thin, bright blood. Agatha’s blood. It startles you that she’s the same inside as you; you had expected corruption to flow through her veins, staining her black from the inside out.

Agatha groans. Barely propped up on her knees, she’s using one hand to support herself while the other glows and fizzles out repeatedly. The sword doesn’t vanish, the wound doesn’t heal.

The wound may not have been by your own hand, but is this… victory? Have you won?

“Coward,” Agatha spits, “stabbing me in the back.”

Your heart races with something strangely like fear, yet a little to the left. With every drop of blood staining the grass the emotion grows. Her winces with every move twist something in you. Revenge is like honey on your tongue—so why do you feel sick?

Let her die.

Lightness sweeps through your limbs. Walking away now would be so easy. It is your turn to have the last word.

“Help me up.” Agatha demands.

Her chest rises, though stutters each time as the pain of her flesh sliding over the blade renews. Under her breath she lets loose a string of obscene curses.

You tilt your head, your own voice sounding far away, “Why should I?”

Agatha freezes. For the first time since falling, she looks at you. You’re struck by the change in circumstances; not long ago it was you kneeling at her feet, begging. You’re seized by the desire to feel her beg.

You want to hold her heart in your hands and squeeze.

“Don’t do this. Not now.”

The laugh comes too easy, “I never took you for a sore loser, Harkness.”

“If you want to win, stab me yourself—don’t profit off of someone else’s fortune.”

You stare at her, hard; the paling of her skin, the way her fingers are clenched in the grass, palm sputtering purple. Her eyes are furious. There’s also something else there you can’t quite place.

“You don’t get it, do you?” You ask, “Being rid of you is winning. How it happens is irrelevant.”

Agatha’s lips pull into a smirk. It lacks the usual strength, but you still find yourself unmoored—fear creeping in where triumph was moments earlier.

Her eyes drag over you. Her own head tilts.

“You’d be beautiful like this—if it was really you.”

You can’t breathe.

“I beg your pardon?”

You stand back—watching, waiting. Her eyes bore into you, the pain in them becoming more evident. You feel sick.

It’s wrong to let her suffer, to watch her bleed out when you can help, but wouldn’t she do the same given the chance? How many battles had you fought, how many thousands cut down just so she could get to you? And she hadn’t allowed you the dignity of dying with your people.

No, she forced you into this circus.

You’re better than her; you’ll grant her the dignity of a swift death.

“You want to be the one responsible, always have.” Agatha says, the hint of a wheeze creeping into her speech. You’re surprised she held out as long as she did. “That’s why you put the poison in my tea, isn’t it?”

She… She knew.

She knew.

“Your death is for the best.” You say.

“She’ll s-slaughter them all. What was it you said—a Queen does what is best, even when it isn’t in her interests?” Agatha laughs, but it's hollow, weak, “Some Queen you are, signing their death warrant.”

You fall to your knees at her side.

Agatha Harkness is the source of all your problems, a tormenter you just cannot escape; but if you kill her now, you undo all you’ve done, and condemn your people to death—or worse. You have to act as a Queen ought. You need her.

“What do I do?” You whisper.

“Get… Get me outside this damn barrier. I’ll handle the rest.”

But hadn’t you already—?

When you stand, you’re barely able to lift Agatha to lean on you. If not for the little remaining strength she has you’d be done for. But you take what you can get and push through the screaming of your body to drag her toward the barrier that wasn’t there a moment ago.

The barrier gleams and twists in place. It's objectively beautiful, but what you’ve witnessed here has dulled your admiration.

You’re steps away when there’s a chuckle on your right, “I have to admit, you surprise me.”

You shove Agatha through before you can think. Without touching the barrier yourself, you turn, and stare into the eyes you’re coming to hate more than the original pair.

The too-wide smile again greets you, “With all that rage I expected you to take my sword and cut her apart.”

“I’m not a monster.”

“Aren’t you?”

“You said I had a fortnight.”

“You do,” She hums, unbothered by your glare, “this is a warning.”

“You think your promises weren’t warning enough? Your intentions were plain.” You snarl.

A distorted, hollow laugh crawls from her mouth, “You know nothing of what I’ll do to you. Your dear, sweet wife went easy on you.”

“You know nothing.”

She had been looking off at some distant marker, only for her head to snap violently to look at you, the crack making you flinch. The once-empty gaze is now full of fury. Behind the blackness, a flame burns bright.

“I know more of her than you’ll ever understand.” She hisses, “And if you were smart, you’d have let her die.”

And she’s gone, as if a product of your imagination.

You reach out and feel yourself pulled back through the barrier.

-- --

“If they never come out of there, what happens?” Darcy whispers.

Lady Darcy always prided herself on an excellent understanding of magic and magical theory; but with every moment spent in the world alongside Agatha Harkness, she grows less sure.

Agatha Harkness is an anomaly; the kind of witch born once in a thousand years. It seems as if magical anomalies follow in her wake, but are they caused by her, or merely drawn out of hiding by her power?

They stand alone in the clearing with their thoughts, Guards and company preparing to take their leave should the two of you return. Hope fades more every moment. 

Lord James looks utterly defeated, “I… I don’t know. They’ve left no heir.”

“Which means The Council will appoint one.”

A look of dread passes between the two.

“We can’t let that happen.”

“How are we going to stop them?” Darcy raises a brow.

Lord James Woo spent his life serving at your side, and proudly; you’ve held tight to propriety, unbent by corruption, guiding with level-headed and clear intent. The tactics in his mind now would never have your approval.

But if you’re dead, he has to look out for the living.

“We lie.”

Darcy blinks.

“I’m sorry, I don’t think I heard you properly. We lie?” She hisses.

“What else do you suggest?!”

“Oh, I don’t know, something less stupid!”

James winces.

“We say she appointed an heir prior to… this. Agatha didn’t sign off, but she didn’t speak against it, either. You and I were both witnesses.”

Pacing the small length between them, chewing on her nail, scenarios pass through both of their minds. Scenario one; somehow, the Council accepts the word as fact. Scenario two; they’re disbelieved and exiled at best, executed at worst.

You find lying reprehensible. But your goal has always been to protect the people, to offer them the best; they have to try and do the same.

“Say they buy it; who is her heir?”

The look the question earns her is particularly scathing for James. She smiles sheepishly.

Only one within the kingdom held enough of your trust to be named heir in your place. Only one person you knew would hold up under the weight of expectation and would keep the best interests of the people in mind.

The set up could not be more perfect if they tried. Not only is the woman of royal blood, but her Mother’s House widely acclaimed for their military and strategic prowess. Factor in her closeness to you and it makes the nomination impossible to ignore; far stronger than the minor Lord they would put in her place.

