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goblinshork · 3 years ago

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Ok so what abaut Bodyguard and Agony whith a a naga prince that just hates the royal life and dreams of just having a simple life living in a cottage and selling homemade jewelry, so Reader his childhood best friend, personal bodyguard and person who he feel in love whith decides to make his dream come true (bonus if the prince has a sister so the kingdown whont stay whiout a ruler and she helps Reader whith the plan, bonus+ if the prince is kinda huge and scary to other people but he is just a chill dude that likes to make rings and necklaces)

Short scenario please! (Also sorry if its too long, feel free to just ignore this if you whant)

Not too long at all and I think it's an extremely charming idea! Thank you for sharing; big gruff, undercover sweeties are one of the most Choice(tm) archetypes.

This also got super long, but the vibes were singing to me.

Features: Slight angst, happy ending, kissing

Bodyguard + Agony (Monster Ask Meme)

Hands, Touching Hands (m!Naga x gn!Reader) [3.7k]

“Don’t lie, how many names do you remember?”

Alok yawned, curved fangs peaking out from almost-lips.

“None, thankfully,” he said, scratching at his curls, cut short enough that they barely formed.

“Impressive.”

“Oh—no, you won’t distract me. You agree with me don’t you?”

The book Alok had toyed the entire briefing slammed shut, the many bracelets at his wrist clinking for emphasis when you did not answer.

Watching him unfurl his tense length of tail, broad shoulders rising far above you as he 'stood', there was little to say but, "It’s not my place."

"Then it’s not mine, either."

He slunk toward the door and you picked up the book--the monstrous thing--with your arms rather than your hands before following him.

"Just give it time," you said in a reassurance that was too shallow to drown his mood.

Every move forward looked painful as he slithered forward like a child first learning to move against stone rather than soft grass. Unlike when he was a child, he was stilted by frustration rather than inexperience.

The conversation was left dropped, burning like the weight of the tome in your arms. If you were alone, you'd tell him to carry it. But servants, nobles, and royals passed frequently, all low bows and murmurs, moving on a touch quicker than polite.

When you first arrived to the kingdom, a slave dressed sweetly and presented as a gift, you'd marveled at how anyone could find the royal family intimidating when removed from their wealth and status.

Baby yellow skin and soft pink dapples painted everyone of them. Alok, himself, was more pink than yellow, and it reminded you of those delicate, painted dolls you'd press your face against glass to get a closer look at before being shooed away by the shop-keep.

You supposed little had changed since then, except now you were simply stared at, expected to keep your fingers off the pretty pink glass always, always in front of you.

The hallway Alok stopped moving forward in was empty, private; his. Without a word, you tossed the horrible book toward his crossed arms and swept the windows, floors, and ceiling for anything strange. His fumbling for the book, fingers audibly skimming against pages, made you smile.

"It's clear," you nodded. "Workshop, right?"

Alok deflated a bit, too caught between the mention of his workshop and pretending to have perfectly caught the book to keep his anger stoked.

"You're asking now," he said flat, looking from the book to you.

Putting up your hands in mock defeat, you turned, alert enough.

"I'm not angry at you.” The slits that served for his pupils, deep red and small in their focus on the gem he was cutting, turned to you when you said nothing in response.

“Sorry, I--” was dazzled by your eyes? Was enamored by how passionate you are for perfecting that sparkling little gem? “I know.”

“I just wanted to say it.”

You stretched from your place beside the door, perched on one of the few chairs at your disposal in the entire castle, “Thank you.”

“Don’t be patronizing,” Alok grumbled, pausing in his work. “I know...I know very well you must be tired of this, even if you won’t say it.”

The window was suddenly so interesting, your throat burning as you swallowed down the feeling kindling there.

“This is my home,” you said after hearing the scales of his tail shift closer. “There’s nothing to be tired of.”

Slowly, his hand rose to hover over yours, where it lay on your lap, “But you should be. I’d give you anything you needed. They couldn’t stop me.”

Everything you wanted to say was tucked in the patch of air that separated his touch from yours.

Any person, bought and raised to be singularly loyal would hesitate at the offer of freedom, wouldn’t they?

They’d want to grab his hand, wouldn’t they?

You could only guess as a love for a prince was not something to be said aloud unless you were allowed.

And you, a slave turned body guard, were not.

Standing, you scattered the almost-moment with a shake of your head, “I don’t care about freedom half as much as you think I do.”

His hand fell limp to his side, the slits that served as his nose flaring wide, as you continued.

“I’m your bodyguard and I’ll be your children’s bodyguard and I’ll be the same to whoever you choose from that book,” you finished, thoroughly shooing yourself away, wanting so much to run out the door.

Alok said your name quietly, but you remained silent.

And everything was still until it wasn’t.

In one smooth motion propelled by his sheer size, Alok stretched to the book and hurled it out the open window.

“No, you won’t. I’ll be their prince,” he said low, body suddenly too large for the room. “But I won’t be their king.”

You did run, then.

Perhaps the only place off-limits for a would-be king allergic to potential suitors was his sister’s drawing room.

Adur payed you no attention as she demanded entertainment from the brightly colored darlings and dark patterned beauties of the upper echelon.

“Did you know, I simply adore the pattern of your bangles lately,” she cooed, pointing to a decorated tail. “So perfectly in style.”

She continued on, picking this and that to sigh over, as you stood against the corner that provided the best view of the room, next to the door.

You recognized each piece she fawned over as being similar to something Alok had on display or nearly-done in his workshop. Ah, to know a magician’s tricks.

Melting into a squat, you let their voices wash over you. No heart could hurt for long listening to women enjoy court gossip as much as this bunch did...from a distance.

When you, Alok, and Adur were younger, the rules seemed less stone and more like blades of grass, flexible and beneath you. Adur set you in front of her always revolving group of friends and tried to fit tail bangles around your thighs and waist. Alok insisted you sit side-by-side while studying geography, arithmetic, and etiquette. You lay between them on sunny afternoons, napping, legs touching tails.

But everything golden goes grey eventually.

“Well, do tell me. Did he throw it in the fire?”

You turned from the window, swapping red, setting sun for sharp, red eyes, “Out of the window.”

The room was empty but for you and her now. Adur pacing around, tail making quick work of circling the room as she read from her collection of letters.

“Still the amount of melodrama I expected so,” she shrugged, raising shoulders toward her pleased mouth as a silent finish to her sentence. “I, on the other hand, did pick.”

You rose, legs tingling from the sudden change. “Who?”

“Prince Talsa,” she said after cutting open a letter with her claw, “I’ve already decided on a short engagement and a respectable wedding down south. Perhaps closer to his kingdom than ours.”

“Talsa? Not rare one who everyone’s after?”

Adur looked at you as though you should know better before deigning to explain, “Prince Talsa is rather plain looking for a naga, yes, but that’s just the point.”

“Go on,” you said, wanting so much to be distracted.

“Think about it,” Adur scoffed. “Rare, beautiful babies create wonder amongst people, but children who look as though they could be born anywhere....don’t you see the appeal?”

She leaned against the window, long black hair obscuring her pink and yellow face, “They would be royalty that even the most common of folk could feel familiar to--feel endeared to. Even someone as devoid of charm or pretense as Alok could gain some favor. From their birth, I’ll have them attend every little festival and celebration. Their bond with the people will be unshakable.”

“You’ll make the best queen,” you said, unthinking to the implication.

“Has something happened to Alok?”

“No, you ju--”

Adur turned to you, delicate face empty, “It doesn’t matter what we know. He’s the eldest and alive and destroying a book won’t change that.”

Your hands shook as you laced them together, risking at least your life, by asking:

“What if we could change it?”

Everything in the little room lacked splendor, save the jewelry that her brother displayed to no one but himself, built only to separate Alok from his mentor. A failed attempt to elevate a man too gargantuan to grow further.

Even the flooring was rough on the tail, not smooth stone but brick for retaining heat. Only care for function within these four walls.

Adur noted her brother’s tail was bare as she swept over the lacking room, only his leather work belt draped over the apex where tail met torso. Every bit of jewelry he wore crowded his wrists and fingers, noisy as he worked on some large bangle unfamiliar to her.

He looked haggard, frown too ugly and deep to be a mere product of concentration. Grey tickled the roots of his bangs, pronounced enough to shine in the lamplight. Alok was getting too old to be a prince with only time for his hobby.

“Sometimes I think it would be kinder to simply put you out of your misery,” Adur said, closing the door behind her.

Alok’s back tensed, but he did not pause his work, “I’m surprised you said it out loud, but don’t say it like a joke.”

“Don’t be so serious,” Adur sighed, “of course it was a joke.”

“Where is--”

“Your human delight? Running errands for me.”

Alok did turn then, face flickering through emotions too fast to name, “They’re just as much your dear friend as mine, you little viper.”

“Forgive my callousness, but I find you respond to little else,” Adur said, picking at the sheer fabric of her top so it draped correctly against her arm again. “And perhaps they are my friend. But they are not just yours.”

“I won’t be king...even if they weren’t here.”

Adur laughed in a sizzling tone, forked tongue dancing with humor, “Oh? And I suppose your little fantasies of running away involve you doing so alone?”

Only the flames licking back and forth in the small forge answered her.

“You’re too old to be deluding yourself like this,” she went on, dropping a bottle and a sheer robe on Alok’s work desk. “It’s time to make choices once and for all, brother.”

“I’m not--”

“I’m not asking you to rule. You’d be pathetic at it, yes, I know. If not for our dear human friend, you’d have flunked every tutor save for your precious jewelry maker.”

Alok curled back over his tail, fingers picking at the fabric of the robe his sister had dropped. “Then what are you asking?”

Hand on the doorknob, Adur smiled, “if you had your way and left to live like a common man with your human, would you really never come back?”

“Never.”

Adur opened the door. “Good.”

The drider--Woodnet? Woodne? Wodner?--stayed near the the door as you did, but unlike you his sleek, black legs rested on a few thin lines of webbing where wall met ceiling.

Slowly, Alok raised his face to address the bodyguard, entirely unused to being the short one. Worse still was the struggle to match sights with the correct pair of the drider’s many blinking eyes. If you were here, you’d have nudged him to follow your lead already.

If you were here...this wouldn’t be happening in the first place. Just another wishful thought to swallow down as Alok struggled to stay polite in the face of his father’s prime bodyguard.

“Outside the room is fine,” Alok said in a clipped tone, turning as he did to avoid dealing with anymore niceties.

“Forgive me for questioning, Prince Alok,” the drider said, voice drifting down like floating silk. “But bathing is when you are most vulnerable. I can not help but object to the risk.”

The drider polished each word, in no hurry to finish his sentence and Alok’s eyes rolled once--twice--thrice by the time there was silence. If only this were any guard other than his father’s favorite.

“I understand,” Alok said. “But, the windows are trapped and you will be guarding the only entrance.”

The sound of burdened legs skittering down stone, followed by the opening and closing of the lone, stone door was his answer.

Driders were generally no longer friends of Alok’s kingdom. Wodnel....no, Wodni perhaps, was a relic of a time long gone, when his father was just proving himself a leader of a nation. That Wodnir--that was it, Wodnir--was so protective of Alok, having sparsely been involved with him and having been enslaved through ruthless, warmongering means made Alok’s shoulders bunch, the muscles between protruding over scales.

Is that how it was between you and he? Did you feign fondness and care or was it true? Was it true but maligned of him to hope for it due to how you came to be near him? Because of he was?

Alok disrobed and slunk into the hot water, hoping to drown his pithy doubts that crowded so large in his mind.

Flakes of shed rose to the top the longer he soaked, proof of a difficult shed. There was sure to be more bits to come as he scrubbed himself with the, apparently, ‘to die for’ body scrub his sister had left last week.

You were usually the one to soothe his bubbling stress in a life of constant politics and decorum, but the bits of dead skin were proof enough that Alok truly was getting too old for delusions. You’d only been away for a week and a spare number of days and here he was, so tense that not even a hot bath could unfurl him.

Ugh.

Politics and decorum. How would he survive tonight without you? Adur was announcing her engagement tonight, in tandem with the nobles emerging from their collective sheds at the tail end of the Harvest Festival.

Alok scrubbed himself raw, hoping to emerge a new man who could weather life half as well as everyone around him. But the harder he lathed himself in soap, the clearer the truth rang.

If only he could have you.

You had relieved Wodnier of his duties, thanking him with a bow, and standing stiff beside the door for precious minutes, waiting for his delicate range of hearing to wane.

As an apprentice, you had met Wodnier often enough to know he wished you well as much as any spider did a fly.

Hammering against your chest, you feared the vibration of your heart was loud enough for him to hear. And there was always a chance the door shutting at the end of the curved hallway was a trap; that Wodnier still stood in Alok’s quarters and was not making his way back to the King.

But you didn’t have time to be safe, only quick.

Jittered by adrenaline, you sprinted to Alok’s room---toe first, heel last--and back, holding your breath once you made it back to the door of the bath.

Sweat pooled against your forehead, but nothing sprang toward you sans the faint sounds of Alok bathing.

You slipped past the door, the pack in your hands bulky enough that the door opened wider than you’d wanted, the hinge creaking.

“Alok?”

The figure behind the curtain froze before calling back your name.

“We don’t have much time, Alok,” you pressed in a sure voice, but your legs wobbled as you neared the curtain. “I’m....I’m running away and I’m taking you with me.”

“What?”

Coming past the curtain, your chest could barely contain your quick breathing. His hair was devoid of any gray, blacker than pitch as it fell just above his ear holes and forehead. Muddy brown and maroon scales were sleek and wet, droplets rolling down his body, even near his---

You looked back up quickly, away from where his belt always covered. “I mean, I want us to run away and we need to go now.”

Having followed your wandering gaze toward the apex of his stomach and tail, Alok frantically looked toward his arms, the muddy water, “What in the fuck is this?”

“Adur is helping us,” is all you said and it was all Alok seemed to need as he picked up the bottle the dye had been in, nodding. “She said it’ll only last until your next shed but, by then, hopefully....”

“She wants to be queen very much,” he murmured.

You tore open the pack, reminding yourself that time was short, and held them out. “Yes. So, we need to go.”

“You have no idea--,” Alok started, before interrupting himself. “I need something from the workshop.”

“We don’t have time.”

He shook his head as he took what you offered, dressing himself in plain leather and thick, scratchy wool. “It will be quick.”

You opened your mouth--- “Please.” --but couldn’t keep firm in the face of his pleading.

“Okay.”

Alok threw a few rings, bangles, and tools into the bag.

“Only enough to sell and get started again,” he assured.

But as you turned to leave the room, his hand was on your arm, pulling you back.

“We--”

“I love you,” he breathed, holding two thick, ornate bangles in his free hand. Both were decorated, from the side you could see, with marigolds, jewels gleaming in the center of their petals. You recognized each one.

One was the size to fit a large tail while the other...

“Alok.”

“I want us to leave belonging to one another.”

Your shaking hands dropped the large bag and his slid to hold both yours in his large one. “If we leave together, we’ll live together too won’t we?”

Even your head shook now, from side to side, hoping to discern the moment as waking or dreaming. “Alok. Of course, because...Of course we will.”

“Oh, please say it,” he said, tugging you nearer still.

He repeated your name and like a spell, you found your words, “We’ll live together because I love you, too.”

His thin mouth, soft and bloodless, fell to yours from his full height, his body curling over you as he pressed against your lips again.

“Let me put it on you,” he whispered, mouth moving against yours as you clung to him.

“Hurry and then we can....Just the bangles and then we must go before it’s too late.”

Careful of his claws, he lifted you to sit on his work table before slipping his own bangle over the small tip of his tail and up further, until it stuck in place under his belt.

There was no time to remove your pants, to mold the bangle against your bare thigh as was intended, but Alok’s thick hands skimming around the metal the entire way up burned as though he were doing just that.

You slid off the table, when the bangle was snug, to melt against him for one brief moment of loving calm, your face rubbing against his neck.

You didn’t have time for more.

After disentangling from his tight hold, you threw the bag at him, near tears as he scrambled to catch it. “I know it’s selfish, but I’m so glad you’re going to be mine instead of a king.”

And then you ran, hand in hand.

“Hey! Heeeeey,” one of the children yelled as the whole group of five ran toward you, kicking up dust on the dirt-packed road. “My momma said that snake man eats kids who don’t do chores!”

“My papa said he can’t help with the festival because he’s growing more arms!”

“That’s dumb, Brittany. My papa is smarter and he said the same thing as Corey’s momma. He’s a kid eater!”

The group shrieked in delighted horror as they squabbled on the specifics of what was really, truly going on in their village.

You hiked the basket in your arms higher after several attempts to respond, loudly telling them to pay attention or you’d leave.

As though pulled forward by strings, they straightened as still as a child could, a few even holding their hands over their mouths to keep silent.

“All of your parents are right,” you nodded, “Every two months he must curb his huge appetite and force back his new, child-grabbing arms so he doesn’t hurt the very naughty children of this village.”

They all clamored to stress their innocence in a cacophony of babbling that soon grew into questions.

“Is that why you live with him? ‘Cause you protect the village?”

“And him,” you said.

“At the same time?!”

“Of course, it’s my job. Now go back toward the smithy before you find out just how many arms he has.”

Lunging forward in jest was enough to urge the children away, all of them teasing the other that they would be last to get there and a snake man’s lunch.

“You’re horrible,” Alok groaned, scales pale pink and yellow from a successful shed. “Soon, they’ll be grown-ups, running us off.”

Hefting the basket onto the dining table, you laughed, “they adore you in secret.”

The cottages here were baked of mud, hay, and a few supportive beams of wood and yours was no different. There was no splendor in the room-less house, but it was truly yours and his. And that was luxury enough.

“They had enough this time?”

You shook the canteen of dye, moving to stand next to him on the low hammock that served as bed, “And the next shipment of birch will contain enough to last us three months or more.”

Alok smoothed his claw down your face, his own expression wistful, “I feel too content to explain.”

You pressed your nose against the pink of his jaw, letting him raise you to straddle him.

“Then show me.”

#monster x reader #monster x human #monster fucking #monster romance #exophillia #terato #monster boyfriend #naga x reader #naga boyfriend #naga x human #fluffy.foam #new.shork #goblin.writes #conch.answered #alienfromagalaxy #I love adur and it is a shame how much of her had to be cut to make this not a mess #exophilia

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bisekcual · 2 years ago

Text

Work summary: Well before noon in the final days of the Bloom leading up to the Grand Ball, Captain K.P. Hob receives a letter to the Goblin Pagoda with a small, green feather pressed into the wax seal. It seems that Rue has a favor to ask. Everyone knows that the final event of the Bloom will be a Grand Ball. But when is an owlbear to learn to dance? 2,746 words, rated G. 2/? chapters.

Chapter summary: He would only do this, all of this, so that the honorable and desirable Delloso de la Rue might dance at the Grand Ball, as they so profoundly deserved. He would do only that. Only a favor for a friend. 2,128 words.

Rue and Hob each receive their letters; plus, some context. Read the letters here, or through the ao3 link above, and consider leaving a kudos or a comment if you enjoyed it!

Rue couldn’t understand. It had gone so well for most of the meeting; the Wavemaster complimented their propriety and gentility, the arch fey expressed their delight in the events of the Great Hart Hunt and the wondrous display in the Hedge Maze. All they had really requested of Rue was to make more public the contributions of the Seafoam Court in the future, which, really, was such a simple thing it was barely worth thinking about. They even had time while the arch fey broke away to further discuss things to chat with Wanessa, who apologized for her flirtations at tea and seemed delighted to hear of Binx’s reveal. (Now, indeed, that she wasn’t nearly sliding over the table toward them, they seemed a lovely, if strange creature.) It was all tremendously close to perfect, up until the Wavemaster called to reconvene and told Rue that they would not be organizing for the Grand Ball.

Rue had blinked in shock, staring at the Wavemaster as though struck physically by her words. “What? Why?”

And the Wavemaster only smiled her slow, fluid smile and raised her smooth, aqueous palms to the deep, tranquil night sky in a placating gesture. “Consider it a boon, my dear Bloommaster,” she told them. “You have worked so meticulously to craft alongside us a Bloom that would be like no other. Allow us, in these final days of the Bloom, the honor of doing the same for you.”

And Rue had smiled vacantly and thanked them appropriately, paid their respects and socialized for the amount of time due for etiquette, all the while their mind racing behind avian eyes wide in horror. It was a relief when finally they were able to bid the Fey of Seafoam adieu, stumbling flat-footed away from the shore and racing as casually as possible toward their quarters.

Consumed as they were in malaise, Rue breezed right past Wuvvy, nearly knocking into her, as they bustled through the doorway into their tower. Wuvvy hopped backward in surprise, making a befuddled noise from behind them. “Uh, hey, Rue,” she called out, starting after them. “How’d the meeting with the Seafoam Court go?”

“Terrible, Wuvvy. Just awful,” Rue groaned, rubbing their temples with the pads of two long claws as they continued their bustling ascent up the tower.

Within only a handful of their long, swift strides, they reached the apex of the tower, fluttering into their room and pacing mindlessly from place to place across the floor, unable to sit still. They sighed heavily, looking over to Wuvvy in the doorway, where she stood with an expression of deep concern written into her round features. “What happened? What did they say? Did they do something?” she inquired rapidly, a familiar breathlessness taking on her voice.

“No, they didn’t do anything. Gods, but it’s perfectly dreadful,” Rue sighed, closing their eyes and rubbing the pads of one claw over them in stress. “The Wavemaster said that she was so pleased with our efforts and the high esteem we hold for the Court that she wants to take the responsibility off my hands for planning the final event of the Bloom completely, so I could ‘participate more personally in it myself.’”

A beat passed, then two. Rue pulled their claw off their eyes and opened them to see Wuvvy staring dumbfounded at them. Rue gestured, prompting, toward her, and her brows only furrowed more closely together. “I don’t understand. What else happened?” she stressed. “That sounds like it went perfectly.”

Rue dropped their claws to their sides with a slap, looking toward Wuvvy with a soft, anguished noise. “Wuvvy, I don’t know how to dance! I’ll make a fool of myself!”

“That’s all?” Wuvvy frowned stubbornly. “Well, I’m sure that can be fixed. There must be someone in the Court that could teach you,” she insisted.

Rue sighed ruefully. “Wuvvy, please. Do you know of anyone in the Court of Wonder, aside from myself, who’s seven feet tall?” they asked, the exasperated tilt of their head and the slumph of their shoulders suggesting the obviousness of the answer.

