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halcyone-of-the-sea · 2 years ago

Note

You're my favorite writer, and König is my favorite aussie man, so OF COURSE im making you write for him, hal, BEAR W ME !

Alright, what do you think about König with the “You’re here late.” prompt? The reader is part of KorTac and always worked alongside König, since they both entered about the same time, because of the readers personality, they are always fighting, one of these fights are specifically bad, leading the reader to go on a mission with another KorTac member, to help out somewhere else and take their mind off things, when the reader face a problem on the mission and ends up arriving late, König is furious.

Moths Hit the Window

PAIRING: König x F!Reader

SYNOPSIS: Fights with König were always loud, but this time his comments went a bit too far.

WORD COUNT: 5.9k

WARNINGS: Verbal fighting, angst, high tension, blood & stitches, wounds, canon typical violence, guns/weapons, death, suggestive near the end, fluff, hurt/comfort, etc.

A/N: Huge thanks to @idocarealot for the German translations!! Also, König's wearing the arachnid skin in this because I love it sm - enjoy, Anon!

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

You seethe. If eyes could turn red yous would be a beautiful shade of crimson—bloody knives ripping out of the cornea to strike whoever happened to get too close. It was as if the very air boiled with the force of a raging tsunami as you stomped down the local military base’s hallways, covered in blood and guts. Never had you reconsidered working for KorTac more than at this very moment.

Maybe I should just become a mercenary, you rip at the torn-apart gloves over your hands and jerk your arm out. Passerbyers quickly avert their eyes as you shove them into a garbage can and continue on with a growl. No shitty rules, no regulations—no fucking partners.

If people happened to slide past without noticing the steam coming out of your ears, they would have immediately locked eyes on the pure elephant of a man trailing fast behind. König’s eyes were goring into the back of your neck, gray and tan garb swaying as the packs and flash grenades on his combat vest bounced with every step. Accents of red do nothing in comparison to his visible flesh—the section of his eyes uncovered by his mask and head rig alight around his obsidian gaze.

König was muttering to himself far under his breath, curses and harsh comments all in German that he wouldn’t say to your face. At least not right now in view of others.

“I can hear you, you dimwit,” you hiss over your shoulder, grinding your teeth as you both make your way to the armory, “curse me out quieter!”

“You are making a scene!” The beast grunts, that heavily accented English striking your eardrums with its harsh dialect.

“Oh, jeez!” You raise your voice even higher, turning back forward and clenching your hands into fists as blood and guts drip off your gear—none of it yours. “I’m just so damn embarrassed, König! I’m making such a large and obnoxious display. Whatever will I do?!” Sarcasm like a valuable drug is injected into the waves of your voice. People from open doorways look out with shock, brows pulled up.

Everyone quickly darts back away when you snap your head in their direction and send them a scathing glare.

No one was surprised to find you and the Austrian going at it again but knew well enough to stay out of the crossfire. Lest someone get roped into it.

“Fuck off!” You spit the last curse into the burning air and shove past a soldier ahead of you.

König’s dark eyes flash dangerously, lips under his mask twisting into a sneer. The man’s shoulders seem to dig in even farther, spine curling over as if a brooding child.

This had all started the second you’d joined up with KorTac. Fresh out of the military and eager to get back into the game after a good vacation the PMC group had been at the top of your list. But if you’d known you’d be paired up with this damn mountain every chance there was just because he’d got into the game at nearly the same time as you, you’d have put in your luck with SpecGru.

“I do not see how this is appropriate behavior,” König follows as you place your palms on the black metal of the armory door, pressing with your shoulders. “I did what I was tasked to do—”

The masked man is cut off as you whirl on your heels, the door slamming shut as his body is shoved into it with strong arms. Dark eyes go wide in surprise, feeling the dig of your nails on his abdomen as your form presses into him and the chill of the door on his spine. You feel his skin bunch under his thick shirt and even if you want to stare him down that’s just not an option. Your warm figures shuffle together with panting breaths and dangerous glints in your eyes.

“Bull,” you drag out the word, growling it right up into his neck; sniper hood caressing your chin. König’s breath hitches with shakes of swirling emotions. “Shit.”

Shoving once more so he gets the point, you push off of him and stalk away like a feral wolf, already unclipping grenades and medical packs from your vest.

“You’re the damn reason the target got away!” Gear is thrown haphazardly to the long table in the center of the room. The Austrian watches with predatory eyes, hands clenched so hard that they quiver. He stays still, watching, as you send scathing glances. “The reason we’re going to be here for ten times longer than we’re supposed to be!”

“It is not my fault you failed to properly check the perimeter before you rushed in like a fool.” Volatile couldn’t be used to describe this…this was nothing short of volcanic. It was as if there were two sides of a scale filled with bullets and gunpowder—fire in the middle that was equally heating both piles as they raised and lowered erratically. König’s voice grates over the air, “I did what I could to fix your scheiße plan!”

“Don’t you shit on my plan!” You point, voice bouncing off the weapon racks as you rip the rifle strap from over your chest, chucking it away.

“I will shit on it—it was…it was…!” König’s voice cuts out and he can’t find the words. The Austrian descends into visceral German ramblings. “Es war so ziemlich der schlechteste Plan, den ich je gehört hab. Welcher halbwegs vernünftige Mensch geht in eine heiße Zone ohne vorher alle Zielobjekte richtig zu markieren?! Ich kann dich und deine Rücksichtslosigkeit nicht mehr leiden — du bringst mich um meinen Verstand! Hast du überhaupt ein Gehirn in deinem Schädel?”

You shake your head to yourself, heart pounding. “You’re still the one that was supposed to focus on the HVT. I rushed so he would flush out, but, no,” taking out the magazine of the rifle you hold it in your hands like an accusatory ruler that a teacher would hold. König shoves off the door and stands to his full height; arms tensed and straining before they coil around his chest in a soothing gesture.

He hated the fighting—the constant strain between the two of you. But when you were together it could never amount to anything else. The room felt like it was a million degrees.

Your eyes stab at him, “No! You had to go and focus on me! I hate to break this to you, König,” feet come forward and you once again find yourself close to him—breathing the same air and taking in the scent of gunpowder and blood. You point the tip of the magazine into his chest. His unseen lips pull; jaw clenching with held-back fire. “But I am not your damn mutt to keep on a leash. I had it under control.”

It’s as if you don’t realize the Austrian could snap you in half with a single kick of his leg, as if the sheer size of König had slipped your mind as a whole. His hands could snap your neck in an instant, but that was only if he got ahold of you.

But that was a line the both of you were never planning to cross. Words were one thing in this profession, actions another. If you ever got into a physical fight, you’d both kill each other, no doubt.

You’d like to think you’re a bit above that, but perhaps not.

König’s chest rises and falls deeply, taking in calming breaths as he tries to get his temper under control. “You didn’t,” he jeers out, “I saved your life, you Heißluftgebläse. And if you wanted to be treated less than a dog,” he grunts to you, head pulling down close to your face, harshly whispering out, “You could have simply asked me, yes?”

You both snarl at each other's throats like rabid animals, the world disappearing all around the obsidian eyes that match with yours; for a moment you get lost in the shining bits of silver in his iris that seem to burn with chilled iron. What little skin you can see is flushed and tight—hawk nose nearly poking out your eye as you’re leaned over like a giraffe near a bush.

Body vibrating, you sharply breathe, “I’m not even going to ask what that fucking means, you tool.”

“Good.” The words are bitten and fast, “because I am not telling you.”

“Great!”

“Perfekt!” You both were arguing like children. Hot faces and unwilling to let the other have the last word. If you got along it might have been funny.

“I’m going to dump all of your Einspänner out on the tarmac.” Your sure voice echoes with a definitive promise to the tone.

Pale lids widen in horror at the threat to the Austrian's favorite beverage, comfortably sitting in the Base’s fridge.

“You would not,” König’s tone is deathly serious and you smirk, eyes dancing. “You…” a guttural growl meets the air, mind translating words and giving meanings, “beast of a woman!”

“Oh, is that the best you can fucking do?!” You yell, splaying your hands out widely and moving away from him. “Now that’s really a show stopper, König, I’m shaking in my damn boots.”

“Ich komm mit dir nicht mehr klar.” König yells, moving back and placing both of his hands atop his head, knuckles white. “You’re rude—you do not even try to get along. You are loud and disrespectful; how do you live like this?!”

Your eyes slightly widen, watching the Austrian.

“Don’t try?” You echo, scoffing loudly. “What do you mean don’t try? I was the one to try and smooth things out between us in the beginning.”

“When?!” König spreads his hands out, knees slightly bent. “Because I have no recollection of such events.”

“Well of course you wouldn’t!” The heat was meeting a breaking point—words were getting more personal, sharper. Like a blade being honed for the kill slowly; being sharpened by rocks and whetstones of conviction.

König points a finger at you, voice going low and thin, “I’ve had enough of you, yes?” His sniper hood moves rapidly with his fast ricochets of breath. “Just about enough. Would you have wanted me to let you die?”

“I had it,” your lips spit, nose scrunched, and forehead tight. The man’s chest vibrates with a mute growl.

In all actuality, you’d never seen him this worked up before. König wasn’t above giving your quips back even if he obviously disliked it—most of that was due to the strange familiarity between the two of you. In large crowds, the man preferred to stay silent. This only added to his almost deadly aura with others, though you knew the muteness was because of social anxiety and not some built silence. He wasn’t shy per se, just afraid he’d say something wrong; mess up the conversation. You did most of the talking in meetings and you never minded it. Added him in when the topic was something he knew a lot about.

Your mind had addled it up to thinking it was cute, actually. How his feet would shuffle; his half-lidded gaze and his intense eye contact to let them know he was still listening. When he’d have to remind himself to look away with a pinch to his thigh because it was starting to seem threatening. It was endearing, even.

But around people König knew, well, he was going to speak his mind. No matter how long it takes his brain to catch up with his lips.

The only thing the two of you were good at was being moths—hitting the metaphorical window over and over on the same topics and tension points. Slamming heads and flapping wings. You were at the end of your rope just as he was.

“I should have never taken you as a partner!” He calls, feet splayed. “Should have gotten out of this the second you were assigned with me. Gott, ich hab wirklich versucht, dich zu verstehen — Ich hätte gleich aufgeben sollen.” Your lips thin, lungs stalling as all the air vacates the room. You stand still and listen to what he really thinks, fingers shaking.

König’s large form towers over all, great sparks of electricity flying out. His gear shakes as he moves, thigh straps pushing fabric to shift and conform to his body. Your blood pumps with brewing hesitance.

Maybe this had gone too far. I’ve never seen him like this.

“I can’t stand you any longer! Pathetic squabbles that mean nothing, absolutely ludicrous plans that make little headway.” Your head bursts with aggression and what little warning signs you have are squashed. “I can’t keep saving you because you can’t do your job correctly!”

“You don’t have to save me at all!” You scream. “You can’t keep your damn eyes off of me for five seconds, König.” Feet move away quickly from the armory door as if someone had come to put away their stuff but thought better of it. The next words burst from you before you can think of the contents. “It’s like you fucking love me or something!”

König doesn’t miss a beat, but for months afterward, he wishes he had.

“Oh, do not make me laugh—” he scoffs ferally, adrenaline making him talk, “as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place.”

Twin eyes widen and both parties immediately fall silent. A sharp inhale.

Too far.

Under the hood, König’s face goes an embarrassing shade of red all the way down to his chest. Fingers freeze. Jaw slackens.

You feel like your heart was just grasped in his grip and ripped out of your ribs with one violent motion—one sentence out of all the others enough to knock down the rebuttal that had formed on the tip of your tongue. Your throat closes up as you blink in shock.

“I-I…” König stutters, mind blanking as he struggles for words. But anger was easier than pain.

Numb fingers rip off the last of your weapons and belongings as you let them hit the floor with defining thuds as warm shame floods your cheeks. Shaky puffs of breath like a panting dog. Dark eyes watch with regretful panic, heart jumping and eyes flinching. The adrenaline it…it made him forget himself on occasion—how to properly act when not on the battlefield. It was like that with everyone but…but he hadn’t meant that.

Shame that it’s already too late.

Your fisted hand slams into his chest, brutal and unforgiving. König lets off a grunt but does nothing as you slither past, hissing into his ear, “Find yourself a new punching bag.”

His hand snaps to his breast where you had slammed your KorTac patch right into his heart, catching it. It’s many moments before he can think enough through the alarm; form words.

“I…I didn’t…oh, du blöde Kuh!”

By the time the man composed himself, panicked tears burning in his eyes, the door had already slammed shut. His feet squeaked over the tile to an empty audience.

—

Private Military Companies don’t have ranks. There are no Sergeants, Lieutenants, Generals or Colonels. Just people. Beyond the orders you’d been hired on, there was nothing keeping you in line with König on this mission. And those orders were loose at best.

Adhere to policy and listen to the Base’s COs. Shut up and get the job done.

The Austrian and you weren’t due out for another week because of rotations. Since you’d failed to capture or kill the HVT that you were assigned, another group had picked up the tracks in the meantime. Like an oiled machine, the gears of this operation kept whirling.

Evolve, or die.

“Lieutenant!” You call to the geared-up man on the tarmac—the one heading that very same group. It had been only a few hours since the incident in the armory. You needed a distraction; blood was still running high and brain pounding for release. There were only so many times you could bruise your fists and legs on a punching bag before people started giving you nervous looks. “Need an extra hand?”

Your voice sounds strained, even to you. The man looks you over once and narrows his eyes. Nods not moments later.

“Get tired of your big friend? Okay, how fast can you be ready for me?” You feel your shoulders loosen, a relieved sigh exiting your lips.

“Three minutes.”

“...get to it then. We move in five.”

So that was how you found yourself backed into a corner five hours into the op from hell—bloody knife held tightly in your grip and mouth open in ragged pants.

“Fuck,” your vest is torn and riddled with bullets; your entire chest must be bruised by now because it surely aches like it is. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

You really are reckless, just like König had said you were. Maybe you’d just never realized it because he always seemed to watch your six. This…this was really bad. The comms were awash with screaming orders and panic, ringing out across the abandoned mining factory that exploded with light from gunfire and the sounds that accompanied it. You knew for a fact three soldiers were down; two KIA.

The Lieutenant is one of them.

Your hand snaps to the radio strapped to your chest, one eye squinted in pain at the ragged slice across your left brow line. At your feet, two heavily armed men lay dead.

“Pull back! They knew we were coming!” But your word didn’t carry weight here. Your face twists between pain and rage. König’s comment still rings in your ears as the onset of tinnitus does, as if anyone could ever love a woman like you in the first place. It wasn’t ideal to be thinking about this now—it was detrimental that you didn’t.

But König and the things he did often stained your brain. No matter how much you tried to distance yourself from that fact.

Snapping the knife in your grasp down in an arch to dispel the blood from the blade, you take a steel-laced inhale and shove off the wall. Limping, but moving. Sprained ankle. Nothing you hadn’t dealt with before.

The concrete under you is splattered with crimson viscera and you stumble over spasming bodies riddled with bullets. With a subdued shink you slip your knife into its thigh sheath, grabbing the FTac Recon strapped around your chest after slamming a fresh mag into it. With a numb calm overcoming you, you slip your forefinger into the trigger guard, poised over the easy press of the trigger itself.

The long shadows spread over you; your head illuminated by the dull sheen of the moon as you pass under a stretch of open sky to slink into the building across the empty street. Feral yells still bounce off the air and you go to them readily, purpose settling in your veins.

Pain flies to the back of your mind, displaced by adrenaline and the rabid puffs of breath that fall like grinding thunder from your lips.

You wonder what König’s thinking right now—he’d without a doubt noticed that you were gone. He’d even probably gone to your barracks room to try and apologize and found it empty. That was just how he was.

Would he be happy? You wondered. Relieved to see you out of his life? You’d both done nothing but fight, but there were moments of peace. Understanding.

Shared meals and comfortable, yet sarcastic, comments; soft glances when the other wasn’t looking. Heat in your face and obviously shown on his when shy hands brushed.

Your hold tightens on your gun, brows dripping with sweat as it dribbles down along with the blood. Gunfire flashes.

Closer now.

Shadows scream on top of a raised walkway attached to an in-mountain compound, targets with trigger fingers firing on your fellows who take cover behind crumbling walls. Pinned down. You watch, unseen, from a broken window as dust and moths collide.

Your eyes lock on the closest hostile and you raise your weapon slowly, barrel resting on the frame between shattered glass. You clock the distance and adjust accordingly; breaths falling steady.

The small insect that keeps hitting the window plays in your mind over and over—drowning out the yells; the fire.

Just a moth readily willing to smash into that barrier until it dies. You hum under your breath and rest the gun into the crook of your shoulder, cheek to stock.

Your finger slams into the trigger.

—

You stumble out of the loud infirmary with a bloody rag pressed deeply into your forehead, medical pouch under one arm. You hear rushing feet and barked orders from nurses and doctors just before the door closes, cutting off as you stake out on your own.

Limping, you reason there were others with more severe wounds than your own; as blood drips from your flooded rag, your feet take you deep into the base one broken step at a time. You’d figure it out yourself.

Plus, the silence would give you time to think. Think about König.

You just gritted your teeth and decided that was better than taking up space in the infirmary.

In times like these, the Austrian would fix your wounds for you, just as you did his. While you had your disagreements and heated fights, he’d never made it as personal as he had hours beforehand. Never made it hurt.

“Jesus,” you mutter, rubbing your other crusty hand over the mud along your chin. Everything ached and you don’t know if that’s a good or a bad thing.

Flinching along like a downed bird, you shove through into the last door into the barracks; thoughts now stuck on finding a chair to sit down on before your legs gave out. The darkness of the common area was deep—staining your eyelids as you grunt, bumping into the back of the couch.