“Alright,” Darcy agrees, “but we’ll give them all the time we can.”

“Right.”

Luckily, or unluckily, they do not wait long.

One moment the space before them is empty, the next there is a heap of woman kneeling on the ground, propped up by a shaking arm. A heap with dark hair and clad in purple.

“Foolish fucking woman.” Agatha bites out loud enough for them to hear.

Darcy notices the sword moments before Agatha straightens, pushing said item out of her body with a long moan. James freezes. Darcy shrieks.

Agatha pays them no mind; slamming her hand onto the barrier that doesn’t allow her to pass, magic crackling at her fingertips and then pulling in, wrapping around the witch as she breathes it in. The wound in her middle knits itself back together before their eyes.

The barrier ripples. You blip into existence.

There is a split second where you blink and make eye contact with Darcy and James. The next, your eyes are drawn to the swirl of magic being pulled from the barrier and turning violet.

“Are you alright?” You demand, gripping her arm, turning her to face you as your eyes roam. Your body screams with exhaustion.

Agatha goes taut. Her theft stops when she turns to glare at you. When her lips pull up in a mighty sneer, you expect the lashing of a century; you had been seconds away from leaving her for dead, after all.

Her body relaxes in your grip, her voice careful, “I’m fine, dear.”

“Swear it?”

“I swear.”

Something inside you relaxes. You’ll live to see another day if she is near to lend her power—and well enough to do so. Your people’s safety is nearly assured.

How, though, to secure a promise of protection from her that isn’t all talk? You can’t bind a witch like her to law, try as you might. She will always have the upper hand of immeasurable power. You need that power bent to your will.

An itch scratches at the back of your mind; a memory long forgotten, a whisper of words once-said that you can’t quite understand.

“What the hell happened in there?!”

Darcy’s voice interrupts your racing thoughts. You hear the borderline panic in the question.

How heavy you feel, how weary. What about you attracts so many threats?

Agatha speaks before you can, “A new adversary has presented itself.”

“And they’re responsible for all… this?” James waves to the barrier.

“More or less.”

A look passes between Darcy and James.

“They’ve given us fourteen days to prepare, as if we need that long,” Agatha scoffs, breezing through, “but you’ll stay here and tell us of any changes. You have ravens?”

“We send word on horseback.” Darcy answers, slowly.

“Horseback? My god, how do you get anything done?”

With a wave of her hand, a metal cage appears with five ravens inside. They’re curiously quiet. Beady eyes look into yours, far more intelligence behind them than you anticipate. Their feathers shift violet in the sun but remain pure black otherwise.

Your Father seldom had the patience for training ravens; though he had attempted on and off throughout your childhood. The experience was rife with highs and lows. He would boast to your Mother, glowing with triumph one day, only to come back sullen the next. Every raven he attempted to train had flown away when it mattered.

Not for the first time, you wonder what had gone wrong; you did not know any creature that would flee permanently if endeared to their owner.

Agatha opens the cage door and holds out a finger. The nearest one steps up, though the others hop forward to nuzzle at her hand.

“Yes, hello,” Agatha coos.

Hand extracted, raven perched obediently on her finger, Agatha sets her shoulders. An air of arrogance surrounds her. She waves her other hand and a blank piece of parchment appears in the space between you.

“Write me a lovely note, darling, and I’ll show you all how to send it.” Agatha’s smile is saccharine.

“Would that I had a quill.”

“You know how to use your fingers, don’t you?”

The low, raspy note of her voice makes you flush.

You draft up a suitably nasty message and sign it with a flourish. Batting your lashes, you fold the letter, and go so far as to press a kiss to the back before handing it over. She smirks.

The kiss on the back raises into a wax seal. Agatha winks.

She beckons you forward with an impatient tilt of her head. You follow, stepping further into her space than you're comfortable with.

“Hold out your hand,” She commands and you do, mimicking her own position, “Repeat after me—Serva.”

“Serva.”

You don’t expect the raven to launch herself from Agatha’s fingers into flight; but when she does, you’re helpless to do anything but watch as she flips and twists in midair. Beside you, Agatha mutters something about showing off.

When the bird pauses and hovers, there is a flash of white light, and the letter is gone from your hands and tied instead around her leg.

Agatha scoffs, “Obedire.”

“Obedire.”

A strong burst of movement brings her back to perch on Agatha, head bowed. You tilt your head. Agatha strokes a finger over the back of the raven's head, scratching lightly.

“To the castle.”

A warble and she’s off, flying North with single-minded focus.

There’s a certain wistfulness in watching her go. What must it be like to fly, to have the freedom of the world laid out before you? Yet, she isn’t truly free; remaining captive to a Mistress who only lets her take to the skies when it suits her. How alike the two of you are.

James is staring at the still-caged ravens. One of his fingers is stuck through the bars and scratching along the raven’s head in a mirror of Agatha. It warbles, shifting closer, but doesn’t take its eyes off of its Mistress.

“It can’t be that easy.” Darcy says, arms crossed.

“Ravens are far more intelligent than horses,” Agatha shrugs, “and easier to care for. Treat them properly and they’ll do whatever you command.”

“They’re so sweet.” James coos, earning affectionate noises from the group, “Oh yes you are.”

One bird has remained on the other side of the cage away from James. Their eyes aren’t wary like you’d expect, just… curious. They sparkle with awareness.

Faintly, you hear Darcy and Agatha bickering over the merits of horses vs ravens, but you pay them little mind. You cross around the large cage to where the lone raven sits. They follow your approach.

You crouch to be eye level. The raven tilts their head.

“Hello,” You murmur, “what are you doing over here all alone?”

As expected they do not talk back. They don’t even warble. Fluttering their wings, you wait for them to cross around to another section of the enclosure blissfully absent of people. Yet, their wings settle and they bow their head.

The pose offers you a closer view under their plumage. You can see the true length of their dark feathers, where they come to connect to hidden flesh. A white protrusion among the plumage brings you pause.

Every glimpse of your Father’s ravens had been from afar; seeing them fly around his office and listening to his curses when they didn’t land at his command, or catching sight of one when they escaped their enclosure and dove through the nearest window. You’re left at a loss when faced with the trust being presented.

Would it be worth attempting to help, or will you only cause harm in your ignorance?

“A pin feather,” Agatha says right beside your ear.

You jump.

Agatha is bent next to your crouched form, propped up by one hand on the trunk where the cage sits. The position puts her face just slightly above your own. When you turn, your eyes unconsciously dart to her lips, before meeting her eyes.

