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glissadia · 21 days ago

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Upon Further Examination

A professor does her best to figure out why her student's ritual circle isn't working, and discovers that the issue may be a bit bigger than she thought. 6k words.

"Three. Two. One. Ignite. Seven. Six. Five. Four. Three. Two. One. Indicators. Four. Three. Two. One."

"Failed," Selin states in time with my counting, doing a halfway-decent job of masking her frustration and disappointment. I nod approvingly, as I’ve done each attempt, because it’s still important to acknowledge the adherence to procedure.

"Quench," I respond, picking my earlier cadence back up. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Release. One. Two. Disengage."

Selin steps back from the now-inert ritual circle and I step forward to check her work. Today I’m acting as her examiner, rather than my usual role as her mentor, so I’m supposed to keep my observations to myself. However, I think we’ve gotten past the point where I need to stick to the standard process.

"Perfect," I speak aloud, and Selin jumps slightly. "Your inscriptions are more than within tolerance for preciseness, you’re following your derived procedures to the letter, your timing would put the carillon tower to shame, and I can’t identify a single fault with your channeling."

"Wait, so I got the ritual right this time?" Selin asks, her voice equally confused and hopeful. "Then why didn’t it work?"

I shake my head.

"You got it right every time," I tell her. "Even the first two attempts, which I intentionally sabotaged without your notice, according to academy procedure. You corrected and compensated without prompting."

I don’t have to look at Selin to anticipate the indignant response that revelation will elicit, so I simply hold up my hand to silence her.

"It’s not the moon, it’s not ambient interference, and it’s sure as hell not my materials. It’s not your procedures, your written report has no problems on paper and I tested it last night in this very room, so it’s not the location either."

Sure enough, when I tested Selin’s ritual myself in preparation for today, the brilliant purple spark had appeared in midair and fragmented into responsive motes, just as she had designed it to do. By her own accounts it had worked just as well while she was developing it, so we should be seeing at least some sort of magical response from the ritual besides the barest, halfhearted ionizing glow coming from the air above the circle, and yet here we were, twenty-two attempts later. I would normally have to penalize her for taking this many attempts, but that part of the rubric was written under the assumption that failure would be due to something on the student’s part. This, however…

"So what is wrong with it, Professor?" Selin asks as she slumps down into one of the armchairs arranged against the wall of my workshop. "I know you’re not supposed to tell me until after the exam, but…"

"Nothing," I say as I sit down next to her, with a bit more grace. "Absolutely nothing at all, besides the fact that it is simply not working. Selin, I genuinely have no idea what to tell you. I’m half-tempted to just award you full marks and some extra credit on top of it and call it a day."

"Well don’t do that," she whines. "How am I supposed to call it a success if it doesn’t work when it’s supposed to?"

"You do realize most students wouldn’t hesitate to accept that offer, right?"

"Well there’s a reason you’re mentoring me and not them," Selin says, and I concede the point with a chuckle. The girl has a work ethic and level of tenacity I haven’t seen in years. What makes her stand out even more is the fact that when she was my student in introductory classes, I had initially assumed she would wash out of the program. It took her almost twice as long as most of the other students to get her fundamental spell weaving up to par, and her magic still has a tendency to try and run away from her in a way that’s amusingly familiar. But what she lacks in control, Selin more than makes up for with her sheer breadth of comprehension of theory. With time and effort, she’s grown to become the most promising student in her year, and I was quite excited to see what she came up with for her end-of-semester project. It was ambitious, sure, but pulling it off should be fully within her capabilities, and yet success has eluded her thus far today. Hell, I wouldn’t be surprised if she refused to leave my quarters until the ritual succeeded, be it hours or until the end of the day or even longer. I myself would be remiss to end before she got it working, but at this point I genuinely have no idea what to do.

"Why don’t you take a break?" I suggest. "Just half an hour. You can ask Ember to make tea. I’ll stay here and work out the problem, then you can come back with a fresh mind and it’ll work this time."

I can tell Selin does not share my optimism, nor does she want to give up even temporarily, but exhaustion wins out and she nods, standing up and removing her apron and protective goggles before exiting the workshop. I remain, close my eyes, and focus my mind the problem at hand.

Fifteen minutes later and I’m only more frustrated. I tested this yesterday and it worked. There should be no effective difference between the two setups. What the hell is going on?

The softest, quietest tink of porcelain interrupts my thoughts, and I open my eyes to see Ember setting down a cup and saucer on the end table next to my chair. My maid’s lips quirk in dissatisfaction when she realizes that she wasn’t quite silent enough to go unnoticed, but quickly return to her usual warm smile.

"You’ll get me one of these days," I assure her, and she stifles an amused snort. "How’s Selin?"

"Antsy, but she’s staying in one place, at least," Ember responds. "I think the failure is getting to her."

"And to I as well," I sigh. "She’s executing the ritual even more precisely than I did, and nothing."

I pick up the cup from the saucer, then pause as I notice the contents and raise one eyebrow at Ember.

"What is hot cocoa if not tea made of chocolate steeped in milk?" she says, with an ever-so-slightly mischievous lilt to her voice. "I thought you both could use the comfort."

I roll my eyes, though there’s no real annoyance behind it. A small sip confirms that it’s been heated well beyond the boiling point, the enchantment on the cup preventing it from evaporating or scalding, and I breathe a sigh of contentment. She knows me too well.

"Would you like me to give it a look, my lady?" Ember asks. "Fresh eyes could spot something new, perhaps?"

"You’re welcome to, if you’d like," I tell her. I don’t honestly expect her to find anything, though not for any lack of faith on my part in my maid’s skill. I just can’t imagine there’s anything to find.

Ember walks around the outside of the ritual circle a few times, staring at it intently as I sip my cocoa. I try to keep thinking, picking apart the problem in different ways, but the answer continues to elude me. When Ember speaks up again, the distraction is very welcome.

"She’s using your mana siphon design. Integrated correctly, but still not standard. Is that a problem?"

"No, it should work just like the standard design for her. A bit more efficiently, even, which I assume is why she’s using it," I say. Ember knows this, of course, but it’s still good to talk things out. Maybe something will spark an epiphany.

"Hmm." She’s quiet for another moment. "And you recreated this last night exactly, including the siphon, correct?"

"It’s the design I have to grade, so naturally," I confirm. "It worked flawlessly, first try."

"Even with the compensation runes?"

I frown.

"I suppressed them temporarily, like I always do with that design. My magic only needs compensation when I’m reproducing the standard siphon design, you know this," I say, not entirely sure where she’s going with this. The runes hidden in the walls of my workshop and the classrooms I teach in are critical for ensuring rituals designed without my own little custom component actually function properly and don't just immediately fizzle out. My own magic doesn't play nicely with rituals, so any mana siphon attempting to use it to power one finds itself promptly overwhelmed unless it's built to handle that kind of mana (like my design is) or the volatility in my magic is compensated for, like the runes do.

"And they’re on now, because that’s their normal state," Ember hums. "Out of curiosity, what would happen if you tried this ritual with the compensation runes active?"

"Modifying the design to use a standard mana siphon? I can’t see any reason why I wouldn’t be able—"

"No," Ember cuts me off. "As implemented."

"It wouldn’t work, obviously. The siphon’s design is too specific for properly collecting my magic processed to behave like normal magic, it has to be either or. Standard siphons are more forgiving, but less efficient."

"So the siphon would get overloaded and fail relatively quickly?" she asks, raising an eyebrow at me.

"I can see where you’re going with this, but it’s wrong," I say, leaning forward in my chair and placing the now-empty cup back down on the saucer. "To the runes, normal mana might as well not exist. They wouldn’t do anything to Selin’s, she’s the one igniting the ritual, and the ritual isn’t tandem nor does it collect ambient mana. My magic isn’t affecting things at all, I’ve made sure of it."

"What if her magic needs to be compensated for?"

"I—"

The notion is ludicrous. So ludicrous that I start to respond without thinking, but then cut myself off. If I was the one doing the ritual, then yes, I’d need to suppress the runes in order for it to work, just like I did last night. I never designed my improved mana siphon to work with them, because there was absolutely no need to and it would have just complicated the inscription. If I still tried anyway, though… the siphon would eke out the barest amount of mana, then promptly give up. The distribution lines would do their best to convey the mana to the rest of the circle, which would… which wouldn’t even get through the first step of the intended output. No spark. It would try, though, and if I had to guess, that weak, mana-starved attempt would probably look just like a faint purple glow in the air, and nothing else.

It doesn’t make sense. It makes too much sense. It explains everything nicely and raises so many more questions. I desperately want to hang onto any possible evidence it’s not true, because it couldn’t be. I would know. And there’s no way. No way at all. But…

"But she’s human," I say, voice a little weaker and more unsure than I’d like. Ember simply raises an eyebrow again.

"You thought you were."

I sigh. I don’t want to acknowledge even the remotest possibility of Ember being right, but at my core I’m too much of a scientist to not at least attempt to test the possibility.

"It’s been long enough; she’ll be itching to try again," I say, defeated. "You go get her, I’ll turn off the compensation runes."

"Of course, my lady," my maid says, in that way she’s perfected that conveys very little of the deference the title would imply. She exits the workshop, and I get back to my feet, turning around and placing my hand on the wall. A twist of will sees the rune contained within made dormant for a time, and I walk to and repeat the process with the other five walls, finishing just as Selin rushes in with Ember behind her.

"What’d you figure out?" Selin asks excitedly, already throwing her apron back on and pulling her hair back. "Are we good to go?"

"There’s… a chance we are," I hedge. "I don’t want you to get your hopes up, but I’ve tried something and there’s a very remote possibility it should work now, no other modifications necessary."

"Alright!" Selin cheers, tying the apron strings behind her back. "You don’t sound very hopeful, though."

"The lady has a tendency to temper her expectations to an unreasonable degree," Ember says, insolent little creature that she is. "I have faith in your abilities, Selin."

"Aw, thanks!" Selin says, grabbing the materials she needs for another attempt. "Anything I should do differently or just like I designed?"

"Just like you designed," I confirm. "And if this doesn’t work then please don’t feel discouraged."

"No promises!" she declares, working with remarkable efficiency. "Okay, prepped and reset for another go."

I give her work a cursory glance, but I have no doubt it’ll be perfect, just like all the other attempts. Alright. No time like the present.

"On my call," I say, and Selin nods. "Three. Two. One. Ignite."

Selin pours her magic into the circle once again, and the air above the ritual circle blooms, brilliant purple light coalescing into one single, shining point. I allow myself a fraction of a second to process, which is not nearly enough, but I have a job to do.

"Seven. Six. Five. Four," I call, and the spark fragments, much smaller points of light rapidly spreading out to fill the cylindrical space above the ritual circle. There must be thousands of them, and the density Selin has achieved is noticeably greater than what I managed last night with the exact same conditions. "Three. Two. One. Indicators. Four. Three. Two. One."

"Succeeded," Selin declares, voice full of pride. The results are plain to see, stabilizing well before the seven second mark and taking much less than four to interpret.

"Hold," I continue in cadence. "One. Two. Three. Four. Five. Six. Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten. Stable."

Selin hesitantly sticks her hand into the field of purple, and the motes in a small radius around it drift towards her. She clenches her hand into a fist, and they rapidly move to coat her hand, before all suddenly jumping back into position when she opens her hand again. She beams at me.

"Well done," I say as I release a bit of the tension in my body, though not all of it, and catch Ember’s eye. She’s grinning at me very smugly, which I suppose is well-deserved. This… complicates things.

"Told you it works," Selin says, self-satisfaction oozing out of every pore. She pulls her hand back and the pinpricks of purple light stay where they are, having done their job in this demonstration.

"If you’ll recall, I never doubted that it should," I respond. Okay, time to start teasing this mystery apart. "Selin, your mana siphon. Why did you use my design over the standard one? It must have been harder to integrate."

"Huh? Oh, the siphon. Because the standard one sucks and yours is better?" Selin says as she pushes her goggles up to her forehead. Somehow I don’t think she means it solely as a compliment.

"It’s harder to inscribe than the standard version, though," I prompt her. "And reproducibility was one of the factors you were instructed to keep in mind when designing your project."

"Well yeah, of course I thought about that," she defends. "And I started with the usual one, like I’m supposed to, but I’m bad at inscribing it and I could never get it right so I just rebuilt the ritual around yours and I actually started getting results."

I freeze. She does not mean what I think she means. She can’t.

"What do you mean you’re bad at inscribing it?" I ask. "Your inscriptions are some of the most precise I’ve ever seen."

"Aww, thanks," Selin blushes. "And I mean I’m bad at it! I can only get it to work half the time, usually when you’re helping me. Anything that’s designed by you always works for me. It’s consistent!"

It’s consistent because I always deactivate the compensation runes in my classrooms and workshop when we’re working with rituals I’ve designed, because of the fact that they interfere with each other. And any time she’s tried a ritual with my mana siphon outside of those places, there aren’t runes to worry about. But no, that would mean…

"Selin, have you ever successfully completed a ritual using the standard siphon outside of this room or a classroom?"

"Uh, well… not really?" she admits sheepishly. Oh goddess. "I’ve just kinda taken to modifying the rituals when I’m at home, 'cause there isn’t an instructor there to tell me off for doing it wrong."

"You’re modifying rituals to include my mana siphon?" I ask, flabbergasted. "You can’t just put it in place of the old one; the integrations are completely different!"