It’s almost funny the way the lamp flicked on mere moments later.

You hiss, eyes snapping shut as the rays attack your sight, rendering you blind for a moment. The shaking hand on your dripping rag tightens before the spark of pain makes you lighten the pressure.

There’s a dark grunt just as you open your eyes back up.

“You are late.” König.

He sits in one of the chairs—sniper hood still over his head yet only clothed in a large compression shirt and casual camo pants. Like a disappointed parent, the Austrian’s arms were crossed over his chest; feet resting out and crossed at the ankles. With such a big stature the look could strike fear into anyone.

Anyone but you, that is.

König’s dark eyes rove over you, stopping immediately on the fabric you keep to your forehead. The previous, furious, tone stops and the flash of very real concern takes precedence. His hands tighten on his biceps, thighs tensing over the cushion; spine just a little bit straighter.

You watch and say nothing—dead-faced.

Your heart suddenly skips beats, stuck into the framework of the man’s eyes. König’s brows peel back and a timid stutter stays in your breast.

“...Vögelchen?” Lids blink rapidly, and before you can register anything because of your blood loss and fatigue, you’re being dragged to the couch and forced to sit down.

Strong hands encompass your shoulders and small breaths flutter in front of your face as König peels back to kneel in front of you; spying the medical pouch in your under-arm.

“What is this?” He mutters to you, vision flinching along your body but always dragging back to the bloody rag on your face. “What did you do to yourself?”

Scarred hands raise before pausing, obsidian eyes staring deeply into yours as if in frantic question. Your own gaze keeps him close, spying on his veiled fear at the sight of your blood and your disappearance. He’d heard about the mission, then, that much was upfront because of his earlier comment.

The humvee had been late arriving back. Half an hour.

“Fuck off,” you utter, shoving off the couch before you’re captured in an unyielding press again, shoved down. Your anger spikes along with your unease, “König! I don’t have the patience—”

“I’m sorry.” The fight leaves you.

Fingers squeeze your biceps, hold lightly shaking with nerves. “I did not mean it.” Obsidian pierces you, “Please, Vögelchen, I am sorry. Utterly. I speak so fast I misplace words—get far more,” words fail as you stare so intently at him, a strange feeling swirling in your gut. König’s face was going crimson again, though not from anger. His tone was deep and honest, accent becoming more whole with emotion. The hands on your skin stay. “Rude than I intend. It is not an excuse, but…”

In the horizontal oval of his hood, you spy the dots of tiny freckles; the whispers of auburn hair. That hawk nose still points violently from behind the fabric. König never finishes his sentence, just takes a large breath and looks to the side after a moment of silence.

Then he steals the medical pack from your grip and opens the zipper with firm fingers, taking out gloves and gauze. Needle and sutures. It’s all placed on the side table as the bear of an Austrian stays on his knees for you—bending and shifting as the bottom of his shirt rides up.

It’s a tense affair of touching skin; warmth and hissed curses. Gentle shushing. But you say nothing through it. Until he’s up in your face trying off stitches with forceps and a needle holder, breath making his hood lightly caress your bloodless face. His fingers are large and firm, never second-guessing or stuttering over the course of directing tools that dig a needling and thread into your flesh.

He’s warm and every motion elicits shivers. You see his form from the side of your eye; his face’s outline as the lamp light illuminates the hood’s fabric. Shadowy silhouette of König’s strong jaw that shifts with every other breath from his wide chest.

“You’re an asshole for saying that to me, y’know.” you slip your gaze away just as he snaps over. “Adrenaline or not.”

The needle pauses and a swift nod is given.

“I…I know it was. No amount of apologizing can explain how very horrible I feel. It was like I was so…so…” An annoyed grunt was leveled at himself.

“Pissed off?” You offer quietly.

“Yes! Pissed off.” Amused glances were shared, the air slowly smoothing out between the two of you. Dark eyes quickly look away from yours and König clears his throat terse-like. But softer, steadier, “I…could not bear it if I were to see you in harm and be unable to assist you. That…is why I was watching. Why I do watch you.”

Inside of you, it was like there was a pot of water on the stove, steadily boiling under the heat. Your eyes are delicately wide when the man’s hands leave your face; kneeling body still tall enough to stare into you.

“You are…” König pauses, but not to find the words. To ready himself. He takes a long breath. “You are special to me, my Vögelchen. I can not see you hurt,” a gesture to your forehead and creased eyes. As if your pain was his own. “Not like this.”

“What are you saying, König?” You whisper, face twisted with hurt and confusion. Apprehension. “You’re giving me mixed signals. We always fight with each other. I’m not saying I’m blameless, but…c’mon, now. Look at us.”

“Not…always.” He grumbled like a child, tools placed away and hands dripping blood before he slips the gloves off. They meet the side table with a tiny toss. The Austrian leans back onto his ankles, butt to heel. He begins to look at your forehead and you can practically hear his heart break. “I do not like arguing with you, you know that, yes?”

“Me neither,” you whisper, fingers fiddling as a sheen of anxiousness sets in. “You just,” you pause, “confuse me.”

König blinks in surprise, head tilting and large eyes shimmering. Your mind flashes to a curious cat and you try to explain with a burning face and fast lips.

“You say we’re partners but you never act like it,” he stares and listens. When had you both had a conversation like this before? “You make it seem like you can’t trust me to do the simplest task. I’m not,” your voice betrays you, cracking, “I’m not that useless, am I?”

He freezes, muscles going taunt.

“U-Useless? Nutzlos? No, no,” A hand comes to capture your chin and you let him move you where he wishes. Creased eyes lock on yours. “That is not right. You’re not useless to me—how could you be?” Pained brows move in, “did I make you think like this? Like I did not appreciate your skills?”

Your eyes burn, and the aches from your wounds mix with the pure fatigue in your flesh to leave your emotions running between sanity and sadness. A moment later you’re turning your head away.

König recaptures it, hands finding both sides of your cheeks. He looks shaky; desperate.

“No, please, Vögelchen, please. I need you to look at me.”

“König, I don’t—” You close your mouth before you let out the beginnings of a sob. “I can’t keep fighting with you.”

“I know, oh, I know,” his hands are so grounding it’s like you’re the inner pages of a book, and his grip the thick leather cover—leather laced with shared scars and the same that had stitched you up countless times. This push and pull had to end. “I cannot fight with you either—it tears me apart. Oh, du weißt gar nicht, wie sehr es mich schmerzt, dein wunderschönes Gesicht anzuschreien. Mit dir zu streiten bedeutet, meinen Verstand und mein Herz gleichzeitig zu brechen.” König’s thumbs run up and down your skin, still bloody with dried flakes falling to the ground. He seems not to care a bit.

“What can I do to fix this? Anything. Anything to get us to stop doing this to each other.” You stare into his eyes, both creased and glazed over.

There’s a brief moment where you wonder if anyone truly even knew you as well as König did—there was no one else that you shared such a deep connection with. Years upon years of being stuck at his side.

And someone else’s hands had never felt as good as his. They were hard and callused over but cupped your face as gently as one would cup water from a rippling stream. His eyes were stars; visible skin like porcelain, his breath raised a large and wide chest with a fast-paced heart. You could sense his throat trapping air.

König kneeled to you and bared himself.

Anything, he had said, to fix what he had said. To stop this.

There was one way you could think to stop this—it might not have been smart, certainly not, but…hmm…You gradually raised your hand raised from your lap and slipped it under the front of König’s hood.

Slowly, with all the delicateness of a glass dragonfly, your fingers strayed to the side of his neck to press into tight flesh. A rapid pulse.

The man goes to stone. It’s like you’ve stolen his nervous system. Dark eyes stay locked onto yours as you gaze back, hand dragging nails up with a light pressure near to the speed of a slug.

König whispers your name into the empty space and the oxygen seems to dry up. Warm light from the lamp cast phantoms on walls and over skin in a small moment of foreign discoveries. The Austrian swallows saliva and you feel his neck flex. You don’t answer him, just watch and feel his own hands tighten on your cheeks in warning.

But you never listen, do you? Reckless you were called. And König had been right.

You were reckless.

Your hand had now explored like a map the indents of hidden facial scars; long and short over jaw and lips. The hand that was doing this had hiked the sniper’s hood up around your wrist so that the man’s lashes were twitching as the fabric got too close to his eyes. And you watched. And so did he.

A twin pair of moths hitting a glass window, staring from opposite sides at one another until they realized the break in the frame.

“Anything?” You ask in a loose tone, barely heard above the flood in both of your ears.

König was breathing heavily but didn’t pull away. Pupils wide and body heavy to your touch. His spine briefly straightened, until he realized he had moved back slightly and immediately hunched again if only to keep your hands on him.

“I…” he grunts, “A…anything.” Fingers touch his nose, they spread under the hood to trace the bumps and marks he keeps hidden like buried treasure. Your vision takes in the otherworldly hue on his visible skin; the glaze of rapture in his eyes yet still that ingrained heat.

Your body shivers at the gravel in his accented English.

Fingers stall over his lips, hood showing you the pale being of König’s strong chin and jaw. You shift your touch to the side and find chapped lips revealed to you, a small palate scar that had healed to nothing more than a line up to his nostril.

You spare it nothing more than a glance before you look back into obsidian. Dark ether and dead galaxies devoid of stars. Swallowed in a sea of pasts and futures. You look for hesitation; for disgust.

You find none.

“You said that no one could ever love someone like me,” your head leans in, and your breath mingles together with an intimacy that had never been shared between this type of partners. König, as if broken from a spell, takes down a swift inhale of air into his stiff lungs. He stares with far back lids. Flashes of unidentified emotions. “Why did you say that?”

A moment of silence and of rabid hearts. The man’s lips twitch over yours as he answers slowly, not breaking eye contact for a moment. As if he did he’d be turned to rock. As if he’d miss something amazing from happening.

He speaks with a whispered confession.

“Because if they did—I would have to kill them. Because no other than I would be able to love you more.” Your world slows and your ears strain with the breathy words.

Face burning your lips part with shock and awe. Violent to any other, but to you this was a confession from a man that could meet you blow for blow—calm you and infuriate you all in one. Challenge you, but knew when he’d gone too far and how to properly apologize.

He’d waited in that chair for you all night, you’d realized.

For you to come back to him. His partner.

You press your lips to his and hear his pitiful sounds of gasped reassurance. Slipping your tongue into his mouth, you let saliva drip off of your chins to splatter onto bent knees and shaking thighs.

König’s arms cage you; capture your waist and draw you closer, lips breaking apart before you both share a wide-eyed look of momentary pause. There was no room to breathe; to think. Chests hit together and fingers tighten to a tendon-visible hold.

The man's growing smile is wide from where you still hold his hood up by his nose, and with a lick of his red and wet lips, he reconnects your awaiting mouths.

This time, you’re the one to gasp.

“Lass mich zeigen, wie leid es mir tut, Vögelchen.”

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xcaffeineandcuddlesx · 3 months ago

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ominis, self-assured but wary of relationships no matter the extent of his admiration.

he’s internally battling himself on the daily, torn between his lover’s sweet nothings of reassurance and the detrimental ideals and feelings of inadequacy his family tried to instill in his youth.

he doesn’t care about blood status, in fact, he would prefer someone that isn’t a pureblood just to stick it to his family.

he wants nothing more than to be committed entirely to each other, wishing he only had a last name he was proud to give to you, a name he would be proud to prolong with a family of his own.

he holds so dearly your attention and endearment, but keeps distance for the first few months of your relationship, wanting it not to ruin him if you decided a gaunt wasn’t worth entertaining.

he’s getting better with learning how valued he is, but cannot help the nagging thoughts of insecurity. he understands how different it must be to adjust both a romantic and casual life to accommodate a lover with one less sense. you think him foolish to believe you ever cared.

ominis can’t say he struggles with blindness, only that he wishes for your sake he had sight.

to take you to your favorite museums and experience them to the fullest, to watch the sunset with you - he hears it’s beautiful but would say it almost certainly pales in comparison to you if anyone mentioned them, to see the love that fills your eyes when you look at him.

oh, the things he would give to see your smile instead of settling to hear it in your voice.

neither of you require grand gestures to feel appreciated, so your love is made apparent through actions, though not lacking in words.

his heart melts when you started replacing your typical paints with textured ones. he was infatuated, running his fingers over your detailed works and following the stoke patterns so often it began to wear.

he would commission matching jewelry, imprints of your fingerprints onto a pendant. he loves the tactile reminder that you’ve entrusted him with a piece of your identity, and his with you.

should you want a pomegranate, he would be ever eager to peel one, uncaring of how long the task would be. he would let his admiration show for you with the stains of garnet on the pads of his fingers and beneath his nails. he doesn’t know of it, of course, but you find comfort in the fact that he carries his passion for you on his own skin; such a form of intimacy.

not without practice, he learned several styles of braids so that he had a place in your daily routine, beaming when you tell him he would make a wonderful father to a little girl.

his clothing in need of mending? it began as a one time thing, he found you practicing fonts with your threads and asked you to embroider your name so he could feel it. now, every time you fix a piece for him, he soothes himself on his worst days, caressing his fingers along the inside of his button down’s cuff where your name resides.

he would memorize the notes of your favorite songs, practicing endlessly in private to be able to fill your shared space with piano instrumentals.

in a modern world, you would surprise him with a personally made audiobook of his favorite novel. he listens to it as though it contained the secrets of the universe.

you two would roam the isles of a craft store, searching for the best textures to make matching dual-sided, no-sew throw blankets from. he revels in the peace of mind knowing that when it’s not your arms around him, he can still sleep with your warm embrace.

never letting you run cold, even if he had to hide his reddened fingertips in his pockets, his coat would be more yours than his at this point.

he would always replenish your favorite perfume once you ran low, secretly buying a second vial to use on his pillows and bedding when you’re away.

he would let you stand on his toes while you danced if you didn’t know how, any excuse to keep you held close.

ominis is such a kind lover, endlessly devoted.

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy game #hogwarts legacy ominis #headcanon #ominis gaunt headcanon #ominis gaunt #ominis x mc #ominis gaunt x mc #ominis gaunt x you #ominis x reader #ominis gaunt x reader

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modernquackfare · 3 months ago

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Hello, how are you? If you're taking requests could you please write this one. Its been cooking in my brain since christmas.

Its a bit funny, angsty with lots of misunderstanding. So basically, Ghost has a civilian wife he never told the taskforce because he's overprotective. Now they are in deployment and simon is downright a pain in the ass with a permanent chub in his paints.

Soap or Gaz thinks he's like that due to being sexually frustrated and enlist a not so new recruit who have been with them for like six months, to get rid of simon's problem and it doesn't hurt that the recruit has a crush on Ghost.

The last day of deployment and they make the operation seduce ghost on when its so happens to be bring your family to base day and the taskforce finds out about wife!reader.

Could you please write this, i know its a bit long and complicated. Thank you❤️❤️

A/N: This was an awesome idea to write and think about! Thank you for the request :) i kinda did a little bit of head hopping here, sorry, and i hope it doesnt take away from the enjoyment of reading TT

Ghost x Fem!Reader - Secret Wife

CW: Sexual references MDNI

This really isn't Ghost's scene anymore. A dim and dusty dive bar, considered upscale in comparison to The Foxhole back on base. Every surface slick with polished wood, torn cushions under his thighs, and the smell of a deep laugh lingering in every corner. At the very least, they serve drink that isn't watery beer or tequila that tastes like paint.

It's not the bar itself, per se, that he's lost his taste for—but rather the hand that shakes his shoulder away from his glass, leading to an arm that leads to the Scottish pain in his ass.

"Her over there," Soap nudges, blithely unaware of his own pointing finger. "Thas' gotta be yer type, aye? C'mon, throw us a bone here, or we’ll need to start huntin' for the perfect lad for you instead."

"Don't start, Johnny," Ghost grunts, his unoccupied hand dusting the air in dismissal.

Gaz leans in, warm gaze turned to the very woman sitting at the bar just feet away. None of them can quite recall her name, but hers is a bit of a familiar face. A smile in the hall, or accidental eye contact in the briefing room. One of a hundred others, Ghost bitterly notes, adjusting the fit of his trousers under the table.

Is it too much to hope for a quiet night out, with nothing but a bourbon to nurse and a silent curse at Ghost's own decision to persist in this line of work? It's been on his mind lately, that decision of his. He could have settled, found himself some kind of security gig or the deed to a run down warehouse he can turn into a gym. Found himself his very own Rocky Balboa to lead to victory—or something.

"If you won't do it, I will," Gaz quips, pushing himself out of the booth and striding on over to Miss Solitude at the bar. The woman turns, gaze flicking from Gaz, to their table, and then back to Gaz.

Soap shakes his head. "Right in there, like a bloody rat up a drainpipe. You’ve gotta be quicker than that, LT. No need to be shy, you just buy her a bevvy and get to talkin'."

"Was never a chance to begin with."

"Like hell there wasn't."

The conversation is finalized with a scoff and flicking hand, as if Ghost meant to shoo away a buzzing fly. Might as well be.

***

If it wasn't the long showers, it was how distracted he was behaving lately. If not that, then it definitely came down to the absolute wallop Ghost landed on Soap a week or more later during their hand-to-hand combat training. Something has the lieutenant in the trenches of his own mind—and if only to preserve the unbruised quality of his own skin, Soap recruits Gaz in his efforts to get Ghost laid.

Gaz snickers behind his hand when Soap first suggests the idea. "You sure that's the problem here? It's not like—"

"Just think about it, Gaz," Soap insists, gesturing as if presenting to a row of investors. "He's never spent a night anywhere but in his own bloody room. Like he's some kind of old man who needs to be in bed before nine. I mean, look at him."

The two turn to watch Ghost in his spot by the wall, gazing into a gooey custard bun he's torn in half. He squeezes it, shoves one half back into its wrapper, and stuffs it into his pocket.