The look on her face is curious. She’s taking you in like one takes in a specimen they’re studying.

“How do I fix it?”

“Pinch gently and roll it between your fingers.”

When you reach in, the raven bows her head again. She is utterly still as you follow Agatha’s instructions to the letter. Her head pops up and shakes—the white covering falling away. She nuzzles your hand sweetly.

“Say ‘thank you,’ Aquila.” Agatha says.

Aquila lets out a sound that is remarkably similar to thank you. You blink.

When you regard Agatha, you catch a glimpse of the expression leveled at Aquila and the other ravens; pure, uninterrupted affection. The emotion softens her features, eyes crinkled at the edges, lips upturned. Her beauty is striking.

Darcy and James watch from your periphery. You shake yourself from the trance you’re in.

“We should go.” You say, hushed.

Agatha turns, looking over your features, and nods. She straightens and offers out a hand. You take it. In a swift turn, she weaves your arm over her own, acting the part of lead. 

Her face is neutral, but beneath her gaze, your companions fidget and shift.

“If you return my ravens in any state less than what they’re in now, I will torture you slowly.” The statement is punctuated by a raised brow.

“We—We’ll take good care of them.” James vows.

Agatha nods. She regards you, waiting.

“Be careful. Send a letter if anything changes, but don’t go searching for anomalies—am I understood?”

Darcy nods. A haunted look passes over James’ face, dimming the usual light in his eyes. Without so much as a glance to his companion he steps forward.

“Your Majesty, may I have a word with you privately?”

You blink, grip on Agatha’s arm tensing unconsciously.

“Of course.”

Agatha releases you with a sideways glance. You focus on your advisor and friend, who at the moment resembles a wilted flower. Grim is the expression he wears; an expression you haven’t seen in a long time.

He leads you until you stand at his side under a half-blackened tree. The bark on one side is perfect, not a divot out of place, while the other side crumbles at a glance. You run your fingers along the dying side and wish for it to one day grow strong again.

Looking back, you see Agatha and Darcy side-by-side, both pointedly ignoring one another; Agatha reading a book without actually handling the pages and Darcy looking around, lips puckered in a whistle.

“Is something wrong, James?” You ask when he comes to a stop.

He fidgets. Meeting your eyes, he gives you a long look. Tilting your head makes him look away. He clears his throat once, then twice.

“Your Majesty, I— Well, you see, we—” James sighs, then blurts, “Have you given any thought to an heir?”

You blink.

“I beg your pardon?”

“Marriages usually bring about heirs to fill the succession, Your Majesty, and with another conflict seeming imminent I believe having something in place is worthwhile. Has there been a discussion between you and your—Her Highness?”

“I’m familiar with the expectations of marriage,” If your voice is a touch frosty, you don’t give it much attention, “and I don’t much appreciate that the topic of conversation in private parlors pertains to my marriage bed.”

“Your Majesty—”

“What is it you suggest, James? Am I to bring a child into what could turn out to be another war?” You snarl.

James flinches. Upon seeing this, regret turns a knife in your chest.

“No,” He says, quietly, “You know I’d never suggest such a thing.”

Anger is rung out of you like water from a towel, you ask, carefully, “What would you suggest I do?”

“Appoint a successor. If you do it, The Council can’t do it for you should you…”

You nod.

“I will consider it.”

“Safe travels, Your Majesty.”

When you walk from the half-dying tree, you walk alone to the carriage. Along the way Agatha falls into step at your side. You cannot find the energy to hate her company.

-- --

You had been a precocious child; at only six, testing the might of your station against the will of those left to care for you. As Crown Princess, your commands had superseded that of your minders the second you drew breath. Once or twice you’d felt guilty about how Celine—your governess—would puff up, only to deflate and bow with a ‘yes, Princess’—but the guilt was washed away by the incentive of whatever you’d wormed your way into.

By seven, your Father had been made wise to your behavior; though you could never figure out how; you had long since commanded all your minders not to speak a word of your commands. But he knew and sought to punish you in a manner that made a lasting impression.

He let you sit in silence.

Silence, he had said, was the best teacher. One cannot ignore their innermost self if they’re forced to face them.

The room he had the servants make up was plain; boasting only a cushioned chair in the center of the space. You were not permitted to drag said chair over to the window. The task of sitting with your thoughts was as simple as the room, and far more boring.

Guards were posted outside the door to see you were not disturbed or harmed. No servants were allowed in otherwise.

You’d thought him a silly old man. In the absence of distractions you had your wild, adventuring mind to keep you busy—you would not fall into whatever trap he believed he’d set.

But two hours turned into four and your head ached with the effort of conjuring up more daydreams. Then you slept. When you woke, there was no more sunlight, and your head no longer hurt. You imagined you were a bird flying through the window and laughing in your Father’s face. It did not satisfy you. You paced the room, then sat back down, then paced again. Despite having rested, your body began to ache with exhaustion and the pain in your head from before returned.

“I hate him.” You’d whispered, then immediately regretted it.

For how busy he was, he still found a sliver of time each week to see you. Sometimes it was something quick like sitting in on one of your lessons, or, on special occasions he’d join you and your Mother for dinner. For how harsh he could be at times, you’d never been anything but excited when he walked in the room. 

The guilt at the words spoken to yourself prompted your mind to spiral. How else had you been cruel, spewing awful words where it was not deserved?

You had been unkind, you’d realized. By commanding the servants in ways you had no right to, you had opened them up to punishments of which they were undeserving. Above all else, you were still a Princess; not yet of the right to command in the ways your Father did.

Guilt was a powerful emotion. And when your governess was permitted to peer in, she found you on the floor before the seat you’d been allowed, knees to chest, shaking with tears.

The moments following had been a blur. You think Celine had tried to usher you to your feet, but it’s a missing piece; all you remember is being carried from the room and falling asleep, waking to your Father standing above you.

“You’ve learned your lesson?”

You nodded.

“Good,” He offered a stilted pat to your head, “Do not forget it.”

The guilt had made you sick for the remainder of the week; everything you ate, save for the smallest portions, found the way back up. Celine was one of your only visitors, with the exception of your Mother and your teachers.

Your Father had been right in the end; silence had been your greatest educator.

You wish you were alone with the silence now, but as of late, everywhere and everything is touched by Agatha. She sits on the other carriage bench, book held magically aloft as she reads.

To say you’ve been through a lot in a day would be selling your experiences short; yet your mind keeps returning to the blood on that sword and the sickening pride of knowing she had no way out. You had, for a moment, tasted victory—revenge. And now you close your eyes against the nausea it brings. How close you’d come to condemning your people, all to satisfy your sickening desire.