"Uh, yeah?" Selin says, sounding confused. "It’s not that difficult to rework the distribution lines around it."

Yes it is. Yes it fucking is. I don’t say that to her, though, instead turning to the room’s other occupant, whose grin is almost too wide for her face at this point.

"Fine. Fine! You win, Ember," I declare, throwing my hands up in the air. "You were right, I was wrong. She can’t do rituals without compensating."

"I’m so glad your humility hasn’t left you, my lady," Ember beams. Selin, meanwhile, just looks confused.

"Sorry, 'compensating?'" she asks. "I’m not doing anything differently, as far as I know. What did you figure out? Why did it work this time?"

I sigh.

"You didn’t do anything different. It was a problem with my workshop, which I apologize for. But, we’re not quite done yet. This is not part of your exam, but I’d appreciate it if you humored me anyway. Light spell, as by-the-book as you can."

Selin’s confused expression only deepens, but she obliges me, holding up a hand and making a simple ball of light appear above it. It roils and shifts, maintaining a loosely spherical shape as it ebbs and flows. Selin’s magic has frequently expressed itself this way, and while I’ve drawn parallels to my own experiences, I never made the conclusion that it’s seeming like I should have.

"Hold it there, don’t lose focus," I instruct her as I walk back towards the wall. With a touch, I draw back out the mana keeping the rune within suppressed, fixing my eyes on the Selin’s light spell as I do so. It flickers, though not by much. I walk to two more walls and do the same thing, then return to my student. With half the runes in effect, the ball of light has calmed itself a bit, still far from static but significantly more under control. Selin looks to be concentrating hard on keeping it stable, her lips pursed, but I don’t offer her any insight, instead walking to the remaining three walls and reactivating the runes contained within. Walking back up, I can see that the little ball of light has become a perfect, static sphere, as textbook as I’ve ever seen. Selin looks up at me questioningly, but I preempt her with a question of my own.

"Are you sure you’re human?"

"What the hell kind of question is that?" she asks incredulously.

"Like I asked earlier, please humor me," I say patiently.

"I… yes?" she says, and I can tell she truly believes it. "There’s some elven blood on my dad’s side if you go back like eight generations, but that’s extremely diluted, I know how this works."

And indeed, it should not have this kind of effect oh her magic. But, what I’m asking about isn’t something brought about by genetics.

"Release and disengage the ritual at your leisure, then you two start cleaning up," I order. "I need to grab something. Ember, don’t bias her while I’m gone."

"Bias me?"

"My lady?"

"I’m doing a test," I state, and Ember’s eyes go wide.

"Hey wh—"

The rest of Selin’s confused exclamation is cut off as I abruptly turn on my heel and yank myself through space, the workshop around me immediately transitioning into a new, much larger space. Cavernous walls of rough-hewn rock, globes of magical light suspended from the very high ceiling, and approximately forty fireballs spontaneously generated and fired towards me by the wards the second I take a step forward. My stride doesn’t falter as they hit and harmlessly wash over me, my robes being enchanted to protect themselves and anything contained within the many pockets from flame. That doesn’t include the wearer, but, well. The day I can’t handle a bit of fire is the day I die.

I was lucky enough to find this cave a couple of centuries back, and promptly sealed it up and warded it to high heaven to prevent anyone else from doing so after me. If anyone else besides me or my staff tried to get in here, they’d be faced with a lot worse than just fireballs. They’re more of a precaution, anyway. Plus, the heat is nice. These mountains don’t have any geothermal activity, so the entire cave system has to be heated magically, which takes a lot of energy.

It doesn’t take me long to reach the cave’s main event, since while this chamber is absolutely massive, so is the pile of treasure it contains. For years, I never really understood the appeal of having a hoard, but the very first time I held a gemstone the size of an apple in my hands, I was hooked. That was a long, long, time ago, though, and now my trove has grown to a size even the most ascetic of my kin would salivate over. Not that they’ll ever get to see it, of course, nor will any humans. Very few people know my true identity, and I like it that way. I doubt my life of tenured pedagogy would be quite so peaceful if the rest of the staff knew there was anything more to me than an experienced noblewoman with a penchant for magical research and a slightly strange magical response to rituals. Anonymity holds power, in this world, which is one of the many reasons why part of me greatly dislikes the idea of potentially revealing myself. But, I’m forced to admit, if I’m correct, the alternative would be worse for Selin, and I like the poor girl far too much for that.

I spend around half an hour searching through the piles, examining each splotch of color poking out from in between pieces of gold from this century and many past. My search criteria is very specific, and it’s not like I can just pull some random ruby out and be done with it. I’m loathe to part with even a single piece from my collection, as any self-respecting dragon would be, but I know that if this test succeeds then there will be no way I’m getting this back. Finally, though, I spot it. A brilliant purple, Selin’s favorite color. Round, roughly cut (though that just adds charm, in my opinion), and large enough that it’s awkward to carry in only one hand. Corundum. It’s perfect. …Now I just have to find something to carry it in.

When I return to my workshop, a large felt bag clasped in my hands, my eyes barely have time to focus before I’m assaulted with a shrill exclamation.

"You can teleport!?" Selin yells, and I wince before schooling my expression.

"Were you waiting the entire time just to ask that?" I say tersely.

"Well yeah, you just disappeared so what else was I supposed to do after cleaning up?" Selin responds, and I am pleased to see the workshop is looking spotless. "Ember won’t even talk to me and I am still very confused as to what is going on."

"I apologize for leaving you in the dark, so to speak, but this is very important," I sigh. "Yes, I can teleport, it’s rather advanced magic and relatively inaccessible to most people, but I will teach you, should you desire. In any case, I think things will very soon become clear. Come."

I turn and walk towards the door, navigating down the hall and to the sitting room. As expected, Ember is waiting there, tea already prepared. Cinnamon this time, I can smell, not chocolate. I sit down on one of the chairs, bag in my lap, and motion for the other girls to do the same. Selin picks the chair opposite me, looking at me intently, while Ember picks the couch to the side of us. She always gets squirmy when she’s excited, and that’s quite evident now, despite her attempts to sit still.

"So, first things first," I begin. "Nothing you are about to see or hear is to be discussed outside of my quarters, and never with anyone besides me or my staff. Do you understand?"

"'Staff,' plural?" Selin says, raising an eyebrow and glancing at Ember. "Are there more?"

"Cinder and Tinder tend to the estate while I’m teaching; you’ll be introduced to them eventually," I elaborate, and before she can think too much on the names I continue. "Besides Ember and I, you will not breathe a word of this to anyone else. I repeat, do you understand?"

"Yes," Selin nods, and I can tell she means it. Everything that’s happening is much too intriguing for her to just walk away.

"Good," I say, then reach into the bag and tug it off of the gemstone contained within, watching Selin’s expression carefully. "Secondly, congratulations on passing your practical exam. As I said earlier, I will be awarding you full marks, plus extra credit."

As I reveal the giant purple corundum, I see the spark in Selin’s eyes, and my theory is confirmed. A bittersweet feeling washes over me at that. As much as I was enjoying the relatively solo life (well, as solo as a girl can be with three kobolds), it’s nice to know that I’ll be mentoring my favorite student for a good while longer yet. I stand up, holding the gem in both hands, and walk over to Selin, holding it out to her.

"A gift," I tell her. "And hopefully a fitting start to your collection."

Her eyes grow even wider than they already were, and she reaches up, almost reverently, taking the gemstone from my grasp. I feel a pang in my heart as it leaves my hands, but I push it down. This is necessary. I’m not going to let her wander, lost, like I did.

"I… I don’t know what to say," Selin starts as I walk back to my chair and sit down. "This is… this is too much. What even… what?"

"Purple corundum," I state matter-of-factly. "The same thing that rubies and sapphires are made of, just with a different name and color. Near flawless, as best I can tell. I’ll help you weigh and grade it later. You’ll want to know."

"Professor, this is… how much is this even worth?" Selin nearly whines, most of her sense of decorum leaving her. Which is understandable.

"Oh, I have no idea," I tell her, semi-honestly, then lean forward in my seat. "If it’s too much, then simply give it back. I’ll find you something more appropriate."

She looks at the gemstone for a long while, longer than she thinks, I’m sure. Then, very slowly, she brings it down to her chest, holding and hugging it despite the weight. I nod approvingly. There really was no chance of anything else.

"Then, thirdly, your ritual," I say, and I think I manage to recapture most of her attention. "Like I said, the problem was with my workshop, not you or your execution. I would like to once again apologize for causing that unnecessary stress."

"That’s… alright," Selin nods. "What was the problem, if you don’t mind me asking?"

"The answer is rather complicated, but I’ll do my best to explain," I start. "While my preferences lie in other fields, I do consider myself somewhat of an expert in ritual magic, and I’d hope my teaching position supports that assertion. This is in spite of a rather curious quirk of my magic, which interacts with most modern ritual designs in a way that precludes them from working. Unless, of course, the ritual circle utilizes the mana siphon I designed some two hundred years ago to address this very issue. You, Selin, have this same quirk."

"Okay, wait, slow down," she says. "I’ve seen you use the standard mana siphon before. I’ve used it before. And my ritual used yours, but it wasn’t working. Also, sorry, did you say two hundred years?"

"Young lady, you should know better than to ask about a woman’s age," I admonish her, and savor the wounded expression on her face for the couple of seconds I can manage to prevent my mouth from cracking into a smile. "But yes, I am significantly older than I look. And in regards to your other questions, there is more than one way to mitigate the effects of this quirk, which I had to do before I designed my own ritual components. Built into the walls of my workshop and classrooms are runes that, when activated, compensate for the volatility of my magic, forcing it to behave as normal to standard mana siphons."

Understanding begins to dawn on Selin’s face.

"So when you had me do the light spell and it got less and less chaotic…"

"The runes were processing and calming your magic as I activated them, yes."

"That… makes a surprising amount of sense," she says. "The standard siphon only working for me in the classrooms and your workshop, not at home. Wait, but what was the problem with my ritual, then? I was using your design, that takes care of the issue, you said."

"It does, yes," I nod. "The problem was that I, not knowing about your situation, left the runes activated for your exam. The siphon does not process my magic after it has been affected by the runes, due to the specificity of the design, and neither was it processing yours. When I deactivated the runes, as I do whenever I deal with rituals of my own design, that allowed your natural magic to fuel the ritual as normal, and thus leading to the success. The compensation runes have no effect whatsoever on magic without this quirk, so I did not expect them to have any effect on your performance."

"Huh," Selin responds, thoughtfully. "I assume you’re willing to show me the runes so I can use them myself?"

"I do plan on doing so," I nod affirmatively. "They’re not exactly simple, but I have no doubt you’ll be able to reproduce them with relatively little effort."

"Well, okay then!" she beams. "That’s good to know. Use your siphon when I can, use the runes for the standard version, don’t mix and match. That all seems pretty clear. I don’t really get why this is such a secret, though."

I sigh. Here’s where we get to the more significant part of this conversation.

"Selin, you are the twelfth person I have met in my life besides me with this condition. This is over many centuries, and I know there are a number more I have not met but experience the same thing, since it follows a very clear pattern. I hope you believe me when I tell you how rare this is, and that I am very confident when I say it is indicative of more overall characteristics of the person the volatile magic comes from. I was initially extremely unwilling to believe that the runes were responding to you, for the very simple reason that the runes do not respond to humans, nor most other races. Yet your magic is of the variety they were designed for, which only stems from one source."

"So, what are you saying?" she asks me, pulling the gemstone a little tighter against herself. "That I’m not human? How the hell could I not be?"

"In this case, it’s a matter of the soul," I tell her. "I do not know the exact mechanism behind it, for there are so few of us to be studied, and I am still not entirely sure how similar it is for other races. But, sometimes, very rarely, a person can be born with a soul not befitting of their body, and this leads to a mismatch. One that could potentially go unnoticed for their entire lives, given a lack of the right circumstances. Such a case is certainly a tragedy, which means that it is my responsibility to prevent the same from happening to you."

She takes a deep breath.

"Just… out with it. Stop dancing around whatever it is."

Well. Here we go.

"Selin, every single person whose magic behaves like this is a dragon."

To her credit, she doesn’t laugh.

"Bullshit," is her response, soft, too quickly. I say nothing, and simply draw my hand down my face, letting my human visage fall away and the deep blue scales of my true form shine through, though still in a somewhat humanoid shape. Selin gasps at my sudden reveal, then glances over to Ember, whose disguise falls away at the same time mine does, leaving a short orange kobold sitting on the couch instead, tail rapidly wagging. She’s still wearing a smaller version of her maid uniform, though, and waves happily to a stunned Selin.

"I hope you understand why I asked you to keep this a secret," I say, only managing to hide around half of the amusement I’m currently feeling. Not much of my body is visible with the robes, but it should certainly be enough.

"I… yes," Selin responds, finally managing to find her voice again. "But you’re… that’s not… I’m not…"

"Here’s a proposal for you," I say to her, leaning forward to give my folded-up wings some space. "Hand the stone back to me, or fail my class."

The immediate look of shock and betrayal on her face is just what I expected, so I escalate, holding out my scaled palm and summoning a roiling ball of flame above it.

"Hand the stone back to me, or die."

She tenses up, eyes narrowing. I know that look, and while it is what I’m fishing for, I don’t particularly feel like ruining my sitting room with a mage battle, so I extinguish the flame and raise both my palms up deferentially while lowering my head.