Wuvvy looked chagrined for a moment, her fluffy, white ears pinning downward. But then a scheming smile took her lips. “No,” she said thoughtfully, “but I think I have a better idea.”

...

Receiving a letter so early in the day - namely, before noon - was an occasion still strange to the residents of the Goblin Pagoda, whose noble inhabitants, it was widely known, rested indulgently into the warmth of full day. So when he heard the soft call of the Court of Wonder courier, a fluorescent green sprite the size of a mayfly, Hob turned away from his morning tasks with a slight frown. He could only imagine it was another missive from some snobbish arch fey, who could not be bothered to observe the traditional rest of the Goblin Court before sending their condescending congratulations on some frivolity or another.

But to his surprise, when he parted the folds of his tent entrance to step outside, the sprite bowed and placed in Hob’s hand a letter addressed only to him. He stared down at it for but a moment before raising his head to thank them, but in that instant, the pixie had already disappeared, leaving behind only the faintly lingering smell of sugar. Frowning now curiously, Hob turned and reentered his tent, turning over the envelope in hopes of locating a clue as to its author. Seeing the small, delicate feather affixed to the wax seal of the letter, Hob immediately scrambled to open it. He stopped in his tracks, tore the top open in one swift movement of his thumb and began to pour hungrily over its contents.

…but he did not eat it immediately, as he had done in the past. Instead, he stood, rereading it time and again, working to convince himself that he had correctly ascertained the nature of Rue’s request. After a sixth review, Hob reeled bodily, his mind and heart racing in unison as he stood, looking dumbly around his empty tent. To be permitted -- nay, requested to familiarize Rue with the intricate, often intimate movements of ballroom dance; to take one of their long, beautiful hands in his own; to draw them closer, as a waltz, the customary dance of the Grand Ball, so often requires; to hold; to- to touch… Hob’s chest constricted within him as though gripped in the terrible vice of some unseen hand, and for a moment, his shoulders burned beneath his overcoat.

But no; he shook himself chastisingly. He would not delude himself with such fantasies. To receive the confidence of the graceful, ethereal Master of Ceremonies in this tender matter was a sign of trust and companionship that he would not disappoint. He would not, indeed could not, preoccupy his mind from that so preciously offered duty by turning an errant ear to the misguided ramblings of his goblin heart. He would only do his utmost to serve the Bloommaster.

He would only secret himself away from the Pagoda to find the most perfect, quietest place in the grounds, shrouded in canopy and protected from inquiring eyes and gossipping mouths, the better to put Rue’s nerves at ease. He would only pull an entire tree down with his bare hands to use its cylindrical figure to flatten the ground, the better for Rue’s elegant claws not to stumble over the uneven soil. He would only capture countless jars of everburning fire-bees and affix them to the branches of the trees with careful knots of twine. He would only trade favors with the mysterious, yet amiable Miss Choppley in return for one of her strange, mortal music boxes. He would only dance alone in the center of the clearing, the midday sun cascading through the branches of the trees, arms spread and hands poised as though holding a large, soft body, to ensure that there was ample space for Rue to move.

He would only do this, all of this, so that the honorable and desirable Delloso de la Rue might dance at the Grand Ball, as they so profoundly deserved. He would do only that. Only a favor for a friend.

Straightening his posture, Captain Hob put pen to paper. He had a letter to write, and after that, much to do in the scant time before the Lady Boil and Lord Blemish were to wake with new orders from their traditionally debauched goblin slumber.

...

“It’s going to be fine.”

“It might not…”

“It’s going to be fine, Rue.”

Rue stepped away from their bedroom window, straightened some pillows on their bed, then walked straight back again, gazing watchfully down toward the Goblin Pagoda with one feathered claw over their beak. “It might not,” they repeated, a nervous lilt to their words.

“Rue, please. The man’s so in love with you it makes him look like a kicked puppy.”

“I’ve certainly offended him. He’s a busy man, and this is such a trivial thing to ask of him, and -- oh, it’s only the first letter I’ve even sent him before and it’s for a favor, oh, Wuvvy,” Rue groaned, clapping their paws onto their face.

It had only taken a handful of minutes after sending their letter for Rue to begin to angst over it. Truthfully, they had only even sent it to begin with at Wuvvy’s insistence. Rue had nearly torn the letter to shreds after writing it, but not to make the same mistake twice, they had carefully folded the parchment with one, thick claw, safely stowed it in away in a thick, cream-colored envelope, pressed down a wax seal and, following a rush of sentiment, plucked one of the feathers from their chest to ornament it. Then, before they could second-guess the decision, they called up a garden sprite and handed the letter off into their deft, minuscule hands.

It wasn’t that they regretted writing it, per se. The idea of taking a private lesson from Captain Hob terrified and excited them in equal measure. To have time alone with him, or indeed with anyone, was, in a Bloom as eventful as this one, a gift that came only so seldomly, but those few and precious moments of the Captain’s time that had been Rue’s alone to experience had filled them with a buzzing warmth. It was only - well, it was so bold.

To teach someone to waltz, as Rue knew the customary dance was to be, was an intimate endeavor. The form of the waltz, as a partnered dance, demanded synchronicity, proximity, contact between its performers. The thought of one of Hob’s broad hands spreading over the small of Rue’s back, the sheer concept of their hands clasped beside them, the faintest imagination of the two of them orbiting each other, mere inches apart, gliding across a dance hall without a thought in the world of anything but the fey they each regarded in each other’s arms… it was enough to make Rue dizzy, especially after so much time spent at such distance from each other.

And it was, they knew, a nearly blatant romantic overture to suggest.

Rue was halfway through turning from the window again to say as much to Wuvvy, when upon the wind they heard the faintest whisper of movement, and they turned back to find a carefully folded paper airplane resting upon the windowsill. Glancing back at Wuvvy for support, they gingerly picked up the contraption, unfolded it, and read it with trepidation.

The good Captain’s first letter was an immediate balm to Rue’s nerves. His earnest appreciation for Rue’s request made something within their heart swell dangerously close to bursting. He had implicitly understood anxieties within Rue that they had not even the guile to mention. And some of the things he said, those wonderful and sentimental and characteristically heartfelt things he had said, what could Rue even call some of them -- honest flirtation? They pressed the palm of one claw softly to their heart, where it jackhammered below their feathered chest.

Not a moment after they had finished the first letter, another landed again in the windowsill. Struck with curiosity, Rue leaned out the window to see if they could spot from whence it had been thrown. Seeing no one, Rue hastened to open it.

I am well - better, now that you have asked.

Rue nearly swooned. Glancing up from the notes, they found Wuvvy looking at Rue with an expression of, to her credit, restrained smugness. As she inspected Rue’s face, it began to soften into something more like affection. “Well?” she prompted. “I was right, wasn’t I?”

Rue cast their eyes downward, a flustered happiness warming their broad face. “I’m going to need a proper gown,” they said.

#dimension 20 #a court of fey and flowers #acofaf #battlemaster of ceremonies #ruehob #mine

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rocorambles · 4 years ago

Text

Can’t Catch A Break

Pairing: Atsumu x Reader

Genre/Warnings: Yandere, NSFW, Rape/Non-Con, Violence, Choking, Overstimulation

Summary: Life has a twisted sense of humor and just when you think you're free of someone, they become entangled in your life once again. Just when you gain hope and see the light at the end of the tunnel, life comes crashing down with a new plot twist of its own.

You cringe at the pig-like squeals you hear from your female classmates as a certain blonde setter walks by.

Atsumu! You were amazing at the game last night! Atsumu! Can you teach me how to play?

Gagging at the disgusting scene, you raise the volume of your headphones, concentrating on the text in front of you, not even bothering to spare the athlete a glance as you finish up your homework before class starts. You’ve finally tuned everything out, biting your lower lip in concentration as your pen goes flying across your notebook, scrawling answers left and right, but you flinch at the sudden movement of someone’s hand waving in front of your face.

You scowl at the distraction, ready to give whoever it is a piece of your mind, but your irritation flies out the window and you grin when you meet Osamu’s gaze, beckoning him closer as you ask him some questions you had about last night’s assignment. And the two of you chat, heads close together as he points out a few mistakes you’d made, as you sheepishly laugh at your carelessness and thank him for his help as always, ignorant of the way Atsumu enviously stares at both of you, eyes narrowing at the way you give his brother all your attention, attention he’s never once received even a sliver of.

The Miya twins and you are technically childhood friends, although in reality, it’s really only Osamu who you consider to be your long-time friend and you scrunch your nose in displeasure when you remember meeting a young Atsumu for the first time, only for him to rip your favorite doll in half because you wouldn’t share your toy with him. Needless to say, neither of you really saw eye to eye after that and you ignored him for his quieter and kinder twin.

Years passed and yet stubbornness on both your parts made it impossible for you two to bridge the widening gap, Atsumu too stubborn to apologize, you too stubborn to be the bigger person and forgive him. And as the two of you only got older, Atsumu becoming even cockier and more obnoxious, you having other more important things to worry about than annoying rude boys, the two of you completely drifted apart.

But Atsumu watched over the years as you remained a frequent visitor to their house, watched as his parents welcomed you in like you were a part of the family, watched as you rushed past him to Osamu’s room without even a glance his way. He watched you grow older, grow more beautiful, grow even closer to Osamu until his parents wouldn’t stop joking and asking about when the two of you were finally going to start dating, only making the both of you laugh as you assure them that the two of you are just friends, always will be just friends.

He doesn’t doubt the truth in those words and yet, he can’t help but stare at his brother in disbelief. How could his brother not want you when you’re splayed on his bedroom floor with only a pair of shorts and tshirt, completely vulnerable as you talk about school and volleyball? How could his brother not yearn for you when you smile at him, eyes glimmering with joy as you giggle at something he says? How could his brother not desire you when you let out those delighted moans every time you take a bite out of something you like, your eyes closing in bliss in a way that has Atsumu’s throat going dry?

But the two of you stay true to your words, both of you going off to date other people throughout high school and college, and Atsumu judgmentally stares at the girls Osamu brings back to their shared dorm. They’re fine, he supposes, but none of them are you, none of them compare to you, and he questions his brother’s tastes as thoughts of you plague his mind.

He sees you during the holidays, when all three of you are back home from college, and his nails dig into his palms when he sees the faded hickey on your neck and listens to you gush about your newest and latest boyfriend to Osamu. And jealous anger courses through him as he eavesdrops on Osamu and you as both of you stay up late at night, chatting and catching up, sharing raunchy stories and advice of what to do or not to do during sex, and when he finally closes his eyes, he dreams that it’s him you’re talking about, him who’d fucked you silly in your dorm bed, him who had showed you just how intoxicating a bit of pain with your pleasure could feel.

But when he wakes up cold and alone in his bedroom the next morning, it’s all too clear it’s not him and as the three of you graduate from college and go off on your own paths, he pushes you to the back of his mind, adamant about forgetting you and leaving you in the dust, drowning you out with the resounding smacks of volleyball, the screeching of shoes skidding across the court.

Unfortunately for him, life has different plans and as he focuses on his athletic career, he’s unaware of the way Osamu coaxes you into working alongside him at his onigiri shop, unaware of how you’re once again entangled in the webs of his life and he freezes when he steps into his brother’s restaurant years later and sees you cheerily talking to a customer at the counter, an apron tied around you. And even after all this time, longing and desire crash into him at full force from just a glimpse of you.

This time he doesn’t let pride get in his way, desperation clawing at him and urging him forward, and something primal roars inside of him at the way your eyes go wide in surprise when you recognize him, at the way you stutter out the shop greeting. You’re adorable and he can feel his hands twitch, wanting to touch you and make sure you’re real, unbelieving that you’re so close, right in front of him after he had finally come to terms with the fact that he’d probably never see you again. But he restrains himself, warmly smiling at you and ordering his go-to set meal, making you promise that you’d sit and catch up with him after you’re done closing up and he seats himself in a corner of the restaurant where he can watch you for the rest of the night.

Your heart is pounding in your chest and you take a minute to fan yourself in the kitchen away from the prying eyes that have been locked on you for the last hour. You had been shocked to see the blonde and you chide yourself for your panicked reaction. Of course you were bound to see him at some point, especially now that you work with his brother. Osamu had mentioned that Atsumu visits from time to time and yet, the reality of it isn’t something you had been prepared for.

What game was Atsumu playing now? You shudder when you recall the sharp smile he had given you, the demand in his tone as he asked you to hangout with Osamu and him after closing.

A small part of you wonders if he’s changed, matured. It has been a long time since you’ve last seen him. Maybe you were overthinking things, making things up in your head because of your bad impressions of him when you were younger. But the larger part of you hisses for you to be careful, for you to be wary and you keep your defenses up even as you sit across from him, cups of piping hot tea in front of all three of you as Atsumu whines about not knowing that the two of you had decided to team up in this restaurant venture.

Objectively he’s handsome. He’s always been good looking, but it’s clear that being a professional athlete has even further developed him and you can appreciate the way he fills out his shirt more, the way his broad shoulders make a striking silhouette. And he doesn’t miss the hint of interest in your eyes as you take him all in, preening with pride and something darker now that he finally has your undivided attention. Too bad you’re just as sharp as him and you tense up at the brief glimpse of something ominous in his eyes, in the way he stares at you. But you play nice, thankful that at least Osamu is also here as a buffer, and you sigh in relief when Atsumu finally leaves, off to bed early for a long grueling day of practice tomorrow.

But you quickly realize you had relaxed too soon as Atsumu becomes an almost daily visitor, always coming in right as Osamu and you are closing shop and staying for hours on end, insistent on hanging out with you. And as time goes on, instead of sitting with the both of you, Osamu flits about the rest of the restaurant, going to the storage room to figure out inventory, assessing and cleaning the kitchen, forcing you to keep his brother busy and out of his hair.

Atsumu grows bolder with his brother distracted and not paying close attention to your interactions, leering at you with predatory eyes and a wolfish grin, unabashedly staring at the swell of your breasts, only smirking when you snap at him that your eyes are up in your head and not down there. You snarl at him when he bluntly tells you how good you look in the shop apron, how sexy he bet you would look if you only wore an apron and nothing else, how he wishes he could see the view from behind. You roughly kick his foot away as it begins to trail up your leg, inching up and up towards your inner thigh, grazing the apex of your legs and you victoriously smile when he winces in pain, only to fight back a whimper at the fire in his eyes when he looks at you.

But before he can do or say anything else, Osamu pops out from the back of the restaurant and Atsumu leans back in his chair on his best behavior again and you practically rush up from your seat, bidding a vague farewell as you escape. Only to return to work the next day and play the same push and pull game every night with the blonde setter. You’re thankful that at least Osamu is your saving grace and you comfort yourself in the knowledge that Atsumu won’t do anything too crazy, can’t do anything too awful, not with his twin around.

You consider bringing it up to Osamu, telling him exactly what’s happening, but what then? Would you really make your close friend choose between his own brother, his own flesh and blood, his own family and you? What would their parents think if they ever found out? And you flinch at the thought of hurting or disappointing the two adults who had always treated you like their own daughter. No. That wasn’t even a possibility. So you suck it up. You’re a full grown woman after all. What’s one more misogynistic asshole you have to deal with?

So you put with his objectifying stare, his wandering hands, his degrading comments, fighting fire with fire as you purposefully wear baggier clothes under your apron, wait for Osamu to turn around before shoving Atsumu away from you, shoot a sickeningly sweet smile as you knock his tea onto him when he asks you another outrageously inappropriate personal question about your sex life. And you think everything’s under control only for things to take a twisted turn you aren’t expecting when the entire MSBY Black Jackals team rents out the entire restaurant for a private party.

You’ve come to know the entire team over the months you’ve been working with Osamu, all the players dropping by once in a while to grab a quick snack or meal, and you smile as the shop fills with raucous laughter and joyful spirits as the team celebrates a big win. There’s plenty of food and the liquor is pouring generously as speeches become slurred, as the volume drastically increases and you howl with laughter as Bokuto animatedly shows off his new chest receive move. You’re in such high spirits that even when Atsumu harshly grips your thigh as you walk past him, stopping you and asking for more sake, you merely brush his hand off and retrieve the bottle, returning to fill his glass, too distracted by the celebratory atmosphere to pay attention to the setter.

And maybe that’s why you aren’t aware of how Atsumu is leaning towards you, calloused hands removing the bottle from your hand and setting it on the table before forcefully dragging you into his lap, a hand wrapped around the back of your head as he slams against your lips in a bruising kiss, only clutching you tighter as you struggle and try to push him away. Fear lances through you and you flail as much as you can, panicking when his strong arms don’t budge, only winding tighter and tighter around you until there isn’t any space between the two of you, until you can feel your breasts squished against his toned chest. You cry into his mouth, hot tears pricking your eyes when one arm sneaks down to grope an ass cheek, kneading and slapping the clothed flesh, when you can feel the tent in his pants pressing against your clothed groin.

But even Atsumu has to breathe and when he pulls away, you don’t even think as your arm swings up and suddenly it’s silent as a loud slapping sound pierces through the room. All eyes are on the two of you, but you don’t care, you don’t notice. You only have eyes for Atsumu and all the disgust and anger you had built up inside of you, kept to yourself, comes rushing out as you viciously snarl at him, telling him you’re done with his harassment, openly jeering at him to go find a prostitute if he’s so desperate or maybe one of his stupid fan girls, anyone else but you. Venomous word after word is spat at him and you don’t stop until you’re out of breath, until your throat is hoarse from screaming and finally when there’s nothing left to say, you rush out of the room, past the horrified and stunned faces of his teammates, of Osamu, never looking back once, never stopping until you’re tucked underneath your bed covers, sobbing to yourself, skin rubbed raw and mouth brushed until your gums bled in an effort to wash yourself completely of his touch.

You don’t return to work for days, ignoring the numerous calls and texts from Osamu, completely shutting off your phone. Now that time has passed, now that you’re not in the heat of the moment, you feel embarrassed by the spectacle you’d made, the dramatic scene you’d given Atsumu’s entire team and Osamu front row seats to. You don’t regret your actions, knowing you’re in the right, knowing no one should have to put up with what you had, but your skin crawls imagining how facing anyone who had witnessed that night would go, unsure where they all stand on the matter, wondering if Atsumu is dragging your name in the mud, calling you a drama queen, a liar behind your back.

But Osamu isn’t having your cowardly act and you feel sick when you hear pounding on your door, Osamu’s familiar voice muffled, but loud from the other side of the door, begging you to let him in, to talk with him. And you consider just staying silent, waiting for him to leave, but long minutes pass and he doesn’t let up, seemingly getting only louder and more insistent the longer you leave him hanging and taking a deep breath, you finally unlock the door and let him in, looking anywhere but him as he shuts the door behind him.

You’re not sure what to expect, not sure who’s side he’s on, but when strong arms wrap around you and gently bring you in for a hug, his familiar scent and warmth surrounding you as he tucks your head under his chin, you sob into his chest, releasing all the anxiety and stress you had felt, relief flooding through you when you peer up into his eyes and he looks at you the same way he always has, like best friends, like family. And the two of you curl up on your couch and he lets you fully tell your side of the story, finally explain everything that had been happening, and you let out a watery laugh when he only berates you for not trusting him, not telling him sooner.

You laugh at yourself, wondering how you could have thought the whole world would be against you and you're eternally grateful to Osamu for dragging your reluctant body back to work as your regular customers cheerfully greet you, telling you they had missed you, as Bokuto and Hinata stop by and grace you with their megawatt smiles as they order their usual orders. And life finally feels normal again. Better than normal.

You're not sure what had gone down between the Miya twins after the incident, but Osamu had assured you that Atsumu was never coming back to the restaurant, that you'd never have to see him again. And like he says, despite the way your eyes nervously glance at the door when closing time approaches for the first few weeks, no blonde haired man ever enters the establishment and as the months go on, Atsumu isn't even on your mind anymore, forgotten as you move on with your life.

And now it's your turn to take care of Osamu and you shove him out of the restaurant, waving off his million comments and reminders as you help him pack for his vacation you had forced him to go on. You knew the man like the back of your hand and it was painstakingly clear how exhaustion and stress were eating away at him as he slaved away in the kitchen, hovered over his account books.

The onigiri shop is rapidly growing, gaining momentum and popularity neither of you had anticipated, and while in many ways those things are a blessing, they also are a source of the growing pains Osamu and you feel as the business outgrows the small shop tactics the two of you had utilized. But you force him away with the promise that once he's rejuvenated and refreshed, the two of you would sit down together, map out the future of the restaurant, and embark on that new chapter together. And he flicks your forehead when you dramatically tell him he's no use to either of you if he drops dead from overexertion one day, but he smiles and you wave him off on his long overdue break.

Life is hectic as you run the shop by yourself and you're running on less than empty as the days drag on. Maybe that's why you get careless. Maybe that's why you forget to lock the front door even after pulling down all the blinds and flipping over the open sign to announce the restaurant's closure. Maybe that's why you don't hear the door quietly open and close or the approaching footsteps as you do inventory in the storage room.

You startle at the sound of the door slamming shut behind you, whipping your head around only to feel your heart drop as you lock eyes with a face you thought you'd never see again. Palpable fear makes you tremble and your shaky body wants nothing more to bolt, but with the only entrance and exit blocked by Atsumu's imposing body, there's nowhere to go and instead you cower backwards, slowly backing yourself into the wall, trying to stay as far as physically possible from the athlete.

"You shouldn't be here, Atsumu. I'll tell Osamu."

You know you're grasping at straws unsuccessfully when Atsumu wickedly laughs at your words and you flinch as he takes step after step until he's right in front of you, crowding you against the wall. He's so close you can feel his body warmth and like a cornered animal, you make a wild dash past him towards the door.

Or at least you try to.

But years of trained athletic reflexes serve your visitor well and before you can even take a step away, he has you slammed against the wall, his body pressed against yours, both your wrists pinned above your head in one of his larger hands, his other hand tightly gripping your waist. And bile rises in your throat as you feel his hard length rubbing against you, as you hear him moan as he forcefully grinds against your body.

"Sure. Go ahead and tell 'Samu when I'm done with you, if you can even form words or think properly by then. He's not back from his little trip for another few weeks. More than enough time for me to show you exactly who you belong to."