She had remembered your goal; but was it only to manipulate you into keeping her alive? In her words there had been a subtle promise of usefulness, of protection. Subtle isn’t what you need.

You’ve no idea how long Agatha’s been alive. The true weight of her power is a mystery to you that you’re not likely to solve alone. Her peers could judge her power, but would any come if you called? You need to bind her power to what serves your people but short of a Witch’s Vow there’s nothing—

A Witch’s Vow.

The forgotten thought itching at the back of your mind is realized. You thrum with satisfaction.

“You made a promise today, to help my people—I want you to swear on it.”

Agatha gazes up, a lazy smile stretching, “Very well, dear. I swear.”

“Make a Witch’s Vow over it.”

She goes still. The smile vanishes and something passes through her eyes. The book that levitates before her dissipates in a pop.

“And if I don’t?”

“You will.”

“Demanding a Witch’s Vow does not bind me to one.”

“It would protect you.”

“Protect me?” Agatha scoffs.

“You make this vow to me and I’ll pause my attempts in killing you.”

“I’m not afraid of you, dear.”

“Maybe not, but I’m sure you’re afraid of her.” You say, tilting your head. A smug smile stretches over your features, “And what’s to stop her from coming after you again, should I ask?”

“Your shortsightedness is embarrassing, darling, I thought we were past this; if I die, you and your people follow.”

“Given your unwillingness to swear aid, it seems we’ll die either way. I’m simply planning for the outcome with the greatest reward.”

You watch her, she watches you. Her narrowed eyes dart over various planes of your face and for once you have no desire to shrink under the scrutiny. Had she wanted to kill you, you’re confident she’d have done so already; no, she wants you alive, and that can be used to your advantage.

Her eyes glow purple and hands clench in her skirts. Agatha sighs and her eyes return to their normal blue.

“You’re as open a book as they come, it’s a wonder she even needed into your mind.” Agatha rolls her eyes, “We need to work on that.”

You tuck your curiosity away for later, “Will you make the Vow or not?”

“Yes, yes, I’ll make your silly vow. Name your terms.”

“I want you and your magic sworn to the service of the kingdom—and that you will not act against it over the duration of our agreement.”

“No. New terms.”

“Those are my terms.”

“Swearing my magic to the service of your kingdom restricts my use of it for any other purpose. I’m not wasting my time on the same trick.”

“It wouldn’t be forever. You’re only bound until I dissolve the agreement.”

She leans forward, baring her teeth, blackened hands stopping just short of grabbing you. Her nails seem longer, sharper. Should she grab you, you fear for the damage they’d wreak on your flesh.

“I know your manipulative little mind, darling, and I won’t let you chain me to your kingdom until it no longer pleases you.” Agatha snarls, “New. terms.”

Despite the show of force, that sense of calm remains. You see the heart of her, the fear swimming in her eyes over the idea of being chained, restricted. Powerless. Does the fear of losing her own power fuel her joy at taking your own?

You should feel offended that she thinks so little of you—never have you desired to chain someone, to bind them—but the better side of you seldom interacts with her. The idea of her in chains pleases you. You shift as that pleasure makes itself known at the apex of your thighs.

“During the duration of our deal, you’ll act in the best interests of the kingdom. If there are threats, you’ll do what you can to handle them; and if there are people in need, you’ll lend your power to aid them.”

Agatha regards you thoughtfully, “No little clause about not killing you?”

“My death serves no benefit to my people.”

Her eyebrows raise. With a shake of her head she holds out her hand, palm up. You mimic the action.

An artful flick of her fingers and a wisp of violet summon an ornate dagger into her open hand. The hilt is short, silver wrapped in indigo briars that while appearing sharp don’t seem to mar Agatha’s hand. A blade of black metal extends from it, curving to-and-fro, until sharpening to an intense point.

You wince at the sight of it, “Can you not… use magic?”

“You want a sacred Vow, don't you?” Agatha scoffs, “There’s no Vow more sacred than that made with a Coven Blade.”

“You don’t have a coven.”

Agatha scowls, “I am aware. It was inherited.”

“From who?”

“My Mother.”

“If it belongs to her coven, shouldn’t one of her fellowship have it?”

“They would,” She says, turning and holding the blade point-down above her palm, “if they weren’t all dead.”

Without so much as a wince, she carves an X in the center of her palm, flesh parting cleanly. Blood pools in her hand.

“Oh.”

She moves so fast you don’t know to anticipate the pain until it blossoms up your arm. Looking down, you wear a matching X, complete with the ever-growing pool of blood.

Agatha presses her palm to the top of your forearm, just below where it meets the elbow. Blood seeps between her fingers and around the curve of your arm.

“I, Agatha Harkness, swear upon my blood and gifts, that I will act in the best interests of your kingdom. I will destroy any entity that threatens these interests and lend my power to those within your borders that require its support.” As she speaks, she drags her hand down the length of your forearm, leaving a smear of red in its wake. When she clasps your palms together, she looks at you, magic swirling in her eyes, “This is my Vow to you.”

Upon the final word, lavender flame erupts down the length of your arm and her own, burning away the blood left behind. It moves and wedges its way between your interlocked palms. The light that emits, violet and white and so bright it burns, forcing your eyes closed. The flesh of your palm is mended as if nothing happened.

Agatha’s palm still bears the X, though healed.

“So I don’t forget.” She winks.

“If you did, what would happen?”

“For something small, maybe a little zap, some exhaustion.” Agatha shrugs, “Something large… I’m sure the punishment would fit the crime. Eager to see me tortured, are you?”

You do your best to ignore the salacious grin.

“I want to be sure you won’t get off easy, that’s all.”

“Getting off is plenty easy with the right help.”

The roll of your eyes doesn’t hide the blush creeping up your cheeks. She cackles at the sight. You don’t attempt to muster a glare, convinced it would only amuse her further.

“What is your plan for protecting the borders?”

Her eyes still twinkle with amusement. You’re not sure what is so funny.

“Protecting the borders is a little difficult since she’s within them, dear, but I can exclude that section from my wards if it pleases you.”

“How?”

“We do not have time for you to learn the basics of casting.”

“Fine,” You sigh, “but I want the wards handled discreetly.”

“I’m not all explosions and smoke-clouds—that was only to get your attention.” She smirks.

“Is everything a joke to you?”

“Yes.”

Villages faced with the might of Agatha’s forces had once chosen between fighting or fleeing. Though some had made a third choice; hanging themselves from rafters at the whisper of impending invasion.