"Easy, easy," I placate, letting my human form wash back over me to break her concentration. She blinks, eyes refocusing, so that hopefully did the trick. "I’m not going to take it away, I promise. I’m sorry."

"G-good," Selin says. Then, after a moment, her eyes widen. "Wait, holy shit, I didn’t mean to… fuck, I am so sorry, um—"

I lower my left hand, letting the right one remain up to stop her.

"It’s exactly the reaction I was provoking; there’s no need to apologize," I assure her. "It’s natural to get defensive over items in your hoard."

"My hoard?" she asks incredulously. Then, softly. "Oh. Fuck."

I nod at her.

"Are things starting to make a bit more sense?"

"…Getting there," Selin says, demurely. "There’s still a lot I don’t understand."

"Well, we have all the time in the world to get to remedy that," I assure her. "And as it turns out, all the time is the world is going to be a lot longer for you than either of us thought."

"Aaaa, this is going to be so much fun!" Ember squeaks, and I can’t help but agree with her. Even Selin lets a hint of anticipation show through on her face, which makes my smile grow even wider.

Goodness, I love being a teacher.

#short story #fiction #dragons #therian #dragon tf #this is just a oneshot #but the girls are begging me to write more

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delicatebarness · 6 months ago

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𝑻𝒉𝒆 𝑷𝒓𝒐𝒑𝒉𝒆𝒄𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝑬𝒂𝒓𝒕𝒉 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝑴𝒐𝒐𝒏 | 𝑪𝒉𝒂𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝑶𝒏𝒆

𝐒𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲: At Velmythria Academy, among creatures much larger and more powerful than yourself, you unexpectedly cross paths with the imposing werewolf– Bucky Barnes. Leaving you questioning the rules of the realm.

𝐖𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠: Forbidden Relationships | Size Difference | Tension | Societal Restrictions | Small Physical Contact

𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐂𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1507

𝐒𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐢𝐟𝐲 𝐏𝐥𝐚𝐲𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐒𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐨𝐫𝐭: Ko-FI | Instagram | Personal Blog | Pinterest

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

𝐀/𝐍: I'm back, babies! - Please feel free to leave feedback or let me know where and how you want the story to continue, this is just as much yours as mine. - Bethiee x

The hallways were crowded, and students rushed to their next classes. You were lost in your thoughts as you rounded a corner, and before you knew it, your path collided with something large, and solid– Bucky Barnes.

Your shoulder barely grazed his large forearm, but the impact felt like you walked into a wall. The wolf never glanced down, no acknowledgment of the collision at all. Bucky kept walking, long strides carried him through the crowd. It was as if he was a boulder in a river, the sea of students parted without a second thought.

Involuntarily, your wings fluttered, and heat rose to your cheeks. You stood frozen for a second– had he not noticed you? Before you could process the small event, two familiar voices broke through the rush of the hallways.

“Hey, you okay?” Your best friend's voice, Wanda, was warm yet a little breathless as she skidded to a stop beside you.

A formidable witch, Wanda’s long, brunette hair was threaded with strands of shimmering red chaos magic. Fluttering around her ankles, her cloak's soft, deep red fabric was imbued with protective runes that had a slight glow with every move. There was always a sense of subtle humming of power around her. Her emerald-green eyes scanned your face with concern, they were sharp with a sight only a witch could possess.

“Y-yeah, I’m fine. It was just–” Even though your heart pounded, a little too fast, you waved off their concern. Sneaking another glance over your shoulder, you noticed Bucky had now disappeared from the crowd. “It’s nothing.”

Frowning slightly, Wanda’s gaze followed yours, narrowing her eyes with suspicion. “Nothing, huh?” she said, her tone soft but probing as if she could sense the shift in the air. “You don’t look like it was nothing.”

Another voice joined the conversation before you could respond.

“Pfft, werewolves,” Steve’s voice, lilting with the cadence of the ocean, waved from your right. He weaved through the crowd, his blonde hair, and crystal blue eyes shimmering as he sidled up next to you and Wanda. “They’re all like that– zero spatial awareness. Just barrel through life without a care in the world.”

A faint sheen of water still carried against his skin, and you could smell the salt on him. Iridescent scales clung to his skin, sparkling under the hallway lights, peeking from under his enchanted tailored jacket. His fisk-like tail had already shifted into his legs.

With a quick glance between you and Wanda, Steve’s smirk widened as he crossed his arms over his chest. “You practically bounced off Barnes.”

Huffing, you felt a bit embarrassed that your friends had witnessed the whole thing. “I barely grazed him,” you muttered, though the heat rushing to your cheeks betrayed the casual tone you tried to maintain.

“It’s typical, really,” Wanda said, shaking her head. “Werewolves tend to have the sensitivity of a brick wall.”

“Yeah,” Steve added with a scoff, “and Barnes is the biggest brick wall of them all.”

While Wanda and Steve went back and forth, your mind wandered back to the subtle touch. Had he not felt anything at all? Yeah, you might be small compared to him, but surely he felt some sort of impact– or was he simply choosing to ignore it?

Students began to rush with even more urgency around you as the bell rang– signaling the end of the passing period and the start of the next class. The three of you exchange a knowing look before hurrying along to your separate destinations.

Later that day, you entered your last class– History of Velmythria Creatures. There was a low hum, buzzing with voices, and other languages. Glancing toward the back of the classroom, you noticed Bucky sitting as massive and unbothered as ever, scrubbing something on a sheet of parchment. You slipped into your usual seat, heart still racing, unsettled from your earlier encounter with the wolf. He was completely absorbed in whatever he was writing, seemingly not noticing your small form once again.

The professor stood at the front of the room, and she wasted no time. Her voice was rich, commanding, and effortlessly cutting through the murmur of conversations– A dark gleam of wisdom within her eyes.

“All right, settle down. The discussion today is regarding your upcoming assignment, and trust me, this is not your typical assignment. For this project, you will be paired with a student of a different species from your own.”

The room fell eerily quiet, curious glances darting around the room.

“The purpose,” the professor continued, “is to gain a deeper understanding of the cultures, traditions, and perspectives of the other species here at the Academy. You and your partner will be required to fully immerse into the other’s world– learning about their customs, history, strengths, and weaknesses. Then, you will be expected to present your findings to the class by the end of the term.”

The words hung in the air heavily, and you could sense the tension rippling through the room as the other students exchanged uncertain glances. Diving into another species’ world wasn’t a custom of the realm, many families were shocked to find out that they still allowed multi-species education. The Storm family, mostly your blood-faerie father– Lloyd, also had these beliefs.

With a flick of her wrist, there was a summon of a large, enchanted chalk hoovering to the front of the room. It glowed with a faint ancient magic. Moving with purpose, the chalk began scratching across the surface of a board with an almost musical sound.

“Shortly, all the pairings will be revealed,” the professor announced, a grin subtly playing on her lips. “The chalk will list your names and species. Pay attention.”

The chalk wrote the names of the students in a neat, flowing script, each pair listing alongside their species. There was a collective breath held as name after name appeared on the board.

As the chalk continued, your heart rate quickened. It felt like an eternity waiting, but then, you saw it.

James Barnes - Werewolf

Your stomach dropped, and you blinked while staring at the board. There it was– clear as day. Your name, along with your ‘faerie’ title, beside his. A storm brewed within you, yet the room didn’t notice. Surely, you thought, this was just a bad joke. You were barely over five feet, how were you supposed to “immerse yourself” in his world? His kind? He was a towering wall of pure muscle and raw power, just the thought of having the smallest interaction with him again was overwhelming.

“Each pair will spend time together outside of class,” the professor continued in her instructions, “observe each other’s behaviors, ask questions, and learn. Delve into things that make your partner’s species unique. Look past the facts and figures, truly understand the why behind the actions, the beliefs, and their place in the realm.”

Her words barely registered as you stole a glance toward Bucky. His body language was as relaxed as ever, blissfully unaware of the anxiety building in your chest.

“By the end of the term,” the professor proceeded, “ you will present a joint presentation, with a full report. Complete it with your findings and experiences. Also, this will be a significant portion of your end-of-year grade. I suggest you take it seriously.”

With a clap of hands together, the professor stopped the enchanted chalk moving. “That’s all for today. You may begin your research with your partner immediately. Good luck… you’ll need it.”

The sound of conversation and shuffling paper erupted throughout the classroom, yet you stayed frozen in your seat, staring at the board. You willed the names to disappear. Your trance only broke upon hearing the scrape of Bucky’s chair against the floor.

Swallowing hard, you felt the weight crashing down on you. Werewolves–especially alpha wolves–weren’t exactly known for warmth or willingness to engage. How were you going to approach this project?

Slinging his bag over his shoulder, Bucky stood and in a brief moment, his gaze met yours. There was no expression on his face as his eyes flickered between you and the board where your names pair together. No surprise, no frustration. He was calm, with that same collected demeanor.

Before turning to leave the classroom, he gave you a slight nod, nothing more. His footsteps were heavy and unhurried as he walked out. It was as if a hex had been broken around you, and the rest of the students returned to life around you, your breath finally returning.

“Well,” Steve said as he suddenly appeared at your side, the blue in his eyes gleaming, “looks like you’re in for an interesting time.”

Smirking, Wanda joined him. “Yeah, this is going to be… fascinating.”

Still staring at the door, you kept your gaze on where Bucky had disappeared, a tight knot forming in your chest. You exhaled, almost silently, feeling the weight of what was ahead of you. This was going to be more difficult than you ever could have anticipated, by far.

---

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐌𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞 | 𝐍𝐞𝐱𝐭 𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫

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odileeclipse · 1 month ago

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hii I just recently read your work

“A Scholar's Indifference”

And I really loved it (the anon who rq it is smart) do you think you’ll be doing a part 2?? I kinda want to see how and what will happen to their relationship

not forcing tho it’s completely up to ur choice!

A Scholar's Indifference Pt 2

A/N Well initially I didn't plan on it but since it's been requested, I'll just write a bit more on it <3 btw all the lore is made up

It started with a name you did not recognize. A scholar draped in navy and silver, with ink-stained fingers and a voice that dripped with the cadence of someone who knew too much. He arrived at the Grand Archives on an evening like any other, appearing at your desk with a quiet, measured presence, as though he had every right to be there. “I’ve been meaning to meet you for quite some time,” he mused, setting down a worn, leather-bound tome. “Your research on arcane philosophy is… impressive, to say the least.” You glanced up from your notes, eyes flicking over him in a brief assessment. He was not one of the scholars you recognized, not from the Vanilla Kingdom, nor any neighboring academies. Yet, the way he spoke was precise. The weight of his words carried the grace of an intellectual.

He had done his homework. Still, you remained unbothered, simply tapping your quill against your parchment. “And you are?” “A fellow scholar.” He smiled, placing a hand over his chest in a modest bow. “I go by Noctis.” Noctis. A name as shadowed as the night itself. How… poetic. You gave him a slow nod, gesturing for him to continue. He took a seat across from you, intertwining his fingers as he leaned forward ever so slightly, his eyes glinting with something unreadable. “I must say,” he continued smoothly, “your recent thesis on ancient magical constructs was particularly fascinating. I found your insights on the correlation between early arcane inscriptions and the forbidden arts rather… thought-provoking.” Ah. So he had really done his research. You hummed, tilting your head. “Most scholars avoid discussing the forbidden arts.” “That they do,” he agreed, a knowing smile playing on his lips. “But true knowledge should not be feared, should it? After all, history is written by those who dare to seek the truths others wish to forget.”

An interesting choice of words. You allowed yourself to feign mild intrigue, resting your chin on your hand. “So, you’re suggesting that we should pursue knowledge, no matter the cost?” Noctis chuckled, the sound warm, too warm. “I would not be so bold as to suggest such reckless abandon,” he mused. “But I do believe wisdom comes not from caution, but from understanding.” He reached into his bag, withdrawing an aged manuscript. It was covered in glyphs you did not immediately recognize, and yet… some of them stirred something in the back of your mind. Something forgotten. Something lost. You leaned forward slightly, studying the text. “This script… it doesn’t match any recorded dialects.” He smiled, as if pleased. “Because it predates them.” Interesting. Very interesting. Your fingers traced one of the symbols absentmindedly. “Where did you find this?” “A remnant of the past,” he said airily. “A glimpse into the knowledge of those who came before.” You let his words settle. Let them sink into the silence between you. And then, softly, you asked: “…You speak as though you were there.” His smile froze. Just barely. Just enough. But you noticed. You leaned back in your seat, tapping your quill against the parchment once more. “It’s funny,” you mused. “You reference the first drafts of the Lexicon of the Soul, and yet… those drafts were never recovered. Only mentioned in passing by scholars who disappeared soon after. It’s almost as if…” You tilted your head. “You’ve read them yourself.”

Silence. Then aughter. Low and indulgent, curling through the candlelight like the whisper of something long-forgotten. Ink bled into shadow. Soft, well-worn robes unraveled into a harlequin’s silken finery. And standing before you, grinning as if you had just performed the world’s most delightful trick, was Shadow Milk Cookie. "Ah," he sighed, running a hand through his dual-toned hair, "you truly do take the fun out of things, starlight." You didn’t even blink. "You say that as if this was ever going to work on me." Shadow Milk Cookie hummed, twirling his staff idly between his fingers. "I had hopes," he admitted, a touch too dramatically. "But you are always so… unmoved." He sighed again, heavier this time. "It’s dreadfully boring, you know. How unaffected you are."