You protest as his lips once again slam against yours, but this time you're more prepared and you sneer at him when he recoils from your bite, red hot fury and pride soaring in you at the sight of blood trickling from his mouth. But you sob when a large calloused hand strikes you across the face, leaving a burning ache in its wake that you can't even register as the same hand wraps around your throat, squeezing and squeezing until black spots dance at the edge of your vision and your body thrashes in his grip.

Just when you think you might pass out, he abruptly lets go and you collapse to the ground, gasping and heaving for air, too busy trying to breathe to fully retaliate against the way you're being forcefully repositioned on the floor, only feebly fending off his hands as they tear off your clothes while you clutch at your smarting face and bleeding nose.

But your struggling begins anew, propelled by denial and despair when you're laid completely bare underneath him, his hungry eyes raking over your body and you dig your nails into his arms as he slaps and roughly kneads your breasts, painfully pinching and twisting your nipples. But that doesn't deter him in the slightest and you clench your eyes shut as he cruelly coos down at you about how honest your body is as your nipples betray you and harden under his attention, biting back a moan that threatens to escape as his head dives down and his tongue licks your sensitive buds while his lips wrap around and suck.

You hate him, you hate yourself, you hate your body as his fingers easily glide into your slick hole and your hands rush to cover your face, your mouth, anything to muffle your lewd sounds, to hide the aroused look on your face. But Atsumu isn't having it and you obediently place your hands at your side when he growls at you to let him see you, let him hear you, punctuating his order by slapping your throbbing clit and threatening to beat you to a bloody pulp until you listen.

The wet sounds of your dripping cunt being finger fucked and your wanton moans create a ghastly symphony and you just want it all to stop, want the tightening coil in your stomach to go away, but it only curls more and more with every drag of calloused fingertips against your insides, until you're wailing as you come undone, convulsing around the fingers slamming into you, screaming as he doesn't let up his pace even when you've finished riding the pleasure.

It's a mind numbing cocktail of pain and pleasure and you don't know if you're begging for him to stop or for more as he wraps his mouth around your overly spent clit, creating a vacuum like suction around it as he continuously pumps his fingers in and out of you and you think you might die from all the feelings inside of you as you're quickly forced to another orgasm, too soon after your first, wailing and sobbing for Atsumu to stop. It's too much. Too much. Too much. You're going to break.

Unfortunately for you, that's exactly what Atsumu has planned for you and the blonde triumphantly smiles at the dying fight in your eyes, the internal confusion he sees as your carnal desires battle your more logical self-preservation. It's cute how your hands still make the motion of shoving him away even if there is only weak kitten like force behind it. It's endearing how pretty tears streak your face while you weakly tell him to stop despite the way your resistance is peppered with little moans of pleasure, despite the way your pussy milks his fingers, your hole fluttering and a tiny whine escaping you when he pulls his digits out, leaving you empty and aching.

But he thinks you must be the most beautiful like this, eyes blown wide with pleasure, mouth opening in a choked scream, fingers clawing for purchase as he impales his entire length inside of you in one thrust, the sticky mess of your last two orgasms making it all to easy to slide in, no resistance from your quivering loosened walls. And he mockingly laughs at the way your eyes roll back, as you loudly moan as he bucks his hips, his cock ramming in and out of you, his balls obscenely slapping against your ass with every movement.

He can feel your thighs clench, see how you stop breathing as your climax approaches, and he furiously reaches down to rub your clit, hissing as you clamp down around him, hungrily devouring the sight of you completely breaking apart underneath and around him as he forces you to your crest once again. And he shortly follows, roughly grabbing your hips and holding you still as he slams one last time inside of you, releasing his seed deep inside of you, salivating at the image of how pretty your insides must look coated with white.

And as he takes in your drool and tear smeared face, the way your eyes are rolled back and unseeing, the way your body twitches in the aftershocks of such powerful forced pleasure, he can feel lust stir inside of him once again, his cock twitching and coming back to life, still nestled deep inside of you and he laughs at how reactive and sensitive you are as he gives an experimental thrust, an instantaneous mewl slipping past your lips.

"Stay with me, babe. I'm nowhere near done with you."

#haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #haikyuu yandere #yandere atsumu #atsumu x reader #tw: noncon #tw: rape #tw: abuse #tw: violence

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btssavedmylifeblr · 5 years ago

Text

Gwanghae Flow (M)

Genre: Historical porn with plot

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader

Summary: The queen receives a forbidden visitor in the middle of the night.

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: explicit sexual activity, somewhat dubious consent, unhealthy relationship dynamics, slut shaming, adultery, impreg kink, knife/sword play, historical inaccuracy and excessive use of kdrama tropes

A/N: Here’s my small contribution to our collective thirst for the king Agust D.

______

The whole palace is asleep, except you. Your eyes stare upward into the darkness, but there’s no light to make anything out. You would light a candle, except that would alert your guard to the fact you were still awake. And he never left until he was sure you were asleep.

A floorboard creaks and you sit bolt upright. You clutch the bedcovers to you as you wait for the door to open. Has he finally come?

But the door remains closed. Is he not coming? It had taken a month just to find the chance to speak to him alone, to whisper to him the time that your guard retired for the evening, to urge him to come to you, for him to nod and lick his lips. “Yes, my queen.”

Another soft creak of wood makes you startle, but still he doesn’t appear. You sigh in frustration, giving up and closing your eyes. You’ll need a new plan in the morning.

It’s still dark when you wake, lulled from sleep by a soft caress. A finger traces its way down your jawline. A thumb glides across your lips. But as your eyes open, the touches stop. A hand clamps down across your mouth, sealing off your ability to scream.

A single candle illuminates your room and the man who holds you down. He’s still dressed in his court clothing, all black except for the gold ornaments that gleam in his long blonde hair, dangle from his ears, and sparkle on his hands. His fingers taste like rice wine against your lips.

“Is this a trap, my queen?” He sits on the blankets next to you, holding you down at the waist in addition to the hand covering your mouth. “You won’t scream if I let you go?”

You shake your head as best you can with the tight grip he has on you. You asked him here for a purpose.

He withdraws his hand from your mouth slowly, but leaves the hand on your waist. The candle only lights half his face. In the soft glow, he still looks very much like the boy you knew years ago. The boy who held your hand by the river and asked you for one soft kiss under the cherry blossoms before he left for war.

“Hello, my queen,” he says, fingers slowly tracing the ribbons around your waist that seal off your nightclothes.

“Hello, Yoongi.” You had hoped to call him your king, all those years ago on the riverbank, promising to wait for him until he returned to you. But the years have been unkind to you both. “I was expecting you earlier.”

“Your guard was particularly reluctant to leave your door tonight.” His eyes rake down your body, lingering on your bare leg that has wiggled its way out from under your skirt. “Perhaps your husband gave him specific instructions to not leave you alone?” His tongue plays teasingly at the inside of his cheek as he continues to stare down at you; his hand is warm where it sits on your waist.

“My husband”- you twist your body toward him so that the hem on your skirt rides up a little higher -”does not care how I spend my evenings.”

His eyes linger on the newly exposed skin. “I think he would care about you inviting strange men into your bedchamber.”

“You are not a stranger.” You interlace your fingers over his at your waist.

He leans backwards, sharp eyes examining you, and the whole of his face is revealed. The wound that marred your future together shines red on the other side of his face, an angry gash from above his brow to beneath his eye. “I am not the man you knew.”

“No...” You slide his hand up your side to tease at the strings that hold close your blouse. “The boy I knew would never sneak into the bed of a married woman.” Your transparent white undergarments reveal the curves of your body even though you are still covered. You had chosen the thinnest ones you owned. “I am hoping you have become a bolder man since then.”

“Bolder, yes, and more reckless.” His fingers wrap into the ribbons, undoing the closure of your blouse, but not yet opening it.

You shrug the top from your shoulders to bare your naked chest before him. Your bare breasts and flimsy silks are a stark contrast to his full royal dress. He still has his sword tied to his waist. “Reckless indeed, to bring your weapon this deep into the palace.”

“They would kill me if they found me here.” He smirks as he says it, as if he’d like to see them try. “Seemed wise to take precautions.” His hand twitches at his side as he stares at your exposed chest.

“I’d like to dispense with precaution.” You bring his hand up to your breast. His calloused fingers slide tentatively across your smooth skin.

“It would seem,” he says, his touches growing firmer as you lean into them, “that you are not the girl I knew either. When did the woman I loved become such a desperate slut?”

It punches the air from your lungs and you are deeply ashamed. You pull away from him, squirming and trying to tug your shirt back on. “I’m not…” He doesn’t understand. “I’ve never…”

His hands block you from covering yourself, fingers tugging at your nipples, which harden even as your shame grows. “Now, now, my queen, it’s too late for that. You asked me here for a reason. You disrobed in front of me for a reason.” He pinches your nipple between his fingers, causing sparks of heat to travel up your neck and down your groin. “Tell me, my queen, what can I do for you that his majesty, my brother, cannot?”

He brings his face closer to you and you can smell the wine on his breath.You clamp your hands over his in a futile attempt to stop his teasing of your breasts. “Are you drunk?”

He chuckles low and wryly. “Drunk enough to sneak into the king’s wife’s bedroom in the middle of the night? Yes.” He lets go of you, leaning back and licking his lips. “But not too drunk to be of service.” He palms the crotch of his pants and you can see the bulge that has arisen there.

You sit up and re-cover yourself, suddenly afraid you don’t have the guts to see your plan through to the end. This is not the boy you thought you could control. “Perhaps I have no need for your services. Perhaps I just wanted to see you.”

“You could see me in the daytime, your majesty.” He slips his hand under the hem of your skirt to run slow circles around your ankle bone. Heat snakes up your leg, straight to your core, and you fall backward onto the bed once more. He smirks as his hand begins moving higher up your leg, twirling figure eight patterns up your calf. “We both know that is not why you asked me to sneak past your guards in the middle of the night.”

“It’s been years.” You try to tug your leg away from him, but he grips your thigh and holds you in place. “Perhaps I wanted to see how you were.”

“It has indeed been years.” Your arousal continues to build as he invades higher and higher. “So perhaps I have waited long enough to take what was rightfully mine.”

The muscles in your groin clench as he reaches the inside of your thigh, just above the knee, blocked from further travel by the short pants you wore under your skirt.

“Unless, of course...” He traces slow circles at the junction of your knee. “You want me to leave.”

You’ve never been this wet in the company of a man before. Your husband has certainly never made you feel this way. His hand continues to slide up your leg, searching for the ribbons that will unlock the most intimate part of you. You had planned to seduce the prince tonight, but you had not expected to enjoy it this much. “No, I don’t want you to leave.”

He grins. “I didn’t think so.” His fine fingers find the drawstrings to your pants and pull the knots apart with ease. He slides your undergarments down your legs, leaving you naked beneath your skirt, then pushes your skirt up to your waist so you lie bare before him.

Your desire for him leaks from you and he can see it, glistening in the candlelight.

“This”- he cups your sex in his large hand -“this should have been mine.”

You groan as his thumb finds the sensitive nub at the apex of your entrance. He rubs slow circles into you as you rock against his hand, more slick spilling from you as the heat in your groin grows. “I wanted to be yours,” you whisper.

He frowns, brows knitting together, throwing the scar into sharp relief on his face. “Don’t tell me things you think I want to hear.” He stops the circles against you, cupping you instead. “My wounds hadn’t even healed before you wedded my brother.”

“I had no choice in the matter.” You rock against him in frustration, chasing your arousal. Your family had raised you to marry the king, and Yoongi could no longer be king. Kings can’t have scars.

“You could have refused.” He resumes the rubbing of your clitoris with an even faster pace. “You could have run away. I would have found you.”

This time you pause him, stopping his hand with yours and looking him in the eye. “You could have refused to go.”

His eyes unfocus for a moment, staring into the darkness behind you. You imagine that he is feeling all the regrets of those years, the same as you.

The scar that mars his features gleams in the candlelight. The reason the crown prince was replaced. The reason he was not yours every night. You reach out to touch it but he stops you with a hand to your wrist before you reach his cheek.

“Don’t touch it.” He yanks you up off the floor by your wrist and flips you over onto your hands and knees, naked except for the skirt tied around your waist. He doesn’t bother untying it, just flips it up to expose your cunt again.

You groan when his fingers return to your core.

“Is this an unusual position for you, my queen?” You can hear the smirk in his voice even without seeing his face. “Tell me, what position does my brother usually fuck you in?”

He pairs his degradation with a renewed effort to coax your arousal from you. His hands grip your cheeks and spread them, putting you on display even further as he massages the fatty tissue.

“Does he treat you like a queen? Does he take his time to worship you properly?” He brings his mouth to you, tongue diving inside you as his thumb resumes its work on your clit. Your fingers curl into the bed sheets beneath you as you fight to stay upright.

He pulls away as you rock back against him. “Or does he fuck you like the whore he paid for?” He spanks you harshly right on your sex. You have to bite your lip to keep from calling out. The gold rings on his fingers sting, but it doesn’t stop more fluids from leaking from you.

In truth, your husband did neither. The king would visit you when he was drunk, fumble his way through your clothes to access what he wanted, thrust into you enough to achieve his own ends, and then leave. Sometimes he would thank you. Sometimes he wouldn’t bother speaking to you. Mercifully, these visits have become less and less frequent over the years.

“He does touch you, doesn’t he?” Two of Yoongi’s long fingers slide inside you easily, slick with your juices. “Clearly, your virtue is long gone. No virgin would open up so easily for me, would rock back onto my fingers so greedily.”

“He has touched me.” You gasp when Yoongi curls his fingers, pressing along your walls in a way your husband never has. “But not like this.”

“So tell me, my queen...” He pairs the press of his fingers inside you with the resumed pattern on your clit and your legs begin to shake. “Why, in these many long years, has my brother not put a child in you?”

“He can’t,” you gasp, finally spilling the reason you asked the prince here tonight.

“The king can’t have children?” He pauses his movements, but only for a moment, until you wiggle in your desperation for him to continue.

You groan as he curls his fingers again, but manage to nod. “They blame me for it.” The court, your family, your mother-in-law, even your husband himself told you it was your fault. The tide of politics was rapidly turning against you.

“Of course, they do. The body of the king can only be perfect. But you are replaceable.” He smacks your ass in emphasis for this last sentiment. “Surely he has fucked other women in the last five years.”

“He has.”

“But no little bastards run around these halls.”

“No, they do not.”

He pulls his fingers from you and holds them up your face. “Are you fertile today, my queen?” Your slick strings between his fingers. “Is that why you asked me here tonight?”

“Yes…” Your empty cunt aches for him. “Yes, please, Yoongi…”

His fingers turn your chin to face him as he leans over you. “Then there is indeed something I can give you that my brother cannot.”

And then he kisses you. Soft and firm, hands gripping your neck to hold you against his mouth. It makes you breathless in a whole new way. You are fighting to hold yourself upright by the time he pulls away.

He moves behind you, not bothering to disrobe, but merely pulling his pants down far enough to release his erection. He grips your hips tightly as he slides inside you.

“God…” he groans, hips stuttering as he seats himself in you. “This… this should be mine. You should have been mine.”

“I am yours, Yoongi, please.” You rock back against, delighting in the fullness of him finally being where you want him.

“Not as you should be.” His long hair tickles your back as he bends over you. “I stayed unmarried for you.” He punctuates each sentence with a thrust into you that grows stronger each time. “I waited for you. I let younger men talk down to me, worn my hair long, all for you. All in the vain hope that I might be yours when I returned. But you couldn’t wait for me.”

The sound of steel on steel echoes through your bedchamber and you startle. Have you been discovered? You try to look around, but Yoongi’s hand grabs your neck to hold you in place. Then you feel the cold bite of metal against the front of your thighs.

“I could mark you too,” he whispers, pressing the flat of the blade against your bare skin. “I could leave you scarred and unworthy like me.” His cock kicks inside you and you groan, trying to hold still despite the overwhelming desire for him coursing through you.

“What would my brother do then?” he muses. “Would he cast you out? Would he admit to the world that I claimed what was his just as he claimed what was mine? Or would he continue to fuck you, every time having to cross the mark I made on you.”

“Do it,” you urge, pressing back against him. “Mark me. Claim me as yours.” You want it. You want to be his and his alone.

There is a long pause. Then the blade is gone as the sword clatters to the floor beside you.

“I don’t need to mark you.” He resumes his thrusts, pace increasing as his grip on your hips tightens. “You’re going to grow round with my child and everyone will see it. They’ll all know and not be able to do anything about it. My son will sit on the throne someday. I’ll come back and fuck you every night until you birth my heir.”

He buries himself deep inside you as he finishes, warm seed pumping into you.

His fingers return to your clitoris, rubbing in firm circles as the last few aftershocks run through him. “Come, my queen, draw my child up inside you.”

You obey, pelvic muscles clenching rhythmically, squeezing hard around his softening cock and milking out the last of his release.

You sigh in relief as you collapse down onto the bed. You curl up on your side, drawing your knees to your chest.

He tuts as some of the white fluid begins leaking from you, running a finger across your sex one last time to gather it up and stuff it back inside you. Your cunt gives one last contented pulse of lingering arousal.

He pulls your skirt back down to cover you, patting your ass as he does so. He draws the bed sheets over you and kisses you one last time on the cheek. “Make sure my brother fucks you in the next few days,” he whispers. He blows out the candle, and then he’s gone.

_______

A/N: Hope you enjoyed that! I know there’s not any actual evidence for the “kings can’t have scars” thing in the historical record. But I needed it for the Angst™! I blame Moon Lovers: Scarlet Heart Ryeo. Thank you for reading!

#yoongi x reader #yoongi smut #agust d smut #daechwita inspired #btssavedmylifeblr #gwanghae flow

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mmvalentine · 3 years ago

Note

Maybe Rhys drugs Feyre so she can talk and see but she can’t move and he has his fun? 👀

Pinned

Feyre and Rhys are at war.

Whoever pins their mate first wins. If Rhys wins, he gets to fuck Feyre. If Feyre wins, she gets to fuck Rhys.

It’s a good game.

It started off as a training exercise, if Feyre recalls correctly. Rhys would come up in a sneak attack and incapacitate her, and timed how long it would take her to get free, fight back, and pin him to the ground.

Of course, Rhys enjoyed this far too much.

The first time, he plunged her into utter darkness while they were walking in the forest, and Feyre was left groping around trying not trip over roots or walk into low branches. She strained her ears but her mate’s low chuckle seemed to come from directly behind her, at the nape of her neck no matter which way she turned.

Where are you going, lost little bird? he purred in her mind. Feyre spun, reaching out but touching nothing. Suddenly, rough hands shoved her and her back hit tree back. Feyre tried to open her eyes wider, but it was no use. She was blind.

“Why don’t you show yourself, coward,” Feyre lashed out. The darkness was amused.

I can see, he said. Feyre jumped when his tongue hit her neck. Licked a broad stripe all the way up the side of her throat and ended just below her ear.

Where’s your fight back? Rhys crooned. Maybe you need to learn not to rely on your eyes so much.

“Maybe,” Feyre conceded. Rhys was now moving his lips back and forth along her jaw. “Or maybe I just need to look on the bright side.”

Rhys had just lifted his hands to cradle her skull, when Feyre let a ball of light burst forth from her chest. Rhys flinched and stumbled back, while the day court glow flooded down Feyre’s limbs. She gave him a wide smile as she drew in a deep breath and looked around herself.

“Much better,” she said, and before Rhys could recover, she knocked him to the ground. He made an oof sound as he landed, and Feyre straddled his chest on the leaf covered forest floor.

“I win,” she said, and kissed his nose. Rhys laughed and pulled her down to kiss his mouth. His hands wound her hair around and around his fingers, and Feyre pulled his trousers open. The shadows melted away, but Feyre didn’t stop glowing while they made love amongst the trees.

The second time, Rhys bound Feyre in her sleep, and woke her up with his breath hot on her lips and his fingers poised at the apex of her thighs.

Feyre moaned softly, and her eyes fluttered open. Rhys smiled at her, kissed her gently, and said “Good morning, lover.” Feyre smiled back at first, but then tried to reach for him and suddenly realised what he had done. Rhys smiled wider.

“Untie me you prick,” Feyre growled.

“Untie yourself,” Rhys replied, and then started stroking his fingers gently over her pussy. Feyre groaned and squirmed against the soft cotton ropes, but they held firm.

“How am I supposed to untie myself?” Feyre snapped. But Rhys only shrugged, and moved his teeth in her shoulder.

“Doesn’t really sound like my problem, does it?” He winked at her, then reached his free arm under and around her to squeeze her breast from behind.

Anger coiled in Feyre’s gut. This arrogant, smug bastard. She clenched her fists together and pulled her wrists apart. Of course the rope didn’t budge.

And yet Rhys let go of her suddenly, as if burned.

Burned.

That was the answer. Feyre fanned her anger into flame, and with a white hot flourish the rope against her skin burned away. Feyre turned to Rhys in triumph, and found him sitting up against the headboard. Watching her with light dancing in his eyes, even as he blew on his singed fingertips. Feyre laughed, and sat herself over his lap.

“I win again,” she said, and Rhys leaned his head back and pushed her hair behind her ear.

“Clever girl,” he whispered. Then he gripped her hips and ground her down over his lap, right onto his hard cock. Feyre’s hands found the top of the headboard as she rocked against him, until she was soaking through her panties.

She kneeled up off Rhys’s lap, and he met her eyes only briefly before he was sliding down the bed so that his face was level with her hips. He pulled her underwear down, tugged her forward and sucked her clit into his mouth. Feyre moaned and let her head fall back, hands still gripping the headboard, as Rhys ate her out while his fingers softly stroked the backs of her thighs where he held her.

After that, Feyre started getting revenge.

One time Rhys stepped into the bath, and the water rose suddenly into great spikes of ice that imprisoned him in the tub. His naked flesh broke out in goosebumps and he shivered so hard his teeth clacked together, while Feyre stood before him and ran her hot tongue over his chest.

One time Feyre soaked a pair of leather cuffs in faebane, and when he closed his eyes to kiss her she shackled him to the bed frame. He strength was sapped in an instant, and the shadows thrashed helplessly while Feyre dripped candle wax onto his wings.

One time Feyre painted herself to camouflage in with the mountain side, and lay in wait until Rhys walked by and then abducted him into a small cave. Rhys had yelped in surprise, then pushed her up against the wall and began to muddy the paint on her skin.

So now, Rhys has a plan.

He makes her breakfast in bed one morning, and laces her orange juice with a paralytic potion he pinched from Magda’s stores. He knows that if Feyre tries very hard, her healing powers can rid her body of the stuff in minutes. But only if she tries very hard.