Monica had gone to pay respects in your place, once. When she returned, she had requested three days leave. The look in her eye she returned with has never gone away.

It’s been weeks since the threat of Agatha was settled; what would the people do if they caught wind of another war on the horizon?

Agatha sighs, as if reading the thoughts on your face, “I will be discreet. Best interests of the kingdom, remember?”

“I want to go with you.”

“That is the opposite of discreet.”

“We’ll go under the cover of night—”

“I know you’re woefully uneducated in the ways of witchcraft, but the weight of transporting two beings and setting wards of the size we’ll require? Too much, even for me.”

“There has to be a way. Please.”

The hard lines of her face soften just so. Her blue eyes are contemplative, seeing more than you would like.

“Two of the sites are on our way. The others I’ll handle alone—a sudden tour of the borders might raise a few suspicions.” 

You deflate. Something within you that had once been ready to argue turns to liquid, slithering around your heart, tugging on all the little strings that make your eyes water.

“Thank you.” You say. 

“Don’t thank me yet.”

[glitteringstardust]

🌸 🌸 🌸 | 🌸 🌸 🌸 | 🌸 🌸 🌸

sakuya sakuma stimboard

[asordinaryppl]

A3! Backstage Story Translation - Tsumugi Tsukioka SSR: Whereabouts of the Lost Item - Part 1

Izumi: Tsumugi-san, your coffee’s done

Tsumugi: Sorry for making you make some for me too. Thank you very much.

Izumi: I was just about to make some for myself, it’s alright!

Tsumugi: It smells nice.

Izumi: It does, I’d say I made a good purchase! What are you looking at, by the way?

Tsumugi: A rerun of a suspense drama. It ended a few minutes ago

Izumi: Oh, I see… Too bad. What was it about?

Tsumugi: Long story short, the protagonists find hints to solve murder cases on omikuji they draw at shrines… (1)

Tsumugi: Then, they use those hints to find the culprit. It’s a bit of a strange plot.

Izumi: Using omikuji to find the murderer is quite an original idea.

Tsumugi: Fufu, that it is. It was also very interesting, and the shrines they visited were all lovely, too…

[Doorbell ringing]

Izumi: Who could it be?

Tsumugi: I’ll go look.

Izumi: Ah, please do!

-

Delivery person: Thank you very much.

Tsumugi: This is addressed to Citron-kun? I wonder if he’s in his room.

Citron: Is that for me, Tsumugi?

Tsumugi: Ah, good timing. I was just thinking of going to your room to give it to you.

Tsumugi: Here you go.

Citron: Thanks!

Tsumugi: What did you get that’s got you looking so happy?

Citron: Let’s go talk over there!

-

Izumi: Thank you for going through the trouble, Tsumugi-san. Was it some kind of delivery?

Tsumugi: Yes. It was addressed to Citron-kun.

Citron: I’ve been waiting so long for this! I’m going to open it now!

Tsumugi: What is this?

Citron: A go inches out!

Tsumugi: Go where…?

Izumi: Ah, a goshuincho! (2)

Citron: That, a goshuincho!

Tsumugi: Ah, that’s what it is. The way the Japanese patterns and the cherry blossoms stand out is beautiful.

Izumi: It reminds me of the Spring Troupe, how lovely.

Kumon: What’s everyone gathered here for… Oh, huh? Citron-san, is that a goshuincho?

Citron: It is!

Kumon: So you finally got it! You did say you wanted to collect goshuin!

Izumi: Is that so?

Citron: It is! I’ve been interested in goshuin for a while now, actually. But I never had the chance to get some~

Citron: Then, as if by fate, I saw a goshuincho with a lovely design I liked on the internet and bought it!

Tsumugi: That might’ve been God’s way of telling you that now is the time to start collecting goshuin.

Citron: That must be it! That’s why I will start collecting goshuin!

Tsumugi: Ah, then… Would you like to go to a shrine together? There’s a shrine I’d like to visit.

Citron: Which shrine would that be?

Tsumugi: It’s one of the shrines that was in a drama rerun I was watching…

Tsumugi: It seems it’s dedicated to the Dragon Gods, so I was thinking of going to check it out.

Kumon: The Dragon Gods!? We’ve got a shrine like that!?

Citron: Ohh! That sounds amazing!

Izumi: I think I’ve heard of that shrine before! If I’m not wrong, it has dragon omikuji there…

Tsumugi: Ah, yes! That’s the shrine!

Kumon: I wanna draw a dragon omikuji!

Citron: I would like to go there as well!

Tsumugi: Really? I’m glad. Would you like to come with us as well, Director?

Izumi: I don’t see why not. It sounds like a great opportunity!

Tsumugi: Let’s all go together, then.

part 1 | part 2 | part 3

NOTES:

(1) omikuji are fortunes written on a paper slip that you can get at temples and shrine

(2) goshuincho are 'stamp books' you can buy at temples or shrines that you use to collect goshuin on

(3) goshuin (literally honorable red seal) are stamps that can be obtained from shrines or temples, they come with different designs and also feature the shrine/temple's name and the date of the day the goshuin was obtained

[purpldawne]

[abandonedart]

thanks everyone for being so supportive of my a3! posts!

i've been unable to draw much lately because i'm focused on school for these last few months. but spring break is soon and i hope to see you all more!

until then have a doodle i did on my ask on instagram

[cherryblossomangelle]

Who wants to see the poster I made for my imaginary Mankai production of Mamma Mia???? Starring Kasumi as Donna, Sakuya as Sophie, Syu as Sam, Hiro as Harry, Zen as Bill, Sakyo as Rosie, and Azuma as Tanya :)

[every-sanji]

[jujumin-translates]

[A3!] ★ Main Story | Act 15 - Painful RE:bake | Episode 2 - Portrait / Keiku Karashina

--Whatever. Anyway, I just wanted something easy to understand.

My everyday life is boring and tasteless. At some point, I realized that I was just less sensitive than others.

If we’re talking sweets, I like them sickeningly sweet with lots of cream. I don’t really like wasabi, but I like mustard. Whether sweet or spicy, I like extremes.

It’s not just with my taste, it’s with everything. It’s hard for me to scoop out my feelings.

I’m also not great at non-verbal communication, or whatever they call it. And because I think like this, it’s annoying and confusing and frustrating for me to try and figure out what to tell other people or how to tell what other people are thinking behind their words.

I started feeling nothing but unfulfillment while doing group activities with the other teenagers I’m forced to live with, even though I didn’t want to, just because they’re the same age as me.

Life’s full of things that are hard to understand.

When I see all these people living their lives in such an incomprehensible world with such unconcerned looks on their faces, I can only wonder.