"Then stop wasting your time," you said bluntly, returning your attention to your notes. "Now, now," he chided, resting his elbow on the edge of your desk, propping his chin on one hand. "You’ve uncovered my little ruse, so what’ll you do with this revelation?" You gave him a bored look. "Nothing." Shadow Milk Cookie blinked. For the first time since he had revealed himself, he looked genuinely caught off guard. "…Nothing?" You exhaled, rubbing your temple. "What exactly am I supposed to do? Report you? Alert the kingdom?" You waved a hand vaguely. "You and I both know that won’t amount to much. And frankly, I don't care enough to try." He studied you. And then he smiled. Slow. Amused. Intrigued. "Oho… how fascinating." You ignored him, picking up your quill again. "So," you said flatly, "what’s the deal?" Shadow Milk Cookie tilted his head, feigning innocence. "Whatever do you mean?" You gave him a look. "The grand deception, the illusions, the masquerade. Surely you had some greater purpose in mind besides watching me sigh in exasperation." He laughed.

"Must I have a reason?" he mused, eyes glinting. "Perhaps I simply wanted to see if I could weave a tale even you would believe." You didn’t react. He leaned in, voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Or," he purred, "perhaps I simply wanted to see that spark in your eyes when you thought you had found something truly lost." You held his gaze. Unmoved. Unshaken. Then, with the same dry tone as before, you replied "How tragic for you, then, that all you got was mild irritation." Shadow Milk Cookie stilled. And he burst into laughter. Rich, full-bodied, genuine. "Oh, you truly are delightful," he breathed between chuckles. "Absolutely, marvelously delightful." You exhaled sharply through your nose, unimpressed. "Are we done here?" His laughter tapered off into a quiet chuckle, a knowing smile curling at his lips. "For now," he conceded, pushing himself up from your desk. "But do take care, dear scholar one of these days, I might just truly surprise you." "Unlikely," you muttered, already returning to your work. Shadow Milk Cookie merely chuckled again, melting back into the shadows, his presence fading like an unfinished story. And yet. You did not miss the way he lingered just a moment longer. Watching. Waiting. Perhaps, just perhaps, a little envious of the way you were always two steps ahead.

#crk #cookie run #cr kingdom #cookierun kingdom #cookie run kingdom #shadow milk #crk shadow milk cookie #shadow milk crk #shadow milk x reader #shmilk #smilk cookie #smc crk #smilk

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shelikesorchids-archive · 2 years ago

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CADENCE: Part One

Pairing: Matt Murdock x F!Audio Erotica Reader

Summary: Matt can't wait to get home to listen to your latest audio. He's a loyal subscriber, and you get him worked up like no one else does.

Warnings: SMUT, 18+ ONLY. Mutual masturbation (sort of), pillow humping, dirty talk, some light sacrilege. You know, THE GOOD GOOD. Reminder that you are responsible for what you see once you click "Read More".

Author's Note: I would like to thank the Academy (@bellaxgiornata @loveroftoomanyfandoms and @souliebird) for enabling this. Edited, but not beta read, we die like Ray Nadeem (RIP). ENJOY!

Divider by @saradika

Matt was sitting at his desk going over a deposition when his phone buzzed with a new notification. He had been waiting for word on something specific, so he switched his headphones from his laptop to his phone to see what it was. As soon as he heard the source of the notification, he slammed his laptop shut and started packing up his things to leave. Foggy heard the commotion from his office and came to check on Matt to make sure everything was okay.

“Hey, buddy. You okay?”

“Yeah, Fog. Just feeling a headache coming on. The seasons are changing and you know how that messes with me,” Matt replied as he stuffed his laptop in his bag.

“You want me to walk with you?”

“No, it’s okay, Fog. I can make it just fine.”

“Alright, buddy. But text me when you get home. You know I worry about you and your headaches,” Foggy called out as Matt walked out the door.

“I know, Foggy. But I’ll be okay. See you tomorrow, buddy!”

—--------------------------------------------------

Matt walked home as quickly as he could, resisting the urge to break into a full on sprint. Once he made it to his building, he dashed up the stairs two at a time, and threw off his jacket as soon as he shut his door behind him. He furiously loosened his tie as he pulled his phone out of his pocket and used the voice command to open up the notification once again. This time when he opened it, he was met with the sound of your voice.

“Hey baby, I missed you. Did you miss me?”

Your smooth and sugary voice went straight to his cock, so he unbuckled his belt and unzipped his pants, stepping out of them on his living room floor. He palmed over the bulge in his black boxers and pulled off his tie before going to work unbuttoning his shirt as your voice continued to play through his phone.

“I’ve been thinking about you all day. I even had to excuse myself from a meeting to go touch myself in the bathroom, but I wished it was your hand. You know just what to do to make me feel good.”

Matt was so caught up in your voice that it took him a moment to realize he was now half naked in his living room, right on display in front of the window. Truthfully, he didn’t care if the neighbors saw him, but he grabbed his phone and went into his bedroom. He placed his phone on the nightstand, shed his boxers, and climbed under his silk sheets.

“Oh, fuck,” he breathed out as he slowly stroked his cock while you continued to talk.

“Am I turning you on, baby? I can see you’re getting awfully worked up in those dress pants. I’m getting pretty wet, myself. You’re so fucking hot. You wanna watch while I rub my clit?”

“Yes, sweetheart. Make those pretty noises for me,” he replied as if you were in the room with him.

You let out a moan as you rubbed your clit, and Matt swore he could hear how wet you were. He started stroking his cock faster and you moaned louder.

“Oh, fuck, I’m gonna come, baby.”

“Yes, come for me, sweetheart. Fucking scream for me.”

“But I wanna come with your cock inside me, so I’ll wait for you. I want you to feel me, and I want to feel you. Let’s come together, baby.”

Suddenly his hand wasn’t good enough anymore, so he sat up in the bed and stuffed one of his pillows between his thighs to straddle it. The cool silk of the pillowcase felt like heaven against his achingly hard cock that was dripping with precum and begging for release. He started counting the Hail Mary’s he was going to have to say later for this depraved act in his head, but in the moment, he couldn’t be bothered to care.

“You’re so big, baby. Do you think you’ll fit?”

“I’ll go slow, sweetheart, I promise. We can make it fit.”

Matt rolled his hips against the pillow at the same time you let out another moan, and he grabbed onto his headboard for leverage.

“You feel so good, filling me up so perfectly. Fuck me, baby”

“You feel good too. I’ll go slow at first. I want to feel you.”

“You’re not gonna hurt me, I can handle it. Just fuck me, baby. Please.”

“How can I say no when you asked so nicely?” he purred.

He quickened his pace as you continued making soft sounds of pleasure. He should be ashamed of what he’s doing: fucking his pillow while listening to audio porn and responding back to you as if you could hear him. But, he didn’t care. Once he accidentally discovered erotic audios, he couldn’t get enough, and you were his favorite creator. Your voice was like a drug to him, and he was always jonesing for another hit. He couldn’t help but wonder what it would be like to actually fuck you instead of his pillow, but he would have to settle for this for now.

“Oh, fuck I’m so close. I’m gonna come baby. Are you gonna come too?”

“Fuck. Yeah, sweetheart I’m gonna come.”

“Come inside me.”

You let out a guttural, almost feral moan, and Matt screamed in tandem with you. His thrusts became more erratic, sweat was beading on his forehead, and he was white knuckling the headboard. He was getting closer with every sound you made, and he wasn’t going to be able to hold back much longer.

“Oh, OH F-FUCK.”

“Yes, sweetheart. Oh yes, oh FUCK.”

His chest heaved, his breathing was ragged, and his hips stuttered into the pillow as he came hard. He collapsed backward onto the mattress, a thin sheen of sweat covering his entire body. “Shit,” he breathed out as he ran one of his hands down his face.

“Did you like that? Be sure to subscribe for more, and don’t be shy about leaving me a comment! Until next time, audiophiles…”

After a few minutes, Matt sat up and reached for his phone to close the app. He knew that pillowcase was ruined, but that could wait. He stood up on shaky legs and made his way to the bathroom to take a shower. As much as he loved your voice, and how turned on he got by it, he longed to have you in his bed so he could hold you afterwards, and maybe even join him in the shower.

When he was done washing the post-coital sweat off his body, he dried off and put on a fresh pair of boxers and sweatpants, threw the defiled pillowcase in the trash, and sat down to leave you a comment on your latest audio that he got off to. He set his phone back on his nightstand, laid down in bed, and allowed his mind to wander about how you actually felt and how your skin smelled. Maybe one day he could find someone with a voice as gorgeous as yours.

—-----------------------------------------------

The “CLOSED” sign had long since been displayed in the door of the coffee shop, and you were finally done with your closing duties for the evening. Your boss said you were free to go, so you grabbed your bag and your jacket, said your goodbyes, and headed out to your shoebox of an apartment. You loved living in New York City, but it was expensive, and just being a barista didn’t pay the bills. No one knew about your “side hustle”, and you liked it that way. It was oddly empowering to you that you were a caffeine peddler by day, but you used your voice to get people off by night. It was perfect because you could have fun living out your own fantasies, but no one knew your face.

After scarfing down the take out you picked up on your way home, you sat down to check the notifications on your latest audio post. There were always lots of comments to sift through, but there was one username in particular that commented on every single audio you posted, and you always looked forward to their comments.

As you scrolled through the comments, you finally saw the one you were looking for: “rllygdlwyr commented: So hot as always, sweetheart. I ruined a silk pillowcase with this one. May have to start buying them in bulk if you keep this up.”

You laughed and bit your lip at the comment. Normally, subscribers calling you pet names would creep you out, but this one was loyal, and they pretty much paid for your take out habit with their subscription and their tips. As much as you hated to admit it, they kind of kept you going.

Once you were done checking your account and responding to comments, you took a shower, put on some slinky lingerie, and pulled out your favorite toys to make a new audio. According to their username, they were most likely a lawyer, so tonight you decided to try a little roleplay.

“I’m afraid I’m guilty, but is there anything I can do to lessen my sentence? I heard you’re a really good lawyer.”

#mandy writes #matt murdock #matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock smut #matt murdock fanfic #daredevil fanfiction

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ywpd-translations · 6 months ago

Text

Ride 792: Witness

Pag 1

1: I told you before, too

2: I believed I'd get to see Mountain King's race!!

You're kidding!

It's a cheering message written with chalk on the road!!

You wrote this in a hurry?

3: Anytime now, they'll come here soon!

We can see Manami-kun running from the first day!

Amazing, a serious battle between those two...

4: “History” needs “someone who sees it”

Pag 2

1: “A witness of the history”!!

Pag 3

1: They passed the 2km left point and it seems that now the mountain stage is narrowed down to them two

It narrowed down!

They're coming!

I'm so excited!

2: It's quite a long wait

3: I was looking forward to it during last year's second day's mountain stage

4: And before that, during winter, I purposely organized a race between you two, but in the end it didn't count because of the snow

Pag 4

1: Right now Hakone Academy's Manami is ahead

Sohoku's Onoda is following

Manami

2: Four-eyes

3: You bet your whole soul for this climbing race

4: You finally did it

Congratulations

5: You really chose this mountain on the first day ad your fight's place, huh?

Pag 5

1: And I, Toudou Jinpachi, Mountain's God, will make sure to see it with my own eyes!!

Pag 6

1: After this curve, the wind's direction will change!!

Pag 7

1: The trees are becoming lower!!

5: Ah-

Pag 8

3: The wind's direction will chamge!?

After this!?

4: You noticed

But it's already

Pag 9

1: too late!!

Pag 10

1: Manami-kun did a full acceleration in curve!?

2: Sooooo

3: reeeee!!

4: Spread....

Pag 11

1: your wings to the maximum!!

Pag 12

1: Hakogaku's Manami did a super acceleration!!

The distance between him and Mountain King-

What a strange acceleration!!

What was that just now?

Did he ride the wind?

2: -is spreading!!

3: I saw a pair of huge wings on his back!

Pag 13

2: Me too

3: 1700m left!!

Mountain King noticed the timing of Manami's acceleration, but was too late and is being left behind

Mountain King, do your best!!

Pag 14

1: Amazing, Manami-kun

He read the right place to attack...!!

2: His back is becoming smaller

3: He got stronger since last year

4: And even since that time he came on the Minegayama!!

5: For an instant, when Manami-kun accelerated, I saw “wings”....

6: and they looked three times bigger!!

Pag 15

4: You're amazing

5: Manami-kun!!

Pag 16

2: Huh

Mountain King was.... smiling... !?

Pag 17

1: Hum hum hum ♪

I've prepared too

Hum hum hum ♪

2: The anime I highly recommend, “Love Hime”... this year started its third season!!

Hum hum huum ♪

3: Yes ♪

“Love Him third season” opening song

4: Mitarashi in the afternoon ♪ It's a common story ♪ The princess has kinako* and brown sugar syrup ♪

“Morning princess scramble”

*(NdT.: roasted soybean flour)

5: What's going on with Mountain King...

He's saying something... he's speaking to himself!?

He's humming a song!?

6: Somehow his pressure suddenly grew!!

7: We met a long time ago ♪ you extended your knees and looked up ♪

I listened carefully to it and watched the PV

Pag 18

1: Definitely rise!! Love Hime ♪

'Cause you're the princess ♪

And I memorized both the lyrics and the melody!!