Gaz whistles softly. "It's like watching a big cat pace in a cage."

"Aye, I know. And I have a plan to fix it." Soap then gestures across the firing range, to a certain figure clutching a pistol in two hands. Liora, her name is? Something like that.

Raising an eyebrow, Gaz tilts his head. "What, with her? Girl from the bar? She was nice when I talked with her, but she's already got her eyes on someone else already. Not sure who, but she's practically taken, mate."

"Never say never," Soap winks nonetheless, gesturing lightly as Liora lays down her gun. He then shrugs suggestively, beginning his trek towards her. "Lt's a silver tuna, being all masked up and sour as he is. Given the chance, well—"

"I'm sure," Gaz sighs, tinged with light amusement. "Go on, then. Go ask her."

***

As it turns out, Soap and Gaz have half their job done for them. Liora, as quiet as she is, and largely suspicious about her two superiors' intentions, eventually reveals that her affinity for this mystery man does, in fact, lead back to Ghost. Akin to a schoolgirl, she's got a crush. A fierce one.

In between missions, while Ghost is tapping away at a laptop and twitching in his seat, Gaz nudges Liora into delivering him some coffee. If not that, Soap pushes her into volunteering during training to spar with him. All the while, she tries to hold his gaze a little longer, let her hand linger just a little more. This time in particular, Soap and Gaz giggle across the room like children with a toy car, watching as Liora gathers up her courage to tell Ghost a joke.

"Soap said you liked jokes," she shrugs. "So...why did the soldier bring a ladder to the training ground?"

"Mmh, why?" Ghost mumbles, half attentive to her words.

Liora cluelessly sits beside him, half a giggle in her voice. "To join the high ranks." It coaxes an amused huff out of him—and nothing more.

***

How could Ghost find anything funny these days? The tension is up to his ears, racing through every vein. And his wife, God, his poor wife back home has no idea what's in store for her once this damned deployment is over. You sent him a lovely little video from the shower this morning to try to ease the pain of being away for so long. A sweet gesture in intention, but all it's done is exacerbate the ache in his loins and tongue for a familiar feel and taste, to hold you in his arms and sink steadily into you or press you to the wall as he takes what he needs from your soft, pliable body.

Ghost grunts. Damn his mind. He's the very farthest thing from a professional when it comes to you. Liora—or so the others call that girl—is gone by the time he's come to his senses, replaced by Soap, who pounds a closed fist against his back in greeting. "Hopeless, brother. You're hopeless."

"Piss off, Johnny."

"You keep squirmin' like your gear's riding up," He sighs, hands on his hips. "Still cannae wrap ma head 'round why you won't just give her a shot."

Ghost glares up at him, attention diverted from his work. "You been puttin' her up to this?"

"She's nae faking, Ghost. C'mon. Give the poor lass a chance. C'mon, ma pride's hingin' on this, mate." Soap grabs hold of his shoulder and shakes it around, moving him like a damn joystick. "Go on, you wee bawbag, at least give her the time o' day."

"14:32, you muppet."

Soap leaves it at that with a laugh, swaggering off elsewhere as Ghost counts down the hours until he can retreat to the privacy of his room and fist his cock to your little videos until it hurts.

***

The end of his deployment. Never a sweeter day there's been—aside from your wedding, perhaps. Ghost is shedding layers in his room, yanking off his fatigues in exchange for civvies, just as the creaking sound of his unlocked bedroom door sounds out. You're here. Normally, Ghost saves you any kind of journey and just heads home alone—but the impatience is getting to his fevered brain. Besides, you could do with a little break from the house.

He turns to face you. "Oh, I've been on the brink of murdering—"

Ghost's words come to an abrupt halt at the sight of Liora, rather than you, standing in the doorway of his room. This is a dangerous situation for her, invading on a superior's privacy without a clear go-head. Not to mention rude in it of itself. He drops his shirt, suddenly aware of his own half-dress. No one but his wife sees him like this, tattooed sleeve bared, boots off and nothing but a face mask to hide his identity.

He doesn't speak, thinking his cold stare would do the job for him, as it tends to, but clueless Liora steps forward in a rush of misplaced confidence. "Just wanted to say goodbye," she whispers, her hand reaching out to stroke his arm. It makes his skin tingle in all the worst ways. "Guess I'll have to find a new sparring partner for now, sir. Hope they can take hits as well as you."

Does she not see it, he wonders. How he dodges her touch and exhales a sigh of indifference. Poor girl. She's got a lot to learn.

His indifference, nonetheless, does not deter her. Liora trails her hand up his shoulders, far too intimate for a girl who is little more than an acquaintance. But curse his speed, failing him at the most crucial of times—the door opens again, and of course, you walk in as Ghost has a hand on Liora's wrist. Unclear to you whether he meant to push it away or pull it closer. Ghost releases his grip and mutters a sharp, "leave us," to the girl, before facing his beloved wife.

There you stand, as pretty as the day he met you, gaze flitting from a mortified Liora—now leaving the room—to your husband. Ghost stalks closer, brown eyes softening at the sight of you. "Was waiting for you, love."

"You needed company to wait for me?" You ask, arms crossing before your chest. That sting of instinctual fear and possessiveness, the tight curling ache in your gut that clenches at the thought of being deceived and abandoned by the once you love most—you can't ignore it. Logic attempts to unfurl its spindly talons, telling you that it would make no sense for Ghost to have called some girl into his room just as his wife makes her way up to see him. But what was she doing in his room? Pawing at him, as if it were her place to do so?

Ghost's gaze falls fondly upon you, warm and uncharacteristically tired. "Didn't ask for her to come in. She helped herself."

"Really?" you huff, treading forward to stop before him. "Didn't look like it, Si."

"Doesn't have to," He grunts back. "You trust me."

It's true. You know the kind of man he is, and it isn't a cheating fool that takes what he has for granted. God knows he wouldn't risk losing more after everything he's already lost. Especially not you, the light of his shadowy life. Your arms fall to your sides, and you sigh. "She must have had real guts, then. Coming into your room, trying to...what was it she wanted, anyway?" Feeling the tension siphon from the room, Ghost returns to packing, laying haphazardly folded shirts into his last duffel and grunting a noncommittal sound. "Fuck if I know. 'M pretty sure it's Soap and Gaz's doing, though. They've been insisting on me giving her a chance. Poor tossers got another thing comin'." You laugh as you take a seat beside his bag, glancing around the room. Impersonal decor, as always. Ghost has always been a private person, even within the confines of privacy. Hell, his closest friends don't even know you exist. It used to make you suspicious, being his secret girlfriend back in the day. Now, though, the secrecy is natural, comforting even.

"I don't suppose you'd be up to ending that streak, would you?" You suggest, leaning over his bag.

Ghost can only sigh, the deepest gust of breath he's ever held. May God smite him where he stands if he ever says no to you.

***

Gaz, mouth agape, glances over at the Scot beside him. "A wife?"

Ghost, inevitably, agreed to let the two of them meet you. That makes three other people out of the entire base that knows of your existence—the third being Price. You wave, albeit a little shyly, and smile in greeting the numpties that Ghost has spoken so much about. Good guys, if a bit foolish. "That's me."

"Creepin' Jesus," Soap grimaces, in all of his discomfort and mild embarrassment, "Didnae ken you had a wife, Lt. Couldnae have told me that before I started nudging that other poor lass into trying to get a ride outta you?"

Flicking his head up in satisfaction, Ghost chuckles. "Teach you a lesson, you children. I think you owe my missus an apology." "Ach, sorry ma'am," Gaz concedes, while Soap follows with a similarly apologetic smile.

"You've got a bonnie one, Lt. Save some for the rest of us, eh?" "Not happening. What the hell made you think that was a good idea?"

Soap glances over at him, eyebrows raised. "What, setting you up? You needed a ride, man, you were fair uptight and tense all the time. Almost put a window in my face wi' that fist o' yours."

It evokes another breathy laugh from you, drawing your husband's loving gaze before it trails back to Soap and Gaz. "Right. But that's my business, isn't it?"

"Thanks for trying to help him out anyway," You cut in, nodding your head politely to their happy smirks. "I'm sure he needed it, even if he does do his best not to show it."

Your words earn you a stern gaze—but nothing you couldn't handle. Let Ghost direct that energy into something else. Something fun that you have a few ideas for.

Soap and Gaz bid their goodbyes to Ghost before walking off, audibly muttering, "how the hell did that sour old bastard get such a sweet wife?" Or something along those lines. Regardless, you turn your attention to your dear, suffering husband with a tricky smirk. "So. You've been having some difficulties lately? Anything I could help with? If you're not expected to be somewhere else within the next hour or so, that is."

It coaxes a deep chuckle out of your husband, who's already sliding his hand 'round your waist down to the curve of your ass, gently squeezing. Nobody's around to see, anyhow. Ghost whispers into your reddening ear. "I think we'll be needing more than an hour, sweet thing."

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that-one-p00k1e · 11 months ago

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───〃★ the way I love you ೃ⁀➷˚ ♡ ⋆｡˚

Their love language w/you ft. Hajime Umemiya, Hayato Suo, Ren Kaji, & Haruka Sakura | Demon Slayer ver.

c/w: 🎀OOC🎀, fluff, gn!reader (I think), use of "my lady" in Suo's, established!relationship in Umemiya's

GRADUATING 2DAY RAAAHHH🗣️🗣️🔥🔥🔥🦅🦅🦅

—Haruka Sakura being the easily flustered tsundere he is, words and physical touch aren't really in his dictionary of how to express his feelings. He isn't good at being forward verbally in the environment of love, nor is he able to initiate close proximity gestures.

Without realizing, one of his particular ways of showing his care was through acts of service. Helping each other around town has become a normalcy. Thus, he wouldn't stand out when doing you a favor purely out of his own will; he prefers to be discreet to avoid getting called out, not wanting to be viewed as soft and lose his dignity.

He'd claim that he couldn't give any less of concern for anyone. Yet, he couldn't help but feel an uncomfortable tug at his heart when you mentioned forgetting to bring an umbrella during the rainy weather. He contemplated whether to do something about it or not, torn between his pride and feelings.

Just as you were about to step foot outside, you felt a hand on your shoulder that brought you to a halt.

“The hell do you think you're doin’? Trying to get a cold?”

You weren't given enough time to let out a reply before a folded umbrella was held up to your face.

“You could've asked to borrow one, y'know. I have a spare, so save the fuss and just take it.”

With that, you thanked him and gave a smile of gratitude before taking your leave with the lent umbrella. Little did you know, that boy did not own a spare…

—Hajime Umemiya is so pure he's guaranteed to shower you with every. possible. way. imaginable to express his love. But physical touch would be one of the most prominent.

No matter the occasion, no matter the time, you somehow will always get pulled into an embrace one way or another. He loved the feeling of cradling your petite figure between his strong arms; it made him feel like he was shielding you from any harm. His hugs were warm, comforting, and provided a sense of safety. He'd wrap his arms around your waist from behind and spoon you in, he'd rub his hand up and down your back as you cry into his chest, he'll run up to you and let you jump into his arms, spinning you around as he lifted you off the ground.

He loves the feeling of your hands against his; your soft skin contrasting with his calloused palms. The comparison between the size of your hands and his was somewhat cute to him, making him want to protect you even more as if you were the most precious yet fragile treasure in this world.

“Next time you come in here looking all beat-up, I'm kicking you out and locking you outside,” you scolded him as you tended to his injured hands, irritation yet concern etched on your facial features.

Ume let out a chuckle at your threat, gazing at your grumpy yet worried facial expression which he thought endearing.

“Aww… You really have the heart to be so cruel to your beloved and caring boyfriend??” he whined as he looked at you with an exaggerated pouty face.

“So-called ‘caring’ but doesn't even seem to care about how worried his girlfriend gets when he comes over looking like a used dog toy.” He felt a twinge of guilt at your words, feeling bad for making you so worked up over his condition.

Gently, he held your wrist and brought your hand up to his face, softly placing tender kisses on your knuckles.

“I'm sorry for worrying you, sweetheart…” His deep, gentle voice conveyed such words so smoothly, like a soothing melody strumming its way through your ears and into your heart. You couldn't help but loosen the wrinkles that tugged your eyebrows, letting out a sigh as the tension slowly left your nody. You knew it was his duty to protect the town and all, but the amount of fight he gets into this week devastated you.

“Just… try to avoid doing it alone, please? I know you're strong, but it hurts me seeing you go up against many by yourself.”

“I'll try… Promise.” With that, he leaned over to plant a reassuring kiss on your forehead.

—Hayato Suo enjoys being discreet and mysterious. He finds amusement in seeing your confused face when you receive any form of gift anonymously. At first, he'll start out completely unknown; he wants to satisfy his curiosity on how you'd react for the first time. Once he saw the confused yet happy look on your face, it made him want to perform the act of gift giving even further.

The type of gift would often be small flower bouquets. Occasionally, a little pack of candy would be stuck to it alongside a little note. Written inside those little notes; through either riddles, poems, or song lyrics, he started giving subtle hints on who the sender was. Day by day, he watched patiently as you took your time to connect the pieces.

Until one day.

You were at Pothos, helping out Kotoha as the first-year gang hung out. While wiping the front counter, you overheard Nirei sharing his opinion on how cool Suo was that he understood flower language. You internally agreed. Suo was a man of many quirks, and you've secretly admired him for that. He understood trivial things that most people wouldn't; poems, flowers, riddles– Holy shit.

Your body froze up the moment realization kicked in, heartbeat accelerating as you tried to quickly form everything in your mind. The elegant handwriting, the heart touching poems, the beautifully arranged varieties of flowers. Could it be–

“Suo.”

The crowd suddenly went quiet at the abrupt mention of one of the personel. You decided to take things somewhere a little more private.

“Please be honest with me,” you demanded as the both of you stood in front of the café.

“Are you the one who has been placing random flower bouquets in front of my doorstep? And before you come at me, there is no one else I know that understands flower language, poems, or-”

“Ah, so you've finally noticed,” the brunette chimed innocently with a sweet smile.

You blinked. “W-What?”

“Yes, I'm the perpetrator behind all those floral gifts you find every day. Are you uncomfortable with it? I can stop if you'd like–”

“NO! I-... I appreciate it. It's just… why? What for? Did you get a dare or something?”

Ever so subtly, his eyes softened at your words. “Why, it is simply because I like you.”

The moment the confession escaped his lips, it felt like your whole world was shaken. You were excited, happy, yet unsure. Unsure if he meant it or not. After all, you knew the kind of person he was.

“... Please don't joke about this.”

He understands what you mean, and he doesn't blame you for that. “My lady… I may be one to bluff, but involving one's feelings is where I draw the line,” he spoke with a tone oh-so gentle, wanting to convey the sincerity his words bore.

“Then… what are you trying to get out of doing all of this?”

“Your heart.”

Blood rushed into your cheeks like a marathon. Your heartbeat acceleration exceeded a speed limit you didn't know you had. With a deep breath, you gathered all ability left to respond.

“... You already did.”

Not even a second passed, and the young man felt a pair of arms embracing him tightly; a sigh leaving his lips as he looked down at the fair maiden in adoration and fondness.

Little did they know about the little audience they had through the glass window of the café.

—Ren Kaji has an aloof demeanor that he tends to keep to himself and distance his existence from the world. He's not one to listen nor speak, preferring to focus on the music blasting through his headphones. Though he enjoys being in rowdy places, he doesn't get loud and excited himself. All in all, quality time would be his best aspect in the language of love.

He'll accompany you on your walks, either when he bumps into you during patrol or when you're going home from school. He'd claim that walking you home was a part of his ‘duty’ and that you just happened to appear as an excuse. Along the journey, he'd listen to you talk your heart out while humming occasionally to let you know he was listening. Even if his headphones were on, he'd lower the volume to be able to hear your voice.

Never had he admitted how he felt comfortable with your presence, and maybe he never will. Words and touches weren't in his field of knowledge, making him seem to be difficult to approach. But little did you know that deep down, he held a spot for you as one of the exceptions – which he was clearly oblivious to.

“... Kaji… Kaji.” He rolled the sucker in his mouth and pulled down his headphones as he felt a poke on his cheek.

“Go on ahead without me. I'm gonna head someplace to eat.”

“I'll come with.”

“But you have patrol.”

“And I also have Enomoto and Kusumi. End of discussion.”

With a defeated sigh, you decided to eat at Pothos; the safest place to eat and thankfully the closest to your place. You offered to treat Kaji for dinner – not wanting to be the only one eating – but the young man declined and said he wasn't hungry. You didn't care; still getting him something as a way to thank him for his willingness to accompany this whole time.

“What? I said I wasn't hungry,” he claimed in defense while pulling his head away once he saw you bring a spoonful of omelette rice to his mouth.

“Just shut up and eat. I'm not living with the guilt for having you go through all this trouble for me.” You pulled out his sucker and replaced it with the awaiting spoon, not giving him time to argue back. He swallowed and looked away before muttering lowly.

“I'm not doing it for you.”

“Whatever you say…”

He begrudgingly let you feed him the whole food, chewing quietly and kept himself distracted on his phone. Unbeknownst to you and him, tints of pink adorned his cheeks.

Little did y'all know, Tamon's second year's vice captains had a good view, but decided to save themselves a scolding.