It's a good thing Feyre is training.

Rhys lies across the bed propped up on an elbow, still in his undershorts and mussed hair. He watches Feyre smile as she bites into her toast, and then raises her glass to wash it all down. So innocent. So adoring. So full of trust.

As if he didn’t still have her nail marks in his back.

The potion works quickly, and Rhys’s grin spreads wider as Feyre looks down first in confusion, and then in rage as her limbs slow and stiffen.

Rhys tsks as he swiftly removes the tray of food before it spills.

“Never accept food or drink unless you're certain of your trust, dearest,” he lectures. “I shouldn’t have to explain that to you.”

Feyre raises an eyebrow, finding her face still able to move although her legs are now lead. “And am I not to trust you, mate?” she throws back at him. Rhys looks affronted.

“Of course not darling, we’re at war.” He shakes his head, and arranges her arms above her head. Feyre tries to push back against him, but cannot.

Rhys drapes himself languidly over her body, tracing his finger from her brow to her lips and around the edge of her breast.

"I think I like you like this," he says, and the weight of him presses the air from Feyre's lungs. "Laid out on my bed and unable to lift a finger."

"This is cheating," Feyre protests. "How is it training if you've poisoned me?"

"How indeed?" Rhys echoes. "If only there was some way you could rid your body of toxins and ailments. Pity."

Feyre glares at him, and he starts to slide her night dress up her body like he has all the time in the world. "Well," he muses. "I guess you'll just be my plaything until you figure it out." And with that he closes his mouth over her breast and pulls her nipple between his teeth.

Feyre gasps and instinctively arches her back, but her spine does not obey. Rhys chuckles, and flicks his tongue over the tip of her. His hands continue undressing her, fluttering over her skin as it is increasingly exposed.

"Did I ever tell you you have the most divine skin?" Rhys says, as he begins to press kisses all over her abdomen. Across her ribcage, down her stomach. His fingertips smooth over the length of her legs, and then his warm hands glide up the inside of her thighs. "No one makes silk like your skin, not even in the faerie realm." Rhys's nose skims across her hips, and goosebumps rise up her useless arms. "Just want to spend all day touching you."

Rhys keeps moving his lips, lower and lower. She can feel him smile when she tries to lift her hips to him. His thumbs circle against her so that they just barely brush the cotton of her underwear, and his tongue starts to play everywhere but where she wants it most.

"Rhys," she whispers, straining against the drug. But her mate frowns.

"Now now," he says, "playthings don't talk."

Finally, finally he licks a stripe up her pussy and it ends in a suckling kiss against her clit. Feyre sighs in relief, but then he's teasing again. He's flicking feather light touches against her clit, and if she could just get closer-

"You're thinking far too loudly pet," Rhys says mildly, lifting his face to look at her. "Be a good girl and lie still now."

"Prick," Feyre spits back at him, and without batting an eye Rhys slides two fingers inside her.

Feyre's eyes roll and her fingers twitch as she's stroked, in and out with his expert touch. For a minute, she forgets to struggle and just lets herself relax while he slowly builds her up. Rhys smiles as Feyre begins to moan.

"More," she breathes. "Faster."

But Rhys does the opposite. Adds a thumb over her clit but slows his movements down and grins feline when Feyre's eyes snap open.

"What's wrong, Feyre darling?" he coos. Feyre cries out in frustration, and tries to rock herself on his hand. Of course, she can't. Rhys's grin spreads, and she wants to smack him.

Feyre closes her eyes, and tries to take a deep breath. She knows she can access her healing powers if she can just calm down.

At that moment, Rhys starts rubbing the flat of his tongue up and down her clit while his fingers continue their torturous motion. Feyre's mind slides out of clarity, and she can feel herself soak his hand.

She sucks a breath in through her teeth, and tries to focus again. Rhys is now taking bites over her hips, hurting her just enough to pull her attention. Feyre ignores him as best she can, and imagines the potion being drained from her veins.

In a strange mix of sensations, Feyre starts to feel her energy draining into the effort of healing herself, but also begins to feel lighter. The heaviness lifts, just a little, from her limbs.

When Rhys slides up her body and licks his tongue up her throat, Feyre's head tilts back and her hips find his. She still can't get her arms to move, but her back arches up slightly, and her breasts press up against Rhys's bare chest.

"Good girl," Rhys whispers. He is rock hard between her legs, and grinds into her with rolling hips. He pulls her underwear the rest of the way off. Then his. His cock glides against the wetness of her, and his lips find the line of her jaw.

Feyre's toes curl, and her knees start to bend. She wants so badly to get her legs around his hips, but she can't quite do it.

"Is that the best you can do?" Rhys taunts, words vibrating in the hollow of her throat. Her fingers twitch toward her palm, and Rhys spots the motion. He smiles, bites down on her lip and lifts her wrists above her head. His knees cage her hips. "I think this is you pinned," he says in her ear, and then kisses her mouth.

Feyre throws everything she has into pushing the poison out, and just as Rhys's lips leave hers, she pulls out of his grip like Cassian taught her, flips their position and straddles Rhys's hips victoriously.

Rhys laughs and laughs.

"I almost had you there, dearest," he says. But Feyre is in no mood.

"Shut up," she tells him, and then takes his cock in her hand and sits down on it.

Rhys groans as she comes down tight around him. His hands grip her hips, but at this stage Feyre doesn't care what he does. She puts her hands on his thighs behind her and bounces on his lap, getting him exactly where she needs him. Rhys holds his thumb over her clit while she moves, and lets her take over.

Feyre's head drops back and release drips down her spine. She's so wound up she knows it won't take much to push her over the edge. Rhys leans forward to get his mouth on her breasts, and when his tongue flicks at her nipple she start to come. Rhys grabs her hips when her movements get erratic and keeps fucking her through her climax, so that she keeps screaming as he finds his own release and by the time he lets her go she is limp in his arms.

Feyre rests against Rhys's chest, as they breathe hard together.

"I win," Feyre mumbles. Rhys chuckles softly.

"When this is losing," he says, "somehow I don't mind at all."

****

MASTERLIST

TAGLIST: @ghostlyrose2 @highladysith @stardelia @feysand-loml @tillyrubes10 @ratabrasileira @live-the-fangirl-life @maybekindasortaace @annejulianneh111 @thebonecarver @rowaelinismyotp @loosingdreams @whythefuckdoiexist @inejsarrow @swankii-art-teacher @sjmships @courtofjurdan @teddytdr @positivewitch @thalia-2-rose @darling-archeron @rapunzel1523 @fairchildjace @philosophorumaurum02 @story-scribbler @allthecolorsneverseen @asteria-of-mars @fandomstalker27 @realbookloverproblems

#feysand #feysand fic #acotar #asks #prompt fill #it's really been a minute #hope they're still coming out okay

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the-lonelybarricade · 3 years ago

Note

for the feysand oneshot, how abouuuutttt............ omg a feysand wedding!!!!! we've been deprived of it and you're the only one i trust to write it correctly :D

Hello my lovely anon! Sorry it took me so long to get to this one, I got a bit swept away yesterday and then I was prepping for the ACoFD upload today, but we got to it in the end! This one was a little tough for me because I may or have not already written a Feysand wedding scene for ACoFD and I didn't want this one to by a copycat.

Anway, here's a short and canon compliant wedding scene starting immediately after the end of chapter 60 in ACoMaF:

Read on AO3

“So I won my wedding ring without even being asked if I wanted to marry you.”

“Perhaps.”

Feyre cocked her head. “Do--do you want me to wear it?”

“Only if you want to.”

“When we go to Hybern… Let’s say things go badly. Will anyone be able to tell that we’re mated? Could they use that against you?”

Rage flickered in his eyes. “If they see us together and can scent us both, they’ll know.”

“And I show up alone, wearing a Night Court wedding ring--”

He snarled softly.

Feyre closed the box, leaving the ring inside. “After we nullify the Cauldron, I want to do it all. Get the bond declared, get married, throw a stupid party and invite everyone in Velaris--all of it.”

Rhys took the box from Feyre’s hands and set it down on the nightstand before herding her toward the bed. “And what if I wanted to go one step beyond that?”

“I’m listening,” she purred as he laid her on the sheets.

And Rhys slowly explained his plan to Feyre as he unwound her in his arms. A whisper of words across the valley of her chest, his tongue and lips emphasizing each promise of devotion. He summarized the vows with his head buried between her legs, and explained the ceremony as their body joined. It was certainly a thorough demonstration. Once Feyre had thoroughly become undone in his embrace, he kissed her lips, her neck, her stomach, her legs, and helped her dress.

Still lost to the stupor of their love-making, they snuck out of the town house with a twin pair of elated grins. Rhys looked about as dazed and in love as Feyre felt. She took the moment to savour the feeling, understanding that it was fleeting. That tomorrow, they’d wake up and go to war. But right now, she was walking through Velaris with her mate at her side and the stars above and everything was as it should be. This taste of bliss, it would be worth whatever tomorrow brings.

When they arrived at the temple, the two of them were nearly giddy, drunk on the love and joy throbbing through the golden thread that tied them together. Their sacred bond. The High Priestess was already waiting at the entrance, having been mentally notified of their arrival by Rhysand. She offered them a pleasant smile beneath the hood of her blue robe and bowed her head respectfully before she led them through the temple.

They were escorted into a room with large moonstone arches in place of windows, the space completely open to the soft, saltwater breeze blowing in from the Sidra. The ceiling above was carved with markings reminiscent of Night Court and at its apex, it opened to the night sky. Feyre stared up in awe, marvelling at the waxing moon that shone through, bright and bold among the star-swept sky. It was the perfect place to offer her heart to her mate and his court.

Feyre turned to face Rhys. He was staring at her, adoration plain on his face, and her face heated to realize that he’d been marvelling her in mirror to her gaping at the temple.

Of the glorious sights in the world, Feyre, your beauty surpasses all.

She raised her brows, stepping closer to her mate to play at adjusting the lapels of his jacket. The sight before me certainly challenges such a statement. She made a point of sweeping her gaze over him, stopping at those heartbreaking eyes that were staring at her with such a soft love. Feyre swallowed thickly, feeling all at once enveloped in warmth, like she’d been bundled in a pool of silk.

Rhys swept his arms around her, encircling her in his embrace as he pulled her closer. Then what a view the pair of us must be, he mused.

The High Priestess had been scurrying about, gathering items for the ceremony, but now she appeared at their side. Any mortal notions about modesty didn’t seem to exist in fae ceremonies, for the priestess seemed almost encouraged by the way Feyre and Rhys were clutching onto each other. She made no move to separate them as she began the proceedings, and Feyre was grateful for being able to stay in Rhysand’s arms, safe and warm and complete.

“Feyre Cursebreaker,” she began, her voice loud and clear. It echoed in the open space of the room, carried through the gentle wind, “do you swear to protect and serve the Night Court; to uphold its laws and stand against its enemies; to lead and govern its people; to be a just ruler; and to bow to no and nothing but your crown?”

Feyre pulled away from Rhysand’s embrace, but kept his hand grasped firmly in her own as she faced the High Priestess. “I swear on my life,” she answered resolutely. “I will protect and serve the Night Court and its people. I will lead and govern as a just ruler, and I will uphold the Night Courts laws and stand against its enemies. I will bow to no and nothing but my crown.”

“Kneel now, Cursebreaker, to your crown and country.” The High Priestess gestured to the symbols carved into the moonstone floor and Feyre realized they were standing on the inside circle of the Night Court emblem, the High Priestess just outside the carving.

Feyre nodded, bowing to her knees before the three stars of Ramiel engraved on the floor. The Priestess retrieved a shallow bowl she’d placed on the ground and raised it before Feyre.

“Drink now, from the water that flows through the streams of Ramiel, and let the Mother bless and protect you as the High Lady of the Night Court.”

Feyre raised her chin and drank from the bowl, letting the cool water stay on her tongue as she sent a silent thank you to the Mother and her Cauldron, for having been blessed with such a place to call home, and such a mate to stand beside. And as she drank, she felt her right hand tingle as a twin to her bargain tattoo etched itself into her skin like a lace glove, marking her as High Lady.

When the High Priestess removed the bowl, Rhys was instantly there, fingers placed under her chin. He used that contact point to raise her back to her feet until their lips met. He kissed her so tenderly it scorched her soul, branded her there irrevocably. No one’s touch would ever feel so harmonious, so magnetic.

Then, Rhys pulled away. For a brief second their eyes met, and the burning reverence she saw in those starkissed eyes was staggering. Her whole body felt ablaze as he dropped to his own knees before her, drawing the back of her hand to his lips. “My Lady,” he breathed, his voice thick with emotion. “I will protect and serve. Always. Your word, your command, your will, they are as good as my own, and I will uphold them all. Every breath I take, it will be in your service. Everything that I have, it is yours. Will you take me, as your mate and husband and High Lord?”

“I will,” Feyre said, her voice cracking on the word as she fought against the emotion that clogged her throat, that stung the back of her eyes. Were High Ladies allowed to become blubbering, happy messes in the sacred temples?

Your High Lord has already become one, so I don’t see why High Ladies should be excluded, Rhys murmured. Feyre met his glittering eyes, where tears fell freely down his cheeks. With a sob, Feyre joined him on the floor, both of them kneeling together on the Night Court emblem.

“Will you take me, Rhysand?” Feyre managed to choke out through her tears. “As your mate and wife and High Lady?”

“I already have,” he whispered. “From the moment I met you, and long before that. I have loved you and accepted you as anything you would offer to me. And I always will. My wife, my mate, my High Lady. I love you with everything I am.”

“I love you too, Rhys,” she answered, throwing her arms around his neck to crash her lips to his.

She could taste the salt of their tears, but beyond that she could taste him. Her mate, the soul for her soul, the very person she’d been searching for all her life. And as they burned together on the temple floor, as bright and enduring as the stars themselves, Feyre thought that she was finding more than her other half. She was finding herself, her family, her home, everything that had always felt unattainable and farfetched. For so long she’d never known what it was to be loved, but now, in her husband’s arms, crowned as his equal in every way, she felt so much more than that.

For the first time since turning High Fae, she truly felt immortal. Powerful, everlasting, eternal. High on love and life as she kissed her mate endlessly under the blanket of moonlight. She’d never dreamed she could feel this way, so liberated, so unabatedly happy.

To the people who look up at the stars and wish, Rhys.

To the stars who listen, mate. And the dreams, like this one, that are answered.

Taglist: @cretaceous-therapod @live-the-fangirl-life @feybaenc @imsecretlyaherondale-blog @tanvee1231

#Feysand #Feysand wedding scene #canon compliant #ask #prompt fill #acotar #acotar fic #pro Feysand #pro Rhys #pro Feyre #Feysand fic #accepting requests #tooth rotting fluff

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years ago

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Winter Court Wedding

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): A Court of Thorns and Roses Series/Rhysand

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: This has been in my head for a few days and I had to get it out of my head so I could write other stuff XD

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) 2,356 words... yup it ran away from me again. This one pretends Tamlin isn’t a terrible person so we get Rhys instead 😉 @itscheybaby

^^^^^

“Rhysand?” I called through the town house.

“Yes?” His voice was coming from the kitchen.

I went downstairs, holding the box I’d found in our room. “What’s this for?” I asked, indicating the heavy fur-lined black cloak with silver embroidery of the moon and stars up the sides.

“Can’t I give you a gift just because I want to?” His smirk was almost too casual for me to believe him.

“You know I prefer coats in Velaris,” I replied. “So there’s something going on.”

He sighed, wings drooping. “Alright. You caught me,” he muttered. “We’re going to the Winter Court.”

“What for?”

“Kallias and Vivane’s wedding.”

“Didn’t they get married like an hour after he got back from Under the Mountain?”

Rhysand folded his arms, tucking his wings against his back a little tighter. “Yes,” he said carefully, “but they’re hosting a formal reception for their court, as well as for the other High Lords. I’m sure Kallias doesn’t actually want to invite us, or any of the other High Lords for that matter, but Mor and Vivane are really good friends and I don’t think he wants to harm that relationship.”

“So Mor’s coming with us, then?”

“Unfortunately, no. She has to put out a fire in the Court of Nightmares.”

“Literal or figurative?”

“Figurative. Keir is pitching fits again.”

“Ah. Same old, same old, then.”

“Pretty much.”

I decided to change the subject.

“So, the cloak is to keep me warm in the Winter Court climate, I’m assuming.”

“Yes. Hopefully without damaging your dress. Sometimes your coats rumple the skirts. While we’re in Velaris—and anywhere in the Night Court that’s not the Court of Nightmares, really—I don’t mind. But you know what we look like to the other courts. The image we present.”

Wealthy, dangerous, ruthless, powerful Night Court High Fae. Immaculate and pristine. Never even a hair out of place. Always in control of every situation. The High Lord who always got what he wanted, his thunderstorm of a High Lady by his side. Nary a trace of the Illyrian half-breed with self-worth issues and the Autumn Court runaway who’d never belonged anywhere.

“I know,” I said.

Rhys approached me and pulled the cloak out of its small box. “Besides,” he said, slinging it around me, “it does look rather fetching on you.” He bent his head and pressed a kiss to my neck.

“Charmer,” I teased.

He laughed. “I could say the same about you.”

I wrapped my arms around him. “I missed you, while you were… gone.”

Even though he insisted he was fine, I still did my best not to mention Under the Mountain. The secrets he’d been forced to keep, the things he’d been forced to do to keep me and the rest of the Night Court safe. We talked about it when he needed to, and I would always be there for him, but I didn’t need to force the past forty-nine years on him.

Rhys put his arms around my waist under the cloak and buried his nose in my hair. “I missed you too.”

“So when do we leave for the Winter Court?”

He knew I was changing the subject away from what I didn’t want to bring up, but he let me. “Tomorrow. We may stay overnight, we may not.”

“Shame Mor’s not coming with.”

“Agreed. She’d love to see Viviane again.”

“We’ll find some way to reunite them. How about that?”

“I think it sounds delightful. We’ll put them in a sound-proof room so we don’t have to hear them squealing into the late hours of the night.” His sarcasm was not lost on me. I chuckled. We swayed in place for a bit. “Let’s go get prepared for tomorrow, darling,” he said.

“Okay,” I agreed.

—

I already miss the Northern mountains, I thought at Rhys, wrapping the beautiful new cloak tighter around me to suppress a shiver. Even they aren’t as cold as this.

He hid his amused smile with a lazy smirk, boredly surveying the Winter Court ice waste around us as the reindeer-pulled sleigh whisked over the snow. I agree, he thought back, but it’s not for very long.

The small tiara I’d chosen to accompany my gown was like I’d wrapped an icicle around my scalp. The metal of it practically frozen to my skin.

The sleigh turned a corner.

“By the Cauldron,” I breathed.

The palace was made of ice. It towered into the sky with sharp jags and icicle towers, hexagonal walls filtering sunlight from behind. White-furred bears patrolled the battlements alongside the soldiers. All of whom sported white hair and pale blue uniforms. Snow was falling, but there was only a scattering of clouds. The High Lord’s magic, then, probably.

It might be a good idea to close your jaw, Rhys advised, no sarcasm present. We have an image to maintain while we’re here.

Right, I thought.

The sleigh driver pulled us up to a half-circle drive of packed snow. At the apex of the half-circle were two massive doors to the palace, wide open to the deep blue gloom of indoors. After slowing to a stop, we gave the driver a curt but polite thank-you and swept out of the sleigh. I caught Rhys flicking a finger before offering me his arm. What magic did you just do? I thought at him.

Tipping the driver. It’s polite but I definitely don’t want to be seen doing it. Would ruin the monster reputation I’ve spent centuries building. An image accompanied his reply—of a cheeky wink. I sent him back nothing but laughter.

An attendant—a young “lesser” faerie female with skin the color, texture, and reflectiveness of powdered snow—guided us inside. It was a lot warmer within the ice-crafted walls than I would have expected. I almost wanted to remove my cloak. The attendant looked absolutely terrified of us. Rhys and I barely acknowledged she was there, both keeping impassive expressions on our faces. I wished I could reassure her that everything was alright—that we were friendly—but I knew why I couldn’t.

She led us up what technically counted as a spiral staircase—despite it being hexagonal and not perfectly circular—to a suite of rooms. “His Lordship hopes you will be comfortable here,” the attendant said.

“Thank you.” A curt dismissal from Rhys. She scampered away.

Once she was gone and the doors closed, both of us relaxed. “I hate acting like that,” I muttered.

“Me too. But every High Lord puts on a face,” Rhys said. “You remember Helion. He seems terribly prickly and temperamental in public but is quite amusing and kind in private.” Rhys sat on a white sofa embroidered with sky blue winter flora and a few snowflakes.

“I do remember Helion. I also remember wishing you’d given me a warning about it. I was ready to punch him for being so rude to you.”

Rhys winked at me. “That wouldn’t have been nearly as fun,” he replied. I rolled my eyes. “Well, love, there’s nothing to do but wait until the reception. We did arrive a little early.”

“Four hours is ‘a little’?” I joked.

All I got was a shrug. “I like making statements,” he replied casually. “I arrive when I wish and I don’t care about their scheduling. Usually I would prefer to show up late to make it seem like I really don’t care about whatever it is they’ve had the courage to invite me to, but sometimes it’s more fun to arrive much earlier than planned and make that everyone else’s problem.”

I laughed. “You do a good job of making your act seamless.”

“Centuries of practice, darling.” He lounged on the sofa but patted the seat next to him. I sat beside him. It was almost warm enough inside to remove my cloak, but not quite. Rhys’ body heat was helping make up the difference. “You look beautiful, by the way.”

I grinned. “Thanks. You’re quite stunning yourself.” Black jacket, immaculately embroidered in silver and gold, deep midnight blue shirt underneath buttoned all the way up to hide his tattoos, black slacks with a single ring of silver thread around the ankles. It had taken me an hour to convince him to wear a blue shirt instead of black. But it really brought out his eyes. Dimmed the blazing, powerful violet just enough to reveal that his irises were actually blue.

“I’m always stunning,” he replied.

I smacked him in the chest with the back of my hand. “Arrogant,” I accused.

He kissed me. “You like it though.”

I rolled my eyes.

—

The ballroom was enormous. Pillars of glimmering ice reflected faelight bobbing around the ceiling. It was lightly snowing inside. Winter Court High Fae and faeries milled around, talking, eating, drinking. A line extended away from the bride and groom. Well-wishers offering their congratulations.