Pag 19

1: Look at Mountain King... what's with that cadence...

2: While singing...

3: he accelerated and went!!

4: I'm breathing hard... my legs hurt... but

5: Manami-kun...!!

6: During the training camp on our first year

I couldn't catch up to you

Pag 20

1: I always feel like I'm chasing you like this

2: Your cool white bike

Your figure from behind, running so happy and confidently

3: I've always been fascinated by your attitude

4: So.... wa... it

I still want to catch up to you

Pag 21

1: Wait, Manami-kun!!

#yowamushi pedal #yowapeda #yowamushi pedal translations #yowapeda manga #yowamushi pedal manga #yowamushi pedal spoilers #ride 792 #i love how the ih is synchronized with the new love hime season every year #so that onoda has always a new song to sing #btw i have no idea if the translation of the lyrics is correct lmao sorry about that #but howere i tried to translate it it made no sense so #have it like that #anyway i missed toudou!!! :')#and now he's finally gonna see manami win!! (bc he will win okay)

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cadenceacademy1 · 1 year ago

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Fashion Designing College In Nagpur

Cadence Academy, the top Fashion Designing college in Nagpur offers the best courses, & experienced faculty to ensure you get the highest quality of education.

Click Here To Know More: Fashion Designing College In Nagpur

#fashion design #cadence academy

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regalfairytaleacademy · 21 days ago

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Yesterday I watched Ne Zha 2 movie with my friends at the cinema.

Today I wake up and make Melodiamour OCs as female version of main characters.

Left to right - Cadence (Ao Bing) / Cascade (Ne Zha (Teenage)

#twst #twisted wonderland #regal fairytale academy #rfa #twst oc #twisted wonderland oc #melodiamour #cadence symphonie #cascade bluesette #nezha 2025 #nezha 2 #gacha life 2

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dangerousdan-dan · 2 months ago

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hello! do you have any daud headcanons? I miss him :')

Hi, friend!!!

I miss him so, so much. Thank you for giving me an excuse to talk about him xD

Here are some of the headcanons that keep me up at night.

There's a part of Daud that'll always hate Corvo for not saving Jessamine when he should've. In a way, he blames him too for what became of Dunwall, and when they faced each other in the flooded district, yes, it was about giving each other something vaguely resembling closure and about facing his consequences, but it was also about him having the chance to fight the man who (in his irrational logic) helped doom them all.

Now this is just more of my rambles about my previous headcanon. I can't stop thinking about the parallel between their first encounter in the tower and then their fight in the flooded district. How Corvo had no chance that first time, but Daud's defeat is a given once Corvo gets the mark. Of course the circumstances are different, but I feel that having the chance to fight Corvo again and to witness how goddamn good he actually is at it would only fuel Daud's spiral of You could've saved her. You could've stopped me, or it could give him another reason to hate The Outsider even more because giving the mark to the only man who could defeat him only AFTER he actually needed it to stop him could be seen as his cruelest joke. Also, I can't keep this line out of my head: "I'm the one who killed her, but you are the one who failed her." A line from the Dishonored fic I'll never write lol.

Daud loves books. I know it's kinda stupid to say this is a headcanon when it's canon that the man has his study full of the stuff, but I mean that he LOVES them. He writes and speaks with the cadence of a person who is fond of words and the meaning behind them, you know what I mean? Smoking isn't his only vice. I can imagine him stealing books from every aristocrat's home he sneaks into, and how when he's reading at night in his study he silently misses the academy's library and all the mysteries left to unravel there. (Oh, to think of all the trouble he should've gone through to keep his books in good condition and safe from all that humidity... I need a bone charm for that).

Since the moment he was abducted, he forced himself to suppress almost every thought and memory from his previous life. The only thing he perfectly remembers is that he loved his mother, even when he can't really recall more than a few details about her. (I have mixed feelings about DOTO, but Daud calling out for his mom in the void always gets to me).

Now a silly one. Among all the intel he and the whalers have collected over the years, Daud keeps a special file with all the gossip that has genuinely made him huff (or void forbid, even chuckle!!). Is it the most important information to keep around? No, but sometimes the Knife or Dunwall just wants to sit back and amuse himself with how ridiculous these people can be, and who knows, maybe it'll be useful blackmail material one day. Billie is the only one who knows this file exists and its true purpose.

He also keeps a file with all the rumors that have been told about him and the Whalers, and he carefully chooses which ones to encourage and which ones to put out.

After Corvo spares him and he leaves Dunwall, Daud tries to fall into old habits and force himself to suppress every thought of Billie and the Whalers. He fails. He swears The Outsider mocks him every time he instinctively calls on his mark just to feel the phantom pain left by the severed connections.

Daud never regrets the Whalers, nor that he taught them how to exploit their blades for coin. Most of them were already killers, anyway. He simply gave them the means to survive more than a few fights in an alleyway, right?

In a bizarre way, he sometimes even sees the Whalers, not as a family, but as an act of love (I don't think love is the word, but something at least close to it), even with the discipline and the punishments involved. Some of the whalers knew better, others saw that love as well.

To me, the Knife of Dunwall is a silent assassin who rarely engages with a target head on unless he needs to. He's methodical and professional, quiet and efficient. Unless one of his Whalers is killed. Then you'll know what it looks like when he lets himself enjoy it.

Above everything else, his biggest pride will always be Billie.

I don't believe he went fully "clean hands" after Jessamine's death. He killed, mostly for survival and when there was no other option (to him, at least), but the few times he did it, he saw Jessamine's dead eyes staring back at him.

#I realized I was writing and writing and writing and had to make myself stop before I went on forever #I'm sorry xD I have too many thoughts and feeling about this bastard man who's so dear to me #daud #asks #dishonored

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marinersapartmentc0mplex · 20 days ago

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Never Let Me Go

Damian Wayne x Journalist!OFC

Chapter Six: Black Out Days

Ao3 Link & Previous Chapter

TW(s): Descriptions of an explosion, mass panic, and racist themes

The final period of the day stretched on like an endurance test, seconds crawling by as if reluctant to release the class from its grip. Even the air in the room felt dense, thick with the sluggish weight of an approaching weekend—the promise of freedom so close, yet unbearably far. Students slumped in their chairs, backs pressed lazily against wooden seats, heads resting on propped-up hands, eyes glazed over in that particular way that suggested they were physically present but mentally somewhere else entirely.

At the front of the classroom, Mr. Hazelwood adjusted his glasses, rubbing the lenses against the sleeve of his knit jumper with absentminded precision. The thick wool—burgundy, slightly pilled near the cuffs—muffled his movements as he spoke, his voice cutting through the classroom’s lethargy with the steady, deliberate cadence of a man who was not in the habit of repeating himself.

The classroom smelled of worn-out textbooks, stale coffee, and the ever-present stench of dry-erase markers that never fully erased, leaving faint, ghost-like imprints of past lessons behind. Dust clung stubbornly to the high bookshelves that lined the back wall, their wooden spines stacked with forgotten literature anthologies, old curriculum guides, and paperbacks with dog-eared pages from years of careless handling.

Elena sat near the window, one elbow propped against her desk, fingers idly twisti ng the thin gold-plated rings stacked on her right hand. Her nails—painted a deep navy blue—were slightly chipped at the edges, evidence of her habit of tapping them absentmindedly against the wooden surface of her desk. The soft rhythm of it was almost hypnotic, matching the slow tick of the classroom clock that seemed determined to mock them all.

Next to her, Amrita let out a sigh, barely stifling a yawn into the crook of her elbow as she slumped further into her chair and leaned on the desk, shiny black hair splaying across it.

"I think I’m actually dying," she murmured under her muffled breath, just loud enough for Elena to hear.

Elena smirked, side-eyeing her friend as she wrote the date into the corner of a blank page in her notebook. "Tragic. I'll be sure to write a compelling exposé on your untimely demise for the Gazette."

Amrita huffed a small laugh, shifting so that her knee bumped against Elena’s under the desk. "You better. Make sure you expose Gotham Academy’s inhumane practice of forcing students to endure class past the point of sanity."

Before Elena could respond, Hazelwood turned back toward the board, picking up a red marker with an almost theatrical sense of purpose.

"The Truth and Perception Project," he announced, underlining the title with an emphatic sweep of red ink.

Hazelwood’s marker squeaked against the board, the sharp sound cutting through the classroom’s fog of apathy like a knife causing a couple of students to cringe at the uncomfortable sound. He underlined The Truth and Perception Project once more, then turned to face them, the weight of his gaze heavy, expectant.

“This individual project is not about regurgitating information,” he said, his voice measured, the kind that didn’t need to be raised to demand attention. “It’s not about who can write the most polished final essay or slap together the flashiest PowerPoint presentation. If you think that’s what I’m looking for, you’ve already failed.”

Elena exhaled slowly, pressing the edge of her pen into the paper, letting her relief settle in. An individual project. No group work. No forced pairings with someone who would inevitably ask too many questions. No need to navigate the awkwardness that always came with explaining why they couldn’t work at her place. Or lack thereof.

She hated group projects—not because she couldn’t collaborate, but because they came with baggage. It was never just about the assignment. It was the conversation that came with it. The small, seemingly innocuous moments that forced her to peel back layers of herself she’d rather leave untouched.

It always started the same way. Where do you want to meet? My place or yours? The words were casual, thrown out without a second thought. And every time, Elena would have to force a shrug, a neutral expression, as she said, We can’t do mine.

A pause. A flicker of something unreadable in their face. Why not?

That was the moment she hated. That split second where she could see their brain stalling, recalibrating, trying to figure out what she meant before she had to spell it out for them. The moment where she had to decide how much to say. I live in a care home. Simple. Direct. But never simple in execution.

Because once they knew , everything shifted. Imperceptible to anyone but her, but there nonetheless. The change in their expression, the way their eyes flicked away for just a moment before coming back, like they didn’t want to stare but couldn’t help but see her differently. The careful, too-neutral tone of their response, as if they were suddenly afraid of saying the wrong thing.

It wasn’t overt pity. That, she could have braced for. It was something more subtle. A new wariness, like they were walking on eggshells around her, like they were suddenly unsure of the rules of the conversation. And that was worse.

She hated that shift. Hated the way it made her feel scrutinized, like an unintentional spectacle. It didn’t matter how they reacted—whether they tried to act like it was no big deal or whether they stumbled through a clumsy Oh, that must be tough —the result was always the same. She was no longer just Elena in their eyes. She was Elena, the foster kid .

And then came the logistics.

Even if they didn’t make a big deal out of it, the problem remained. Her place wasn’t an option. It never was. No one could get any work done there, not with the constant shriek of overlapping voices, the sound of kids arguing over the TV, the occasional crash of something breaking in the common area. The walls were thin, and privacy didn’t exist. Silence was a luxury.

She had no interest in trying to work through distractions while some social worker had yet another tense phone call down the hall or one of the younger kids threw a tantrum over the WiFi cutting out. No amount of noise-canceling headphones could drown out the reality of home not being the kind of place where you could lay out research papers and hold a focused discussion.

And the worst part? She could see when it started to feel like an inconvenience to them.

That brief, flickering hesitation before they said, Oh, that’s fine, we can do my place, like they were recalculating, like her situation had made things harder for them. Like it was something they had to work around.

And Elena hated being something that had to be worked around.

At least with an individual project, none of that mattered. She didn’t have to watch someone try to mask their discomfort. She didn’t have to deal with the logistics of trying to carve out a study session in a place that wasn’t built for one. She didn’t have to explain .

The air in the room shifted slightly. A few students straightened in their seats—not much, but enough to show they were listening now.

“What I care about,” Hazelwood continued, “is your process —your planning, your approach, and your ability to critically engage with the topic you choose. How you develop your argument is just as important as the final product itself. Maybe even more so.”

Mr Hazelwood took a slow, deliberate step toward his desk and rested a hand on a stack of neatly stapled worksheets.

“The students who scored the highest last year weren’t necessarily the ones who wrote the most elegant papers. They were the ones who meticulously documented their research. Who kept reading logs of everything they encountered—articles, interviews, studies—even if they weren’t referenced in their final submission. Because that’s how you build a real argument. Not by cherry-picking convenient sources, but by exposing yourself to everything, including the perspectives that challenge your own.”

The groans of protest were quieter this time, restrained by something closer to unease than annoyance.

Darren, still slouched in the back, raised a hand half-heartedly. “So what you’re saying is… we basically have to do a whole second assignment about how we’re doing the first assignment?”

Hazelwood barely glanced at him. “Yes.”

A few mutters spread through the room. Elena, however, remained still, her fingers tightening slightly around the pen in her hand. This was good. This was structure. She could work with this.

Hazelwood picked up the worksheets and began distributing them, each one landing on desks with a crisp rustle of paper. “To get you started, I’m giving you a template. A place to brainstorm possible topics, sources, research methods. Will you conduct your own interviews? Will you rely on academic journals? Books? Media analysis? Think beyond what’s easy. Think about what actually builds understanding .”

Elena’s fingers brushed over the page as it landed on her desk. The worksheet was divided into neat sections: Topic Exploration, Possible Resources, Research Methods, Notes & Justifications. Simple. Direct. Practical.

She exhaled softly. This could work.

Beside her, Amrita slumped further into her seat, squinting at the worksheet like it had personally wronged her. “This is… very type-A ,” she muttered.