#did anyone miss me #wind breaker #dead for 2 months then came back graduating #that's what I call an entrance #wind breaker fluff #forgive me shall this fic contains severe character misunderstanding for I'm still new in this fandom #wind breaker x reader #sakura haruka #haruka sakura x reader #ren kaji x reader #hayato suo x reader #suo hayato x reader #umemiya hajime x reader #hajime umemiya x reader #hajime umemiya #ren kaji #suo hayato #wind breaker manga #wind breaker (satoru nii)

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satsuha · 5 months ago

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i'm always really interested in how the characters call each other in japanese games, so i laid out a few differences between the japanese and english versions of some ace attorney games that particularly interest me. this isn't meant to be an exhaustive list but it did get really long 😭

i highlighted english nicknames/etc in blue while japanese nicknames/etc are orange just to make reading a little easier

AA1-2

while only playing the english version i liked that maya called phoenix nick, it's a nickname that makes sense and phoenix is annoying to say and write anyway (lol) but the reason maya gives for this nickname in english is that it's what larry uses for him, which pales in comparison to maya in the japanese version opting for how mia used to call him: naruhodo-kun.

to me, this is a LOT more meaningful and informative than the english nickname because it not only is evidence of how much maya heard about phoenix from mia using that nickname, it also gives us a glimpse of maya's personality and her relationship with phoenix. -kun is an honorific that's usually used for either male classmates or for teachers/superiors to use with their students/subordinates. maya falls into neither of these categories with phoenix, but it also lines up with how she acts like the boss of the office a lot of the time. SO LIKE... ultimately the nickname nick just does not hold up in terms of both maya's reasoning for using it, and phoenix's apprehension at her calling him that... which i just think is a shame!! in the same vein, this nickname is passed down to pearl, and again you see phoenix having a Reaction to it which makes sense considering it's funny that a kid is calling him naruhodo-kun...

i don't only want to talk about changes in english that i don't prefer, so i also want to mention that i'm very impressed that they managed to get phoenix and edgeworth referring to each other by their surnames in english to sound natural... because it's also exactly what they do in japanese except there, the idea of male friends using their surnames with each other is a very very normal thing. i AM torn on the fact that in japanese larry also refers to the two of them by their surnames, which means all 3 of them are on equal grounds in that respect. AT THE SAME TIME... english makes larry's "nick" and "edgey" work so well that i really can't say we missed out with this localization, but i do like the relationship between these 3 so i do like that the japanese is indicative of it too :)

AA4

i'm skipping ahead to aa4 because trucy's also a very interesting localization to me... the first time i played aa4 i felt like trucy wasn't sufficiently differentiated enough from maya's character which is like. debatable but those were my initial thoughts anyway. in japanese though she uses third-person pronouns (calling herself by her own name, minuki) which is VERY distinct from maya. there are a number of ways to interpret this choice but i like the one that indicates that it's part of her stage persona. aside from that though, she also has a very normal nickname for apollo (odoroki-san, with -san indicating general politeness) while polly is um well canonically the name of a parrot LOL

i do find it pretty interesting that the above exchange is the first instance trucy uses the polly nickname, because it's entirely different in the japanese version. phoenix says "if this onii-chan over here can't help you..." to which trucy responds by saying "how could you, onii-chan!" this exchange is hilarious to me because phoenix referring to apollo as an onii-chan is pretty normal? it's common to refer to any young man as that and in this case he's also referring to apollo from trucy's perspective. but trucy DIRECTLY calling apollo onii-chan (brother) is just so funny because HERE it's a lot closer to how an actual younger sister would refer to her older brother; there's a difference between saying "this onii-chan" and just "onii-chan". now i'm not saying this was direct foreshadowing because onii-chan is also used between close friends/acquaintances but like... the possibility is there.

AA5

now onto simon because i don't actually have a problem with the localization making him a british weeaboo i think that's really funny but i DO wish the nicknames he uses for the defense attorneys were more... appropriate? the honorific -dono that he uses in english does complement his samurai look but it's usually used in contexts where there's some respect involved, which is... not simon's intention in japanese. i'm admittedly not too familiar with the nicknames he uses in japanese; he uses "[kanji] no ji", while using a kanji from phoenix/apollo/athena's surnames. by searching it in japanese, i'm finding answers that it was medieval slang used by men usually in red light districts and such, and was used to refer to those with equal or lower status to oneself but never to those of higher status. this is kinda the opposite of what -dono is which is used for those of equal or higher status!!

i also find it pretty amusing that despite him using the first kanji in phoenix's name; 成 (turn into, grow), he uses the second kanji in both apollo and athena's names; 泥 (mud) and 月 (moon) respectively. i can only imagine that he did this because the first kanji in their names; 王 (king) and 希 (rare, hope) respectively, were too positive/complimentary for him? LOL

AA6

now i want to to talk about apollo in aa6 because NNGNRHGH i'm not normal about this one. because like, similarly to what i said up there about phoenix, edgeworth and larry's relationship, it's completely normal for close male friends to use their surnames with each other. phoenix, being apollo's boss, refers to him as odoroki-kun (mirroring how mia and maya call phoenix). trucy uses odoroki-san, indicating general politeness and athena uses odoroki-senpai, because he's her senior in their workplace. clay uses odoroki (no honorific), which is the same "level" as phoenix/edgeworth/larry's relationship.

a male character never being referred to as their first name is pretty normal, which is also the case in the aa games. franziska calls edgeworth by his first name reiji which is SUPPOSED to stand out because it's notably impolite/informal for someone who is younger than him, which suits the idea of her thinking of herself as the elder sibling. for additional reference, phoenix is only referred to by his first name by dahlia/iris; ryuu-chan ("feenie" equivalent) and desiree; ryuuichi-kun ("nicky boy" equivalent). so apollo is referred to exclusively by his surname, because there isn't anyone who's associated with him who would feasibly use his first name.

THAT IS. UNTIL we meet datz who is the first (!!) character to use apollo's first name in japanese. this moment doesn't stand out in english because i KNOOWWW datz uses the AJ nickname which is very cute but he doesn't actually use that nickname the first time he indicates that he knows apollo in case 6-3!! phoenix's momentary confusion here is also explained because while he obviously knows apollo's full name, he's never heard anyone refer to him with it!!!

so phoenix's thoughts in japanese here were originally "housuke... wait, that bracelet! that's odoroki-kun!"

dhurke and later nahyuta (during the last moments of the 6-5 trial) also refer to apollo with his first name, which is... really nice!!! they're family!!!! i mourn the fact that this distinction isn't visible in english because most characters just call him apollo but it's special in japanese... it's only dhurke, nahyuta and datz who use his first name.... i'm normal i promise

funnily enough i sort of have the opposite issue with nahyuta, who is generally referred to as prosecutor sahdmadhi in english but nayuta-kenji (prosecutor) in japanese. i'm assuming this is because his name is written with his given name first unlike japanese names, so they just used his given name instead of his surname...? unfortunately we don't have an example of any other foreign prosecutor as reference (i'm excluding van zieks here because they DO use his surname but it's also an entirely different time and place) but i prefer the english here since it also makes it stand out when apollo, dhurke and datz (with yuty hehe) use his first name with him.

but then again... rayfa also refers to him as prosecutor sahdmadhi in english, but just calls him nayuta in japanese. there aren't a lot of characters rayfa refers to by name but generally she's either overly polite (with ga'ran and inga) or overly impolite (with phoenix and apollo). it makes sense that the way she calls nahyuta is a little unique, since he's of lower status than her but not enough to get a rude nickname fdjhja... and then of course at the end of the game she tries to call him onii-(chan? san? sama? we just don't know) which nahyuta interprets as oni (demon) i think the localization here is really impressive actually. they somehow managed to seamlessly fit braid head into the mix of barbed head and horn head (both nicknames that refer to their hairstyles) while braid also begins with the same letters as brother... anyway i think i slightly prefer that rayfa (and ga'ran) call nahyuta by his first name rather than by his prosecutor title, it's indicative of their higher status because of the lack of an honorific but by the end of the game it fits in with the idea of them all being family...

TGAA1-2

you would think that because tgaa opted to leave japanese honorifics in the dialogue that there wouldn't be any differences in how the characters refer to each other but there are... first of all kazuma and ryunosuke are once again male friends who refer to each other by their surnames without an honorific in japanese, but the english has them use their first names with each other instead. i can understand this change because characters using only their surnames with each other feels oddly distant in english, and while it worked for phoenix and edgeworth's relationship it definitely doesn't suit kazuma and ryunosuke's.

additionally, the way susato calls ryunosuke was also changed from naruhodo-sama to naruhodo-san. this is... also an interesting change since it requires the player to have some basic knowledge of japanese honorifics but for some reason decided to change it anyway, despite the fact that susato also uses -sama with kazuma... one thing to note is that susato does use kazuma's first name instead of his surname like she does with ryunosuke, which helps indicate their closer relationship despite her still showing respect with the -sama honorific. in that sense naruhodo-san feels like an interesting middle ground because she's still using his surname but doesn't seem to view his position with her as equal to kazuma's? i assume that was the intent of the localization, similarly to how the way kazuma and ryunosuke call each other was changed to indicate closeness to the english-speaking player

anyway while i do prefer the original japanese version most of the time, my general view of original vs localization is like wow! two cakes! i might prefer one of those cakes more, but the english version usually provides enough that i like that both canons exist. because of this i can't agree with the idea that all localization is bad nor the side that believes the original doesn't matter because you're engaging only with the english side of the fandom. both are good and can reveal interesting things about the characters, story and setting!!

and thank you for reading if you got this far 🙇 i'm not an expert at japanese so i try to do my research and use multiple sources to get a better view of things, so please let me know if i got anything wrong! i also recommend checking out this post if you haven't seen it already since it's where i got some pointers on the trucy and simon segments

#satsusays #ace attorney #the great ace attorney #phoenix wright #maya fey #larry butz #miles edgeworth #trucy wright #simon blackquill #apollo justice #nahyuta sahdmadhi #rayfa padma khura'in #asougi kazuma #mikotoba susato #naruhodo ryunosuke #'only the parts that interest me' consists of more than you might believe but still that's why the aa6 section is so long .#no particular aai thoughts on this for now but who knows... i'm blaming the lack of siblings <-?#i know similar posts probably exist out there but these were some of my own observations...#satsuTL

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gay-dorito-dust · 4 months ago

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Are you taking requests for kraven? Maybe dating hcs where reader is lowkey insane?

Reader might come off a little more deranged/ morbidly curious rather than insane. But yeah enjoy whether this was.

You came across as a typical upstanding citizen of society, nothing out of the ordinary but not everything about you was ordinary when animals -whom are good judges of character- were adamant in avoiding you, running away as fast as they could if you were nearby and or show hostility towards you in hopes that you’d leave them alone.

You unsettled them as you were silent chaos waiting to break out, other people just get an unnerving feeling about you that they’re quick to dismiss when you show them a side that’ll make them less skeptical of your true nature. It was rather easy to fool others by putting on a charade that they can digest.

Sergei -upon first meeting- had a feeling that something was off about you as his eyes took you in, you looked normal but yet something within him told him to be weary of the fire within your eyes as you smiled at him.

Then again your meeting came at a time where one thing and one thing only was preoccupying his mind, so human interaction with anyone that could potentially get hurt by his father’s associates was far removed from his mind as he was quick to pick up where he had left off.

But it wouldn’t be long before you were too deeply involved with his plot against his father and you would have to remain close by the burly man for your own safety in fear that his fathers men would come back and finish the job that they should’ve beforehand.

However you seemed unfazed by all the violence and blood that came from Sergei’s lifestyle, almost coming across as numb when you saw how he’d tear through people as though they were nothing, your eyes would be wide slightly in morbid fascination at how effortlessly limbs were torn off and sent flying elsewhere.

Had it been anyone else would’ve ran away and seek for shelter for their own safety, get away from all the chaos and destruction happening before you. But you were a little different as you would only sit yourself down on a nearby surface and watch Sergei go to work in awe of how truly violent one man could be to cause so much bloodshed.

Sergei would naturally be a little pissed that you were so close to the violence, so close to getting hurt and looking about as unbothered as you were being told something that didn’t affect you directly. Like nothing truly disturbed you because you’ve already seen your fair share of chaos and carnage in comparison to a normal civilian.

It was eyebrow raising to say the least but your safety was his bigger concern as he held you by your shoulders and looked at you with wild eyes, expecting you to flinch but you didn’t, if anything you only smiled at the man as you hugged him tight; not caring for the blood that stained him as you knew simple but effective methods to get rid of such a stubborn substance.

‘You could’ve gotten hurt.’ He tell you.

‘No I wouldn’t.’ You replied so certainly, a little too calm for someone who’s seen people die before their eyes. ‘I have you.’ You added.

‘You act unfazed by such displays of violence,’ Sergei starts, ‘I wonder why, you don’t seem to have any background in anything that could have you withstanding the sight of a man with his entrails hanging out.’

You merely shrugged. ‘I might just have a strong stomach and the idea that you know so much about me and my background should off put me from you as being creepy, but I kind of admire a man who wants to learn all about his prey before pursing them in a hunt.’ You cackled as you messed with the fur lining of his coat.

Sergei removed your hand from his coat, holding them in his own as your fingers caressed the bruised and bloody knuckles tenderly. ‘Having a strong stomach is one thing love but your reaction alludes to a darker side of you that I have yet to see, almost as if the thrill of the hunt excites you along with the harm it causes others too.’ He adds in a low whisper as though he finally had you figured out, his eyes narrowed by his hold on you was still gentle and protective as though he was trying to protect you from your darkest version of yourself.

You pecked his lips innocently. ‘The hunt does thrill me, though only when I get to see you at what you claim as your worst and still feel nothing but love and affection for you my beloved Sergei.’ You tell him as you squeezed his hands, memorising their roughness and each individual callousness they had with the idea of worshiping a man of such raw power and strength. ‘You’ve always fascinated me, and you only continue to fascinate me even more.’

‘I’m not safe company.’ He tried to tells you.

‘I don’t care whether your safe company or not, they’re going to come after me regardless if you explained that I have no ties with you, and this-‘ you gesture to the dead bodies nearby. ‘Will only tell them that there is something between us. A connection that they can exploit to their advantage against you, so if anything I’m in safer company with you than without you.’ You replied.

Sergei knew you were right, the damage was already done and more people will only be after you and him because of it. However this doesn’t solve the itching feeling that he got from that darkness within your heart, that curious nature that you possessed that could borderline dangerous.

Who was he romantically involved with and why did it send his senses haywire into whether keep you safe from that inner darkness or keep himself away from that very same thing?

#kraven imagines #kraven imagine #kraven #kraven x reader #kraven the hunter #kraven x you #sergei kravinoff x reader #Sergei kravinoff imagines #Sergei kravinoff imagine #Sergei kravinoff x you #Sergei kravinoff x y/n

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felikatze · 5 months ago

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Euphrasie and the End

A Deep Dive into the Head Housemaiden and her symbolic meaning

Introduction

Spoilers for the whole game, and also the prologue, by the way.

Hello everybody. You may know me from that other post about Euphrasie or maybe the ludonarrative essay or the QOL one. No matter the case, today I return to my favorite side character, Euphrasie, the Head Housemaiden.

This all starts with a central thesis you're likely to be familiar with.

Euphrasie represents the end. In the most literal sense, she is where every journey ends. She is the representation of Siffrin's fears. With every repetition, Siffrin grows to dread and fear the sight of her, more than they ever do facing down the King again.

And I want to look at that.

The Damsel

It's a tale as old as time. The big bad has kidnapped the lovely princess! Everyone, we must save her! And so, our epic tale begins, as Mario chases after Peach and Link vows to return and save Zelda -

That, quite obviously, is Euphrasie. Albeit not your traditional princess, she's still a female figure with great importance to our protagonist. (Our protagonist, quite obviously, being Mirabelle.)

Mirabelle's entire journey begins with her fleeing the House and embarking on an adventure with one goal - return home, and free everyone. ISAT invokes many many many stereotypical RPG tropes.

It uses those tropes by going, well, you know how the story goes, let's get right into the meat of it, yeah? Because ISAT is a story that only works on the precipice of an ending. It's the last dungeon! We're back in starter town, transformed by the big bad, and now we gotta take it back. (Like, do I have to invoke Ocarina of Time, or something? You know how it goes, you've seen this story before.)

Siffrin isn't afraid of the journey, the intro makes that blatantly clear all on its own. This entire journey is, quite literally, the happiest Siffrin can ever remember being.

He doesn't want it to end.

The story ends when you save the damsel. She will reward the heroes (usually with a kiss, but this time with a hug), thank them for their efforts, and then the credits roll. If we want to stay here and be pedantic, we can pull examples out of our hats all day for this trope as old as time.

Euphrasie is the end, not just within the context of the game's individual story, but for its type of story. Pretty woman, trapped by the bad guy, last person to be saved, emotional importance to the protagonist, dramatically awaits the rescue by her dashing protagonist after giving her the magic ocarina blessing to give Mirabelle her Special Protagonist Power that makes her super special and immune to the bad guy.

Euphrasie also gets the addition of being the wise mentor, combining tropes a bit, though I don't think it's uncommon for mentor figures to be the kidnappees either, even if the example I'm thinking of first is Eyvel from Thracia 776. (And you see once again, that I am incapable of thinking outside of Fire Emblem comparisons.)

So, simply from her role alone, we expect her to be the story's natural conclusion, but the setting helps that point, too. It's the rooftop of the final dungeon. Very obvious location, yeah?

The game's structure also builds anticipation into meeting her. Here and there, you hear about her from Mirabelle. And, right before facing the King, that's when Mirabelle talks about Euphrasie in-depth, how Euphie should've been the chosen one. We've got a lot of ideas about Euphrasie now, we're thinking about her as we go into the final boss.

And Siffrin dies. Duh.

We're so close to the end, and it's torn away from us. We need to get to it, get to her. Finally get past the King to meet her.

She's the conclusion. And in this moment, she is the goal, too.

Speaking of the King, though --

The True Final Boss

As Siffrin faces the King again and again, they grow less scared. More jaded. If you die to him thrice (or play START AGAIN), you get the option to say "Let's just get right to it", and skip his entire monologue.

After all, you've beaten him once. You can do it again. So who cares about him, yeah? Facing him only gets easier and easier as the game progresses. The King may be scary still in some story aspects, but in gameplay? Not a chance.