Rhysand wasn’t going to bother waiting in the line. I knew that. We’d approach from behind or from the other side, offer our regards, and then leave.

But not immediately.

The ballroom was warm enough that I passed my cloak to a waiting attendant. My gown was so dark violet it was almost black. A bell-shaped skirt dotted with beads in the shape of stars swished over the ice floor, lightly dusted with snow. The gown’s sleeves barely capped my shoulders, but the long black satin gloves that ended two inches from the bottom of the sleeves helped keep my arms warm. The bandeau tiara had three dark amethysts glinting among the white diamonds.

The finery wasn’t terribly comfortable, but I knew the effect it had on others.

Rhys and I wandered the ballroom, mingling only occasionally—and only if the other party dared approach us first.

Including High Lord Tamlin of the Spring Court and his charming bride-to-be, Feyre Cursebreaker. Both of them looking happy and healthy and more in love than ever.

“Didn’t expect to see you here, Rhys,” Tamlin said begrudgingly. His eyes flicked over to me. I didn’t have to be daemati like Rhys to know what he was thinking. The whispers of the other faeries milling about followed me the moment we entered the room, and Tamlin was likely in agreement.

Freak. Unnatural. Witch. Lightning was not meant to be harnessed by magic like that. She doesn’t belong in any court.

I thought about snapping something at Tamlin, but Rhys cut in smoothly, “We could hardly miss an important function such as this, Tamlin.” He inclined his head at the female on Tamlin’s arm. “A pleasure to see you again, Feyre.”

“Wish I could say the same about you,” she replied dryly.

Rhys tsked, but didn’t say anything to her. “Enjoy the party,” he said to both of them instead before pulling me away. I waved at Feyre, letting an apology touch my expression. Her glare softened a moment and she lifted her fingers as though to wave back, but thought better of it.

I turned away. She’d saved Tamlin and freed the other High Lords and their courts from Amarantha. She gave Rhys back to me—and I couldn’t even give her the thanks she deserved. Electricity crackled in my veins. Rhys jolted slightly as I shocked him. No one else would have noticed.

Easy, he thought at me. What’s wrong?

I let him into an antechamber in my shields, to see what I thought and felt without having to explain. Thoughtful silence followed. We’ll find a way to let you thank her. For us both to thank her. She gave me back to you, too.

Thank you, I thought at him.

Of course. I felt a loving caress against my shields. I sent one in return.

Rhys took me through the crowd, occasionally offering greetings to the High Fae and faeries who didn’t cower as we passed. Rhys’s damper on his power had been loosened. Not released completely, but relaxed—allowing tendrils of darkness to drift from him like shafts of steam. It was an intimidation tactic. He did it a lot.

“Kallias. Viviane,” Rhys said as we approached the bride and groom. Both looked resplendent. Viviane in her simple but no doubt expensive gown that glittered like powdered snow under the moonlight. They turned to us. “Morrigan sends her regards and regrets that she couldn’t make it.” Those words were directed at Viviane. She smiled at the both of us. More warmly at me than at Rhys.

“Congratulations to you both,” I said with a genuine smile. “You deserve to be happy with one another.”

Kallias gave me a cold stare. Wondering where my calculating, ruthless High Lady mask was, no doubt. But I did want them to know that I was happy for them. That I was happy they’d found one another after Amarantha.

“Thank you,” Viviane said before Kallias could reply. She reached out and took my hand in both of hers. “And thank you for coming.”

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Rhys said smoothly, smirking slightly.

“We left our gift on the table with the others,” I said softly to Viviane.

She gave me a warm grin. “Thank you. Thank you, both.”

I returned the grin and Rhys bade a curt goodbye to Kallias before we retreated back into the crowd.

“Care to dance?” I asked.

“With you? Always.” He smiled at me. For a moment I forgot we were in another court. All I could think of was him. All I could see was those blazing eyes—that lazy smile. His warmth against me.

I didn’t realize I must have been showing that on my face because he leaned down and kissed me. “The rest of tonight is going to be so much fun,” he whispered suggestively, giving me that playful smirk he always had when he knew we were both going to get what we wanted from each other before the night was over.

A shiver that had nothing to do with the Winter Court chill travelled down my spine. Excitement. “Oh, I think it will be,” I replied.

#Winter Court Wedding #Rhysand #Rhysand Imagine #Rhysand FanFiction #ACOTAR #ACOTAR Imagine #ACOTAR FanFiction

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thediamondgirl17 · 4 years ago

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Alpha!Goshiki x Omega!Reader: That Day In The Gym (SFW-ish) Part 4

Oh. My. GOSH! I got so many notes, and so many comments for this part! So to all the Anons who wanted more posted! I got you! I would have tagged the person who suggested this ‘jealousy’ chapter, but they were Anon! I hope you see this! To all the others who want to be tagged, feel free to leave a comment or message me separately, I will be happy to tag you in it! If you also have ideas for this story or maybe a different one, feel free to leave a comment in my ask box!

You may be asking, “Writer! Why is this SFW-ish! And not full SFW?” Well, my amazing readers, that is because I plan on making the end of this chapter a bit...steamy? I guess...Is that the word? I don’t know. However! If you WOULD like a NSFW chapter, I JUST might be able to make that happen for you!

Another side note: I have been a bad writer...I LOST MY NOTES FOR THIS STORY! UGH! But- it’s okay! I made new ones! Some information about the characters may change like ‘I thought this person was a Beta and their scent was this?’ Well it might have changed because of my lost notes, but bear with me here! I tried my best to remember!

I think I’ve kept you all long enough! Here is Part 3 if you haven’t read that yet, and I hope you enjoy this chapter!

When the purpled haired Alpha dropped you back off at your dorm, your face was pink and chest filled with the butterfly feelings from your first kiss. He had bid you a goodnight before heading off to his own dorm before he was caught out after lights out. However, the both of you could hardly sleep soundly after what had happened. Both of your hearts were pounding loudly from it, and neither of your heads would let that moment leave them.

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When you had walked into practice the next day in the afternoon, your cheeks heated up a bit when Goshiki walked in. In response to that, the wing spiker’s own cheeks heated up and he felt himself become bashful in your presence. Of course the two of you would be shy, you HAD just started dating and all. A ball had rolled your way, and you reached down to grab it. You stood up and handed him the ball with a small blush, his hands brushed against yours as he touched it and both your faces got a little hotter at that.

“So you finally did it huh? Found yourself a cute little Omega!” Tendou cooed softly with a small smile. Both of you stiffened up a bit and gulped.

“W-we aren’t-,”

“H-he isn’t m-my-,” You both paused and looked at one another then gulped.

“W-well...she is...my...,” The wing spiker said softly and looked away from them. Tendou offered a small shit-eating smile

“Ya’ know coach won’t let you two be all lovey during practice...And you two are going to have to tell him~,” He teased. You shook your head all nervously.

“W-well w-we won’t...T-there is no reason to at the moment...,” You gulped and looked down. Goshiki nodded in agreement with your statement. If nothing changed, then why would they have to tell him about the two of you?

“Line up everyone.” Coach Washijo said sternly, causing the small personal side practices to pause and all of the players lined up. “You too Omega.” He spat. You tensed up.

“W-where do you want me to stand?”

“Just stand next to Ushijima for now.” He placed his hands behind his back and you stood next to the tall Apex Alpha next to you. The scent of fresh potting soil and mountain dew flooded your senses. It didn’t help either that your heat was only a few days away, so you got more affected by it than normal.

“Tomorrow we will be having a practice match with one of the college teams we played earlier in the season. Be ready for that, since this is a game I expect you to win even if it is only for practice or not.” He paused. “Omega, you will be keeping score.” He said as if it was the only thing you were good for. You nodded a bit and hummed in response. And after a while of him talking and scolding the team for this and that, he let everyone loose again to practice on their own.

“You’re gonna get to see me play for real tomorrow!” Goshiki said with a smile during his water break. You flushed and looked off to the side.

“You’re going to be great.”

“As the next future Ace of Shiratorizawa, I have to be great!” He said tilting his head up in a proud way.

“Well I think that you’re great...Next Ace or not...,” You said looking down at your fingers.

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The next afternoon had rolled around fairly quickly. However, this afternoon had proven to be a bit much for yourself alone. You had been setting up the gym, cleaning, getting uniforms ready, getting water ready, and much more. Nobody was allowed to help you due to the fact that they had to do more intense stretching and warm ups. Goshiki would watch you run back and forth along the gym to get everything ready, and he couldn’t help the small smile that crept up on his face when he watched you work so hard for the team.

You had just finished putting out waters for both teams, already filled when they had come in. It was a group of 11 boys, and what seemed to be no female manager. Your instincts had told you that they were all Betas and Omegas.

‘Typical for a sports team...,’ You thought to yourself. You looked down at the ground as the team walked past you. You honestly couldn’t help it, it was instinct.

“Nice to see you again Coach Washijo...Thank you for having us.” The captain said with a bow to the coach. In suit others bowed and said their thanks as well. The old Coach just lifted his hand up to stop them.

“Thank you for coming to play us.” He said in his usual cold demeanor. “However, you said there would be one more of you as well as an Omega.”

“One of our team mates got his rut a little early,” The captain said standing up straight. “Our Omega is taking care of him.”

Almost on cue, you and Tendou looked at each other with a grossed out face. Not only did the captain just state that the teams Omega took care of their ruts, but also that this Omega belonged to all of them. Which was the complete opposite of respect.

“As they should.” Washijo nodded. Your face had heated up from embarrassment and shame. Why? You had no clue, but you gulped harshly and looked down.

“I think we should get this game started!” Tendou chimed in with his usual strange antics, however you had known that he had just wanted the topic changed due to the fact that you were both extremely uncomfortable with the situation.

“Omega.” Washijo said sternly. “Introduce yourself.” You stiffened up and stepped forward.

“H-hello! My name is (F/n) (L/n), I’m the manager of this team. I will be supplying water and towels during this game. Please let me know if you need something.” You said with a small bow.

“Oh I definitely need something from you Omega.” One of the teams members had said. You stood up straight and just looked away from him, disgusted. Goshiki walked over and placed his hand on your shoulder.

“She is part of our pack.” He warned and them with the simple phrase.

“Let’s get on with it.” Ushijima said and turned, heading to the end of the court to do the first bows before the game started.

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The game had started and Shiratorizawa won the first set by 5 points. Due to the fact that you were not able to be everywhere at once (Much to Washijo’s disappointment) the other coach changed the numbers while you got clean towels and full bottles of water for everyone. Every once in a while though you would pause a moment to watch the game. You were still fairly new to it, so you were still learning. However, even watching as a beginner, you watched the purple haired Alpha with admiration in your eyes. His own eyes would travel for a split second while he spiked the ball, over to you. And when he noticed you were watching, his straights were extra straight and powerful. Then when his feet would hit the floor and he would turn to you, you would turn away and blush. However, the other team had noticed this as well.

The ball had dropped to the opposing teams side and rolled past you while you were folding towels. You looked down at it and then looked behind you to see if it had come from there.

“Get that for us Omega.” The captain from the opposite team said. You stiffened up, hating the way he called you by your title instead of your name, as if you were worth less than him. You bent down and picked it up only to hear cat-calls and whistles when you had bent down. Now your own and Goshiki’s face had become red. Yours from embarrassment, and his own from anger. You picked up the ball and walked to the captain. You held out your arm and muttered something. “What was that?” The captain said with a smirk.

“I-I have a name...,” You said softly.

“Yeah. And you have a title.”

“I would prefer you use my name.”

“No.” He said. And you looked down at your feet and the floor and walked off the court. He was an Alpha, his word was final against yours.

“She said, to use her name.” Came a voice from the opposite side of the net. Goshiki.

“What’s it to you bowl cut?” The captain asked turning to face him. Both of them had been rotated up front so they were face to face at the net.

“Enough.” Ushijima said in a strong voice, one that made both of the Alphas look away from him on instinct. From that point on the game continued with a tense silence between the captain and first year wing spiker of Shiratorizawa.

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Once the game was over, you had found yourself relaxed a bit. Everyone had their towels and their drinks and should have been good...except...

“Omega.” The captain said shaking is bottle in a rude way. “I want more.” You looked up at him and sighed, standing up you went over and took his bottle from him. This earned a slide glance from Goshiki.

“...I have a name...” You said softly and swiped the bottle from him. He then put his hand around your waist and smirked.

“And I told you that I don’t care...Now be a good little Omega or else I’ll have to teach you a lesson about respecting you Alphas.” He snarled. In an instant Goshiki found himself holding the guy’s wrist with his hand, leaving you enough room to wiggle out of his grip, which you did.

“Don’t touch her.” Goshiki said in a low tone.

“Oh yeah? And what are you gonna do about it bowl cut?” The captain smirked. This caught the attention of both teams and the coaches.

“Goshiki. Let go of him now.” Coach Washijo said sternly, however the Alpha didn’t listen and stared down the other Alpha in front of him. In a battle of titles, Washijo had no power.

“I’ll hurt you.” He warned and felt his jaw tighten as the purple haired boy held the guy’s wrist tighter.

“Bring it on-,” The captain began. However before he could finish you had cut in. You turned to face Goshiki and shoved your wrist under his nose where your scent glands were. Visibly everyone could see how his eyes went from intimidating and almost borderline feral, to calm and relaxed. He let go of the guy’s wrist and held your hand closer to his face, your scent covering his senses and he sighed softly at the smell. Both teams went on cleaning up after that, leaving the rest of the day to end in a tense silence.

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When Goshiki was walking the both of you back to the dorms. The same tense silence filled between you besides some of his commentary, which comprised of things such as:

“Some Alphas are assholes...,”

“Omegas shouldn’t be treated that way.”

“That guy gets under my skin.” You didn’t pay much mind to what he was saying until he stopped walking and looked at the ground. You paused a few steps ahead of him and looked behind yourself to see him staring at the ground.

“Tsutomu?” You asked softly.

“I-...I wanna scent you!” He said abruptly and looked up with pink cheeks, clenched fists, and a determined look on his face. Both the statement and his boldness had caused you yourself to blush violently under the small light on the side of the walkway back to the dorms.

“Th-thats s-so i-intimate th-though...,” You said softly. Suddenly, you felt him take a quick stride forward and held your hands in his. His were much larger than yours and enveloped them.

“B-but I want everyone to know your mine! W-well n-not mine a-as in I see you like your just an object-! B-but mine as in...Nobody else can have you...,” His voice slowly trailed off as he went on. “A-and my dorm mate is out and won’t be back for two days! He went to visit family! S-So we can do it in my dorm!”

“I-its past lights out...,” You said softly.

“(Y/n)?...S-stop deflecting the suggestion...,” He said looking down into your eyes.

“...Y-yeah...L-lets do it-” You started, but before you could finish you felt the purple haired boy quickly drag you along to his dorm room. And you had suddenly realized, you had never been inside Goshiki’s dorm room before.

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

When the two of you had finally got to the dorm, you knew it was going to smell like him, but you didn’t know it would be the thing that fully enveloped your senses. You stepped inside and you smelled nothing but warm lavender and it made you close your eyes and hum. In return this caused the purple haired boy to blush and pull you further into his room.

He sat you down on his bed and closed the window curtains and locked the doors to his dorm. The two of you had remained in your school uniforms due to the fact that you had both just gotten out of practice and changed into non-sweaty clothing. He gulped, and pink dusted his cheeks as he climbed into his bed with you. In return your felt your own cheeks get hot. Goshiki had laid down on his back with his back against the wall, in a sitting-upright position. Then he pulled you on top of him with your chests pushed together and burried his face in the crook of your neck. Slowly he took a deep inhale of your scent while he dragged his wrists along your sides.

“So beautiful...,” He cooed softly into your neck. “Y-your so pretty...And your scent is so nice...I could drown in it...,” He cooed and kept dragging his wrists along you. You gulped from embarrassment and lifted your hands up to him and gently slid them along his neck and shoulders, which were the only areas you currently had access to.

And for a while it had gone just like that. Small kisses on scent glands, hands dragging down each other in an intimate and passionate way. Sweet nothings were whispered to one another, and deep kisses were also not a rare thing either. The actions made both your hearts flutter in sync and left the both of you drowning in a sweet mixture of warm lavender and your own scent. It was only when his hands reached down and gripped your hips to pull you closer to him, that you felt yourself snap. Your pupils had dilated and you were softly panting. Goshiki had noticed the sudden change in your demeanor and looked down at you.

“A-are you okay?” He asked. However it took you a moment to respond.

“...My heat...,” You panted out. “...Came early...,”

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

Taglist: @officialfictionalwreck @stanwallpapers @kyrah-williams @samwise-though @steggy4ever

If you want to be added to the tag list just let me know and I will happily do that!

#haikyuu #haikyuu x y/n #shiratroizawa #goshiki #goshiki x reader #omegaverse #omega reader #anime

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rhysismydaddy · 4 years ago

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New Years Kiss Smut - Elriel NSFW

From an ask: Elriel smut!! If you want. They can be celebrating new years eve or something, and after y e a r n i n g for years they finally kiss and it gets ✨steamy✨

___________________________________________________________

Elain smiles at the person talking her ear off, mentally trying to calculate when it’d be socially acceptable to walk away.

It's not that she’s uninterested in whatever the heck he’s talking about, it’s more that she didn’t want to be here at all.

Not when he’s here.

Which, by the way, why in the world is he here?

He’d graduated last year, which thankfully meant she hadn’t had to face running into him on campus. Avoiding him in her personal life had been hard enough.

The guy talking to her paused and looked at her expectantly, so she nodded and said, “Yeah,” hoping that’s an acceptable answer.

Elain didn’t know how he expected her to concentrate on a word he was saying when one of her oldest friends was standing across the room, staring at her like he hated her.

Or maybe like he wanted to kiss her.

Either way, she isn’t paying attention to... Luke? and his complaints about his history professor.

Her mind’s focused on a year ago today, when she’d somehow found herself at an upperclassmen house party as a freshman. Azriel had smiled when he’d seen her, and like always, there was just something... different about being around him.

It was like her body was in tune with his.

When he came in the room, she noticed. When he smiled, she found herself smiling back.

And that night... she’d been just drunk enough to believe in New Years Eve kisses and that everyone should get one in their life.

So when the countdown had ended and the new year had begun, Elain had gone up on her tiptoes and smacked her lips against Azriel’s.

Which was probably the stupidest thing she’d ever done.

Because apparently, he was perfectly content to have all this sexual tension with her and never actually act on it. His hands had gone to her shoulders, gently pushing her away, and he’d looked down at her with wide, confused eyes.

And the absolute shock on his face had been too much to bear.

So she’d fled.

She’d run all the way home and had adamantly refused every single one of his calls. And since he’d graduated in December and immediately moved to the city to work, she hadn’t seen him since.

Which was honestly kind of impressive, considering for the first eighteen years of her life, she’d spent almost every day with him.

Their friend group was insanely close, and they’d immediately noticed that Elain stopped coming around whenever she knew Azriel would be there. So she kind of... stopped coming in general.

She'd taken an insane amount of classes in the spring so she’d be busy enough to never leave campus, then over the summer, she’d worked two jobs. And this semester, she’d done both, taking enough courses to keep her busy and also working part time at the local bookstore.

At first, he’d called all the time. And texted. And called some more.

But until she could figure out how to look him in the face and not break down crying or blush from head to toe in embarassment, she was staying away.

At least, that was the plan before he’d smacked the ball firmly back into her court by showing up on campus tonight.

He’s currently standing by the mantle, hands shoved in his pockets, glaring at her. Or rather the boy she was standing with.

Elain didn’t realize why until the people around them shout Ten, then start counting down. Maybe-Luke looks down at her expectantly, small smile on his parted lips.

She knows instantly that there’s no way she can kiss him, especially not when Azriel’s twenty feet away distracting her. So she blurts, “Um, I have to go.”

And runs.

Spotting a staircase, she bolts for it, praying she’ll make it up in time to avoid the sight of all the happy people kissing other happy people.

By the time the crowd chants, “Three, two, one,” she’s in the dark hallway, thankfully alone.

But then a rough, very familiar voice says, “Happy New Year.”

Fuck.

She grabs one of the closest door handles, figuring she’ll go out the window or something. Anything would be better than having to face him. Azriel, however, does not agree with this plan.

He smacks her hand away from the handle, wraps her in very muscley arms, and dips her so low her hair grazes the floor.

And then he kisses her.

Elain’s dreaming. She has to be. Because this... this is all she’s ever wanted.

A soft nip at her lower lip tells her that no, she isn’t dreaming, but she might as well be.

Because being kissed by Azriel... it’s everything.

One hand supports her head, the other is on her back, and he holds her captive against him as his tongue meets hers. She isn’t exactly sure when she’d even opened her mouth, but she isn’t complaining.

Her body’s wide awake, well aware of the strong chest pressing against hers, the stubble scraping her cheek softly.

All too soon, he pulls back and tells her, “You, Elain Archeron, are fucking done avoiding me.”

A shiver runs over her at the pure command, the anger in his voice. And then everything that had just happened catches up to her, and she becomes really, really confused. “But I thought-”

His hazel eyes are dark, somehow brewing both irritation and amusement.

“You thought wrong,” he mutters back, lips meeting hers again.

Well, that’s pretty fucking obvious at this point.

Because he’s kissing her like he’s trying to make up for lost time. She's aware she’s doing the same to him, since the result is a clash of teeth and tongues and lips and-

He stands up, bringing her with him, and then she’s against a wall, picture frames digging into her shoulder blades.

But she doesn’t care in the slightest, because Azriel’s hands are roaming over her in a way that makes her shiver, and his mouth is moving down her neck to kiss the top of her breasts.

For the first time since her roommate forced it on her, she’s actually glad she’s wearing the low-cut thing.

“You are so annoying sometimes,” he mutters, teeth scraping her neck slightly as he moves back to her mouth.

“Okay,” she gasps, head falling back against the wall with a thud.

Angry, beautiful hazel eyes meet hers. “I’ve wanted you for years, a feeling I didn’t know you shared, by the way. And then you kiss me, and before I can do something about it, you run.”

“I’m sorry.” Gods is that true.

His hips press into hers, and she arches against him. “That’s 365 days we missed out on.”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats against his lips.

“You’re about to be.”

They’re kissing again, and he somehow supports her with one arm long enough to yank the closest door open and walk them inside.