Elena smirked. “So naturally, I’m thrilled.”

Hazelwood paced back toward the board, his hands clasped behind his back. “Start thinking now. You don’t have to decide on a final approach today, but I expect at least something written on those pages before the end of the lesson.”

Elena didn’t hesitate. She reached into her bag, fingers brushing past old notebooks, stray papers, a pack of gum she’d forgotten about, until she found it— her notebook. Not the one for class notes or assignments, but the one that mattered. The one where she kept everything she learned about journalism, pieced together like a blueprint for the career she was building in her head.

Inside, it was a mess of sharp, slanted handwriting, crammed margins, and highlighted phrases that stood out like warnings or revelations. Notes from Lois Lane’s lecture two weeks ago took up several pages—lines underlined twice, rhetorical questions scrawled in the corners.

There are two sides to every story.

No—scratch that. There are usually more. But the public only ever gets two.

The version they’re meant to believe.

And the version they’re meant to reject.

That had been the core of Lois’s argument that night. Not objectivity, not neutrality—those were illusions. Every story was a battle of narratives, a struggle over which version of the truth would come out on top.

Elena tapped the end of her pen against the paper, thinking.

How did that fit into this project?

Hazelwood wanted them to examine truth and perception . The way reality could be shaped by framing, by choices, by what was left out just as much as what was included.

She started jotting ideas into the worksheet, her handwriting quick, slightly slanted.

Her mind kept circling back to the question Lois had posed at the end of the lecture.

"When you hear two versions of a story, ask yourself—who benefits from each one?"

Elena underlined the words in her notes, twice.

She still remembered the way Lois had leaned against the podium, arms crossed, eyes scanning the room confidently.

"The truth doesn’t exist in a vacuum. It’s built. Brick by brick. Sometimes by people with power, sometimes by people trying to expose power. The question isn’t just ‘What happened?’ It’s ‘Who needs you to believe this version of events?’"

Elena sat back, chewing the inside of her cheek.

Her pen hovered over the page as her thoughts sharpened, circling around something bigger than just a school project.

Who benefits from controlling the story?

Her first instinct had been to look at Gotham Academy, but that was small-scale. Insular. There was a bigger, uglier version of the same problem playing out across the entire city.

Gotham’s corruption wasn’t some abstract, faceless thing—it was tangible. You could see it in the skyline, in the gleaming high-rises that kept multiplying while the same neighborhoods stayed crumbling. You could hear it in the way certain last names carried weight, granting people access to places and privileges that others would never even know existed.

The rich got richer.

The poor stayed exactly where they were—if they were lucky.

Elena wrote quickly, the words coming together faster than she expected.

She tapped the pen against the page, chewing her lip. This was the kind of thing people knew but didn’t always see laid out in black and white. She just needed to find the right angle—something sharp, something undeniable.

Amrita shifted beside her, slouching back dramatically in her chair. “You got work after school?”

Elena glanced up. “Nope.”

Amrita grinned, already pulling out her phone under the desk. “Good. We’re going to the mall.”

Elena huffed a small laugh but didn’t argue.

Amrita cast a quick glance toward the front of the room, making sure Hazelwood was still focused elsewhere. Satisfied, she dipped her head slightly, thumbs moving fast as she typed beneath the desk. Lila, you free after school? We’re going to the mall after school.

She sent the message in one smooth motion, placing her phone down on the desk before glancing at Elena. “She’s in French. Probably won’t reply till the lesson’s over.”

Elena didn’t look up from her notebook. “Or immediately, because she hates that class.”

Amrita tilted her head, considering. “Fair point.”

Elena skimmed over her notes again, tapping her pen lightly against the page. Gotham had no shortage of angles to dig into—she just needed to decide where to start.

The buzz of Amrita’s phone broke the momentary silence between them, vibrating softly against the desk as she flipped it over with one hand, her nails—painted a glossy cherry red, manicured for her sister’s birthday party yesterday—tapping against the screen. The case was clear but covered in tiny sticker remnants, the faded outline of a once-pristine design now reduced to scattered shapes and peeling edges.

Lila’s name lit up the screen, her reply short and immediate: Thank GOD. Get me out of here. Mall food court or are we actually shopping?

Amrita smirked, thumbs flying across the keyboard as she shot back a response. “Lila’s in.” She glanced at Elena. “Food court?”

Elena, still half-lost in her notes, barely looked up. “Obviously.”

The Gotham City Mall was drowning in holiday excess. It wasn’t even the second week of November, yet Christmas had already seized the air, thick as the artificial pine scent wafting from every store entrance. Garlands wound themselves around the railings like ivy, blinking red and green, their tiny LED lights flickering in hypnotic rhythms. A towering Christmas tree—easily two stories high—loomed in the central atrium, decked in gaudy gold and crimson baubles, its peak crowned with an oversized, glitter-dusted star. Somewhere in the distance, a choir of animatronic reindeer twitched eerily in synchronization, their tinny voices belting out a warped rendition of Jingle Bell Rock .

And, of course, because this was Gotham, someone was already making trouble.

“Hey—HEY! Get down from there, kid!”

A security guard, broad-shouldered and red-faced, was shoving his way through the crowd, his breath heaving slightly as he broke into a jog. Near the reindeer display, a boy—couldn’t be older than twelve—had vaulted over the railing and was now dangling off the antlers of the lead reindeer, his sneakers scraping against its lacquered back as he attempted to climb.

A small crowd had already gathered, some pointing, others laughing, and more than a few filming with their phones. The reindeer’s animatronics jerked violently under the added weight, its mechanical jaw twitching as if it were about to start singing again, mid-malfunction.

“Jesus Christ,” Elena muttered, adjusting the strap of her bag as she and Amrita slowed near the chaos. “Do we think he’s doing this for a bet, or just for the sheer thrill of destruction?”

“Gotham kids don’t need a reason,” Amrita said dryly. “It’s in our DNA.”

The boy, to his credit, looked absolutely thrilled by the commotion he was causing. His hands tightened around the antlers, legs swinging wildly as he hoisted himself higher. The reindeer let out an unearthly clicking noise, its internal mechanics straining under his weight.

Then came the inevitable.

A sharp CRACK.

The antler snapped clean off, and the boy—screaming in what sounded like a mix of terror and exhilaration—went crashing down onto the fake snow below, barely missing a pile of decorative presents. The severed antler clattered beside him, skidding across the polished tile floor as the security guard finally caught up.

“Got you, you little—”

The boy scrambled to his feet and bolted, ducking under the security guard’s outstretched arms with the agility of someone who’d done this before. He tore past Elena and Amrita, nearly knocking into them as he vanished into the throng of shoppers. The guard swore under his breath before taking off after him, knocking over a decorative candy cane in the process.

“Classic,” Amrita mused, shaking her head. “Nothing says Christmas in Gotham like a mall security chase.”

“Bet that kid makes it out without getting caught,” Elena added. “That was a pro-level escape.”

“Come on, Lila’s waiting for us in Barnes & Noble.” Amrita giggled.

They kept walking, the chaos already fading into background noise as the mall swallowed it whole. Gotham never stopped moving. One disaster could unfold right in front of you, and within seconds, the city’s pulse would absorb it, relentless and unbothered.

Elena snapped off another piece of chocolate from the chocolate bar she bought earlier at the Godiva kiosk and handed it to Lila, who took it without looking up from the shelf she was scanning. The bookstore smelled like fresh paper and warm cinnamon from the Cinnabon stand outside, and the three of them stood in the fiction section, half browsing, half just killing time before heading to the food court.

“Alright, this one looks decent,” Lila said, pulling a book off the shelf. She flipped through the pages. “I need something I won’t hate writing a review on.”

“You sure? That cover screams ‘pretentious metaphoric overload,’” Amrita said, sipping her chai latte.

Lila rolled her eyes. “Says the girl who tried to make me read Dune .”

Elena smirked, breaking off another square of chocolate. “Just pick something. We’re wasting valuable fry-eating time.”

Before Lila could answer, a girl in a Metropolis Preparatory School uniform stepped into the aisle beside them. She had long brown hair, a green sweater vest with the school’s logo, and a neatly pressed gray skirt. She hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

“You guys go to Gotham Academy, right?”

The three of them turned to look at her. Elena swallowed her chocolate before answering. “Yeah, we do.”

The girl looked relieved. “I thought so. My friend transferred there a couple of months ago—Amy Chen. Do you know her?”

Elena, Amrita, and Lila exchanged glances, trying to see if any of them recognized the name. Nothing. Elena frowned slightly and looked back at the girl. “Doesn’t sound familiar. What does she look like? Maybe we just don’t have any classes together.”

“She’s half Chinese, half British. Has a British accent, on the posher side.”

Amrita shook her head. “No one like that in my classes.”

“Mine either,” Lila added.

Elena thought for a second, then shrugged as she offered a polite yet apologetic smile. “Sorry. I don’t think we know her.”

The girl’s smile wavered. “That’s weird. She boards at Gotham Academy.”

Elena opened her mouth, but before she could say anything, a man’s voice called from the front of the store. “Sophia, let’s go!”

The girl—Sophia—turned back to them. “I have to go. Nice meeting you!” She waved and hurried off.

Elena watched her leave, then turned to Amrita and Lila, brows drawn together. “Gotham Academy stopped being a boarding school ten years ago.”

The three of them stood there for a moment, the words hanging between them. Then, without another word, they headed for the checkout.

As they walked out of the bookshop, Elena couldn’t shake the thought. It was weird—people didn’t just lie about what school they went to. Especially not about boarding somewhere when they weren’t. Gotham Academy wasn’t even a boarding school anymore. Hadn’t been for a decade.

“Maybe this Amy girl just didn’t want to be friends with her anymore,” Lila suggested, adjusting the bag slung over her shoulder. “You know, told a little white lie to get some distance.”

Amrita raised an eyebrow. “She seemed nice enough in the bookstore. Didn’t exactly come off as someone you’d want to shake off.”

“Yeah, well, Regina George was nice to people’s faces, too,” Lila shot back. “Didn’t stop her from being a total bitch behind their backs.”

Elena hummed, unconvinced. “I don’t know… it just feels off. If you don’t want to be friends with someone, you ignore their texts, avoid them at lunch. You don’t fabricate a whole new school life, especially when it’s so easy to check.”

Lila sighed dramatically. “Elena, maybe you’ve just been reading too many Agatha Christie books. Not everything is some big—”

Lila didn’t get to finish her sentence.

An explosion ripped through the mall with a force that made the floor tremble beneath them. A deafening, thunderous roar filled the air, drowning out everything else—the chatter of shoppers, the hum of escalators, even the ever-present mall music. The polished tiles beneath their feet vibrated violently, and the overhead lights flickered before some went out completely.

Then came the screaming.

People bolted in every direction, pushing past one another in a frantic rush toward the exits. Store alarms blared, a discordant wail layered over the chaotic panic. Elena barely had time to react before she saw a mother desperately fumbling with a stroller, her hands shaking as she tried to unbuckle her baby. The woman yanked the child free, clutching him to her chest and sprinting toward the nearest exit, shielding him with her body as she vanished into the stampede.

Elena took a step back, her brain struggling to catch up with what was happening—

A man slammed into her from the side, knocking her off balance.

The impact sent her sprawling to the cold tile floor, her hands instinctively shooting out to break her fall. A sharp, searing pain shot up her left arm as her palm smacked against the hard surface.

“Ah—ow,” she gasped, her breath hitching. The pain flared, hot and immediate, radiating from her wrist up to her elbow.

“Elena!” Amrita’s voice cut through the noise, and within seconds, her hands were on Elena’s shoulders, pulling her upright. “Are you okay?”

Elena winced, cradling her left arm against her chest. “Not really. Think I landed on it wrong.”

Lila grabbed her other arm, eyes wide with alarm. “We need to get out of here. Come on.”

The three of them pushed forward, dodging scattered bags, fallen signs, and the throngs of terrified people all surging toward the exits. The mall’s glass doors had been thrown open, the flood of bodies pouring out into the massive parking lot. The moment they stepped outside, the evening air hit them, crisp and sharp against the lingering heat of the explosion.

The flashing red and blue lights of emergency vehicles painted the pavement in a sickly kaleidoscope of colors. Police officers were already sectioning off parts of the lot, ushering panicked shoppers away from the building, while paramedics rushed toward those who had been injured.

Elena sucked in a breath and turned toward the mall.

Now that they were outside, she could see it.

The entire east wing was in ruins.

The massive department store that anchored that side of the mall—the one that took up almost a quarter of the entire structure—was now a crumbling mess of shattered glass, gaping holes, and thick plumes of black smoke rising into the sky. Pieces of rubble still tumbled from the wreckage, slamming onto the parked cars directly below, their alarms wailing uselessly under the weight of the destruction.

“Oh my god,” Lila breathed, her hand gripping Elena’s sleeve.

Elena barely registered the movement. Her pulse roared in her ears, a sick, twisting feeling taking root in her stomach.

She turned her head sharply when she heard a police officer talking nearby.

“Likely a terrorist attack,” the officer said, his voice grim as he spoke into his radio.

Elena’s stomach dropped.

A terrorist attack.

She swallowed hard, her mind racing, but before she could even process it, Amrita was tugging at her arm. “You need to get that checked out.”

Elena blinked, disoriented. “What?”

“Your arm,” Lila said, her voice softer but no less urgent. “Come on, let’s find a paramedic.”