ACT 4 doesn't end with him. It ends with her.

As Siffrin faces Euphrasie again and again -

(No, no, no, she could've answered your questions, why?!?)

(Even though you asked for something different at the start of this conversation...)

(WHY IS SHE REPEATING THE EXACT SAME THING?!?)

Siffrin (yelling4): "JUST TALK TO ME!!!

Talking to her again makes her scarier, because Siffrin may have gotten past the King, but he's never gotten past her. For all intents and purposes, Euphrasie is the final boss of the story.

Again, ACT 4 - Siffrin's deepest moment of despair, confirmation of ultimate failure, is her.

Speaking of final bosses...

They both cut a rather striking silhouette, don't they?

Yes, yes, islander theory, white hair. That's an in-universe theory though, but the point is, it does make them look similar. They both have long cascading white hair, they're both extremely tall. They are both similar yet different in appearance.

Euphrasie is rounded where the King is jagged, namely. Soft where he is imposing. But those similarities still remain. Contrasting figures that only enhance the similarities all the more.

(I felt utterly insane for seeing this, but. Do you see it. DO YOU??) (Like. Outside of any theory stuff, her being the only person to have white hair beside King and Siffrin, long white hair to boot, has thematic signifcance as well, yes?)

[Side note: Yes, it is utterly irrelevant here that insertdisc5 said her hair is dyed, because it is STILL a striking resemblance of character design that can be interpreted with symbolic meaning, thank you~)

The trangles.

Though she may overshadow the King as the Endpoint past ACT 2 in ISAT, she does not in START AGAIN.

In START AGAIN, the ending beyond does not exist, for all intents and purposes. The endpoint was pulled forward. Whereas ISAT Siffrin's true dread sets in after beating the King, in SASASAP, it does so in the break room right before facing him.

Or, well, the resignation.

In In Stars and Time:

Siffrin (fake1): "Hi." Siffrin (fake1): "You can start breaking down now." Euphrasie (sorry1): Breaking down...? What do you...

In Start Again:

(You wonder how everyone will die this time.) (Will the King beat them with Craft until they are no more?) (Will he freeze them in time, unable to move or breathe for all eternity?) (How will YOU meet your end?) (In blood and stars maybe... In tears and time perhaps...)

The natural acceptance that, (you can look at the title of this again) this is the end. That there is no getting past this. They are both the last obstacle that can never be overcome, between the games.

Hell, just COMPARE SAP's true ending to like, the end of ACT 4.

Siffrin awakens in the meadow. Everything was in vain. Everything was useless.

Siffrin finally, after a thousand loops or even more, beat the King. This is supposed to be the end, but it's not. So, this proves once and for all that there is no escape. They're trapped here forever.

They built it up for so long in their head that all they have to do is beat the King, and then the suffering's over.

And in ACT 4... Siffrin builds it up for so long in their head... All they have to do is ask the Head Housemaiden about Wish Craft. That's it. That's the answer! After that, it's the end! It'll be over! He just needs to do this one thing...

Loop (away1): ...Is that so? But, didn't you already-- Siffrin (unhinged1): "It is so!" Siffrin (unhinged1): "I might be able to break the loop, somehow!" Loop (away1): ... Siffrin (unhinged1): "You know, it might just be that I need to make everyone's wish come true! And everything will be back to normal!" Siffrin (unhinged1): "If I talk to her, she'll know, she'll be able to tell me what to do..." Siffrin (unhinged4): "If I can just talk to her...!"

And is wrong, of course. They wake up in the meadow and despair. So, this proves once and for all that there is no escape. They're trapped here forever.

Siffrin: "Or, or does it mean-- It means--" Siffrin: "It means I'm stuck here for good, aren't I?" Siffrin: "Forever?" Loop: ... Loop: . . . (. . .) Siffrin: (No.) "You think I'm stuck here forever."

It's the exact same mindset with different characters representing the end point. The parallel becomes even more evident in that Siffrin's very last manic shot at victory is the exact thing that proved Loop's failure - supposing that the King is the true end point.

Yet it's also different, in what these two characters represent.

The King is very much a representation of the past. His fate in ACT 5 ultimately proves what it means to refuse to let go - being frozen in time is both a metaphor and very literal. He's stuck in the past, by choice. He could've lived and chosen to embrace Vaugarde and move on, but he didn't.

Y'know, he's a bad end Siffrin, metaphorically (albeit not literally. Narrative mirrors and all.) He's what Siffrin would end up like if they never learned their lesson. If they keep refusing to let go of the past... and embrace the future.

Euphrasie's Agency and lack thereof

To Siffrin, there is no future. They can't conceive of what happens after this journey. So, the character marking the endpoint of the journey, and the start of a new chapter in Siffrin's life, cannot see a future either.

It's... fascinating, to me. How Euphrasie is a vessel of Siffrin's insecurities by force. Siffrin's Wish has taken hold of her. It's using her as a stop, on purpose.

Odile (worried2): Because... Talking to you... Means our journey to save Vaugarde is really over, isn't it? Odile (gimme1): And for you, Siffrin, it also meant all of us going our separate ways, doesn't it? Isabeau (angry1): The very thing the loops were trying to stop...

(Points at my first point about Euphrasie being the Damsel, and thus the natural endpoint of any given RPG. Hey. Hey do you see how obvious this is yet.)

Euphrasie seems to have some sort of ability to feel Wish Craft, or the Universe, or Change, or whatever. She knows what her role in this play is, most of the time. "I can feel it! We both know this! It's all over when you talk to me!"

(IT'S ALL OVER WHEN YOU TALK TO HER.)

What she says mirrors what Siffrin thinks about her. This becomes most obvious only in retrospect, looking once again at the ACT 4 finale.

Euphrasie always says the same thing, because she is the end and the end can neither change nor ever arrive, but she can only say something new in one circumstance.

Siffrin (angry4): (You just wish she would ANSWER YOU!!!!!!) "Now that you know, now that I know, you can fix it!!!" Euphrasie (ending3): . . . Euphrasie (ending3): Fix it?

When Siffrin wishes for her to. Her capability to act in new ways is directly controlled by Siffrin's desire. Since the entire loops are caused by their subconscious desire to stay with everyone, she fulfills the role of keeping everyone together.

Thinking back on what she says...

"I know you thought your quest was over, but it can't be."

Your quest. Yes, quest is also used in a general story context, especially in fantasy, but Quest has long since become a well-established term in video games of all stripes. Sidequests, Main quest, hey, isn't it weird how ISAT refers to all its storylines as quests?

Friendquests being the obvious example. Fetch Quest, Companion Quest, Tutorial Quest, Really? He doesn't need your help with a quest?

But outside of that... I know I just know these terms because of my script wizard activities, but every storyline is a quest. Kingquest. Loopquest. Friendquest.

There's any number of words that could be chosen ("journey" probably being most prominent) and yet she says quest. By using a term inoxerably tied to video games by this point, she's saying "I know you thought the game was over, but it can't be."

And see how the game uses glitched imagery and static to represent everything breaking down, both at the end of every loop, and in ACT 5. This imagery is just confusing and means nothing to the characters, but is very obvious if you are Playing A Game.

The fuzzy static of an old TV, the bars of screen corruption, random symbols in text, the distorted music like a malfunctioning cassette tape…

If I may be so bold as to harken back to one of my own previous essays... The timeloop is the game.

It all ends when you talk to her. Everything ends when you talk to her. The goddamn game ends when you talk to her for the last time.

I got a bit of track here from the point, which is- her agency.

As we've established, she functions as Siffrin's own stop, on purpose. She can only act independently when Siffrin wishes her to.

And her not doing so is the beginning marker of everything breaking down in ACT 5, as well.

When Mirabelle interrupts her usual greeting speech, Euphrasie reacts differently immediately. She takes a look at Siffrin, diagnoses them with Craft overusage, and says they just need rest.

"But he'll be fine, now that the battle is over."

But, as usual, she can... sense what's happening.

"Every time I've tried to reach out and feel what's happening, I sense... Chaos..." "It feels like something is... Rotting..."

Mirabelle: "...?" Isabeau: "Rotting...?" Euphrasie: "I know you thought your quest was over, but it can't be! Something's broken, something's failing, rotting!"

She even skips back and forwards between all her different lines, everything Siffrin expects of her and has memorized by now, when we've seen that she was acting differently just a moment before.

It's Siffrin's wish kicking in again that marks the final straw once more, their clashing desire to stay in the loop against his desparate will to escape, resulting in Euphrasie being torn between who she actually is (acting new! moving forward!) against what Siffrin needs her to be.

(you're still stuck here) (but isn't it fine?) (eternity is within your grasp)

Mentioning eternity even harkens back both to the King ("I just want eternity.") AND the ACT 4 ending ("To know you'll be trapped for all eternity, Siffrin... I am so sorry!!!").

Again, like, Euphrasie's agency being torn from her, falling back into that old pattern, is what marks Siffrin realizing he's been wishing for eternity this entire time. It's written on the wall all over ACT 4.

Like, literally, textually, if you choose to pray to the intact Change God statue in ACT 4, Siffrin's prayer is "(You wish for eternity.)"

Because in the course of all these loops, Siffrin has been denying everyone's agency. Euphrasie is just the most prominent example. In ACT 5, by wishing for eternity, what Siffrin has (accidentally) forced onto Euphrasie all this time, he is trying to force onto everyone.

Whether or not Euphrasie is allowed to be a person is a direct marker of Siffrin's ability to escape the loop. It's only over when she's allowed to be free.

Euphrasie is the first person in the ending to mention going home.

"Finally, you'll all be able to go home!!!"

But in ACT 6, she doesn't. She doesn't mention going home at all. Instead, she tells everyone a new story. One Siffrin's never heard before.

Allowing Euphrasie to be free turns her back into the symbol of change that she's supposed to be. I'm repeating myself, but it truly is her change that is the definite, 100% sure marker that Siffrin is free, too. That the future is here.

Why are circles a symbol of change, anyway?

In me saying, Euphrasie symbolized stagnation, until Siffrin allows her to stand for the future again, it is irony. It is immense irony that the Head Housemaiden of Change Itself turns into a symbol of endings and stagnation through Siffrin's denial.

And, on the topic of irony, I ask you:

When the hell are circles a symbol of change???

You know. Circles. The things that famously represent cycles (wow, wonder if those words are related), repetition, infinity and eternity.

Isn't that weird. Isn't that ironic. The entire symbology of the House of Change is supposed to represent, well, Change, but just amounts to representing cycles (yknow, THE LOOPS. LITERAL TIME CYCLES.) through the recontextualization of Siffrin's experience with them.

Even the Change God doesn't oppose the time loops, instead being excited for how Siffrin changes as everything else stays the same.

The circle symbol is a witty act of irony from a design standpoint, and one I must only applaud, because why the hell didn't I see that sooner.

No, like, for real. If anybody knows some real life religion or culture where circles represent change and new beginnings instead of revolutions or the turn of seasons or the cycle of life and all that stuff. Please do tell me about it? I'm not omnipotent.

But generally, the irony of Euphrasie carries forward into the irony of the Change religion as in-universe these are symbols of change, but out of universe, to us, the players, they're symbols of repetition. Just like how to everybody else Euphie is a change, but to Siffrin she is stagnation. (Re: my other essay where I compare Siffrin to a video game player and the timeloops to a video game and I go on a whole metanarrative tangent.)

This plays into the metanarrative! Making meaning to the characters and to us incongruent! And it's cool as fuck, what can I say.

To cap off, let's compare what she says in every normal loop, and ACT 6, won't we?

Euphrasie (smiling4): Finally, you'll all be able to go home!!! Euphrasie (smiling3): If there's anything the House of Dormont can do to thank you... Please do not hesitate. Euphrasie (thankyou1): But for now... Bask in the feeling of a job well done!!!

And, in ACT 6….

Euphrasie (smiling2): I'm sure you must have a lot to talk about with everyone. Euphrasie (smiling1): But be sure to talk to me when you're all done! Euphrasie (smiling4): So I can happily bless you and your companions' new journey!!!

A Plain Ol' Euphrasie Character Analysis

Heyo, that finishes my essay on Euphrasie's symbolic meaning about narrative and shit! But...

It feels kind of mean, to write so much about what her agency and lack thereof represent, without actually talking about who she is. I didn't mention that a lot, see, because it's not important. Because that part's not important to Siffrin, because during the timeloops, Siffrin doesn't see her as a person.

So. Let's talk about her! Who is she? What is she like? What does she do?

Personality

The Good and the Funny

She's really funny. I mean it. Generally, she loves to joke around, and she has this ojou-sama style "Ohoho~" laugh that I find utterly delightful.

Siffrin (tired2): "But you might know something about--" Euphrasie (smiling4): Ohohoho! Euphrasie (smiling4): Sorry, I know nothing until you talk to your friends! Euphrasie (smiling3): And quite honestly, it is a little funny to see you get steamed about this, ohoho!

So many things in this bit. This is from when you try to talk to her before all the others in a regular loop. The reason she doesn't talk back first is of course because of the whole Agency thing (see above), but also, it's funny for her to take the piss.

Yet her wanting Siffrin to talk to everyone else first also shows that she's a very considerate person! This is The Saviours' Big Moment, and she is dying to talk to Mirabelle's new friends, but she doesn't want to take away from that. She's gonna give them her moment, and only butt in once all the hugs and tears and cheers have been had.

You can see this in ACT 5, too. She doesn't pass out or anything when Siffrin smacks her away, she just recognizes that her presence is upsetting to Siffrin, she doesn't know them or their problems, so she's gonna step back and let them figure it out themselves.

Euphrasie (smiling4): Ohohoho! Don't worry about me, everyone! Mirabelle (awawa1): H-Head Housemaiden! You're okay!!! Euphrasie (smiling3): I am! I was staying away for a little bit. Euphrasie (thankyou1): You all seemed like you needed to talk, so I was patiently waiting for you all to finish your conversation! Bonnie (serious1): That's very considerate of you. Isabeau (hahaha1): It IS very considerate of you!

She even during the hand holding scene is SO considerate that she doesn't speak up and include herself until Odile asks her to join in. Which might be a bit much, actually.

Odile (lol2): Fine. Let's hold hands, then. (Odile takes Bonnie's hand.) Odile (yeah1): Head Housemaiden? Euphrasie (thankyou1): Oh! Yes, of course!

That lil "Oh!" showing she's surprised to be adressed and included in this conversation.

Anyways, the previous exchange also gives us two OTHER delightful facts about her.

Euphrasie (smiling3): I haven't had this much fun since reading the last issue of "The Cursing of Château Castle"!!!

Meaning:

She's a bit of an adrenaline junkie, and considers getting slapped across the room "fun"

The coveted last issue of Cursing of Chateau Castle in the pottery room is hers.

Delightful woman. I love her.

She's also pretty frank! She talks a lot in snappy phrases and witticisms. She's kind and patient, for one, but really not afraid to mince words.

Euphrasie (smiling4): I thought we all knew that the Change God is a pretty lazy deity! Bonnie (wait1): Wow... Odile (urgh1): Isn't that a sacrilegious thing to say...?

Really makes me like her all the more that secondhand, she comes across as graceful, larger than life, almost, and then she simply doesn't care all that much about propriety and what someone of her station is actually supposed to be like. It really fits in with the Change Belief and the ethos of being true to yourself that she doesn't bend herself like that.

I'll also continue to be delighted that she described the King defeating her as knowing that "[she] was toast", just, she's just so casual.

Guilt and Responsibility

In more serious matters. The guilttttttt.

Yeah, she's casual, but she still obviously puts a lot of focus on her responsibility to the people of the House, of Dormont. We know that she was preparing for the King to arrive. She was studying Wish Craft, she was contemplating counter measures. She was making charts of who wished what to figure out whether this could stop him.

(...The Head Housemaiden...) (She's the one who wrote this. She knows about Wish Craft.) (She knew something was wrong, this whole time.) (She might know... How to...)

There's a degree of paranoia evident that we don't see in any of her time onscreen, but you can wonder what it says about a woman to have a deadly rock trap in front of her office.

AND she doesn't have her key out in the open, she has it taped to the underside of her desk drawer. Not an infallible hiding spot, but still hidden, and not just stored.

The other people in the House were all also revealed to be the ones locking doors in the party's path, hoping that it would stop the King.

Bonnie (sad1): . . .You know, I was wondering... Bonnie (sulk2): Like, the King clearly closed this door, and put the Tears in our way... Bonnie (sad1): But the... But the locked doors, weren't they... Mirabelle (sad2): ... Odile (dotdotdot2): Yes... We were wrong. Odile (dotdotdot1): They were most likely locked by residents of the House.

Speaking of people hoping to stop the King, she has a mountain of notes on him in her office as well.

(Some notes about the King.) (The Head Housemaiden must've been looking for more information about him...)

She hid her key, trapped her door, and before that, gathered information on the King and how to counter him. So, let me ask, do you think she improvised her blessing?

Mirabelle (excited1): She's also a great Crafter! She always creates wonderful items that makes everyone's lives easer! Mirabelle (awkward2): She taught me so much... Most of the Craft skills I know, I learned from her.

She's a skilled Crafter to boot, eh?

Looking at this, I don't really think so. Beneath that jolly front, she is a logical and pragmatic woman. Looking at her ability to specifically counter the King's Curse in context of how much we know she prepared for his arrival, I believe she prepped this blessing beforehand. Whether she actually finished it, I don't know, but she had to pick Mirabelle as a subject for it quickly and under duress.

Mirabelle wasn't the ideal choice. She was the logical choice.

Euphrasie (smiling3): Well, I only had the strength to bless one person, and I was already toast, and you were almost out of the House when the King attacked... Euphrasie (smiling3): So, really, you were the only logical choice!