Part of her is aware that she’s sitting on the sink in a stranger’s bathroom, but the other part’s too busy yanking his t-shirt over his head so she can explore his shoulders and abs and chest.

The straps of her dress are pushed down, a hand in her hair forces her head back, and then his mouth closes around her nipple. Her back arches instinctively, and she almost falls off the sink, but his hands shoot out to brace her hips.

He switches to her other breast, and she knows he’s trying to be polite, but she’s way too far gone for foreplay.

Her legs pull his hips to hers, and she grinds against him desperately. He apparently gets the message because his hands push her dress up off her hips and slides a hand to the apex of her thighs.

Azriel curses, then says, “I’ll buy you another pair.”

She doesn’t have to wonder what he’s talking about for long, because there’s a ripping sound, and then the tights she’d forgotten about become a torn mess at the top.

Elain couldn’t care less as she reaches for his belt and pushes his jeans down his hips. After a brief moment, he’s pushing inside her, his body tense against hers.

His hands are braced on her hips, hers are gripping his shoulders for dear life. She’s practically laying in the sink, back arched and head against the mirror, but he keeps her in place as he starts to thrust.

And she realizes he was right, because she is so, so sorry she missed out on this for a year.

His hips are hard against hers, and she moans as he picks up the pace. His lips are suddenly on hers, absorbing the sound. Which is good, because she’s not exactly being quiet.

He isn’t either, though. He’s tugging on her earlobe with his teeth as he murmurs all sorts of filthy, wonderful things she never knew she wanted to hear.

He’s telling her things with his body, too.

He’s telling her how stupid she was to not realize that he wants her, that he’s desperate for her. How glad he is that she finally knows. How this is everything for him, too.

One hand bracing the small of her back, Azriel slides the other down her stomach to the apex of her legs and starts to draw little circles that make Elain tremble.

“Azriel, please.” She doesn’t even know what she’s begging for, but she feels like she needs it right the fuck now.

Her nails rake down his back as he pounds against her, and he groans, biting her lip.

She’s so close she can hardly breathe, so when he murmurs, “Come for me, Elain,” the sound of his gruff voice does it for her.

She gasps as release barrels into her, head dropping back again as her eyes press shut and her body shakes. She can feel his eyes on her, watching, and that somehow makes it even sweeter.

He makes a low, helpless sound as he follows, hips hips stilling against hers.

Pulling back a little, he looks down at her and says, “Holy shit.”

“Holy shit,” she whispers back. It’s all she can think to say.

His dark eyes track down her frame, and his lips twitch. “I fantasize about you for years, and the first time I fuck you, it’s in a stranger’s bathroom.”

Elain smiles, a giggle escaping her. He shakes his head, then lifts her off the sink and sets her on the floor gently enough to make her laugh again.

Callouses scrap against her skin as he fixes the top of her dress. Glancing down, he bites a lip and says, “Sorry.”

“I don’t care,” she replies honestly. If he wants to rip every pair of her tights, she’ll let him. As long as she gets a repeat of what just happened.

Luckily, her dress is long enough to cover the ruined tights, so she doesn’t have to take them off and risk freezing to death outside.

Azriel throws on his shirt and buckles his dark jeans, then peeks outside the door. “Thank the gods there’s not a line of people out there.”

Laughing, she walks out, feeling better than she has in ages. Especially as he follows and grabs her hand.

“Elain.” She turns to face him and raises a brow. “I really missed you. You have to promise you won’t ever do that again.”

Nodding, she wraps her arms around him. “I promise.”

“You’re stuck with me now,” he murmurs against the top of her head.

“Lucky me.” Leaning up to kiss him softly, she says, “I’m really sorry I ran. And avoided you. And called you an asshole a time or two behind your back.”

He laughs, and she can’t realizes how much she’s missed that sound.

Elain pulls back and looks at him through her lashes. “How can I make it up to you?”

The grin he gives her can only be described as wolfish. “I can think of a few things.”

_______________________________________________________

Ugh I love them. Sorry this is kinda shitty, but thanks for the ask nonnie! Feel free to hit me with some more :)

@perseusannabeth @cursebreaker29 @a-bit-of-a-cactus @girl-who-reads-the-books @aelinfeyreeleven945tbln @rowanisahunk @superspiritfestival @studyliketate @over300books @justgiu12 @maastrash @aesthetics-11 @bamchickawowow @b00kworm @sleeping-and-books @musicmaam @hizqueen4life @maybekindasortaace

#elriel #elriel fanfiction #elriel smut #acotar #elain #elain archeron #azriel #acotar fanfiction #acotar fandom #a court of mist and fury #a court of thorns and roses #a court of wings and ruin #a court of frost and starlight #sara j maas

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apruv10 · 4 years ago

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gyakutengagotoku · 4 years ago

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GS4 vs AJ:AA - Episode 3, Part 3

Lately, I’ve had a terrible time setting a posting schedule that keeps conflicting with my folks’ plans. I’m like the resident errand girl... Now, especially now, I understand the pain of Nick and his pupils when the court makes them do whatever because no one else wants to.

Anyhow, I’m back and back on schedule. No more mess-ups dragging me back to a previous post, no sirree! Oh, and again, don’t mind the extra entries I through in there just for sharing. I got at least one viewer who has yet to play through the English versions of these next games.

If only I knew how to be funny when I have nothing to say, though...

> Wright Anything Agency

<Trucy> なんていうか。ナゾが多いって、ワクワクしますよね！　なんとなく。 It's another mystery, Apollo! I love mysteries.

<Apollo> オレはしないケドね。 I don't.

そういえば‥‥成歩堂さんは？意見を聞きたいんだけど。 Speaking of mysteries, what's Mr. Wright up to? I wouldn't mind asking his opinion.

<Trucy> あ。そういえば、パパ。最近、見ないですよね。 Now that you mention it, I haven't seen Daddy around.

<Apollo> おとうさんを、 “のらネコ”みたいに言うなよ。 What, is he some kind of stray that just wanders in and out at will?

"Don't treat your dad like some 'stray cat'."

Ah, so he's a cat?

> Examine: photo

<Apollo> 古そうな写真に、みぬきちゃんが尊敬する魔術師が写っている。 A faded photograph showing one of Trucy's favorite magicians.

みぬきちゃんは、毎日この写真に向かって手をあわせているみたいだ。 She talks to it daily for good luck, I hear.

<Trucy> あ！今日の“お祈り”忘れてました！ Ack! I almost forgot!

えーと。偉大な魔術師になれますよーに！ Umm... I hope I become a famous Grand Magician!

あと、ついでにオドロキさんが、リッパな弁護士になれますように！ Oh, and I hope Apollo becomes an Ace Attorney!

‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥‥ これで、よしっと。 ...There! All done.

<Apollo> （まあ。ご利益があるかどうかは、　ナゾだよな‥‥） (I suppose if you're going to talk to inanimate objects, a photo isn't so bad.)

Aww, Trucy. Yeah, this is more of a custom you'd find in Japanese households and offices, since they're pretty big on praying to their family members beyond the grave or certain lucky Kami for good fortune and all that. 'Tis an Asian thing, really.

Odoroki: "(Eh. Who knows if it really works or not...)"

> Examine: silk hat

<Apollo> やっぱり。ボウシから、色々なものを出すんでしょ？ That's one of those hats you pull things out of, right?

<Trucy> もちろん、やりますよ。みぬきのボウシも小宇宙ですから！ Of course! My hat's like a little universe! Bigger on the inside than on the outside!

<Apollo> 小宇宙か‥‥なんだかスゴイね。 “ギャラクティカ！”ってカンジだ。 Hmm... That reminds me of a sci-fi show I used to watch.

Odoroki actually gives that sci-fi show by name: "Galactica!", which is most likely referring to Battlestar Galactica itself.

> Examine: spaghetti

<Apollo> ロウ細工じゃなくて、ホンモノの料理を置いてるお店もあるよね。 I've seen some restaurants that set out real food to show what's on the menu.

<Trucy> そういうのって、なぜか減ってることありません？ I have, too! But I noticed something strange...

喫茶店のサンドイッチの具だけが、なくなってるの見たことあります！ One time, there was a sandwich without any lettuce!

あれはあれで、フシギです！ Like it had disappeared... by magic!

<Apollo> ‥‥ダレかが、ツマミ食いしただけじゃないの。 ...I'm sure someone just swiped the lettuce and ate it.

<Trucy> あ！　あのサンドイッチ、もしかして‥‥ Wait, that sandwich... You didn't...!

オドロキさん。いくらおナカがすいたからって、カラダ壊しますよ。 Apollo, you shouldn't eat sample food, no matter how hungry you are!

<Apollo> 食べないよ！ヒトを“のら犬”みたいに言うなよ。 Just how hard up do you think I am!?

Last two lines: "Odoroki-san, if you're always keeping yourself hungry like that, you'll hurt your health." "I didn't eat it! Don't treat others like a 'stray dog'."

Ah, so he's a dog. Btw, yes, it is still a sandwich with lettuce from a coffee shop in the JP script.

> Examine: hula hoop

<Apollo> けっこうジャマなんだよな、それ。 You know, that ring kind of gets in the way.

この前も、依頼人がつまづいて転んでたし。 Our client the other day tripped on it and fell on the floor.

<Trucy> そのあと、外までころがったリングを探すのもタイヘンでしたね。 ...Sending my ring rolling out the door! You know how long it took me to find it?

<Apollo> 怒った依頼人をなだめる方が、もっとタイヘンだったよ。 You know how long it took to calm down the client?

けっきょく、依頼もらえなかったし。 ‥‥少しは、片付けようよ。 And in the end, they walked out without hiring us. Could you clean up a bit?

Oh, I would pay a private eye good money to find who this client was based on, out of the staff who wrote the original script. Any ideas, guys?

> Talk: Yesterday's Trial

<Apollo> 今日の法廷で‥‥ラミロアさんは、ハッキリ証言した。 Lamiroir dropped a bomb in court today...

《犯人は、ダイアンさんだ》って。 "It was Daryan"...

<Trucy> ラミロアさん。一度、聞いた声はゼッタイ忘れないんでしょ？ Lamiroir said she's never forgotten a voice, right?

なんか、カッコイイですよねー。 That's so cool!

<Apollo> うん。まあね。 Um, I guess.

<Trucy> なんていうんでしたっけ、アレ。 What's that called again?

ええと。 “じごくみみ”っていう‥‥ Um... Elephant ears...? I bet that's what they're called...

<Apollo> ちょっとちがうぞ、それ。 ...Somehow I don't think that means what you think it means.

In JP, Minuki uses the word "jigoku mimi", which is a metaphor like "ears so sharp they could hear into hell itself", or so it sounds. It can refer to one of two kinds of people: 1) those with the special ability to remember something forever after hearing it once, or 2) incredibly nosy people who'd dig into others' secrets without permission.

Also, I just learned that "elephant ears" can be another name for taro.

> Talk: Interpol

<Apollo> 国際警察の捜査官‥‥かあ。 An Interpol agent... hmm.

<Trucy> で？　なんですか？ “こくさいけいさつ”って。 I was wondering, what is "Interpol" anyway?

<Apollo> え！　そ。そりゃ、アレだろ？ Huh? Interpol?

国際犯罪のハンニンをつかまえるんじゃないか。 They're the guys who catch international criminals.

<Trucy> なんでも“こくさい”をつけりゃいいワケじゃないと思いますケド。 Why can't they just call them "International Police" instead of making up some silly name?

Minuki: "I don't think just throwing 'International' onto anything has an excuse, though."

Unfortunately, they don't have the rights to name themselves "Justice League of Nations" yet, so "Interpol" will have to do.

<Apollo> ‥‥やっぱり、アレかな。ラミロアさんを調べていた、とか？ Yeah... ...Anyway, you think he was investigating Lamiroir?

<Trucy> えええ！　ナニ言ってるんですか！ Whaaaa--!? Why would anyone do that?

ラミロアさんが犯罪者なワケ、ないじゃないですか！ She's not a criminal! She couldn't be!

<Apollo> いやいや。ヒトは見かけによらない、って言うぞ。 Don't be fooled by appearances is all I'm saying.

<Trucy> コドモの純真な目はゴマかせない、って言うじゃないですか！ But remember I'm a magician, Apollo! I can spot a palmed coin at fifty paces!

<Apollo> 自分で言うなよ。 If only it were that easy.

Last three lines: "Sorry, but like they say, 'You can't judge a book by its cover.'" "Don't you mean, 'You can't fool a kid's true-seeing eyes!'" "Don't make up your own saying."

(Fyi, I do sometimes hear this saying about how "kids aren't so easily fooled" in both English and Japanese, but I wanted to make a pun of my own.)

> Enter Valant

<Apollo> はあ。どうも‥‥ Ah, um, nice to meet you. Who... are you?

（ニヤニヤ笑いながら、　言われてもなあ‥‥） (And could you please stop smirking like that?)

<Trucy> ああああッ！　あ。あ。あ。あ。あ。あ‥‥あなたはッ！ Ah. Ahhhhhhh! It's you!!! Uncle Valant!

<Apollo> なんだよ。やっぱり、トモダチか？ Uncle Valant...? He's your uncle!?

<Trucy> ナニ言ってるんですか！ No, silly!

或真敷（あるまじき）バランさんですよ！ It's the Great Gramarye, Valant Gramarye!

あの。大魔術師のッ！ The Grand Magician!

<Valant> さよう‥‥テレビでおなじみ、あの有名な或真敷　バランです。 Yes, it is I, the Great Valant Gramarye. As seen on television.

<Apollo> （ニヤニヤ笑いながら　言われてもなあ‥‥） (And could you please stop smirking like that?)

Btw, it's only in English that Trucy calls him "Uncle". In JP, she simply calls him "Valant-san". Oh, and that "t" at the end is supposed to be silent.

<Apollo> あの‥‥ Um, I hate to intrude, but...

いったい、大魔術師さんが、オレたちになんの用ですか？ What is a Great Magician doing paying us a visit?

<Valant> ‥‥おそらく。用があるのは、あなたたちの方でしょう。 I believe it was you who wished to see me?

なんなりと、聞いていただいてけっこう。 So, be quick with your questions!

このバランに乱反射する‥‥ And do not quail, quake, or quiver. I am quite tame.

ビッグスターのオーラを、恐れることはありません。 Though my stardom may sear the sight... I'm quite down to earth when need calls.

<Apollo> （‥‥たしかに、あるイミ、　恐るべきオーラがマブしいな） (He does have a certain aura to him, it's true.)

"(...Yeah, in a way, he does have an impressively shining aura.)"

> Talk: Troupe Gramarye

<Trucy> あの。もしかしてオドロキさん。 Wait, Apollo...

《或真敷一座》を知らない‥‥ なんてコトはないですよね？ Don't tell me you don't know about Troupe Gramarye?

<Apollo> あるまじき‥‥ なんていうか、その。 Troupe Grammarie... huh? No.

どこかで聞いたような気はするんだけどね‥‥ But it does sound kind of familiar...

<Valant> おお。まさに、あるまじき青年というべきかな。 Oh, lost life! Lamentably listless lad!

今をトキめく大魔術集団をご存じないとは。 To not know of the greatest troupe of magicians on the planet!

<Apollo> （或真敷　バラン‥‥ 　思い出してきた） (Valant Gramarye... The name began to surface in my mind.)

（たしか、オレが小さいころ、　テレビによく出てたような‥‥） (It was a name I'd heard on television as a child.)

<Trucy> そうですよ！ You bet you've heard the name!

ゴウカ客船を消してみたり、遊園地をバクハしてみたり、 He made a cruise ship disappear, and blew up an amusement park...

銀行の金庫から金塊を消してみたり、あげくの果てに、 ...Oh, and he made all this gold disappear from a safe!

閉じこめられた刑務所から脱走してみたり！ And then escaped from a high security prison!

<Apollo> ‥‥なんだか‥‥ Um...

大いなるゴカイを生みそうなプロフィールだな、それ。 ...You said he is a magician?

"That kind of profile could lead to some big misunderstandings."

(Ok, honestly I only kept this bit in because I love how colorful they made Valant's lines and they are worth sharing.)

> Talk: During the Show

<Apollo> あの‥‥もしかして。 So, I was wondering...

この歌の途中で起こっている “フシギ”は‥‥ That stunt in the middle of the song there...

<Trucy> フシギ‥‥？ I didn't see a stunt...

<Apollo> ラミロアさんが消えたり現れたりしてるじゃないか！ What about Lamiroir vanishing and reappearing!?

<Trucy> あ。ああ‥‥見なれてるから、フシギだって思いませんでした！ Oh, that? I guess I'm so used to seeing that happen I didn't even notice.

<Apollo> （さすが、魔術の子‥‥） (So young to be so jaded...)

"Oh, that... I'm so used to seeing it that it's no mystery to me!" "(As expected of a young magician...)"

<Valant> ‥‥さよう。かの、ささやかなステージこそ。 A simple slight-of-hand, a petit prestidigitation.

この或真敷が仕掛けた魔術なのです。 A modicum of magic from me... to you.

<Trucy> やっぱり！　バランさんが、コンサート会場にいたのは‥‥ So that's why you were at the concert!

<Valant> ご想像のとおり。 Yes.

このバランのトリックを見届けるためだったのです。 I was there to watch my trick take to the air...

<Apollo> じゃあ‥‥ラミロアさんが消えた、そのシカケ‥‥ご存じなんですか？ So you're the one who knows how it was all done.

<Valant> トーゼンでしょう！我こそ、ステージの神。 Of course. I am like a deity, with the stage as my domain!

ステージ上で起こるすべてのフシギを操る‥‥ I suffer no mystery upon those floodlit boards not grasped tightly twixt my fingers.

そのフシギなチカラこそ神たるゆえんなのですから。 It is a potent, primeval power I possess.

Someone give this man a medal for "Ascending the Astral Apex of Alliterative Ability" at once.

<Apollo> あ、あの！よかったら‥‥そのシカケ。 Um... Well... Do you think you could...

教えていただけませんか！ ...tell me how it was done!?

<Trucy> おっと！ Hey now!

<Apollo> み。みぬきちゃん‥‥？ Trucy...?

<Trucy> 魔術師にシカケをたずねるのはルール違反ですよ、オドロキさん。 That's like, totally against the rules, Apollo!

<Apollo> ナニ言ってるんだよ！殺人事件の捜査だぞ！ Not during a murder investigation, it's not!

<Valant> そういうワケにはまいりませぬ。或真敷の秘術は、或真敷だけのもの。 Mais non, for my illusions are mine alone, m'sieur.

And he speaks French! ...Well, actually that's not so surprising. His name is very Frenchy in the first place.

Also, I just wanna mention how he's one of the few AA characters to use the '-nu' form of negation to some words. So far, I think only two others have used such colorful or cultural language, and that would be Luke Atmey and Victor Kudo.

> Present anything

<Valant> ほほう。この私に‥‥ただで、キセキを要求するというのですか。 What's this? You would ask me for a miracle? Free of fee?

いいでしょう。その証拠品を、消せばいいのですね？　永久に！ Then thy wish be granted! Thy will be done! Thy evidence evicted into the ether!

<Apollo> いやいや！　やめてください！ Ack! No evicting, please!

（‥‥魔術師って、　こんなのばっかりなのか？） (...Are all magicians like this, I wonder?)

From my experience? Yeah, quite a lot of them like to make things disappear right from people's pockets. Usually they return them to people, though. I still remember that one lady who was still screaming after the show about the autograph she got from Penn & Teller after volunteering in an act...

Sorry, I feel nostalgic for the ol' Vegas days. Anyway, this is just another entry to share.

> Finish talking

<Valant> ‥‥それでは、みぬき嬢。バランはこれにて失礼いたしますぞ。 ...I, Valant Gramarye, now make my leave, Miss Trucy.

<Trucy> バランさん！　もう少し、ゆっくりしていってくださいよー。 There's no need to rush, Uncle Valant! You should stay a while!

<Valant> そうもまいりませぬ。 I am afraid I cannot. I may not. I shall not.

捜査に協力を求められているゆえ、現場に戻らなければ。 I have been asked to assist with an analysis and so I shall slink back to the scene.

<Apollo> じゃあ‥‥今日は、あのコンサート会場に？ So... you'll be at the concert venue today?

<Valant> さよう。このバランに話があったら、あのコロシアムへどうぞ。 Correct. If you would call on me, come to the Coliseum!

ではッ！　いざ、さらばッ！ See you later, crocodile.

<Apollo> （サッソウとマントを　ひるがえして‥‥） (With a whirl of his cloak, and a wink of his eye...)

（ドアからフツーに出ていったな） (...he turned and walked out through the door. Normally.)

...I don't know why "See you later, crocodile" irks me so much. It's either "See you later, alligator!" or "Been a while, crocodile!" Not both mixed up! This scene does remind me of the "dancingly descended through the front door" boys back in the day, though.

> Move: Detention Center

> Examine: camera

<Apollo> 監視カメラがこっちを見ている。 That security camera is looking at me.

カメラを向けられると、ついポーズを取りたくなるな。 Why do I feel this sudden urge to make a silly face?

"Suddenly I feel like making a pose before that camera."

> Present: anything

<Machi> ＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥ ＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥

<Trucy> “コトバが分からず、話せないのが　残念です。美しいお嬢さん‥‥” I think he said...

<Trucy> ‥‥ですって。 "I am sorry I cannot speak your language. You are very beautiful, fair maiden."

<Apollo> ‥‥勝手なホンヤクをするなよ。 ...This is why I never trust a translator.

Screw you, Apollo. I didn't make this blog to ask for your opinion. >:(

Anyway, it was just: "...Don't make up your own translation."

> Move: Sunshine Coliseum

> Examine: blimp

<Trucy> あ！　飛行船ですよ！ Look! A blimp!

<Apollo> となりには、バルーンもあがってるね。 Those balloons next to it have ad banners on them.

<Trucy> えーと‥‥《大安の日セール・大安売り》ですって！ Let's see... "Big Sale, All Shirts 50% Off."

<Apollo> なんだ。となりのデパートのバルーンじゃないか‥‥ Oh. It's an ad for the department store next door.

It doesn't specify what kind of sale it is in the JP, so I guess it's officially a clothing shop sale. That said, it does say it's a "Lucky Day Sale - Huge Bargain Deals!" I'm not sure exactly how common it is among the Japanese to honor particular "auspicious" days of the year (though, they do have a lunar calendar for these kinds of events), but you'd definitely see these events affect the seasonal shopping cycles.