Elena let them lead her to the line of ambulances, where paramedics were tending to those caught in the blast. She barely felt it when one of them gently took her arm, asking her to move her fingers, to describe the pain. Everything felt distant, muffled under the weight of what she’d just seen.

The east wing was gone.

The police thought it was a terrorist attack.

Elena exhaled shakily, glancing back at the devastation.

The paramedic, a woman with blonde hair tied back into a ponytail, gently adjusted Elena’s arm as she secured it in a sling. The material pressed snugly against her shoulder, keeping her wrist elevated. “It’s a sprain,” she said, her voice calm but firm. “No fractures that I can see, but you should still get it checked at a hospital, just in case. Ice it when you get home, keep it elevated.”

Elena barely nodded, her gaze drifting toward the flashing lights of police cruisers and ambulances still flooding the parking lot.

Nearby, Lila was pacing in small circles, her phone pressed tightly to her ear. “No, Mom, we’re fine. I swear,” she said, her voice steady but a little strained. “We weren’t anywhere near the explosion when it happened.” A pause. “Yes, we’re with a paramedic—no, no one’s seriously hurt.” Another pause. “Okay. Yes. We’ll stay put.”

Elena could hear Lila’s mother’s voice on the other end, rapid and worried, though the exact words blurred together in the chaos surrounding them.

Amrita’s phone buzzed next. She fished it out of her pocket and barely had time to say “Hello?” before her dad’s voice cut through, his tone worried and relieved.

“Elena and Lila are with me,” she assured him immediately, her dark eyes flicking toward Elena as the paramedic finished securing the sling. “Yeah, we’re safe. I know. I know. You’re already on your way?”

Elena blinked, grounding herself back in the moment as the paramedic straightened up and met her eyes. “Do you need to call anyone?” she asked, her voice gentle but expectant.

Elena’s jaw tightened slightly.

Her fingers curled against her lap, her good hand tightly gripping the fabric of her plaid blue school skirt. Who would she even call?

She bit her lip and shrugged.

The paramedic’s expression flickered—something like quiet understanding—but she didn’t press. She just gave Elena’s good shoulder a reassuring squeeze before standing. “You’re stable for now. If the pain gets worse, go to the ER.”

Elena exhaled through her nose, nodding once.

Lila hung up her phone, running a hand through her hair. “My mom’s freaking out,” she muttered. “She wants me to come home, like, immediately.”

Amrita ended her call, tucking her phone away. “My dad’s already on his way. He said he’ll take us wherever we need to go.”

Elena let out a slow breath. “Good,” she murmured, though her mind was still elsewhere.

The mall was still a mess of sirens, smoke, and shifting rubble. The flashing lights of emergency vehicles strobed across their faces as security tried to control the crowd, firefighters clad in protective uniform were running back into the building to rescue people.

Next to them, a woman lay unconscious on a stretcher, her chest rising and falling in shallow, uneven breaths. Her skin was an alarming shade of pink, irritated and raw, with angry red blotches creeping up her neck. Blisters had already begun to form along her cheekbones and forehead, some small and swollen, others ruptured, leaving behind patches of exposed, tender skin. Her dark hair was matted with dust and sweat, strands clinging to the moisture on her face.

A paramedic knelt beside her, pressing two fingers to the inside of her wrist, checking for a pulse. His expression was tight, professional, but Elena caught the slight crease in his brow—the kind of look people got when things weren’t looking good.

“She must’ve been close to the blast,” Amrita murmured, her voice quieter now.

Lila swallowed, her grip tightening around her phone. “It looks like… like a burn, but not from fire.”

Elena didn’t respond. She couldn’t. Her stomach twisted at the sight, her mind scrambling for some kind of explanation. Burns without fire. Skin raw and blistering. She was no expert on bombs, but a bomb doesn’t cause… that.

The familiar black SUV belonging to Amrita’s dad pulled up to the curb, its headlights cutting through the dimly lit street. The chaos of the mall was behind them now, but it still clung to the edges of Elena’s mind—the sirens, the flashing lights, the heavy smell of smoke.

The door opened, and Amrita’s father stepped out. Even at this hour, even after a night like this, he looked composed. His navy coat was buttoned neatly, his scarf tucked just right. He had the kind of presence that made people pause when he walked into a room.

“Amrita,” he said, eyes scanning her quickly before pulling her into a brief hug. “Are you alright?”

She nodded. “Yeah. We’re fine.”

His gaze shifted to Lila, then landed on Elena. His eyes flicked to her arm in the sling. “You’re injured.”

Elena straightened slightly. “Just a sprain,” she said. “The paramedics checked it.”

“If you need a hospital, I’ll take you,” he offered, like it was a given. Like it wasn’t any trouble at all.

She hesitated. It wasn’t a bad offer. It was just... unexpected. Help usually came with a price, but Amrita’s dad was a caring and kind man who always had this fatherly character about him. Helping was practically second nature to him.

“I’m fine,” she said after a moment. “I’ll ice it when I get home.”

He didn’t argue. Just nodded. “Alright.”

The car doors unlocked, and they climbed in.

The warmth of the SUV was a relief after the cold night air. The leather seats were smooth beneath Elena’s fingers as she adjusted her position, trying not to move her wrist too much. The radio played low—news updates, speculation about the explosion.

“You girls should eat,” Raj said after a while. “I can stop somewhere.”

“No, thanks,” Lila murmured.

Amrita shook her head.

Elena didn’t say anything. She wasn’t sure she could eat even if she wanted to.

Raj didn’t push. The drive continued in silence, the city rolling past, indifferent as ever.

They reached the care home sooner than she expected. The building sat under the dim glow of a single flickering porch light, its brick exterior washed in shadows.

The car came to a stop.

Elena reached for the door handle, but her fingers fumbled against the latch. It was small, barely noticeable, but she felt Amrita glance at her. She tightened her grip and tried again. This time, the door opened.

She stepped out, pulling her bag over her good shoulder.

“Elena.”

She turned back.

Amrita’s father was watching her in the rearview mirror, his expression unreadable. Then, with the same calm certainty he always spoke with, he said, “If you ever need anything, call.”

Elena hesitated. Not because she didn’t believe him—but because she didn’t know how to respond to something like that.

She nodded. “Thanks.”

The SUV didn’t move until she reached the front door.

She dug her keys out of her coat pocket. Her hands were steady now, but the cold made the metal feel awkward in her grip. She tried one key. It stuck. Wrong one.

She exhaled sharply, switched to the right one, hearing the satisfying click of the key turning.

Elena pushed the door open, stepping into the familiar warmth of the house. The living room was still alive with movement, despite the late hour.

The older kids were sprawled across the couch, eyes glued to the television, watching the evening news. The screen flickered, casting dull blue light across their faces. The younger ones were gathered on the floor—Toby and Leo were engaged in some makeshift card game, their voices hushed but competitive, while Libby and Harley sat cross-legged with a coloring book between them, arguing about whether Elsa’s dress should be blue or purple.

No one paid her much attention. That was fine.

Laura, however, noticed immediately.

She stood in the doorway to the office, arms crossed, but the moment she spotted Elena’s sling, her expression shifted from mild exhaustion to concern. She stepped forward, eyes scanning Elena like she was assessing damage.

"What happened to your arm?"

Elena shifted her bag higher on her good shoulder, keeping her voice even. "Just sprained it in PE."

Laura’s brows lifted slightly. "PE?"

"Yeah," Elena nodded, pulling off her scarf with her free hand. "Landed wrong. Nothing serious, I just need to ice it."

Laura didn’t look convinced. "And where were you after school?"

Elena had prepared for this. "With Lila and Amrita," she said, as casually as possible. "Downtown. We were just buying a book."

Laura studied her, like she knew there was more Elena wasn’t saying. But instead of pressing, she exhaled and moved toward the kitchen. The freezer door opened, followed by the crinkle of plastic. A moment later, she was pressing a bag of frozen peas into Elena’s good hand.

"Keep this on it," she said. Then, after a pause, she added, "It’s a good thing you didn’t go to the mall after school."

Elena froze, just for a second, before forcing herself to nod. "Yeah," she murmured. "Lucky."

Laura kept looking at her, like she was waiting for something—an admission, maybe. But when Elena didn’t say anything else, she let it go.

"You hungry?"

"I already ate," Elena lied.

Another pause. Then a small nod. "Alright," Laura said, stepping back. "Go get some rest."

Elena didn’t hesitate. She adjusted the ice pack, moved past the living room without another glance, and climbed the stairs.

Elena shut the door behind her with a quiet click, letting out a slow breath. The room was small but familiar. The dim light from the streetlamp outside cast a soft glow across the worn desk, the small yet cluttered bookshelf, and the pile of clean laundry she kept meaning to put away.

She set the bag of frozen peas on the nightstand, shrugging her sling off with careful movements. The dull ache in her wrist pulsed in protest, but she ignored it. She just needed to get through the motions—change, brush her teeth, lie down.

Moving slowly, she tugged off her skirt, wincing as she used her good arm to pull on an old pair of sweatpants. Her school shirt followed, replaced with a loose grey hoodie that smelled like detergent. The effort left her feeling heavier than she expected.

She grabbed her toothbrush and stepped into the shared bathroom. The mirror above the sink was slightly crooked, the fluorescent light humming softly overhead. She twisted the tap, watching the water rush down the drain as she brushed her teeth, the mundane action grounding her more than she cared to admit.

By the time she curled into bed, the weight of the day was pressing down hard. She reached for her phone out of habit, unlocking it with her thumb, and immediately, the news filled her screen.

GCPD Identifies Suspect in Gotham Mall Explosion.

Her eyes flicked to the name.

Adel Rahmani.

She frowned, scrolling through the article. There was nothing concrete—just that he had been seen near the department store before the blast, carrying a backpack. No record of past offenses. No known affiliations. Just a name and a blurry security image that was already being plastered across every news site and social media post.

She scrolled further, into the comments.

Typical.Deport him.We all know how this goes.No surprise there.They should lock him up now before he disappears.

Elena’s stomach twisted, disgust curling deep in her gut. The speed at which people had already made up their minds was staggering. No evidence, no trial, just an assumption. His name and race alone was enough to point accusing fingers.

She exited the article, but it didn’t help. Twitter was worse—misinformation spreading at a rapid pace, people digging through his past, grasping at anything that could confirm their bias.

Elena’s grip tightened around her phone.

This felt too fast. The police had barely begun their investigation, and already, the headlines were rolling out, already, people were dissecting his name, his face, his entire life, picking it apart before the truth even had a chance to settle.

And Gotham never let go once it had someone to blame.

Her chest felt tight. She locked her phone, shutting out the noise, and turned onto her right side. The iced bag of peas on her wrist had already started to defrost, dampening the towel around it.

She closed her eyes.

Sleep didn’t come right away. It rarely did. But eventually, exhaustion pulled her under.

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milkfordragons · 29 days ago

Text

Rose Milk 🌹🥛

Hannigram AU: Doctor Hannibal/Professor Will. They are married, gorgeous, domestic and in love.

Ch. 01

The house was quiet, save for the soft patter of rain against the windows. Hannibal stepped inside, closing the door behind him. The weight of the day settled into his shoulders as he slipped off his coat, hanging it neatly by the door. His hands moved instinctively, unfastening the cuffs of his sleeves, rolling them up as he walked toward the kitchen.

A faint aroma of rosemary and simmering stock lingered in the air—something simple, something warm. He had prepared just enough to fill the space with comfort before stepping back out into the evening. A glance at the clock told him it was time. He washed his hands, dried them, and retrieved his keys from the counter.

Outside, dusk had deepened into night, the rain steady but gentle. The drive was quiet, the road slick with reflections of streetlights and neon signs bleeding into puddles. When he pulled up outside the Academy, he saw him already waiting under the awning, hands in his pockets, hair damp from the mist.

Hannibal stepped out of the car, rain touching his face in cool pinpricks as he approached. Will looked at him, and without hesitation, they met in a kiss—unhurried, familiar. The kind exchanged not out of urgency but as a quiet recognition: you are here, and I am here.

Will took the keys from his hand without a word, and they both moved inside the car. Once settled, Will shrugged off his coat, handing it to Hannibal with an absentminded gesture. Hannibal took it, folding it neatly over his lap.

Another kiss—this one slower, lingering just long enough for warmth to pool between them, to soften the sharp edges of the cold night. Hannibal let his fingers brush along Will’s wrist before pulling back.

“How are you?” he asked, his voice low, steady.

Will exhaled, the faintest trace of a smile at the corner of his mouth. “Fine.”

The engine hummed to life, and the road stretched before them. The drive home was quiet, but not in the absence-of-sound way—rather, in the way of two people who did not need to fill space with words. Rain streaked the windshield in delicate rivulets, the occasional hum of tires against wet pavement the only interruption to the soft cadence of their breathing.

When they pulled into the driveway, Will stepped out first, shoulders hunched slightly against the chill. He was halfway to the door when he noticed Hannibal still seated inside, the faint glow of the overhead light casting his profile in sharp relief.

Will turned back, stepping through the rain to open the driver's side door. "You planning on spending the night in here?" he asked dryly.

Hannibal, unfazed, was reaching into the glove box, extracting a folded piece of paper with quiet precision. He glanced up, a small smile curving his lips at the sight of Will standing there, holding the door open for him like a chauffeur.