There are some more emotional reasons for the pick, which I'll go into later when talking about Mira, but, still. She mentions this first, before going into Mirabelle's virtues as a person.

Plus, Claude (who will also get a section later), is the person closest to the King and Euphie. She's got the Secret Ingredient for the bomb on her, and had obviously been working on making a Craft Bomb beforehand, as discovered by the gizmo gadget in her room.

Combined, we can surmise that Euphie and Claude were both making different preparations to counter the King, with Euphie focusing on Craft both by studying Wish Craft and working on a Craft to nullify the King's Curse, whereas Claude just worked on a bomb to blow him the fuck up.

Euphrasie was, simply put, working to protect the people she cared for. It's her responsibility.

And she failed.

LET'S TALK ABOUT HER GUILT!!! WOOOO!!!!

When you talk to the people in Dormont during Loopquest, some of them mention the Head Housemaiden also asking them about their wishes, but none of them know why. This implies that Euphrasie was covert in her research, likely not sharing her information either because she was unsure of its verity, or to not cause undue panic. The only other person we see with less than impromptu countermeasures is, after all, literally just Euphrasie's girlfriend, who would be the number one person Euphie would confide in about this stuff.

Even then, though, there is no concrete evidence that she did confide in Claude, outside of Claude preparing the bomb, which is circumstantial at best. Really, did she not have any issues with Siffrin's treatment of her in ACT 5, or did she just swallow it down out of pragmatism?

Can we be sure that it's sincere, when she brushes off Siffrin's worry for her?

Siffrin (US_guilty2): "You said the things you always say when I come and talk to you." Siffrin (US_guilty2): "About how the world is rotting." Siffrin (US_sad1): "And you can't do anything to help." Euphrasie (sorry3): Hm... Euphrasie (smiling4): Interesting! I don't feel like saying it now, though! Euphrasie (smiling1): Or at all! The wind feels nice and fresh. Euphrasie (smiling4): It just feels like a beautiful day, doesn't it?

After all, in the loops themselves... She's the first to notice it, every time. She knows, deep within her bones, that something's wrong, and that it's her fault.

It's especially potent symbolically, that the phrase she never gets to finish is "I hope you can learn to forgive us."

Which is a phrase that received a slight change from its comic counterpart:

"I hope you can learn to forgive me."

Regardless of the me versus us, she, with the most intimate knowledge of Wish Craft right next to the King, directed the people of Vaugarde's wish, and knows that Siffrin ended up as the Wish's subject. She can't know that this is a side effect of Siffrin's wish being entangled with her own, but she does know her own wish is involved.

She starts crying. She's disraught. She breaks down.

Euphrasie (ending2): I can't fix it on my own, not before it all ends... If only I had noticed sooner!!! Euphrasie (ending1): I should've seen it, prevented it!!!

She says that she should have seen this and prevented it. It was her responsibility to do this, and she failed.

Euphrasie (ending2): It's my fault that you have to suffer like this.

Again, she was the only one who knew, the only one who could have ever possibly had any shot of defeating the King before things got too bad. But she fucked up, he stormed in before she could prepare properly, and she squarely lost whatever confrontation might've occured between her and the King.

Euphrasie: Something goes wrong, every time!!! Euphrasie: If you're here now, asking about Wish Craft, then something must be wrong, isn't it? This isn't the first time you've gotten this far, isn't it?!? Euphrasie: It shouldn't be like this... Why does time loop back, even though the King has been defeated?!? Euphrasie: The only answer I can find... Is it's because we did it wrong.

She's responsible, pragmatic to the point of paranoia, and it wasn't enough. Of course she feels guilt. A lot of it. After all, she believes that she personally has doomed someone to eternal stagnation. That she has caused all of Vaugarde to be trapped, and for one person to suffer for it. That she caused all of Siffrin's suffering.

It's so odd to me that she manages to immediately grasp that Siffrin is in a timeloop. It could be Siffrin's wish using her as a mouthpiece, it could be that weird innate connection to the Universe she seems to have, it could be her own immediate deduction on the logic of Wish Craft, or it could be a combination of all three.

But point is, she recognizes Siffrin's looping without having to ever be told about it. And I do not think that goes away, even in ACT 5 & 6. It's just not the time and place for her to speak on her own struggles right now, not when Siffrin is finally getting the help that she cannot provide. Not when she can recognize that she is the conductor of everything that just occured, which, again, nearly broke the entire work.

Euphrasie: If only... If only we had fought back against the King, instead! If only we didn't wish for such a thing! Euphrasie: If only I knew this would happen, if I had noticed it sooner, I would never have let people wish at all!!! Euphrasie: To know you'll be trapped for all eternity, Siffrin... I am so sorry!!! Euphrasie: It's our fault, all of Vaugarde, that you have to suffer like this!!!

She gathered her intel and made her bet. She just made the wrong one.

(Yet what she never seems to recognize is that this had to happen. That without the timeloops, yeah, the King wouldn't have been defeated! The country would have been frozen!)

(But that doesn't mean anything, does it. When she had to take away Change Itself from some innocent bystander.)

Relationships

Anyways in more cheerful news let's look at the two most important people to Euphrasie we know of.

Mirabelle

Mirabelle!! The Meeble!! Euphrasie is super important to Mirabelle, and Mirabelle, in turn, is super important to Euphrasie.

From the third snack break:

Mirabelle (sad2): The Head Housemaiden... She's such a wonderful person. Mirabelle (sad2): She helped me out so much! I couldn't do anything before I came to the House, I could barely sew my own clothes, and she helped me, she taught me... Mirabelle (sad2): I wouldn't be the person I am without her! Mirabelle (sad2): And when the King attacked... She protected me. Mirabelle (sad2): Everyone... Everyone was being frozen in time around me... Mirabelle (sad4): And the Head Housemaiden made sure I could escape! Made sure I lived!!! Mirabelle (sad4): She gave me her blessing...!!!

Similarly to some of the other older Housemaidens, Euphrasie had a big part in raising Mirabelle (which does imply some things about Mirabelle's past, but that's not the point right now). We don't know the exact sequence of events for Mirabelle escaping (outside of Mirabelle happening to be closest to the door), but Mirabelle adds some action to Euphrasie during whatever happened, saying Euphrasie "protected her".

From Euphie's office:

Mirabelle (sad2): But the King was too strong, and attacked out of nowhere, and now... I don't know what happened to her. Mirabelle (sad2): When I fled the House... The King might've already... ...

They weren't in the same room, Mirabelle doesn't even know what exactly happened to her, but still says Euphie protected her, and obviously shows great esteem for her all around.

Mirabelle just loves Euphie so much, man!

Euphrasie (sorry3): And, Housemaiden Mirabelle... Euphrasie (smiling1): You have always been the most hardworking Housemaiden in the House. Always striving to learn new things. To better yourself. Euphrasie (smiling2): Always meeting challenges head on, even if you didn't think you'd succeed. Euphrasie (smiling3): You were the only logical choice, yes, but you were also the only RIGHT choice! Mirabelle (sad2): Head Housemaiden... Mirabelle (gentle1): No, Euphrasie... Thank you!!!

Mirabelle credits Euphrasie for the person she is today, but Euphrasie turns that back and gives credit to Mirabelle's own strengths. It's just, very cute. She might have taught Mirabelle her literal skills, but the determination and bravery were all Mirabelle's own.

This scene also demonstrates that the bond goes both ways. Euphie loves Mira right on back, and considers Mira to be "stinking cute!" which even the Change God Themself agrees with. She's so proud of Mira!

I also wanna point to the switch from Mira using Euphie's title, to then using Euphie's name after Euphie reaffirms how proud she is of Mira. Throughout the entire adventure, Mirabelle's unwitting deception (that she had been blessed by the Change God instead of by Euphie) had weighed down on her, and Mirabelle kept questioning why she was the one who had to go on this journey, when Euphrasie would have been so much better at it. Like she stole Euphie's spot.

I think that bled into the relationship, here, that she kept imagining Euphrasie being disappointed in her, so she uses the title to make some distance to that mental image. It shows off how distant and unreachable Euphrasie is.

(It's also just a good show of politeness from Mirabelle. Like, if I'm talking to my mother, I'll call her Mama, but if I am talking about her to someone else, I'll say "my mother", as demonstrated by the first part of this sentence.)

Lastly, really minor thing: apparently, Euphrasie is looking into dual Craft types! That's one of the random papers on her desk.

(It's an essay about the 3.5% of people who are dual Craft types users, like Mirabelle.)

That makes me think she started reading on it because of Mirabelle, which is cute.

Generally, the basis of their relationship is very much mentor-student, yet it goes much deeper than that with Euphrasie's big role in raising Mirabelle. TLDR: they love each other, your honor. Fambly.

Claude

Second on the agenda, Mirabelle's roommate, Claude!

Lookin at Claude. It's obvious they're romantically involved. The first hint is the letter on Euphie's desk, of course, but that could imply this is a recent situation, too.

(It's a lovely, cheesy, mushy love letter from someone named Claude.)

Except, well, no. The letter isn't sealed, otherwise Siffrin wouldn't be able to pick it up and skim it if they had to open it first. It was already open, meaning Euphrasie already read it.

And, in Act 6:

Claude: Okay! We'll come and say hi later, then. I'll need to go and plant a big kiss on Euphie, anyway.

Claude mentions how she has to give Euphie a big kiss, which you wouldn't exactly do with someone you only just confessed to. Meaning the relationship has been ongoing for a while now, and also implying that Claude still writes love letters to Euphie, or that Euphie kept Claude's initial confession on her desk, both options make them big saps, which is really cute.

Also also, Claude's the only one to call Euphie Euphie, an endearing nickname.

I also touched on before how Claude was the only one to also prepare for the King's attack by making the bomb, and...

Mirabelle (sad1): I... used to think she should've become a Defender, because she was always helping people, and trying out weird experiments to solve their problems... Mirabelle (sad2): And she would always, ALWAYS help the Head Housemaiden with hers. Mirabelle (sad2): Always trying new ways to organize her desk... To help her finish tasks... To make sure she'd get some free time... Mirabelle (sad2): She'd do it with a smug smile, saying it wasn't that big of a deal, that she'd do it for anyone, but... Mirabelle (sad2): If she knew that the Head Housemaiden was in danger... She would've ran anywhere, everywhere, so she could help her. Mirabelle (sad2): Not only because the Head Housemaiden would've solved anything, would've beaten the King if she could, but because... Mirabelle (sad3): Because... Mirabelle (sad3): . . . Mirabelle (sad3): If Claude is this far into the House, she must've... tried to stop the King herself, so he wouldn't get to the Head Housemaiden.

Mirabelle trails off on that last "because" concerning Claude's motivation to go rushing to Euphrasie, and I think, considering the love letters, we can guess what that was. It's quite evident from Mirabelle's words that the two are super close. "[t]hat she'd do it for anyone, but... If she knew the Head Housemaiden was in danger... She would've ran anywhere, everywhere, so she could help her."

Mirabelle's framing of it reveals that Claude wouldn't do those things for just anyone. That Euphrasie is special to her.

In both ISAT and SASASAP, Claude is the last frozen NPC you find, the closest to the King. Her bomb wasn't finished, but it's telling that Claude carries the Secret Ingredient on her person. Whatever it is, she probably nabbed it from her room and set out to help Euphrasie in her fight against the King any way she could.

I guess the summary here is more simple, but the devotion on display is amazing. Like, again, the bomb wasn't done, Claude had NO weapons to speak of, but came rushing in anyway, because Euphrasie was in danger. She loves her girlfriend so much!! They're mushy and silly and affectionate, and, if Claude is the one organizing Euphie's desk, did Claude keep her love letter on display just to show off? Again, it's. It's cute! It's a lot of environmental storytelling for an NPC!!

Wah. Clauphie are so cute. We don't see Euphrasie talk about Claude at all (because Euphrasie does have more uhhh pressing things to worry about), but just, from the letter on the desk, it's gotta be reciprocated.

There's just so much to speculate about how things went down when the King "attacked out of nowhere", because Euphrasie is at the top of the House. Even when the King is defeated and the House returns to normal, it's still the roof. So, did she draw him up there on purpose to give everyone else time to escape?

I personally think Euphrasie was probably frozen first, with Claude rushing in second. So she did hold him off as long as she could, and that sacrifice allowed Mirabelle to escape in the first place. Nothing would've been possible without her. Euphie feels so much guilt for what she's done, but Mirabelle and Siffrin would not have suceeded without her, okay. She's instrumental.

Which is less about Claude and more about Euphrasie's importance, but hey, this is my essay, and I can be as uncoordinated as I want.

The Job

Last thing I wanna touch on!! Just a fun lil thing.

What the hell is a Head Housemaiden anyway?

Mirabelle and Isabeau react scandalized at the notion of people sharing shrines, so it seems unlikely that the House functions anything like a church at all. Every Housemaiden has a personalized figure of the Change God that they pray to in private, as we see from Mirabelle talking about them, in addition to basically every room in the House having one, down to people making more in pottery class. So, it's suuuper unlikely that the Head Housemaiden has much of a religious function. Spreading the good word, maybe, but actually leading prayer? No way.

Odile (wonder1): We make shrines for our gods, and everyone shares the shrines. Isabeau (huhwah1): SHARING GODS............

She seems to have a much more logistical function, being more like. The manager of the House. This is a files thing, but the map for her room is actually called "admin". She also has a lot of quote unquote boring administrative papers on her desk that Siffrin doesn't care about. Makes one wonder how the position is selected, whether one is elected into the office, or it's just whoever wants to do the paperwork to keep the House running.

(It looks like boring administrative papers.) (It's a petition to serve more bread at lunch.)

Mirabelle (happy1): She manages the House and makes sure everyone is happy and fulfilled! She organizes a lot of events too!

Among things such as "what to serve at lunch" and "organizing events", she's more like the headmaster of a community college, especially considering how heavy the House just resembles a community center. Less of a religious institution, more just a place to host fun classes and a living space for all who need it.

It's hard to tell whether Euphie demands a lot of respect due to her person and office, or it's just Mirabelle specifically that respects her most, since most of what we know of the House and its people is filtered through Mirabelle's perspective.

Speculation!

It's headcanon time, babey.

Yup, after straying close to actual facts for so long, I wanna get speculative. You're probably already gonna know islander theory. (And if you don't, go read that. This is like, the third time I linked it.)

But I wanna like, talk about how that influences how I read Euphrasie a lot!! I didn't go in-depth with that aspect in the og theory post but you can swear to any god you believe in that I've thought so so much how this enhances other aspects of who she is and stands for and also SHOUTOUT TO OCEAN!!! WHO ALSO THINKS ABOUT THIS SO MUCH!!! And again in fact thought about all of this before I did and is also someone who talk about excessively about this. AND ALSO GOT TO PREVIEW A GOOD CHUNK OF THIS ESSAY and motivated me to finish this eheh.

Anways! I wanna circle back to some points here first!

That whole past vs future thing

You might recall how I compared Euphie and the King a lot, esp between their respective roles in ISAT and SASASAP being pretty identical. And I said the King represents the past, as he is literally frozen in time, choosing to remember what he has lost instead of living in the present, and Euphrasie represents the future, which can only arrive when she is permitted to be her own person!

So yeah, uh, how's that feel when you suppose that they're from the same country, and thus, suffered the same loss.

Reading Euphrasie with this HC in mind opens up a very neat second parallel to Siffrin. King is someone who can't let go of the country, and Siffrin is torn between not wanting to let go and knowing they have to. So to put them up against someone who has let go is just pretty nifty.

Euphrasie is content with her life and the culture she lives in, even being a pillar of the community! Whereas King is a 'bad end' counterpart, Euphie, in her Showing The Future Function, is the 'good end' counterpart for that, showing that someone in Siffrin's situation can overcome their grief and find new fulfillment.

The End

So! That's everything I got on Euphrasie! She represents The End, but just as you gotta break an egg to make an omelette, she represents new beginnings, too. Her agency and freedom are change itself.

Mirabelle (hm3): It's to remind us that before changing, we must stop and think about what will be irreparably destroyed. Mirabelle (hm1): But destruction is just a part of change, and we must accept it... Isabeau (brag1): Yeah! It'd be awful to keep yourself from becoming a person you feel comfortable with just because it would upset someone else. Odile (huh1): Huh... That's a harsher belief than I thought.

In conclusion, I love her. This has been 7.4k words. Good night!

#feli speaks #in stars and time #isat spoilers #euphrasie isat

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yandereunsolved · 5 months ago

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Yandere Castiel taking care of his traumatized darling—my darling, oh, my darling. I'll keep you safe as the day is long.

cw(s): yandere themes, misuse of the term boundaries and overstepping them, non-descriptive gore and murder, mentions of anxiety/panic attacks, trauma, and self-harm

🪽 He has known about the scars left on your soul far longer than you have even known his name. They are sacred to him, a reminder of the protection you need. The protection he casts over you. His wings are not merely his, but yours. He would allow them to be torn to shreds for the rest of eternity if it meant keeping you safe.

Your soul, the thing of most import that is intangible to humans but seen as precious to all other creatures. It is always watched over by his eyes. Even in the most dire moments, he chooses you above all else. God, his brothers and sisters, even the Winchesters pale in comparison to you. You are his freedom.

Freedom is a length of rope in his eyes. He will never allow you to hang yourself with it.

🪽 He tames his fervid nature in favor of an affable, benevolent one. The sin consuming him is washed away in your presence. In those moments, he is back to what he once was: a pure, untaintable guardian. A gentle presence just within your reach if you so choose to delight him with your touch.

Yandere Castiel may lack knowledge on the concept of boundaries, but they quickly learn about them through your reaction to them. He feels your soul flare in a protective manner. You sink away from him and shut down. That is the opposite reaction he wishes to get from you.

Dictionary... a dictionary...

He had to look through it to find the word.