That’s why I’ve started only seeking tastes that are easy to understand… and communication that’s easy to understand.

For example, things like this--.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Vulgar Young Man: --Gh.

*Keiku takes his phone out of his pocket*

Keiku: …Communication completed.

*Notification*

Keiku: …

momo: “Log on as soon as you see this”

Keiku: ?

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Iv has entered the chat.

Kar has entered the chat.

Kar: Sup

shiki has entered the chat.

shiki: Did something happen?

momo: You’re never gonna believe how great things turned out!

momo: Somehow I got a famous influencer to join my theater troupe!

shiki: That’s great! Congrats!

Iv: damn, congrats

Kar: Who’s the influencer?

momo: Have you ever heard of Ibukichi?

shiki: My friend follows them.

Kar: I’ve probably heard of them

momo: It’s kinda crazy, I never thought a famous person like that would join! 

shiki: How’d that happen?

momo: They ended up wanting to do theater after seeing a MANKAI Company play! It was like fate!

momo: MANKAI Company’s Tsuzuru-san promised he’d write us a script if we find two more people, so we’ve just got a little more to go!

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Keiku: …Seriously? 

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

momo: So, what do you think? Will you guys reconsider joining my troupe? Kar: Nope shiki: I can watch your performances, but not actually do it, sorry. momo: I figured~... momo: Then will you at least come and see our play once the troupe successfully forms and decides on a performance to do? momo: I’d love to meet you guys IRL at least once! Kar: Nope shiki: I’m interested, but I don’t know about meeting up in person… I’ll be supporting you from the shadows. Iv: samesies Kar: Good luck tho

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

Keiku: (...Well, not like we can actually meet.)

Keiku: (If they keep being persistent like that, I might gotta drop ‘em… Or I could just do it right now.) 

Keiku: (It’s chill, and it’s way easier when it’s over text. No back and forth, just straightforward communication.) 

Keiku: (But it doesn’t have to be them…)

Keiku: …

Keiku: (Well, whatever.)

*Phone rings*

Friend A: “What’s up?”

Keiku: I need to stay over today.

Friend A: “I mean sure, but you still haven’t gone back home?”

Keiku: I’ve never gone back home.

Friend A: “Liar.”

Keiku: (This kinda shallow, meaningless communication is still easier.)

Keiku: (I’ve got no clue what this guy on the other end of the phone is thinking right now, or why he always lets me stay over. Not like I really care.) 

Keiku: (At least I’ve got a place to sleep today. That’s good enough. No problems here.)

Vulgar Young Man: Wait…

Keiku: ?

Vulgar Young Man: Tell me your name…

Keiku: Damn, almost forgot. Thanks.

Keiku: My name is… Nachi Komada of “Wolf”~!

[ ⇠ Previous Part ] • [ Next Part ⇢ ]

[intomybubble]

Look how time flies

Kumon is graduating!

[marchingspace]

Small bits of my experience with watching Mankai Stage esp the adlibs on my show (06/07 matinee). I can go on and on but my hand couldn't catch up lol.

[imaginesfora3]

Give and Take [Takato Tasuku]

Tasuku was never one to lie.

You could see the irritation in his face, the way he was to keep a polite yet blank look while he was speaking. Ever the brilliant actor, he feigned politeness with ease but the subtle little twitch of his brow told you all you need to know. You’re tempted to save him but then remember the harsh words you exchanged earlier, the smile dropping from your face so quickly the others around you grew concerned.

‘Maybe we shouldn’t be together.’

He had said it with such conviction, as if the case was closed and you could offer up no counter. And you really couldn’t. His words had shattered the part of your soul that might whip up a snippy retort, instead your lower lip quivered as you tried to ignore the implications behind what he just said. Was he breaking up with you?

Perhaps it was inevitable that he broke your heart. He had warned you from day one that he wasn’t meant for relationships, that everyone he had even bothered having had fallen apart before long. You had willingly taken the plunge with him again because the thought of him not being yours felt unbearable but… wasn’t this worse? Having to feel him slipping through your fingers like sand, the strength of your grip irrelevant? If you never knew what it was to love the real Takato Tasuku, would your heart still be in tact?

You seat yourself at a table as far from others as possible, your social battery drained before the real party had even begun. You’re afraid you might cry unprompted if someone tried to strike up a conversation with you, knowing it would lead to them asking for a reason and you weren’t ready to speak what had happened out loud. So, you sit alone, sipping wine, keeping an eye out for the breaker of your heart.

You get caught up in your thoughts as a slower song comes on, a memory rushing to the forefront of your mind. It reminded you of an older play Tasuku had been practicing for, asking for your help along the way to practice lines. It was always a thrill to watch him transform up close so you couldn’t deny him. The play, the relationship between the two characters you were playing, was never meant to be a romantic one yet there was a certain intensity to the scene that led you to be standing closer than normal. You liked to think a small bit of reality was bleeding into the fantasy you were both enacting, passion too strong to be stopped by any boundary.

He had been the one to make the first move, hands holding either side of your face as he gave you a lip crushing kiss. Tasuku, or his character? You nearly gasped out his name, shattering the immersion, but a tiny voice in your brain told you to hush. If you broke his concentration, he’d snap out of it and move away, and you didn’t really want that, did you?

You can still see his face now, the way he pulled away with an unreadable expression on his face. You kept eye contact with him even as his hands slowly fell from your face to rest at his sides.

“…Do you do that with all your scene partners?”

You had never seen him flustered before but what a beautiful sight it was, color blossoming across his face quicker than he could cover it up. You wanted to ask him then and there- was that you? Were you kissing me? Or was it Sir Leander, too caught up in the moment with his ward, driven to an emotional edge and desperately needing an outlet?

You never did ask. Things just happened, and suddenly he was yours.

‘Was.’ Your brain emphasized.

‘Was.’ Your heart cried.

Your drink desperately needed to be refilled but your legs don’t feel much like working. You were surprised you had even stood and chatted for as long as you did. You stayed seated, staring at the ever dwindling remainder of your drink; you took smalls sips like you were traveling through the desert and didn’t know when you’d get another chance to hydrate. You began wondering how embarrassing it would be if you just dragged yourself across the floor to get to your next cup, taking shelter under the bar for the rest of the party. Your daydreams of peace are interrupted when a shadow loomed over you, blocking out the glittery lights that were covering everyone in the room now that DJ Disco had arrived to the party.

You don’t have to look up to guess who it is.

What did you want him to say?

‘We need to talk.’

No. That would be too much. You couldn’t handle that right now, you couldn’t handle anything from him at all. Gods above, you needed another drink stat.