As he moved to step out, his hand found Will’s waist, fingers pressing lightly into the fabric of his shirt as though grounding himself. Will exhaled, the warmth of the touch something familiar, something expected. He let his free hand settle against Hannibal’s back briefly before closing the car door behind them.

Inside, the house greeted them with the lingering scent of their unfinished meal. Hannibal moved toward the kitchen with the same measured ease he did everything, while Will disappeared into the bedroom. When he returned, he was in clean clothes, barefoot, his damp curls pushed back from his face. He hovered in the doorway for a moment, watching Hannibal at the stove—sleeves rolled up, movements precise, the low flicker of the flame catching in the gold of his wedding band as he stirred.

"Need help?" Will asked, though they both knew he didn’t mean it.

Hannibal turned just enough to glance at him, an amused tilt to his brow. "I think I can manage."

Will smirked, padding over anyway. He stole a piece of bread from the counter, tearing it absently between his fingers before popping a piece into his mouth. Hannibal didn’t stop him.

Dinner was slow, comfortable. They ate with the easy rhythm of people who had done this a thousand times before—passing dishes without asking, nudging ankles beneath the table. Will reached for his glass of wine, but before he could lift it to his lips, Hannibal caught his wrist gently, examining a faint scrape near his knuckles.

"Paper cut?" he asked, his thumb brushing over the skin.

"Student's report had a vendetta," Will muttered, taking a sip of wine before Hannibal could scold him for not disinfecting it.

Hannibal hummed, unconvinced, but let it go.

When the meal was done, they moved through the motions of cleaning up without speaking, the quiet sound of running water and the occasional clink of dishes filling the space between them. Without discussion, they made their way to the bathroom.

The shower was warm, steam curling around them as water drummed steadily against tile. Will leaned into the spray first, tilting his head back, eyes fluttering shut. Hannibal stood behind him, hands sliding over his shoulders, mapping the familiar terrain of muscle and bone beneath damp skin.

"You’re tense," Hannibal murmured, pressing his thumbs into the knots along Will’s spine.

Will huffed a small laugh. "You say that like it's new information."

Hannibal didn't argue, only kneaded the tension from his muscles with deliberate care. Will let himself sink into the touch, head tipping forward slightly. In a quiet act of reciprocation, he reached for the soap and lathered it between his hands before running them down Hannibal’s arms, slow and steady.

By the time they settled in the study, the fire had already begun to take the chill from the air. Hannibal stretched out on the lounge chair first, and Will followed, fitting himself into the space beside him with the ease of habit.

Hannibal had patient files in his lap, Will with a stack of student reports, both absorbed in quiet concentration. Every so often, Will would shift, just enough for the fabric of their clothes to brush together. Hannibal, without looking up, would run a hand absentmindedly along his arm, fingers tracing idle patterns against the sleeve of his shirt.

When the fire had dimmed to a low, flickering glow by the time Will set his last report aside, exhaling as he stretched out his legs. Hannibal had already placed his files on the side table, his hand resting idly on Will’s thigh, thumb moving in slow, unconscious circles. The room smelled of burning wood, faintly sweet and smoky, mingling with the remnants of soap and skin-warm fabric.

Will shifted, letting his head tip against Hannibal’s shoulder. "Tired?" Hannibal asked softly, not moving, as though unwilling to disturb the moment.

Will hummed, his voice edged with the haziness of approaching sleep. "Mhm. You coming?"

Hannibal didn’t answer with words. Instead, he pressed a kiss just behind Will’s ear, slow and deliberate, the warmth of his lips lingering against his skin before he finally stood, offering Will his hand. Will took it without hesitation.

The house was quiet as they moved through it, the faint patter of rain still audible against the windows. In their bedroom, the sheets had already been turned down.

Will pulled his sweater over his head, tossing it onto a nearby chair before sitting on the edge of the bed to remove his socks. Hannibal watched him for a moment, then stepped closer, reaching out to tuck a stray curl behind Will’s ear. His fingers lingered, sliding down to trace along the line of Will’s jaw, tilting his face up.

Will met his gaze, something knowing passing between them before Hannibal leaned down, capturing his lips in a kiss that was slow and searching, deep enough to send a shiver down Will’s spine. Will’s hands found Hannibal’s waist, fingers slipping beneath the fabric of his shirt, warm palms pressing against warm skin.

They undressed with the ease of familiarity—not rushed, but not hesitant either. Clothes were peeled away in quiet motions, and soon they were sinking into the bed together, bodies folding into one another with practiced ease.

Hannibal moved first, rolling Will onto his back with a touch that was firm but unhurried. He pressed his weight against him, not enough to trap, but enough to be felt. His lips found the hollow of Will’s throat, the curve of his collarbone, mapping a path with the usual devotion. Will exhaled sharply, hands threading through Hannibal’s hair, guiding but never forcing.

Their movements were not urgent, not desperate—just steady, deliberate, filled with the quiet intensity of knowing they had nowhere else to be but here. Each touch, each kiss, each shift of breath against skin was something meant to be savored.

After, Will lay against Hannibal’s chest. Hannibal’s fingers traced slow patterns along his back, absentminded but tender. The rain outside had softened to a gentle patter, and the warmth of the sheets cocooned them in a space that felt separate from the rest of the world.

Will let out a small sigh, shifting just enough to press his lips against the center of Hannibal’s chest, right over his heart. "Goodnight," he murmured, voice thick with exhaustion.

Hannibal’s arms tightened around him, his lips brushing the top of Will’s head in response. "Goodnight, my love."

The fire in the other room burned down to embers, the house settling into the hush of night. And in the quiet, in the warmth of tangled limbs and slow, steady breaths, they slept.

#fanfiction #milky fics #writing #trying something new #musings #nbc hannibal #hannibal lecter #hannigram #will graham

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midnightsummer-glow · 6 months ago

Text

A Connection Across Worlds

Leviathan x reader

You’ve always loved multiplayer games. Something about the shared camaraderie of players scattered across the world, working together to defeat monsters or solve puzzles, made the experience richer. For years, you’ve been playing the same game—a fantasy MMORPG with intricate mechanics and sprawling lore. The one constant in all your game sessions is your online friend, Leviathan, or “Levi” as you know him. Despite never meeting in person, you’ve built a strong connection with him. He’s quirky, a little shy, but when you’re online together, he’s also one of the most loyal and skilled players you’ve ever met. You’ve been online friends for almost three years now, spending hours in Discord voice calls while you traverse dungeons, engage in PvP, or simply chat about the game.

Your real life has always felt ordinary in comparison, but all that changes the day you receive a letter—a very strange, ornate letter—inviting you to participate in an exchange program at the Royal Academy of Diavolo. You’re hesitant at first, unsure of how real the letter even is, but something in the back of your mind urges you to accept.

The day you arrive at the House of Lamentation, the grand mansion where you’ll be staying, you’re overwhelmed. It feels like a dream—demons are real, and not only that, they seem to know a lot about you. Lucifer, the eldest brother, welcomes you with a cold politeness, while the others introduce themselves in varying degrees of warmth or disinterest. But there’s one name that catches your attention: Leviathan, the third eldest.

The moment Leviathan shuffles into the room, nervously fidgeting with his hands and mumbling under his breath, something clicks in your mind. His appearance—a lanky, blue-haired demon wearing an anime-themed hoodie—stirs a sense of familiarity, but it isn’t until you hear his voice that it all falls into place.

“Y-You’re the new human, right?” Levi mumbles, avoiding direct eye contact. “I-I mean, whatever, it’s not like I care or anything… I’m just… checking if you’re real… that’s all.”

Your eyes widen as recognition dawns. That stammer, the nervous cadence… could it really be?

“Levi?” you ask cautiously.

His eyes dart up, wide and panicked. “H-How do you know my name? I didn’t even introduce myself yet!”

You smile, disbelief mixing with excitement. “Wait… Levi… It’s me! Y/N? From the game?”

Levi’s face freezes in shock, his yellow-orange eyes locking onto yours. He blinks a few times before shaking his head as if trying to wake himself from a dream.

“N-No way… No freaking way… Y/N? From Celestial Crusaders? The one I’ve been playing with for three years? You’re the human in the exchange program?!”

You nod, still processing the sheer absurdity of it all. “Yeah… I think we’ve been online friends this whole time.”

There’s a long pause as both of you try to wrap your minds around the coincidence. Then, suddenly, Levi lets out a loud squeak, his hands flying to his face as he tries to cover his embarrassment.

“NOOOOO, this can’t be happening! Y-You mean the person I’ve been talking to for years… the one who knows all my embarrassing moments in the game… is standing right here?!” He sinks to the floor dramatically, covering his head. “This is the worst thing ever… No, wait, maybe it’s the best thing ever? I don’t know! I’m conflicted!!”

You can’t help but laugh at his reaction, even though you’re just as stunned. “Honestly, I can’t believe it either. We’ve been friends for so long, and now here we are.”

He peeks up at you through his fingers, still sitting on the floor, his face flushed. “I-I guess it’s kinda cool. I mean, it’s not like I was obsessing over this or anything… But maybe this isn’t so bad…”

You smile softly, leaning against the doorframe. “I guess we’re going to have a lot more time to game together now, huh?”

Levi stands, still flustered but slowly starting to calm down. He rubs the back of his neck awkwardly. “Y-Yeah… I guess so. But, uh, maybe not in front of everyone… You know, I don’t want them to think I’m getting all soft or anything.”

You laugh again. It’s strange how natural this feels. After years of gaming together, the idea of finally meeting face to face (or rather, face to demon) feels oddly comforting.

Later that evening, you and Levi find yourselves in his room, surrounded by posters of anime characters and shelves lined with limited-edition figurines. The room is dimly lit by the glow of multiple computer screens, the familiar hum of gaming equipment filling the air. It feels just like your usual Discord calls, except now you’re physically in the same space.

You boot up Celestial Crusaders on Levi’s secondary computer while he logs in on his main rig. There’s a comfortable silence between you, something born of years of playing together. Once you’re both logged into the game, the familiar interface fills the screen, and you can’t help but smile. You’ve done this a thousand times before, but now, it feels different.

As you slip on your headset and settle into the chair, you catch Levi sneaking a glance at you.

“You ready?” you ask, smiling.

He fidgets with his controller but nods. “Y-Yeah. Let’s just… let’s do this. We’ve got that raid to finish.”

You both log into the voice chat in-game, and for a while, it feels like old times. You’re running through a dungeon, communicating through strategy and banter, Levi’s high-pitched yelps of excitement or frustration filling your headset, though now you can hear the real-life version too.

“Watch out, Y/N! That’s a mob spawn!” Levi shouts.

You dodge just in time, grinning. “Got it, thanks!”

After a particularly tough boss fight, the two of you pause to catch your breath. Levi leans back in his chair, sighing deeply.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here,” he mumbles, more to himself than to you. “It’s like… every time we played together before, I used to wonder what it’d be like to meet you in real life. And now… well, here you are.”

You glance over at him, surprised by the vulnerable admission. “Yeah, I get that. It’s kind of surreal. I never thought I’d actually meet my favorite gaming buddy in person, let alone in another world.”

He blushes at the word “favorite,” his eyes darting away from yours. “Y-Yeah, well… I guess it’s kinda cool having you here. I mean, if anyone’s gonna survive this crazy demon school with me, it’s you.”

You laugh. “Let’s just hope I don’t get eaten by demons before the semester’s over.”

“Don’t joke about that! This place is dangerous! But… if anything happens, I’ll protect you. I’ve got your back. Just like in the game.”

You smile at his sincerity. “I know, Levi. I’ve always known.”

Months Pass: A Deepening Bond

Over the next few months, you and Levi spend most of your free time together. Whether it’s gaming in his room, watching his favorite anime, or simply hanging out in the RAD library, you grow closer. The rest of the demon brothers notice how inseparable you two have become, and they often tease Levi about it, much to his embarrassment. But he doesn’t seem to mind as much as you expected.

One evening, after a particularly long day of classes, you and Levi retreat to his room again. As you both settle in, the familiar sound of Discord’s notification chime fills the air—a sound that has become almost nostalgic. Levi smiles as he adjusts his headset.

“Ready for another dungeon run?” he asks, his voice casual, but there’s an undertone of excitement.

You grin and nod, booting up the game. “Of course. Let’s show these demons what we’re made of.”

The raid progresses as usual, but as you’re nearing the final boss, you notice Levi has gone unusually quiet.

“Levi?” you ask, glancing over at him. His face is focused, but there’s a nervous energy in the air. “You okay?”

He fidgets with the edge of his hoodie. “Y/N, there’s… something I’ve been meaning to say.”

You pause the game, sensing the shift in tone. “What’s up?”

He doesn’t look at you directly, instead keeping his eyes glued to his screen. “It’s just… well, these past few months have been… really great. I-I mean, not just because we’re in this weird demon world or anything, but because… because you’re here.”

Your heart skips a beat, and you don’t say anything, waiting for him to continue.

“I know we’ve been friends for years online, but having you here in person… it’s different. I don’t know how to explain it, but… I’m really glad you’re here. Like, really glad.”

You feel warmth spread through your chest. Levi, in his awkward, roundabout way, is trying to tell you something important. You smile softly, reaching out to gently place a hand on his arm.

“I’m really glad I’m here too, Levi. I’ve always felt like we had something special, even when we were just online friends. But now, it’s… different

#x reader #obey me leviathan #obey me x reader #obey me #obey me levi x reader #obey me levi

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