( Boundaries • The border or limit so indicated. )

🪽 He has to learn to communicate with you about boundaries. That word, now that word is lost on him. Eons he has been an angel, and this type of communication has never been a priority. Boundaries has never been a word that existed up in heaven. You got an order, and you followed it. He never thought, even after rebelling, that he got to choose such things.

He seemingly moved from one master to another. He mindlessly followed his father's orders, then the Winchesters, then his own selfish desires. He never consciously chose; his hand was always forced.

At least he is able to communicate using his true voice. You are one of the few that aren't pushed to the brink of death by his voice.

He is more frightened of these conversations than you are. He always gives you the space to say what you need. He'll try to coax it out of you, but he is always able to read your mind if that doesn't work. He is aware that reading your mind without your consent is breaking one of your boundaries—but you don't know! And he is just trying to help you.

🪽 'Personal space' is the boundary he likes the least. It is of great import that he respects that boundary, but it just feels impossible! He wants to be near you all of the time, watch you, and guard you. When you want more space from him, it hurts. His wings droop, but he understands. He will stand on the other side of the room or leave if you really need him to.

Humans need their space.

That is one of the first things they learned when interacting with them.

Their favorite boundaries of yours are any where they are able to help you with their angelic abilities. Whether that be helping to stimulate you properly through toning down sounds and sights or getting to mercilessly torture people who hurt you behind your back. It gives him a solitary purpose. He is able to help you on your healing journey.

He is a good angel. He's your good angel!

🪽 Castiel also comes to understand anxiety. It's that thing he feels everytime—no, just all the time, when something pertains to you.

He sees how it creeps into your mind and causes your soul to nearly deplete into embers. He has been the one who has had to hold you during panic attacks. He has had to calm you when something triggers you. Oh, the wrath he has had to hold back to whatever has hurt you in such a way. Castiel, your Cas, will always take care of you.

They soothe you through their grace and willingness to be with you.

One of his wings is always guiding you gingerly, as long as you have consented.

Your sins are all erased under his guise.

You are blameless in his eyes. A saint.

Do not fear people nor ancient entities.

For you are blessed by one.

🪽 He does not want any voices to mislead you from his safety. Please, do not harm yourself. He loves you far too much. Any scar of yours is kissed by his doting lips, as long as you consent, and is healed by his grace. They should not be shameful but signs of pride. You have survived things many others haven't. While angels on high mourn their loss, he praises your survival.

He keeps all of your safety items near when you are upset. He is easily able to conjure up anything you may need at a moments notice. He loves decorating you with pretty band-aids, stickers, and little doodles—as long as you allow it. Cas is incredibly good at distractions, even if he is a bit awkward with the more risqué ones.

Feel free to let your anger out on him. You cannot do any noticeable damage to him. Of course, if you somehow got ahold of an angel blade, they would have to disarm you. Other than that? Feel free to do anything.

Just don't turn that turmoil inward. They won't allow it.

🪽 They want you safe and healthy. Healing isn't linear, as they have learned. He loves you even more for it. In a way, you are able to heal them. They are no longer this internal, fractured being. They are a guardian once again. They are a lover. They are yours.

"Iubebit enim angelis suis de te custodire te omnibus modis vestris." Ille, si modo bonus est, patrem suum fecit.₁

1 | "For he will command his angels concerning you to guard you in all your ways." The one, if only good, point his father has made. |

#supernatural #spn #supernatural x reader #spn x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere supernatural #yandere supernatural x reader #yandere spn #castiel #spn castiel #castiel x reader #yandere castiel #yandere castiel x reader #yandere angel #castiel novak #yandere castiel novak

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bettystonewell · 1 month ago

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The fandom needs to know - does Dean like to be slapped in the face during sex by a girl wearing a Zorro mask? xx

Short answer:

But because I can, I’m gonna elaborate with a theory I came up with in the first five minutes of reading this, and turn it into a very rushed headcanon that will not be proof read or make much sense.

MASKS ARE HOT, BUT BEING SLAPPED BY SOMEONE WEARING ONE IS HOTTER: DON’T JUDGE HIM (or my head canon on how the whole Zorro mask thing came about) MDNI 18+

Pairing: Dean Winchester x a couple of random fem OC’s.

NOTE: You know I LOVE to swear, but I’m going to replace any naughty words I’d normally use because I think it will be funnier. Apologies in advance.

It was the summer of ‘69 1999, and our young Dean was off to the theatre, a girl under his arm, his hand rather close to her jubblies. As a man of twenty, he was still exploring his manly urges. There was just something about the smell of stale popcorn and sugary drinks that did it for most guys like him, you know? Or was it the normalcy?

Whatever.

His date was hot. Hotter than Rhonda Hurley or that chick from Titanic. No, not the old lady. Her younger self, Kate Winslet, who made out with Gilbert Grape’s brother at the end of the ship.

You see, Rhonda may have had the pink thong, which yes, did feel rather nice (he still had it hidden under his cassette tape collection that no-one would ever touch), but this girl had just blown him in the back seat of Baby. There was no comparison in the moment, and she was more than willing for him to return the favour in the theatre, because why not?

They settled in their seats, the back row of course, in the closest to midnight session as possible, perfect for its lack of other people. His hand still rested over her shoulder, slowly working on sliding her bra strap down so he’d get better access…when the opening credits started rolling.

This was supposed to be an extended make out session, but Dean was hooked from the moment he saw Zorro stride across the screen and swish his sword into the air, forming the fire-laced Z.

“Oh hell yes,” he muttered. The sounds of clicking hooves and soft ringing of bells had his inner child heading straight back to its love of cowboys. He hadn’t expected what had been presented to him as a romantic movie to actually be so cool.

Antanio Banderas

Anthony Hopkins

Catherine Zeta-Jones

The names flashed across the screen as the story of young Zorro played, and Dean all but forgot about the ample bossom just below his reach.

That is until his date started running her palm over his thigh midway through the film, and whispered in his ear, “I thought we were going to continue where we left off, babe?”

And Dean was torn. He wanted to watch the movie. The guy had a sword! But he also had the opportunity here to taste some kitty, and maybe get his own sword wet after the fact.

What was he to do?

He was a young buck, always thinking about what happened on that black casting couch he’d heard so much about, more than once a day. He couldn’t let the opportunity pass itself up. So, after more coaxing from her hand, which wasn’t all that much, reaching higher up his leg to get him interested, his own hand reciprocated.

Fingers trailed soft skin. They pushed the hem of a very short skirt up higher to tease the lace beneath, and the mound beneath that again, and to his surprise, it was very damp. He himself had raised to attention, straining against the seam of his pants.

To cut a long-short story shorter, Dean and his date got their rocks off whilst watching Zorro. She didn’t even need to touch him, because he learnt how hot a guy in a mask could be thanks to the way she coated his fingers and the seat below. And Dean? He was left with a rather big mess, that was made bigger when he accidentally spilt his remaining soda in his lap to cover up the special sauce that stained it.

So Beth, how the hell does being slapped come into it? you might be wondering.

Right… Well, um, that first bit took me longer than I thought, and I really should be getting to work… So let’s just say, to the poor sod who read through all of that (I’m not judging, I wrote the thing), it was all thanks to a case involving a costume shop, a display of masks, and Dean purchasing one that suspiciously looked like Zorro’s.

He remembered his time in the theatre all too well and knew it had the potential to be a mighty turn on. He just didn’t consider that it might’ve been one girl’s preference and not everyone else’s.

Turned out, for once, he was actually right.

It stayed in Baby for a good time after that with Rhonda Hurley’s thong that was moved from the box of cassettes after Sammy almost found it while bitching about Metallica and mullet rock. They both lived together in the crack between the back rest of the back seat, and the bench below it. Somewhere Sam would never find, unless he wanted to risk finding other things. I’ll leave that up to your imagination.

Cue a new hot date and Dean getting lucky again many years later. The car was rocking, and Dean was having a great time. Her thighs hoisted her up and down with the help of Dean’s grip on her hips, perfectly taking his sword all the way to her hilt. Hitting the little nub situated at the edge of her sheath.

This girl was bendy, and her hands little, and one slipped right through that crack when she leant over to trail hot kisses on his skin, finding both the mask and the underwear.

Did I mention she was an aspiring actress? Becuase she was. How convenient.

She sat up, threw that thong to the side, giddy with excitement of Dean still ploughing into her and put that mask on. It made her look hotter.

She continued to ride his saddle, one hand keeping the mask in place, the other flailing where it could to hold on as Dean picked up the pace.

She was wetter, his twig and berries throbbed, and when he gave a particularly sharp slap to her rear, in the moment, she gave him a playful one back, and it felt good. Too damn good.

“Do it again,” he said through an animalistic groan he’d be embarrassed to admit later, and she did, with a wicked smile that caressed her face until he begged her to do it harder.

She did. And while Dean didn’t make a mess in any jeans that evening, he did in fact blow harder than he was used to in his older age. It came thick and strong, curling his toes and pounding his heart, rapid in his chest.

That mask no longer sits in the crack between the seat. It has a special place in his duffle, goes with him whenever he leaves the bunker, and on the off chance he ever meets another aspiring actress or someone adjacent to the field, maybe a flight attendant or a yoga instructor, the mask slips into his jacket pocket, ready to be used again.

So yes, Dean definitely does have a Zorro mask/slapping thing going on in that head of his! I hope that answers your question?

PS. I wrote this in the shopping centre where I’m working today, and was interrupted by an old lady, wishing to tell me about the bible, twice… it’s like she knew or something.

The Bible lady saga continues HERE. The lovely @jollyhunter sent me an ask - what would happen if she showed up a third time, but so did Dean and Bobby-John from that season six episode - you know:

So if you’re game, go check that out

#ask reply #asks #dean loves masks #dean winchester headcanon #dean winchester imagine #dean winchester smut #dean winchester #supernatural headcanon #spn #lovely moots #sorryitsmyfirstdayonearth

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sunsets-and-crows · 1 month ago

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I Wanna Be Yours - Chapter 8

Pairing: Sylus X Reader

Words: 4.4K

- - -

Tasked with infiltrating the life of Sylus, the most wanted man in the N109 zone, you're torn between what is right and feels right, blurring the line between duty and desire. As danger escalates, you must decide whether to carry out your mission or succumb to the magnetic pull of the man you're meant to destroy. In this game of power and obsession, betrayal could cost you everything.

Content warnings ⚠️

Dark Themes, Yandere! Reader and Yandere! Sylus! Power play. Violence and Gore. Smut: mutual masturbation. Stalking/surveillance. Reader slowly losing her mind. Sylus being hot and a menace. OOC Sylus (probably) TRIGGER WARNING: stalking and dubious consent. Graphic deptictions of violence.

If you feel there’s any other warnings I need to add then please reach out and let me know!

The rhythmic clicking of keys filled the air, a steady, relentless cadence that you could not afford to let falter. The edges of the screen in front of you, holographic and pulsing with a cold light, blurred slightly at the edges as you processed the words faster than your mind could consciously register. Your hands flew over the keyboard, skimming through reports, signing off on routine assignments and clearing out the back-log of paperwork you had been tasked with with a speed that felt almost mechanical.

It was easy - in comparison to sleuthing around in the N109 zone - monotonous, dull. The kind of work that would usually take an entire team the better part of a day, you finished in two hours. This wasn’t even a challenge for your level of focus.

Your office was as cold and sterile as the rest of the Hunter’s Association, designed for efficiency rather than for comfort. A sleek curved desk sat in the centre, illuminated by the soft light of the systems interface. The tempered glass walls granted a reprieve from the stares at least, a sense of privacy, lined with frosted panels to dull the view of the ever-bustling headquarters outside. Even with your focussed mind, you could hear the faint buzz of activity beyond the door - hunters passing by, comms channels flickering to life, reports being exchanged. None of it interested you now.

The only reprieve from the cold, artificial setting that had once been your daily comfort, was the window. A real one, overlooking a perfectly manicured courtyard with trees that stood defiant among the steel and glass. A rare piece of nature in an otherwise mechanical world. You hadn’t noticed it much before, but recently, you found it drawing your gaze more often than you liked to admit.

The clock on the wall broke you from your extremely brief reprieve with a tick tick tick. You refused to look at the damned thing, already far too aware of every agonising second that crawled by.

Seventeen days. Seventeen long, maddening days since you’d last seen him. Since you’d felt that pull, that raw need. Even the memories of him weren’t satisfying you like they had before. You’d almost forgotten the warmth of his skin as his hand brushed yours. The longing sat heavy in your chest, but again you shoved it down, channeling everything you had into the task at hand.

The way you were driving yourself, your forced efficiency, had not gone unnoticed. Your fellow hunters - seasoned professionals, hardened trackers and fighters - cast sideways glances at you, their faces almost… afraid? It wasn’t unheard of to have reports and sign-offs completed ahead of schedule, but blazing through them like a machine? That was another matter entirely.

“Has she always been so…fast?” you heard someone murmur near the break station.

“No way! No one is that on it for no reason! She’s pissed about getting pulled.” another speculated.

“I would be too, that case was the kind that could make your career.”

They weren’t exactly wrong with their hypothesis. But they weren’t entirely right either. Not that you cared. You had too much else on your mind to let yourself be distracted by petty gossip.

A shadow loomed at your office door. A hesitant tap tap tap followed by an unwelcome and concerned voice.

“Hey!” Xavier’s usual calm tone carried a hint of concern. “You look…busy.”

You flicked your gaze up for barely a second, just long enough to confirm, yes, of course you were busy. “Yep! Very busy. You know what the paperwork is like here,” you said with a noncommittal shrug, as if it hadn’t been the very reason you got kicked off your case.

“Right,” he replied, almost hesitantly. “You need anything? Coffee? A break?” He checked the time on his watch and looked at you with hopeful eyes. “Lunch?”

You sighed, dragging out the breath. “Nope!” You bit off the final p, sharp and dismissive, watching as he flinched. You felt a twinge of guilt, but not enough to stop. And, as expected, it didn’t deter him.

“You’ve done so much work that the rest of us have barely anything to do. Come on, take a break. It’s hard to watch you like this.” His kindness used to sway you. The softness in his voice, the pleading look in his eye - in the past, it would’ve convinced you to pause. But not anymore.

“Xavier, I appreciate the concern but really I’m fine.” ‘Fine’ was definitely not the word to describe you but you needed to assuage him. “Unless it’s really important, please, I have a lot to get through.”

He nodded, sighed softly at your clear dismissal and turned to leave but he paused. “You know, that new hunter has had no luck with him. The elusive Sylus.”

Your eyes flitted up to meet his, feigning surprise as you tilted your head. “Oh, really? But he’s such a seasoned hunter.” You let the words linger, just a touch too sweet. “I thought he had so many undercover operations in his file that this would be easy for him, right?”

His lips twitched, his smirk beginning to deepen. “You don’t seem surprised in the least.”

Your head righted itself and a small, self-satisfied smirk grew on your own lips. “Why would I be? I worked my fucking ass off for months and I barely got close enough to speak to him never mind the rest.”

His expression darkened just a fraction, a subtle raise of his brow. “So you knew it would be a dead end?”

You sighed through your nose, realising you’d said too much. “I knew it wouldn’t be easy.”

He studied you like he was searching for something - cracks in your composure, some hidden tell beneath your indifference. If only he knew how much effort it took to keep your mind from straying exactly where you didn’t want it to go.

“Right,” Xavier said after a beat, pushing off your desk. “Just… don’t lose yourself in all this, yeah?”

You didn’t bother responding. As soon as he walked away, you resumed typing, your focus snapping back into place.

The brief moments you allowed yourself to pause always led your gaze to the window. Out there, beyond the cold sterility of the Association, the trees stood unwavering, branches weighed down with dark-feathered bodies. A small murder of crows you’d come to recognise, their sharp eyes scanning the world below. They were a rare constant in your routine, a tether to something beyond reports and directives, beyond the ceaseless hum of the headquarters around you.

One of them was watching you.

Perched among the branches, its sleek frame blending seamlessly with the others, a certain mechanical crow adjusted its focus. Mephisto’s tiny cameras whirred softly, his gaze fixed on you through the tempered glass. Silent. Unnoticed. The perfect spy.

You remained oblivious, exhaling sharply as you leaned back in your chair. Your work was done - cleared with ruthless efficiency, every report signed off, every task completed. And yet, the satisfaction was hollow. A poor substitute for what you were meant to do.

This wasn’t the pulse of the hunt. It wasn’t the intoxicating thrill of tailing someone untouchable, someone even the most hardened hunters hesitated to approach. It wasn’t him.

And for 17 days, you’d felt the absence like a phantom pain.

A new file blinked onto your screen, ruining your perfect record of completed assignments. Your fingers hesitated over the interface, eyes drawn to the name stamped across it. The new hunter, assigned to the N109 zone. Your replacement.

A small satisfied grin curled onto your face, amusement. Thanks to Xavier, you already knew what the report was going to say before you opened it. But that didn't stop the thrill that ran through you when you read the contents. No progress. Your replacement had made no progress. None. He hadn’t been able to track Sylus, hadn’t been able to find even a whisper of him. He might as well have been hunting a ghost.

A small part of you was disappointed. Maybe even seeing his name on the report would have dulled the ever-present ache in your chest, quieted the screaming voice that whispered, find him. Take him. Make him yours.

No progress was good progress. No progress meant you had time. No progress meant that he was still yours.

A slow, satisfied smirk pulled at your lips. No progress meant one could be as close to him as you.

You dismissed the report with a flick of your wrist, the blue light of the screen flickering as it vanished. The data didn’t matter. The damned association’s mission didn’t matter. All that mattered was getting through the next few hours, maintaining the illusion of compliance.

You plugged in your personal hard drive, and pulled up your notes. Tonight, you had a plan.

The auction.