“Do you need a refill?”

What a considerate bastard he was. Not surprising, to you at least. Others might be surprised at his consideration, he could be direct and rude more often than not, but he knew how to handle you with care. He knew little things about you, noticed habits that you hadn’t even realized yourself, it was almost like he was doing a character study on you. He had said once while under the influence (which you just considered him being even more truthful than normal) that he could simply watch you be for hours on end. He didn’t even seem embarrassed for saying it, the tiny, almost devilish smile on his face making you wonder if he was teasing you.

You hadn’t given him a verbal response but he didn’t need one. By the time you had pulled yourself out of your reverie he had appeared again with a full glass of wine, placing it delicately in front of you before he seated himself beside you. You considered chugging it, downing glass after glass and making him get you a new one each time, not giving him a chance to open up a conversation you didn’t want to have. But you knew with one more glass you’d only make yourself look like a fool, passing out on the table before the party was even halfway over.

Azuma and Tsumugi stood off to the side, enjoying the vibes rather than being directly involved in any of the partying. They had been a trio until Tasuku had noticed an opening, a chance to talk to you smoothly rather than abruptly butting in and demanding your attention.

“I think I said the wrong thing.”

“What could you have said that love can’t repair?” Azuma had asked quite playfully, not necessarily thinking those words were true but still having faith that Tasuku couldn’t possibly be that insensitive. But the look on Tsumugi’s face told Tasuku that his childhood friend still knew him best of all.

When Azuma’s face falls, his mouth set in a hard, thin line, Tasuku knew he was in for it. As the adults at the dorm their conversations were always nuanced; they knew humans had faults, that slights could be seen from a different angle and take on a whole new meaning, there were endless words of wisdom shared when they spent time together. But wrong was wrong. He had said the one thing he knew would hurt you most, he had pulled the rug out from under you and attacked the thing you were most self-conscious about.

Tasuku remembered, as he sat across from you now, a moment that had happened nearly a year ago now; he remembered it as if it happened yesterday. The way you had collapsed into his arms, gripping his shirt like it was the only thing that could anchor you, tears soaking you both. He could hardly make out what you were saying in the moment so rather than come up with some thoughtless response he had held you, hand rubbing your back reminding you that you were here and real and safe.

Later, when he thought about it, he managed to piece your teary mumbled sentences together.

‘You left me.’

He had never done such a thing in reality, so the only conclusion he could come to was that it was a bad dream. It was silly to cry over something that wasn’t real, and he might have even said that if he didn’t see firsthand how it hurt you. How deeply did you feel for him that you’d have a reaction like that? How scared were you that he’d leave with no hesitation? He didn’t know the answer to those questions. He didn’t know how he’d react either.

“Do you think they’ll talk to him?”

“I wouldn’t,” Azuma responded smoothly, the easy smile that remained on his face nearly making Tsumugi let out a nervous laugh, “Personally, I’d let him mull it over a bit longer.”

“…I don’t think he realized how much it would…” Tasuku had hurt Tsumugi once before too, with thoughtless words and actions; it had been shown they both needed to grow in the long run. And he was sure the same was true for you two as well.

To grow as a couple, Tasuku would need to be more vulnerable and you…would need to place more trust in him. That might not be easy after tonight but…

Tsumugi had seen firsthand the deep look of concentration on Tasuku’s face after ‘the incident’, something Tasuku had mentioned so casually that Tsumugi nearly fell over from shock. Romance had never been an issue for either one of them, they never gossiped or had late night talks about crushes that had them giggling or kicking their feet but that night Tasuku had talked about you at length.

They had both laid down in their respective beds, staring up at the dark ceiling of the room, sharing a whispered conversation just for them. It had started with memories, new and old, then to how they’d changed yet still stayed the same. Tasuku had paused when they talked about everyone they’d met since joining Mankai, how these new people taught them both something in one way or another. Tsumugi had been the one to bring up your name, very much on purpose, thinking back to the moment Tasuku had dropped on him without expanding on it earlier.

“I think I…” He trailed off, never giving his roommate an answer before nodding off.

Tsumugi couldn’t help but quietly laugh to himself.

“Good for you.”

After explaining what had happened that night there weren’t many solutions they could come up with; Azuma seemed to think giving you space was a bad idea, that even if you looked away at first it was clear you wanted to talk. Tsumugi had to take into account how Tasuku would react, studying his best friends face.

This was something that was weighing on him.

It was proof enough that Tasuku hadn’t meant what he said.

“Take it back,” Tsumugi offered up simply, “Tell them you made a mistake and take back what you said.”

“…This isn’t some schoolyard bullying or something,” Tasuku had grumbled out, but he seemed to think about it. Azuma shared a raised eyebrow look with Tsumugi but before much else could be said, Tasuku had disappeared and then reappeared at the island you had placed yourself on.

Where now it was the two of you, with nowhere else to go.

Man, you wished your legs worked.

“…There’s something I’ve always been curious about.” You want to shut up but you can’t find it in you, the liquid courage (or stupidity) refusing to let you be silent any longer. “That night we first kissed… I know you were in the moment. But was it… was it you that wanted to kiss me? Really you? Or was it just another role taken too far?”

His roles were him. He became the character written on the page, emulated them in every way he could, even taking the mundane way they might live daily life and incorporating it into the exciting events of the actual story the audience would see. There were little parts of him in each character just like each character gave a little part to him, a love letter from screenwriter to actor and from actor to audience. He had never thought about that moment as him just playing a part because he had always been there, present in the moment, so painfully aware of the tension between you.

Was that something his character would have done truly? Or had Tasuku been so overwhelmed by his own passions that he had acted out and taken advantage of a situation that set the two of you so close together?

You’re sorry that you asked, sorry that you have to sit here with your own assumptions as he took far too long to answer what you thought was a simple question. He suddenly reached out to touch you, hand over top of yours, direct eye contact that you couldn’t hold.

“It was me.”

“Are you sure about that? Wouldn’t that just be admitting you weren’t playing the role as thoroughly as you could’ve been?”

He let out an annoyed huff, but his answer didn’t change.

“It was me.”

“…I want to go home, Tasuku. I want to go home and talk some more. But you’re not allowed to break up with me.” He looked a little bewildered at your direct statement, but it began to dawn on you… Had he never even considered it? Despite what he had said to you over a silly little difference in opinion, that maybe you shouldn’t be together, had he not overthought what he said and turned it around in his mind a million times? Had it just been an accidental frustrated slip?

“I don’t plan on it,” He responded coolly, “I should get you home. I don’t think you can walk out of here in one piece.”