> Examine: coliseum

<Apollo> 《県立国際ひのまるコロシアム》か。やたらとビッグな名前だね。 Sunshine Coliseum sure is living up to its name today.

<Trucy> おっきいですよねー。 It's huge!

こんな大舞台に立てるなんて‥‥ うー。牙琉さん、うらやましい！ And Mr. Gavin got to play on that enormous stage... I'm so jealous!

みぬきもいつか！このコロシアムで、デビュー戦を！ Someday, I'll fight my first battle on this stage!

<Apollo> なんだよ。“戦”って。 Battle?

<Trucy> だって。なんか“コロシアム”って、格闘技のイメージがありませんか？ Well, yeah, it's a coliseum, isn't it?

<Apollo> 語感が、“コロシアウ”に、似てるからじゃないかな。 Um, they don't do gladiatorial contests at these places any more, Trucy.

<Trucy> そっか！　さすが、オドロキさん！ナゾが解けました！ Really? I had no idea! I wonder why they stopped.

<Apollo> （そんなに、感心されると、　訂正しづらいな‥‥） (Sometimes I worry about her.)

Last four lines: "Well, when I hear 'Colosseum', it makes me think of duels to the death, right?" "Maybe the nuance of the word comes from 'koroshiau'." [mutual killing] "Really? Nice, Odoroki-san! We solved the mystery!" "(With how much she's admiring me, it's hard to correct it...)"

> Examine: costumed mascot

<Apollo> なんだ？あのイヨウな人物は‥‥ What's that... creature there?

<Trucy> わあ！　警察局のアイドル、等身大「タイホくん」だ！ Oooh! That's the police mascot, the Blue Badger!

<Apollo> え！あれが等身大なの？ Eh? It's life size!

<Trucy> 知らないんですか？　よく見ますよ。夜の街をパトロールしてるところ。 Haven't you seen them around town? Patrolling the streets?

暮らしの“安心”を願う、正義のマスコットキャラクターなんです！ Yes, now even law and order has a mascot!

<Apollo> ‥‥それは、アクニンもゼンニンもまとめて逃げ出すだろうね。 ...I'd run from that thing even if I wasn't a criminal.

歩くたびにグラグラするアタマが“不安”なカンジだし。 Why does its head wobble like that when it walks? It's freaky.

<Trucy> オドロキさん！モンクが多いですよ！ I don't think you're showing true Blue Badger spirit, Apollo.

It was just "Odoroki-san! You're complaining too much!"

To be honest, though, I kinda agree with him. I love the Badgers, all of them, but it didn't take AAI to make me question whether they'd be cute or creepy... At least the official Tokyo PD mascot Pipo-kun actually looks cute, kinda like a mouse or teddy in uniform.

...Manly Pipo scares me, plz make it go away.

> Move: In the Wings

> Examine: piano

<Trucy> おっきなピアノですよね！みぬき。弾いたことないんですよね。 That's one big piano! I've never actually played one.

<Apollo> ふうん。成歩堂さんに習えばいいのに。 Heh. You should get Mr. Wright to teach you sometime.

<Trucy> あー、ダメダメ。パパ、弾けないから。 No good, he can't play either.

<Apollo> （これだけソンケイされてない　パパもめずらしいな） (I kind of feel bad for the guy now...)

"(It's not too often that I'd find a dad who is respected this little.)"

> Examine: electronics

<Apollo> いろいろなキカイがある。音響装置だろうか。 Look at all the electronics. They must be sound-related.

<Trucy> こういう機械を見ると、どうにもいじり倒したくなりますよね。 Doesn't seeing a bunch of machines like this make you want to just fiddle with 'em?

いじり倒していいですか？オドロキさん！ Can I, Apollo? Please?

<Apollo> “いじる”だけじゃダメなのかよ。やめとけよ。コワれるから。 No, no fiddling! You'll break something.

<Trucy> でも。コワれることをおそれてちゃ、何もイジれませんよ！ If you're going to make an omelet, you gotta break some eggs!

パパがいつも、言ってます。 “カタチあるもの、みなコワれる” That's what Daddy always says.

<Apollo> ‥‥そこまで悟ってコワしても、怒られるの、オレだからな。 These eggs look kind of expensive.

"But if you're always afraid to break things, you'll never get to fiddle with them! Daddy always says, 'Anything with form will eventually be broken.'" "...Even if you understand and still break it, I'm the one who'll be blamed."

> Examine: tower

<Trucy> このステージの塔の上に、レタスさんとマキさんが‥‥ I still can't believe we found Machi and Mr. LeTouse up there...

<Apollo> アレはさすがに驚いたよ。だから、高いところはキライなんだ。 Yeah. I used to not like high places. Now I hate them.

<Trucy> それ、高さはあんまりカンケイないと思いますけど。 It's not like it would have been nicer if we found a dead body closer to the ground.

‥‥そういえば。パパもニガテですね。高いトコ。 ...Though that reminds me. Daddy's bad with heights, too.

<Apollo> へえ。そうなんだ。 Huh, no kidding.

<Trucy> こないだ。遊園地でカンランシャに乗ったんですよ。 He took me on a Ferris wheel ride a while ago, you know!

パパ、途中からカオが “もすぐりーん”になってました。 Halfway through, his face got all green and he mumbled "objection" over and over.

<Apollo> （‥‥成歩堂さん、かわいそうに） (...Poor guy.)

"Moss green", she says. Thank you, Minuki-chan, for that very detailed description.

> Examine: instrument case

<Apollo> 巨大な楽器のケースが置いてある。 Now that's a big instrument case.

<Trucy> それ、コントラバスっていう楽器のケースですよ。 That's a case for a contrabass, I think.

<Apollo> ちょっとしたバイオリンなら２０個は入りそうなイキオイだ。 You could fit twenty violins in there, I bet.

<Trucy> カタチは似てますけど、ゼンゼンちがう楽器ですっ！ It may look like a violin, but it's a completely different instrument!

<Apollo> みぬきちゃんなら、５人は入りそうなイキオイだ。 You could fit five Trucys in there, I bet.

<Trucy> もう！　ワザとやってるでしょ！ Hey! Are you comparing me to an instrument!?

みぬきとしては、あのビミョーな “半開き”が気になります。 Hmm. I wonder who left it sitting open like that.

Second to last line: "Hey! You're doing that on purpose, aren't you!?"

> Examine: ladder

<Apollo> 昨日、塔の上にのぼったハシゴが置いてある。 That's the ladder we used to climb up the stage tower.

‥‥あれは、キョーレツな体験だったな。 ...Not a moment I'm likely to forget any time soon.

<Trucy> うーん、たしかに。アレは見モノでしたよね。 Me neither...

みぬき。《へっぴり腰》ってコトバの意味、ハッキリわかりました！ I'll never be able to climb another tower again without thinking about it, you know?

<Apollo> ‥‥だから、ニガテなんだよ。高いところはさ。 ...I'll never be able to climb a tower again, period.

Second to last line again: "I now understand what they mean by 'weak knees'!"

(Literally, it's "bent back", but has the meaning of that. Though, it definitely puts a smile on my face picturing moss-green Nick with his bent back again.)

> Talk: Valant Gramarye

<Valant> ‥‥あなたの考えていることはわかります。 I know what you are thinking in that head of yours.

『“或真敷”‥‥ああ。そういえば　ムカシ、テレビで見たっけ』 "Gramarye, yes," you say. "I recall seeing him on television."

おおかた、そんなトコロではないでしょうかな？ Something of that sort?

<Apollo> え‥‥ええ。そのとおりです。 Um, actually, yes, you're right.

<Trucy> これがウワサの “読心術”かもしれませんよ！ Wow! He just read your mind, Apollo!

<Apollo> ‥‥ウソつけ。 ...Or everyone tells him that and he made a good guess.

"So this may be the rumored 'mind-reading technique'!" "...I'm not buying it."

> Talk: Magnifi Gramarye

<Valant> 天斎とザックの亡き、今。私のねがいは、ただひとつ。 Now that Magnifi and Zak are gone, I have but one wish.

残されたこの私が、天斎の奇跡をステージによみがえらせるッ！ Let it be I, Valant Gramarye who brings the Gramarye miracle back to the big stage!

<Trucy> みぬき。応援してますから！ I'm rooting for you!

<Valant> みぬき嬢。早く大きくなることです。あなたのウデっぷしが必要なのだ。 Miss Trucy, you cannot grow up quick enough! I need your skill by my side!

<Trucy> はいッ！　このウデっぷしで！ One skill, coming up!

<Apollo> （やれやれ。ものすごいスピードで　話が事件からそれていくな‥‥） (How do we manage to get off the topic of the case so quickly all the time?)

Interestingly, the "skill" he mentions refers to physical strength? Was he expecting Trucy to help him move some loads backstage or something? Well, times have been tough on the troupe, so I guess stage workers are short...

> Present: attorney's badge

<Valant> ほう‥‥それが、あなたが弁護士たる“証”ですか。 Ah... The proof positive of your profession, yes?

<Apollo> ええ。そうです。 Um, yeah.

<Valant> ‥‥ふむ。少々、拝借してよろしいかな？ Might I... have a look?

‥‥おや。消えてしまいましたな。 Oh! What's this? It is gone!

<Apollo> うわわっ！　何するんですかッ！ Ack! What'd you do with my attorney's badge!?

<Valant> はっはっはっはっはっ。あわてずともよいですぞ。 Ah ha ha ha ha ha ha. Don't be alarmed.

みぬき嬢！　その腰のトピットの中をごらんなさい。 Miss Trucy! Take a look into your topit, if you would.

<Trucy> きゃっ！　こんなところにオドロキさんのバッジが！ Eek! It's your badge, Apollo! What's it doing in there?

スゴいです、バランさん！フシギですよねー。オドロキさん。 That was amazing! Wasn't it, Apollo?

<Apollo> （そんなコトより、みぬきちゃんの　腰についてるポシェット‥‥） (He called that pouch at her waist a "topit"...?)

（“トピット”っていうんだ。　‥‥魔術師用語か？） (Is that some kind of magician speak?)

So I had to search it up, and apparently a topit is a hidden sleeve or pocket that a magician uses to hide objects during an act. So it is indeed magician-speak. Normally, these topits are hidden in a jacket or outfit or somewhere and not out in the open like Trucy's pouch, though... If anything, her topit is stuffed with a certain Mr. Hat already.

> Move: Backstage Hallway

> Examine: Gavinners' dressing room door

<Apollo> こっちは、《ガリューウエーブ》の楽屋だ。 That's the Gavinners's dressing room.

今、ガリューウエーブのメンバーは捜査でいそがしいはず‥‥ They're all out on the investigation.

おそらく、誰もいないだろうな。 Being backstage isn't half as glamorous without a band here.

Funny seeing this coming from Apollo of all people. For reference: "There's probably no one in there."

> Examine: Lamiroir's dressing room door

<Apollo> ラミロアさんの楽屋‥‥ 事件現場のドアだ。 That's Lamiroir's dressing room... and the scene of the crime.

殺人事件の現場にしては、警備がウスいよな‥‥ It's kind of lightly guarded for being a crime scene.

<Trucy> いいじゃないですか。入りやすくて。 I'm not complaining! Makes it easier for us to go in!

それに、みぬきたち。アカネさんも公認ですから。 And Ema gave us her OK, right?

堂々と入って、これでもかとひっかきまわしても大丈夫ですよ！ We can wander in and do as we like!

<Apollo> （‥‥なんだか、アカネさんが　心配になってきたぞ） (How is Ema doing, anyway...?)

（カリントウ食べすぎて　虫歯にならなきゃいいけど） (I hope she's not getting cavities from eating all those chocolate Snackoos...)

"(...I get the feeling Akane-san is gonna worry.) (Ah well, as long as she doesn't get cavities from eating so much karintou.)"

> Finish talking

<Lamiroir> 連絡はそれを使っておりましたから。ないと困るハズなのですが‥‥ We use it for communication. It would be quite inconvenient should it go missing.

<Apollo> わかりました。オレたちが預かっておきますよ。 We'll hold on to it for you then.

牙琉検事に会ったら、言っておきますから。 We'll give it to Prosecutor Gavin when we see him.

<Lamiroir> そうですね。では、おねがいできますかしら。 Yes, that's best. Thank you.

<Trucy> あ！　じゃあ、ソレ。みぬきがつけておきますね！ So, can I put it on?

< > 《ヘッドセット》をみぬきちゃんに取りつけた。 Headset attached to Trucy.

<Trucy> プラモデルみたいに言わないでください！ "Attached"? I'm not some kind of robot, Apollo!

Or a plastic model, as per the JP.

> Move: Lamiroir's Dressing Room

< > ‥‥さくさくさくさく‥‥ ...MUNCH MUNCH MUNCH...

<Apollo> う‥‥‥ Uh oh...

このキョーレツなニクシミをこめてカリントウを噛み砕く音は‥‥ There's only one person I know who can munch with such... venom.

<Ema> ‥‥ナニしに来たのよ。 ...What are you doing here?

<Apollo> あいかわらず、フキゲンそうですね。アカネさん。 Hello, Ema. You're looking as grumpy as ever.

<Ema> そりゃそうでしょ。 Oh, am I supposed to be happy?

法廷でアンタにやりこめられて、牙琉検事にバカにされちゃうし。 You give me the second degree in court, and Prosecutor Gavin makes me look like a fool.

Heh, I like both the descriptions with "venom" and the "intense crunching noise" from the JP. Thinking about it, for someone to munch so loudly even with a closed mouth, that is a pretty impressive level of intense.

> Examine: crime scene

<Apollo> あれ。ここ、カーペットが切り取られてるぞ。 Look, the carpet's been torn up here.

<Trucy> 今日の法廷で《のみとーる試薬》をふりかけたトコですね！ That's the part we did the lunimol testing on in court!

<Ema> “ルミノール試薬”よ！ノミを取ってどうするの！ "Loony mall"? What's "Loony mall"!? It's "Luminol"! Get it right!

<Trucy> ‥‥‥！ ...!

アカネさん、カガク捜査のコトになると、コワい‥‥ Ema's kind of scary when it comes to science.

<Apollo> ‥‥みぬきちゃんも、そろそろキチンとおぼえようよ。 ...Best learn the word and not incite her wrath again.

Heh, she mistakes it as "Nomitol", and Akane-san snaps at her about "Why would I be catching fleas!?" since "nomi" is "flea" and "toru" is to "take" or "pick up".

> Examine: bullet holes

<Apollo> こんなに厚いカベが、ぺっこりヘコんでいる。 Look at the way those bullets tore through this thick wall.

ホントに、オソロシイ威力のピストルだったんだな。 That revolver really was something else.

<Trucy> マキさんみたいに小柄なヒトでも、撃てるものなのかなあ。 I wonder if someone as little as me could even fire it?

<Apollo> 肩がハズれちゃうかもしれないね。しばらくピアノなんか弾けないよ。 Dislocating your shoulder would kind of put a crimp on your stage career.

<Trucy> あ。じゃあ、ウチのパパの肩コリも吹き飛ばしちゃうカモ！ Daddy always has stiff shoulders, maybe that could loosen him up!

<Apollo> やめてくれよ。ホントに撃ちそうだぞ、あのヒト。 Don't even mention it. I'm afraid he might go out and actually try it.

<Trucy> たぶん、ないと思うけどなあ。そんな度胸。 Nah, he doesn't have the guts to pull the trigger, I bet.

Haha, Odoroki's second to last line: "It might dislocate your shoulder. You wouldn't even be able to play piano."

> Examine: bowl

<Trucy> きゃあ！　フルーツですよフルーツですよフルーツ！ Look! It's fruit! Fruit, Apollo! Fruit!!!

<Apollo> ‥‥１回多いよ。 ...I heard you the first time.

これだけあるのに、スイカをひとクチかじっただけとは‥‥ It sure is a lot of fruit. I doubt anyone would miss a bit of watermelon...

<Trucy> メロンを瞬間移動させましょうか。 ‥‥みぬきのおなかに。 I know, I'll make it vanish! Into my stomach!

<Apollo> やめておこうよ。ベンショウさせられるかもしれない。 Better not. They might make you pay for it.

そんなおカネがあったら、事務所のカベを塗りなおそうよ。 And if you have the money for that, you should probably repaint the office first.

<Trucy> メロンって、そんなに高いんですかっ！ Watermelons are that expensive!?

<Apollo> まあ、よく知らないけど。 *shrug* These could've been imported from some exotic locale, for all we know.

Nice shoutout to Japan's exotic fruit market. There are indeed such things as square watermelons and exquisite canteloupes that can go for as high as 10-15,000 yen per melon (~$95-143 these days).

Also, Minuki mentioned she'll have some of the canteloupe to herself, which is why Odoroki warned her about how expensive it'd be.

> Examine: bouquet

<Trucy> “ゴウカらんらん”な花が飾ってありますね！ That's one heavy-duty bouquet there.

<Apollo> ワルいけど、“けんらん”だぞ。 I have trouble thinking of flowers as being "heavy-duty".

<Trucy> えー！　��も！“ゆうきりんりん” って言いません？ But they call lots of things heavy-duty!

<Apollo> それは言うけど。 Not flowers, they don't.

<Trucy> “るんるん気分”とか。 What about a "heavy" scent?

<Apollo> たしかにね。 I think you mean "heady".

<Trucy> 事務所のトナリのメガネ屋さんは “れんれん”だし。 What if the flowers were plastic?

<Apollo> お。苦しくなってきたな。 They still wouldn't be heavy.

<Trucy> “ろんろん”は‥‥‥‥‥‥ないや。みぬきの負けですね！ OK, what if they were made out of metal?

<Apollo> じゃ、満を持して “けんらん”ってコトで。 What, like a magnolia made out of steel?

<Trucy> はいっ！ Exactly! Though I hope all my fans don't start throwing metal flowers at me.

Once again, we have a case of Japanese wordplay that couldn't make it through translation. Here it is:

"There's some 'gouka ranran' flowers here!" [splendid-fiery] "Sorry, but that should be 'kenran'." [gouka kenran = luxurious] "Huh? But don't they always say 'yuuki rinrin'?" [full of vigor] "That they do." "And 'runrun kibun' too." [exuberant mood] "That's right." "And even the glasses shopkeeper next to the office is 'renren'." [attached to /

fond of] "Oh, now you're starting to grasp at straws." "And for 'ronron'... I can't think of any. Well, I'm out!" "Then, you can accept that it's 'kenran'." "Okay!"

I respect the ref to Steel Magnolia, though.

> Examine: wigs

<Apollo> 美容院なんかで見かける、パーマをかける機械だ。 That's one of those permanent dryers you see in hair salons.

<Trucy> そういえば、これ。正式な名前はなんていうんですか？ Is that what they're really called? "Permanent dryers"?

<Apollo> パーマをかけるキカイだから ‥‥《パーマ機》？ Do I look like a beautician? I just know they dry your hair and give you a permanent...

<Trucy> “機”だけニホンゴってカッコ悪いです！ It just doesn't sound very glamorous, you know?

<Apollo> じゃあ‥‥ちょっとコジャレて《パーマシーン》‥‥？ OK, how about a "permachine"!?

<Trucy> シンプルに《パーマー》とか。《ドライヤー》のノリで。 Or you could go more simple, like "permer"!

<Apollo> ‥‥けっこう遊べるね。《正式な名前を考えよう》って。 ...This isn't a bad game, thinking up official names for things.

その時点で“正式”じゃないけど。 Not that it makes the name actually official or anything.

As it happens, it's not too far from the original script, even including a bit of Japanese wordplay: "It's one of those machines you'd see at a beauty salon that gives you a perm." "Say, what is the official name of those things?" "Well, it's a machine that gives you a perm, so... 'perma-ki'?" [kikai = machine] "It sounds weird just leaving that 'ki' in there!" "Then... to keep it trendy, how about 'permachine'?" "Or keep it simple like 'permer', kinda like 'dryer'." "...We sure can play around with thinking up official names for things. Not that it makes the name actually official or anything."

> Examine: presents

<Trucy> ラミロアさんへのプレゼントですね。 A stack of presents for Lamiroir.

さすが、大スターのプレゼントはどれも大きいですよねー。 Stars always get the biggest presents.

ね。ね。オドロキさん。みぬきも受付中ですよ。プレゼント。 You know, you could give me a present, Apollo.

<Apollo> ‥‥じゃ、はい。アメ玉。 ...Here, have a piece of candy.

<Trucy> わあい！　ありがとう！ Gee! Thanks!!!

<Apollo> （喜んでくれたのに、なんで　こう、ムネがいたむんだろう） (She must not get a lot of presents... Poor girl.)

(I'm happy for her and all, but why do I feel so bad?)"

I guess it can go two ways: he's sorry that she doesn't get many presents, or he's upset he had to give away some of his sweets.

> Talk: Yesterday's Trial

<Ema> とにかくね。あのちっちゃな子にダマされてたと思うと、くやしくて。 It just bugs me to think that little kid outsmarted me.

<Ema> 目が見えたんなら、よけいにアヤシイんじゃない？　あの子。 And it makes him even more suspicious now that we know he can see!

天井の通気口も見えたワケだし、ピストルも撃てたし。 He could have seen the air duct, and he could have shot that revolver.

<Trucy> でも‥‥ラミロアさん、そうは証言していませんよ。 But that's not how it sounded in Lamiroir's testimony.

<Ema> ああ。現場で、ハンニン‥‥ 眉月刑事の声を聞いた、ってね。 You mean her saying she heard Detective Daryan's voice at the scene? Hmm...

<Trucy> そうですっ！ That's right!

<Ema> もう。なんでワケのわかんない事件ばっか起こるのよ、この国は！ Why can't we have a normal, straightforward killing once in a while in this country!?

<Apollo> クニのせいにしないでくださいよ‥‥ I'll pretend I didn't hear that.

Ah, here's the legendary Ema quote! It's pretty similar to the original: "Ugh. Why is this country just full of cases that don't make sense at all!?" "Please don't blame the country, it's not at fault..."

> Talk: Song Lyrics

<Ema> ここまで一致していると‥‥ グーゼンとは思えないよね。 It is kind of hard to chalk it up to coincidence, hmm.

<Trucy> ですよねっ！みぬきが見つけたんですけど。 I know! And I found it.

<Ema> これって、やっぱり。ハンニンがやった‥‥のかなあ？ You think the same person did all of this?