“You’re most certainly correct.” You take another sip from your wine. “You’re going to explain to me every single little thought in your head tonight, and you’re gonna make me understand… what that was all about, okay? And we’re going to actually talk and you’re not going to get grumpy and walk away because you don’t know how to explain your emotions.”

Tasuku sighed, glancing over briefly at Azuma and Tsumugi who smoothly turned their heads to pretend they hadn’t been overseeing him like he was their toddler apologizing to a teacher for acting out.

“I’ll do my best,” He finally muttered, “Just let me take you home so we can be alone.”

“Okay.”

You supposed you could trust him, truly trust him, even if that little voice in the back of your head was still frightened of what may come.

[7-oh-ta1]

Hate being a taichi main because no matter how well I understand reni's story it only makes me become MORE bitter like what the FUCK do you mean you've told this sixteen year old that his life is essentially worthless and forever changed the trajectory of his life and his self worth and your reasoning is that "he didn't channel God in his performance"? Like. Damn. No shit he didn't.

[cpyclopse]

I like to make my favorite guy kiss everyone Link x everyone in Skyward Sword

Og art prompt by @Soupery -> @ taffybuns

[My art]

[carmen-is-away]

masterlist.

last updated on february 20, 2024

requests are currently open

angst (a), fluff (f), mature (m), crack (c)

・❥ act! addict! actors! ・

nothing here yet, check back later!

・❥ apex legends ・

Bloodhound

reader comforting bloodhound headcanons (f, a)

Wraith

bangalore finding out wraith is a vampire (a) bangalore forgets wraith is her girlfriend (f)

Bangalore

bangalore finding out wraith is a vampire (a) bangalore and seer interaction headcanons (f, c) bangalore forgets wraith is her girlfriend (f)

Octane

random octane headcanons (f)

Crypto

random crypto headcanons (f)

Wattson

wattson taking care of hurt reader (f) wattson helping rampart with a panic attack (f, a)

Revenant

general and romantic revenant headcanons (f)

Rampart

wattson helping rampart with a panic attack (f, a) rampart's tics & habits

Seer

older sibling headcanons (f) bangalore and seer interaction headcanons (f, c)

Multiple Characters

what the legends smell like (c) cuddling headcanons: part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 (f) mtl: to be a yandere (a)

・❥ borderlands ・

nothing here yet, check back later!

・❥ stardew valley ・

Elliott

angsty elliott headcanons (a)

・❥ umbrella academy ・

nothing here yet, check back later!

-dividers

[softeninglooks]

a3! | juza hyodo as your boyfriend...

part 1. part 2.

he cannot believe it at first

how could someone as kind and well-loved as you choose someone as intimidating and reserved as him? he can’t wrap his head around what you could possibly see in him

it takes a lot of words of affirmation to finally convince juza that he is so much more than he thinks

it saddens you that someone as hard-working and deeply involved in the company as juza could still doubt himself. he always says that he wished he could do more for mankai company, but to you he already does more than enough. although it took him some time to perfect his acting, his passion on stage inspires all the other actors to do their very best and mesmerises the audience

whenever he gets too stressed or pushes himself too hard, you offer him pastries and a long, soothing hug. you have him take breaks and go outside so that when he gets back, he feels a little lighter and more energized to resume his work

to thank you for your unwavering support, he invites you on surprise dates or takes you for a ride on his motorcycle. because juza isn’t the best at expressing his emotions, his love language is acts of service and he always makes sure to be available when you also need his help

when it is you who gets too anxious, he will hold you tightly and listen to you vent about the issue at hand. he will try to offer you words of comfort, but his primary course of action is to help solve the problem at the root

he gets more demonstrative over time, holding your hand in the streets or kissing you on the cheek in public. he is really proud of you and your relationship, but his fear of staining your reputation because of his scary looks holds him back from displaying affection more openly

in private, he is the sweetest. juza is self-conscious about his clumsy use of words, so he makes up for it by showing you love through physical touch and sharing his favourite snacks with you

he won’t say it out loud, but juza melts when it’s you who wraps him in your arms or hugs him from behind. being held is something new to him, and it feels so special, almost a sacred moment - before that, most of the physical contact he had with people was blocking punches or trying not to hurt anyone, so someone lovingly and willingly touching him moves him beyond reason. when you run your fingers through his hair and kiss his neck, his deep and raucous sighs speak louder than words

juza is straightforward and honest so he doesn’t shy away from telling you how grateful he is for you - especially when he is drunk. after a couple of drinks, he will look even more serious than usual, save for the tinge of redness blooming on his cheeks, and say the most heart-wrenching things about how you make him a better man and he wants to guard your happiness forever

he comes to you for help whenever he struggles with the interpretation of a line or wants to try out different acting techniques. reading lines together and acting out scenes is one of your favourite activities to do together, so you happily give him a hand with case studies or character analysis. if the scene involves yelling or violence, juza will apologise and make an effort to be extra affectionate with you when you’re done

you wave at him from the front row and offer him flowers after his plays - banri teases him about it, but juza can’t stop smiling and shrugs it off by telling banri that he’s just jealous. juza feels incredibly lucky to have you by his side

kumon adores you and plans family activities that you can join in. because they know juza so well, he and muku can notice the way his face lights up whenever you’re around

omi often asks juza and you to help him with baking because he guessed that juza has a sweet tooth and you find cooking relaxing. juza likes to taste the sugary ingredients just to make sure that they haven’t turned sour and are still good to eat, which always makes omi and you laugh because you can easily see through his excuses

although he is still a little bashful about his voice, you love to hear juza sing. knowing that you appreciate his singing is a huge motivation for juza to overcome his shyness and find the confidence to sing on stage

he is an attentive listener. it makes him happy that you trust him enough to confide in him, but he also enjoys listening to you talk about your hobbies and your current interests. he remembers many details about them and is never against watching something with you or looking up something you’ve been reading online. you do so much for him, so he wants to be equally there for you and

the two of you have a lot of fun together. although juza appears stoic and still has many insecurities to work through, having you by his side never fails to brighten up his days and fill his heart with joy. when you are hanging out, he smiles a lot more and is less apologetic about his behaviour, even cracking jokes from time to time (he feels like it’s awkward, but you find it exceptionally endearing). he hopes that you feel fulfilled, so he always offers you a shoulder to cry on when you’re feeling down or does his best to make you smile. he wants to learn all about your preferences and passions so that he can fully enter your world

most of all, he just wishes for you to be happy and safe. he has never been loved like this before and he wants to do everything in his power to reciprocate your love with as much force and sincerity