<Apollo> オレに聞かないでくださいよ。ハンニンじゃないし。 Don't ask me. I didn't do it.

<Ema> あたしだってちがうよ。あの通気口、入れないし。 Neither did I! I couldn't fit through that air vent anyway.

<Trucy> ‥‥え！　みんな‥‥ みぬきを疑ってるんですかっ？ What... You all think I did it!?

<Apollo> （ダレも言ってない） (Sometimes I worry about that girl.)

"(No one said anything about you.)"

This here is some fine Among Us logic, yessiree.

> Talk: Something Odd

<Trucy> ‥‥あの。ナニか見つけたんですか？ ...So what did you find?

<Ema> まあね。ちっちゃくて、きのうは見落としていたんだけど‥‥ It's so little I must have passed over it yesterday.

あの、ソファの下に、コイツがね‥‥ I found it under the sofa.

<Trucy> ‥‥なんですか。コレ。 ...What is it?

<Ema> 何かの機械の部品、みたいだけどね。サッパリわからないの。 Part of some device, I think. I haven't a clue what.

ハジっこについてるキカイ、見覚えがあるから調べてみたら‥‥ The bit sticking out from the end looked familiar, so I had it examined.

どうやら《アンテナ》みたい。 Turns out it's an antenna.

<Trucy> アンテナ‥‥ Ooh, like on a beetle?

<Ema> だから。電波に反応するのかな、って思って。 Like on a cell phone. This device must use an electronic signal of some sort.

<Trucy> 電波、か。ココロ当たりあるような‥‥ないような。 An electronic signal, you say? Hmm...

Hm, I wonder if Trucy likes collecting beetles. Otherwise, I have no idea where that line came from.

> Finish talking, examine crime scene again

<Trucy> ‥‥ちょっと、気になったんですけど。 You know what I couldn't stop thinking?

このカーペット、誰がベンショウするんでしょうね。 Who's going to pay for this carpet?

<Apollo> オレたちじゃないコトはたしかだけど‥‥ As long as it's not us...

やっぱり。ハンニン‥‥じゃないかな。 Maybe... the shooter?

<Trucy> うーん。それじゃあ、悪いコトするときは‥‥ I guess it's true what they say.

ヒトにメイワクがかからないようにしないと。 Crime doesn't pay!

<Apollo> ‥‥ベツのルートからそこへたどり着きたかったね。 I would hope that carpet replacement costs weren't the only thing holding you back.

The last three lines: "Hmm. It's like, 'When you do something wrong... don't cause trouble for others too.'" "...I wished we could have come to that through a different way."

> Move: Sunshine Coliseum

> Meet Daryan, finish talking

<Daryan> どう思ってるんだよ。ホントのトコロは。 What do you really think happened? Really?

‥‥オレがやった‥‥なんて考えてないだろうなあ？ You don't think I did it, right?

<Apollo> そ。それは‥‥ W-Well...

<Daryan> なんか、たよりないからな、おまえさん。おぼえておいてくれよ。 Great. Way to instill a guy with some confidence.

事件が起こった瞬間。オレはステージで、暴れてたんだぜ。 Just remember, I was ripping it up on stage when it happened, OK? Ripping!

<Apollo> ‥‥‥！ ...!

<Daryan> あの“歌姫”とかいうおばさんの言うことに、ダマされるなよ。 Don't get led astray by some siren song, eh?

さもないと‥‥ １年ぶんのハジをかくことになるぜ。 Get this one wrong, and you'll be eating humble pie for a year. I'll bake it myself.

<Trucy> なんか‥‥感じ悪いですね。 Let's... not talk to him anymore. Alright?

<Apollo> （眉月　大庵‥‥刑事、か‥‥） (Detective Daryan Crescend... He's one stone I'd leave unturned if I had a choice.)

Heh, nice. It was plainly "Don't be fooled by that 'songtress' lady", but made the perfect opportunity for a reference to siren songs. Ngl, I was half-expecting the JP script to run off of her Goddess title in some way...

> Move: Prosecutor Gavin's Office

< > ‥‥ピッ‥‥ ...*beep*...

<Klavier> やれやれ‥‥こんなときにこそ、ダイアンが必要なんだけど。 It's times like this when I start to miss Daryan...

‥‥ん？ ...Huh?

<Apollo> あ‥‥どうも。 Erm, hiya!

<Trucy> えへ。来ちゃいましたあ。 Tee hee! Just thought we'd drop in. Hope you're not mad...?

<Klavier> ‥‥“えへ”とこられちゃあ、怒るワケにもいかないな。 ...How could I be? There's not enough "tee hee" in the world, in any case.

まあ、座りなよ。 Have a seat.

<Apollo> （意外にココロの広いオトコだな） (Prosecutor Gavin, the philanthropist.)

<Trucy> オドロキさんも見習うんですよ。 Watch and learn, Apollo!

"(He's a lot kinder than I thought, this guy.)"

> Examine: guitars

<Apollo> すごい数のギターですね。こんなに持ってて、どうするんですか‥‥ Look at all the guitars! Why so many?

<Klavier> 何本あったって、困らないさ。ギターは、ぼくの恋人だからね。 You can never have too many guitars. They are like... my lovers.

<Apollo> （なんだかハラの立つセリフだな） (I didn't just hear him say that.)

"(Feels like he's saying that just to rub it in my face.)"

<Trucy> オドロキさん、知らないんですか？これは、予備のギターですよ。 They're backup guitars, Apollo. Don't you know anything?

“ろっくんろーる”は、ギターを壊してナンボの世界ですから！ Rock 'n' rollers always smash their guitars at the end of a show!

<Apollo> どんな世界だよ‥‥ No wonder it's so hard to make it as a musician.

"What kind of wacky world do they live in..."

<Trucy> ほらほら！　オドロキさんも、 “ろっく”してみてくださいよ！ You know what, you should try rocking a little, Apollo.

<Apollo> ‥‥持ち主の目の前でそれは、さすがにロックすぎるだろ。 And breaking his guitars while he watches? That might be a little too rocking.

<Klavier> はっはっは。でもね。ぼくは、そーいうのはやらないんだ。 Ah ha ha ha. Of course, I would never do such a thing.

言っただろ？ギターは、ぼくの恋人だって。 Did I not say, they are like my lovers?

ぼくが、恋人にそんなことをするオトコに見えるかい？ Do I seem like the kind of man who would do such a thing to ones he loves?

<Trucy> いいえ、まさか！　見えませんよ！さすが、ガリューさんですね！ No, no! Not at all! I mean, you're Mr. Gavin, upstanding prosecutor!

<Apollo> （おいおい‥‥“ろっく”な　世界はどうしたんだよ） (What happened to Prosecutor Gavin, god of rock?)

"No, no! Not at all! It's you we're talking about, Garyuu-san!" "(Hey... what happened to that world of 'rock' you were on about?)"

> Examine: window

<Klavier> どうだい？すばらしい眺めだろう？ The view is exhilarating, ja?

いつも、ここで夜景を楽しみながら、曲の構想を練るんだ。 I sit here, gazing down upon the city, writing my songs.

<Apollo> 検事の仕事をしましょうよ。 Try working on cases.

<Klavier> 曲を考えることと、事件の推理をすること‥‥ It is the same thing.

ぼくにとっては、同じなんだよ。 I write lyrics the same way I corroborate evidence.

どちらも大切なのは、ロジックと感性のハーモニーだからね。 It is a harmony between the logical mind, and the primal spirit within!

<Apollo> （言ってることはカッコイイけど、　ごまかされている気がする‥‥） (Is it so hard to admit that you like staring out your window and daydreaming?)

"(He may have put it in a cool way, but I bet he's just trying to deflect...)"

Do prosecutors have a habit of just staring out their windows for some reason? I know that frilly guy does it because he's got a bit of time at this time.

> Talk: The Case

<Klavier> ああ‥‥そうだ。今日の新聞を見たかな？ Ah, that reminds me, did you see the paper today?

<Trucy> はい！ Yes!

テレビのページだけはみぬき、毎朝チェックしてるんですよ！ I always read the TV section.

<Klavier> それはエラいね。おデコくん、キミは？ Good girl. How about you, Herr Forehead?

<Apollo> オレも、４コマまんがはチェックしてますけど。 ...I read the funnies.

Ah, something we can agree on, Apollo. Then again, with how Odoroki mentions the 4koma, I can't help but picture those on Gyakuten Tsuushin and now the joke is super meta.

<Klavier> ‥‥コイツを見たまえ。 ...Then you will not have seen this!

<Apollo> 《悪魔のしらべが惨劇をもたらす！　～二枚目検事のキケンな歌声》 "Concert of Tragedy -- The Prosecutor's Deadly Song!"

<Trucy> え。今夜、そんなドラマ、ありましたっけ？ Ooh, is that a new show? I haven't heard about that one.

<Klavier> ドラマじゃないよ。れっきとした、記事の見出しさ。 It's not a show. It's an article. News, you know?

<Trucy> あ‥‥もしかして。みぬきたちの‥‥ Oh, does this have anything to do with the case...?

<Klavier> 法廷から帰ってから、ぼくの電話は鳴りっぱなしだよ。 Since getting back from the trial, my phone has been ringing off the hook!

Second to last: "Oh... so it's about us...?"

> Finish talking, get the replica

> (optional) Move: W.A.A., present replica

<Trucy> レタスさんは‥‥ コレを調べていたんですね。 So this is what Mr. LeTouse was after...

<Apollo> うん。国際警察がコレを追いかけていた、ってことだろうね。 It's international smuggling. That's why Interpol was involved.

（今回の事件とどう関わるのかは、　まだイマイチ分からないけど） (I'm still not sure how this ties into our case, though.)

<Trucy> ちっちゃいのに、すごいんですね、コレ！ Wow, how could such a little thing be so important!

<Apollo> たしかに‥‥ まるで、みぬきちゃんみたいだね。 In that way, it's a bit like you, Trucy.

<Trucy> ！‥‥‥‥‥‥‥ オドロキさん！ ...Apollo!

みぬきは、ちっちゃいんじゃなくて、まだ若いだけです！ I'm not small! I mean, I am, but I'm still growing!

<Apollo> （‥‥一応、　ほめたつもりだったんだけどな） (It was intended as a compliment.)

<Trucy> オドロキさんこそ、前髪で身長かせいでるじゃないですか！ Well you cheat your height by sticking your hair up like that!

<Apollo> （こ、これは別に、そういうんじゃ　ないんだけど‥‥） (Hey, it's called fashion.)

"(H-hey, I just like it this way. I didn't mean it like that...)"

> Move: Sunshine Coliseum, In the Wings, then Hickfield Clinic

> Move: Detention Center, present replica

> Talk: The Cocoon

<Trucy> この“マユ”‥‥ いったい、なんなんですか？ What is this cocoon, anyway?

<Machi> ＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥ ＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥

<Lamiroir> 『マユ、糸‥‥特効薬』 "The cocoon, the silk, is a potent cure."

<Trucy> とっこうやく‥‥？ A cure...?

<Apollo> 何かの病気に効く、ってコトかな。 It must cure some disease.

<Machi> ＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥ ＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠＠‥‥

<Lamiroir> 『《チリョーレス症候群》‥‥』という病気に効くみたいですわ。 It's a cure for "Incuritis".

<Apollo> チリョーレス‥‥ A cure for Incuritis?

Ughhh, it literally is just "Chiryoles" (chiryou + less = cure-less), aka "Incuritis". And here I was expecting it was just the loc team having a brainfart once in a while.

#gsvsaa #gs4 #ajaa #turnabout serenade #part 3

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semperintrepida · 5 years ago

Text

The Sellout, chapter two

two: the big reveal

Kassandra sipped her coffee and surveyed the Portland skyline: the muddy river far below, Mount Hood backlit by sunrise skies as soft and pink as a kitten's tongue, and the laughably light traffic skating along I5. Roofs and trees, then trees in greater and greater numbers until they made a velvety green carpet all the way to the mountains. Portland had to be the smallest big city she'd ever lived in.

She sipped again, letting the coffee's warmth ward off the chill from the polished concrete floor beneath her feet, and she wandered away from the unbroken expanse of floor-to-ceiling windows that formed the eastern wall of her condo, back to the table where her laptop waited for her to put the finishing touches on the Yelp review she'd been dying to write since yesterday afternoon.

After visiting fifty — no, closer to a hundred — coffee shops in the month she'd lived here so far, she'd never experienced one quite like Cliffhanger Coffee. The latte she'd ordered was damn near perfect, but the coffee snob capital of the US was full of near-perfect lattes. It wasn't full of beautiful, dark-haired women with fire in their eyes who could pull espresso shots while throwing volleys of sharp, sharp words at the first sign of a threat.

Despite turning up the dials on her charm and attentiveness, Kassandra had gotten skewered almost as soon as she'd opened her mouth. After two years of living with Pacific Northwest passive aggressiveness, the woman's flat-out, in-your-face aggressiveness had hit Kassandra like the first taste of a sea breeze after years in the desert.

She'd savored every sip of that latte while walking up Belmont back to her car, and later on, she'd fallen asleep thinking about the woman's sharp words, the muscled lines of her forearms, and how they'd disappeared into blackwork tattoos that ran under the rolled-up sleeves of her flannel shirt. Trees on one arm and plants on the other, ferns giving way to some kind of vine, twisting in intricate lines on her skin...

Kassandra shook the thought away and focused on the text she'd written. Come for the delicious drinks, stay if the barista likes you... She tapped a finger against her chin in thought, then typed out one final sentence before she clicked "Post Review."

She examined her handiwork with a satisfied grin, then finished off the last of her coffee. Maybe she could squeeze in a visit to the other side of the river after her one o'clock planning meeting downtown. She picked up her phone.

Dessa answered in the middle of the first ring. "Good morning, Kassandra." She'd been Kassandra's assistant long enough to know her working hours went from seven a.m. to seven p.m. and often beyond.

"Dessa. Good morning. How's my two to four looking this afternoon?"

Quiet click-clicks as Dessa brought up her calendar. "You've got a one-on-one with Trevor Adams from two-thirty to three-thirty."

"Reschedule him to early next week."

"Consider it done."

"Any messages for me?"

"Kevin would like you to call, but he says it's not urgent."

Kassandra snorted. A CEO's not urgent merely meant right now instead of yesterday. "Coordinate a call with Lisa so I can talk to him at his earliest convenience." Lisa, his long-suffering admin assistant, who'd followed him from Microsoft to Juniper and every other stop along the way.

"It'll probably be around eight-thirty."

"That works." She drummed her fingers on the tabletop. "How're things back at the ranch?"

A sigh. "Markos has been looking for you."

Kassandra rolled her eyes. "He can make a calendar request like everyone else."

"I told him that, but you know how he is."

She did, all too well. He liked his meetings with her to be in person and off the record, like he was some big-shot politician instead of a middling marketing executive. "I'll be on site tomorrow morning. If he weasels by again, tell him he can buy me lunch."

"Will do. Anything else you need?"

"That's it for now. Thanks, Dessa."

She gave one last smirking glance at Yelp, then closed the browser tab and pulled up Outlook. The number of messages in her inbox had reached quadruple digits, and she made a mental note to spend some time cleaning it up later. She scrolled around until she found the email she wanted, then picked up her phone again. "Hi, Evelyn. It's Kassandra. Ready to start crunching those square footage numbers on the southeast flagship?"

.oOo.

A little after two o'clock, Kassandra turned her Audi R8 onto the looping ramp that led up to the Morrison Bridge, and just past the apex of the curve, she punched the gas and grinned as the big V10 began to howl. The acceleration shoved her hard into her seat, and it was like sitting in a recliner strapped to a rocket, more than making up for the fact that the car only came with an automatic transmission. No matter. If she wanted to shift gears herself, she had motorcycles for that.

She found a place to park on a side street off Belmont, slung her laptop bag over her shoulder, then backtracked a couple of blocks to the building that housed Cliffanger Coffee. The neighborhood wore its light industrial roots proudly: lots of brick and corrugated metal, and the coffeeshop's building was no exception. The ground floor units had lofted ceilings, but there were two more floors above them that looked like they'd been converted into apartments sometime in the last forty years. Likely rent controlled. Probably what had kept the owner from tearing it all down and putting up a mixed use development in its place.

A development on a street corner like this could net tens of millions.

The corner unit was occupied by a store selling overpriced furniture, and she scanned the price tags through the windows as she passed: five-hundred-dollar end tables and six-thousand-dollar couches. The store had probably been open for less than a year. She wondered what had been in its place a decade ago, when the coffee shop next door had moved in and nudged this neighborhood a little further down the path of gentrification.

A slate-colored sign bearing the words "Cliffhanger Coffee" hung over the door, the bold white lettering in a font that was clean and timeless rather than trendy, set over an angular slash that was more suggestive of a cliff than explicit.

Kassandra pushed the door open and stepped inside. Busier today, with customers dotting the interior tables, and the same three people from yesterday seated at the couches, deep in conversation. The woman — the owner, Kassandra reminded herself — was at the register, smiling as she handed a cup to a customer. At the sound of the door opening, her gaze slid from the man, to Kassandra, then back again.

The woman's smile faded as soon as the customer turned his back to her. She wore a blue and white plaid button-down with the sleeves rolled up to her elbows, and tight black jeans. The buckle of her belt glinted silver under the menu board's lights. "What do you want?" she asked as Kassandra walked up to the counter, her gaze as opaque as smoked glass, and Kassandra knew she wasn't really asking about a drink.

"I'll take a double shot, bone dry cappuccino, please."

The woman's eyes narrowed a fraction as Kassandra's weaponized order hit its mark. "Four dollars and thirty cents," she said flatly, slamming her fingertip into the register's touchscreen so hard its plastic casing creaked. This time, Kassandra took a good look at the woman's hands: long and slender, implying fine bones within, but her fingers were wrapped with muscles, as were her wrists and forearms, powerful lines disappearing into black foliage and vines that climbed up her arm.

That kind of muscle didn't come from pulling shots at an espresso machine — it came from training and effort. Kassandra knew it well; she wore it herself from her neck to her calves, earned it in the weight room and on the pitch, and, once everyone figured out she'd grow up to be tall instead of fast, on the basketball court. The woman had probably started young at whatever sport it was, but she was too tall and lean to be a gymnast, and no soccer player who wasn't a goalkeeper had wrists like that, and she wasn't tall enough to be a keeper anyway...

Kassandra realized she was staring, and her fingers fumbled at her wallet inside her suit jacket's pocket. It took her two tries to pull a twenty from the cash in her money clip, and she made herself take a slow breath before she pushed it across the counter. "Can you make that drink for here, please?" she asked once she'd regained her poise.

The woman tilted her head and eyed the twenty. Her look could have shattered concrete. Then the twenty disappeared into the cash drawer and a stack of coins and bills took its place. "You might as well have a seat," she said, tossing the words over her shoulder as she moved to the espresso machine.

And just like the day before, the woman's shroud of irritation fell away as soon as she focused her full attention on making the drink, her eyes lighting up with a clean, unburdened joy. This woman was the one Kassandra wanted to talk to. She wanted to ask, Does it feel the same way for you too? It was beating everyone in the paint to a rebound, or hitting a holeshot on the racetrack, that flowing perfection where everything is just so and all is right in the world. Kassandra had spent a lifetime chasing it.

One espresso shot and two full pitchers of steamed milkfoam later, the drink slid across the counter. "Bone dry," the woman said in a voice to match.

Kassandra picked up the cup, murmuring her thanks before she drifted around the perimeter of the shop. Lots of brick and exposed metal, softened by green plants. Real ones. This place would Instagram well. She sipped the drink, the hot espresso tunneling through a thick layer of fluffy foam, completely free of milk and its diluting effects. Yesterday's latte had been near-perfect, but this drink was perfection in every way, its components correctly proportioned, the shot ecstatically good. She needed to find out who the woman's coffee roaster was.

A set of shelves crammed with books occupied much of the back wall, under a small, hand-lettered sign reading take one, leave one. Past the shelves, a bulletin board hung over a small self-service bar that held carafes of cream and a variety of sweeteners. Kassandra's eye lingered on a line of brightly colored stickers running along the edge of the board: Best of Portland 2010, Best of Portland 2011, 2012, 2013... all the way to last year, 2017.

She chose a table against the wall that was mostly hidden from the counter's line of sight, pulled her laptop from her bag, sat down, and pretended to get to work.

A steady stream of customers passed through the doors of the shop, despite the doldrums of the mid-afternoon, and the thread of tension wound tight around the woman's voice began to loosen as she filled orders and chatted with customers. Once, she even laughed, low and round and rich, the sound fuming in the air like a good bourbon. Until that moment, Kassandra wasn't sure the woman was capable of it.

The shop began to empty out as the clock swept past three. Kassandra packed her laptop away and carefully set the empty cup into the bus tub under the self-service bar. She strolled over to the counter, ignoring the hostile glances from the regulars at the couches. There was a jar full of business cards next to the register she hadn't noticed before. Enter to win a ten-pack of drinks written in strong, angular lettering.

The woman turned to her and crossed her arms.

"The drink was perfect," Kassandra said.

Silence.

"I didn't catch your name."

"I didn't give it to you."

Not this way, Kassandra wanted to say. Let's not do it like this. Let's just talk. Tell me about your coffee: who grew it, where it came from, and what drew you to doing this? Because she wanted to see that bright joy return to the woman's eyes instead of the anger living there now. "You don't like me at all, do you?"

"Have you given me a reason to like you?"

"Have I given you a reason not to?" Her brows knit with real confusion. "If I've caused any offense, I'm sorry."

"You seem to think that I have to give you the time of day because you're dropping twenties on drinks."

That stung. "Consider it compensation for wasting your precious time, then." She had tried to be nice from several angles, but had bounced off the mirror finish of the woman's anger every time. Nice didn't work on everyone. She'd keep her interest professional then, and run a different play from the playbook. "I guess you really wanted that fifth star," she said, and then she reached into her laptop bag and fished out one of her business cards, and she smirked as she caught a glimpse of a siren's enigmatic smile looking out from a familiar green circle. She locked eyes with the woman and threw the card into the jar by the till. "See you later."

As she walked out the door and onto the sidewalk, she couldn't help but grin. She would have loved to see the woman's face as she read the words on the card:

Kassandra Agiadis Vice President of International Real Estate Development Starbucks Coffee Company

Chapter two of The Sellout. Continued in chapter three...

#kyssandra #kassandra #ac odyssey #coffee shop au #god this fic is such an indulgence lol #the sellout

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