There was a high stakes auction happening in the middle of the N109 zone and you were absolutely going to be there. Conveniently, your replacement would be off work tonight at his son’s cello recital of all things. The thought of anyone putting anything above Sylus grated on you slightly but it served you more than anything so you were grateful for his loyalty to his family.

You didn’t know if Sylus would be there. But if he was, you wouldn’t waste the chance to see him. To be close. He had attended in the past though, and being that he was a creature of habit, you made an educated guess that he would attend again.

You had your reasons, the tracker. You planned to slip into his car. The truth was simpler, more raw.

You just needed to see him.

To remind yourself that he was still yours. That no matter how much distance they tried to put between you, he was still within reach.

Mephisto’s camera eye flickered, capturing the image in sharp detail. The file transferred in an instant, delivered straight to the only person who mattered. His master would see. And, inevitably, he would act.

You were as bad as each other, and if the poor bird had the programming to do so, he would roll his eyes. Alas his orders were to keep them focused on you at all times, his master would have it no other way.

You weren’t the only one who was suffering though. In the chaos of the N109, Sylus had slowly been unravelling as well.

Seventeen days.

That was how long it had been since Sylus last saw you, since the last auction. Since the moment he finally allowed himself to indulge, to bask in your presence, to approach you.

The days since had been maddening to say the least. An endless loop of greyer mornings and darker nights. It was as though the light had been stolen from the N109 zone altogether. The days had been pointless, feeling nearly identical and repetitive. The same darkened rooms, the same figures moving in and out of his space, the same business, the same blood. His life had become a precise, mechanical thing, fine-tuned and predictable.

You had been the anomaly. The spark in the dull machinery of his days, surprising him with your tenacity, your unwavering fixation on him.

And now, you’d been ripped away.

Not taken, not exactly, but it felt that way. He had half a mind to march into the Hunter’s Association and slaughter whoever was responsible for removing you from his case.

At least he could watch you.

Mephisto made sure of that.

He knew your routine now. Knew that you’d been working yourself ragged, clearing your desk to focus only on him. It pleased him in a way that was almost soothing. You were just as devoted as before at least. Forced separation hadn’t made you forget him. You hadn’t looked elsewhere. And for that, he was grateful. Because he didn’t want to consider what he would’ve done if you had.

So he watched, just as you had watched him. It was only fair wasn’t it? After all the hours you had spent studying him, observing him, pulling him apart piece by piece like your own little art project. He didn’t mind. He would be whatever you wished him to be.

Still, it wasn’t quite enough to calm his restlessness. A few stolen glimpses through a mechanical crow’s eyes? Pathetic.

He needed you in front of him, preferably bare, spread open and trembling, impaled on him and begging for more. But that would have to wait. His rapidly increasing desires would have to be squashed, for now. He was nothing if not patient.

Lately though, patience had become harder and harder to maintain. Moments of weakness crept in, his mind spiralling to thoughts of you, more often than they should and throwing him off his game. He had to pinch himself at times, drag his focus back to business, remind himself to just focus.

Sylus adjusted his cufflinks, steady fingers betraying none of the turmoil beneath his skin. In the mirror’s dim reflection, he was composure itself. Refined, unreadable, his hunger coiled beneath the surface, wound tight like a spring.

The simplicity of his outfit was intentional. Black slacks, black shirt, black jacket. A shadow in a den of predators. But the fit? The fit was a weapon, meticulously chosen. Every stitch, every inch tailored to ensure your gaze would linger on your favourite parts of him. The broad lines of his shoulders, the sharp taper of his waist, the way the fabric strained just slightly over his arms when he moved.

His lips curved as he slid on the fourth of his rings, the silver and stones catching in the low light. You had given yourself away so easily last time. The way your gaze had caught on his fingers, flickering down to watch them move, not to mention your at home shrine dedicated to them.

You probably thought you’d been discreet. You hadn’t.

Sylus had never been one for rings before. But now? Now he wore them with purpose, he wore them for you. He liked the way they looked when he curled his fingers into a fist, liked the way they felt as they tapped against glass. Liked knowing they’d capture your attention. He’d even been brazen enough to buy a matching one for you.

You just didn’t know it yet.

He reached for the final piece, a sleek black mask covering the top half of his face.

And just like that,his mind was wandering again. Seventeen days ago.

The last auction.

The moment had been inevitable. The moment he entered the space and saw you there, bathed in golden light and looking absolutely exquisite in a simple uniform, he was done for.

He would never admit to the nerves that twisted low in his gut as he approached you, walking slowly, methodically in an attempt to remain as calm as possible. Would never voice the irrational jealousy curling in his chest as he watched you polish the glass in your delicate, steady hands. He refused to acknowledge the sheer insanity of feeling envious of a glass, it was so beneath him.

And when he finally stepped forward and made his way over to you, you noticed. Your eyes met his and in that second Sylus had the absurd urge to make you keep your eyes on him, to trap you in his orbit right then and there.

You made him a drink.

A simple thing. A small thing. And yet, he had taken a slow sip, watching her the entire time. He praised you and your pupils dilated. Just like that he was fucking addicted, his heart racing with the desire to get that reaction from you again.

His jaw clenched now, fingers flexing against his palm.

Yes. That was what he wanted again. What he craved. And tonight, he would have it.

This new hunter was clearly a fucking amateur, no matter what his record said about him. He didn’t have your understanding of his world, his movements- of Sylus. Granted part of that was due to Sylus’ own actions. The poor fucker couldn’t very well get to know Sylus after the way he’d been iced out of the N109 zone. But seriously? To miss such an important event like this, was more than sloppy work.

The auction hall had been beautifully decorated, even for Sylus’ standards, he was nearly impressed. It was a cathedral of decadence, gilded chandeliers spilling golden light over exquisitely dressed patrons. Art worth small fortunes lined the walls, and the hush of wealth draped over the room like a perfumed veil. It shimmered off crystal glasses and polished marble bathing everything in a soft honeyed glow.

Whispers and false laughter rippled through the air, thick with masked intentions and velvet-coated threats, the lifeblood of these gatherings.

The masquerade theme was just another layer of excess, a pretense that any of them had secrets that could be peeled back. It was amusing, the idea that something as simple as a mask could hide who or what someone was.

Sylus stood off to the side of it all. Watching and waiting for his prize, the reward for his patience. Patience that was dwindling by the second and kicking up a storm within the man. Nothing about the softness of the light or the comfort of anticipated danger could soften the razor’s edge of his rapidly souring mood.

His crimson eyes scanned the room, seeking out every corner, every shadow, anywhere that might be your hiding place. The bar, again? The balcony? The clusters of masked figures swathed in silk and tailored suits?

Nothing. You were nowhere to be seen.

He released a slow exhale, willing his irritation to stay beneath the surface. A quiet tightening of his jaw and the press of his tongue against the inside of his cheek. No one here was sharp enough to notice, but Luke and Kieran flanking him? Of course, they did.

Luke tilted his head slightly, a hint of a smile visible beneath his own mask. “Boss looks like he’s about to commit a massacre.”

Kieran snorted. “Someone should tell him that glaring at the crowd won't make a certain Miss Hunter appear. Maybe she’s not coming?”

The boys were clearly far too comfortable with playfully ribbing him like this. Perhaps the fact that everyone was masked as they usually were was enough to peak their confidence. Whatever it was, it grated on Sylus’ nerves.

He turned his head slightly. The weight of his gaze was enough warning to have them standing a little straighter and their lips closing around whatever quip was going to come next. “Hush.”

They knew better than to push. Sylus was a dangerous man after all and he was particularly touchy around the subject of you. Still their quiet amusement resonated between them.

He was irritated. Not with you of course, god he could never be angry with you. With himself.

He’d wasted time, time that he have, on getting ready for this, for you. Everything, exactly to your taste, down to the way the open collar of his shirt exposed just enough skin to draw eyes, though none of them belonged to the one person he wanted looking at him.

And for what? To among the same people he saw at every one of these damned things, waiting for someone who should know better to test his patience? Mephisto had no clue the trouble he was going to be in if you didn’t show up.

His fingers curled into a fist against his knee before he forced them to relax.

You should be here.

Where the fuck were you?

A call of the auctioneer came loudly through the opulent hall, breaking through Sylus’ silent fuming. He exhaled sharply, and walked through the double doors to the auction room, sinking into his seat with a practiced ease, the deliberate weight of a man who regretted coming.

The auction hall was just as opulent, gilded walls, more glittering chandeliers, more of that soft, golden glow that radiated warmth and wealth. All of it was giving Sylus a migraine, he couldn’t stand the sight of it. He pinched the bridge of his nose and rested his elbow on the arm of the chair, jaw tight. His fingers danced a steady beat, drumming once, twice, against the armrest before he forced himself to regain his composure, to still.

You weren’t a tardy person, you should’ve been here by now. You weren’t coming.

The twins took their seats to the side of Sylus, making low conversation with each other. A hint of a smirk visible beneath their masks. Kieran cleared his throat and schooled his features, trying desperately to look less entertained than he was by his boss’ palpable irritation. His gaze flickered towards sylus.

“Are you sure your date hasn’t stood you up?” Kieran mused. “That would be a shame since you dressed up so pretty for her. Did she know this was a date?”

Sylus shot him a glance, sharp enough to cut glass, which just made Kieran grin more.

“It's not a date,” Sylus stated calmly. “And I didn’t dress up for anyone. Unlike other people, I always try to look my best, it’s better for… business.” That was a lie.

He had dressed up.

And now, it was wasted.

The chair beneath him felt hard and stiff. Uncomfortable. The noise of the room was grating against his nerves, worsening his already terrible mood. He didn’t need to be here. He could leave. He should leave. The muscle in his jaw twitched.

A particularly loud gaggle of women passed by, giggling shrilly about some heirloom or bag or something. Whatever it was, it was the last straw for Sylus.

He turned to the twins. “We're leaving.”

Both boys broke out into small grins, already mentally preparing for the way they would tease their boss on the way home.

He sighed again and prepared to leave when-

Bang!

The heavy double doors flew open and the noise in the room quietened instantly.

Sylus’ vision tunneled to the open double doors.

There you were, a vision of pure indulgence.

A goddess draped in swaithes of molten gold, wrapped in wealth that made people desperate. His breath caught in his throat, almost choking him. The soft waves of your hair shimmered under the low gilded lights. Every movement of yours was intentional, unhurried. Like you had all the time in the world to destroy him.

And you were destroying him. Completely and utterly undoing the very fabric of his very being.

Sylus swallowed, but his throat had gone dry.

You’d managed to throw him off, to surprise him in a way that no one else had managed to do and god was it delicious. He expected you to be incognito, to hide in the shadows as you always did. But this? This was completely unexpected.

That dress. That fucking dress. It was like an extension of you, satin clinging to curves he wanted to trace and memorise with his hands, his mouth, anything you would let him. It pooled around your feet, whispering against the marble floor as you walked. The slit at your thigh flashing enough skin to make him grip the armrest of his chair hard enough to ache. To leave him breathless and yearning to reach out to you. But you didn’t even look his way.

He should be furious.

Not only had you made him wait, smouldering in his own anticipation, but now you were gracing everyone except him with your attention. Allowing your eyes to linger on even Luke and Kieran by his side. Not once did you allow him the relief of meeting your eyes.

He couldn’t be mad though, not when he was finally seeing you after so long. You were an oasis after being in the desert, a breeze kissing his skin.

Fuck, he couldn’t stop looking at you.

So this was Seraphina. He’d known it was only a matter of time before he met this version of you, your second alias, woven from deception and luxury. And damn, had you outdone yourself. He would have to thank Axel for crafting the persona so well, for shaping an alias that fit you like it had always been yours. A background that set you apart. Made you untouchable.

Wealth clung to you, draped over your skin like it had always belonged there. Like he had always belonged there. Gold suited you. Power suited you. And Sylus would make it his mission to ensure you kept them both.

The curve of your neck as you lifted your chin, playing the socialite so well. The slight part of your lips as you took in the room, your gaze flitting across the crowd, assessing them, weighing them and deciding who was worth your attention. God he hoped it would be him.

But it wasn’t. Not yet.

Heat blazed across his skin, settling low in his stomach. Dark and restless. Something curling its fingers into his ribcage, his heart squeezing. His pulse beat so frantically that he could feel it in his teeth. A slow, agonising thud, thud, thud, setting every nerve ending alight.

Kieran exhaled sharply. “Wow.”

Luke let out a low chuckle. “Boss man looks wrecked.”

Sylus couldn’t even hear them.

Because you were walking right past him.

Close enough that the soft scent of your perfume curled around him, something intoxicating, designed to ruin, pulling him in closer and closer. He wanted to reach out, to touch your skin as you walked past and feel the way your pulse danced beneath your wrist.

You didn’t falter in your step, your strides remaining composed and unhurried. And you never, not once, turned to meet his eyes. Fucking temptress.

Instead, you descended gracefully into the front row, your back to him, your hands smoothing over the delicate folds of your gown.

Sylus could do nothing else but return to his chair. Composing himself after nearly coming undone at the mere sight of you. He exhaled slowly, releasing the tightness from his jaw and muscles as he rolled his shoulders back and his neck side to side. He was on edge, chest rising and falling in a way that felt too obvious. You had come. You had made him wait. And now, you were making him suffer.

➽──────────────────────────────────❥

I know you all said you didn't want a cliffhanger but it had to be done right here! The good news is that I'm already working on chapter 9 so hopefully it shouldn't take a month for me to get that one to you! Thank you for waiting so patiently!

❥ Like, reblog, comment, message me, ask me something, literally anything - I live for your feedback on this ❥

#love and deepspace sylus #lads sylus #sylus #sylus x reader #lnds sylus #love and deepspace #l&ds sylus #sylus qin #sylus love and deepspace #sylus x you #sylus x mc #sylus lads #qin che #yandere sylus #yandere reader #yandere #obsessed Sylus

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clownyclaushoe · 4 months ago

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art the clown x reader 🔞 | i taste blood and it's turned into an obsession series

part three | touched by angels though i fall out of grace

part one | part two | part four

reader finally gets fucked by art 😫 chapter title taken from i never told you what i do for a living by my chemical romance

this might be the final part, idk. it depends on if i get inspired to continue 👀

🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤❤🖤

you looked back at art from your position leaning on the work bench to see him stroking his fully hard cock. even as his cum still lingered on your tastebuds, you couldn't believe any of this was happening, that it wasn't an elaborate wet dream.

the details of which making up your wildest fantasies since you met him. with all your imagining of what art's dick looked like up-close and hard, after glimpsing it flaccid and from afar, it had exceeded your expectations. it was surprisingly pretty, as long and thick as it was; the smooth shaft a dusty pink, his groin hairless just like the rest of him, his balls large and firm. the slick wetness of his tongue burying into your pussy, his large nose pressing repeatedly at your clit as his mouth fucked you. and his slender fingers that you fantasized getting fucked by hadn't disappointed you either. there were too many shifts at work that you had snuck away to the restroom to stuff your fingers in your pussy while imagining they were art's, though they'd reach deeper and stretch you wider than your own ever could. you had decided it was too risky, especially with the way it was difficult to keep from moaning art's name, the deafening wet sounds alone would've made it too obvious what you were doing.

art slaps your ass twice in quick succession, making you jolt against the table, bringing you back to the present. a begging whine escapes you, and he swipes his cock over your pussy, smearing precum over your folds, the slow drag excruciating.

"please. fuck me, art."

mercifully, he presses the head to your pussy, swiftly pushing inside you, grabbing your shoulder as he filled you completely, far more than many other cock, dildo, or vibrator ever has. in an instant you felt a shift to your entire being, as if you were torn apart and put back together again, feeling close to breaking down into tears under the immensity. a defining moment in your life, that you couldn't fathom ever existing.

it's so fucking perfect, like his cock was made for you, and your pussy meant to be stretched by its girth. as mindblowing as his fingers, tongue, and the toy he made you was, they paled in comparison to his big, fat clown cock.

he wastes no time, and begins pounding you, setting a brutal pace, made all the easier with how wet he's made you, your practically dripping, your essence coating your inner thighs. you wish you could see the sweet slide of him working in and out of you, his fat balls hitting your clit, so painfully swollen with cum you wanted to coat your spongy inner walls.

"ahhh, art, oh my fucking god." art gives another punishing smack to your ass, likely at the mention of 'god'. "again, please. need more."

he complies with your request, giving another two harsh smacks, his long fingers gripping your reddened ass. you hiss at the sweet assault to your senses that is getting fucked by art. you swear you could feel his cock swell even impossibly bigger inside you, as he hiked your leg up and held it firmly.

his hands move to grip your hips, digits digging into your skin, your body thrashing with the force he fucks into you. screams of art's name and obscenities tear from your throat, not caring if anyone could hear, though you know with as isolated as art's hideout is, it's unlikely.

you push back against him in time with his thrusts, determined to chase your orgasm, incapable of any other thoughts than to come all over his cock and milk him of every drop of cum.

"breed me with your demon-baby." you say deliriously, wishing you could see his reaction. though within moments you feel it, his hot load spilling inside you, sending you over the edge instantly, and you're coming with strained, rugged moans, squirting yet again - even more than the first two times - drenching your legs, forming puddles on the table and cement floor.

art leans on top of you, pulling your hair aside to bite your neck hard enough to draw blood, licking at the small wound. you hiss at the sensation, only adding to the pleasure thrumming through you.

your pussy clenched and throbbed around him, draining every ounce of cum. he pulled out of you, his hand resting at your lower back as you pressed your face against your arms, body trembling in the fiery afterglow. once you're a little less shaky you stand upright and face him.

"i love you, art."

art's gaze moved over your face, his nose nudging against yours in a little nod, seemingly that tenderness and vulnerability his small way of repeating it back to you. in the past times of introversion about your feelings for art, you'd wondered if he understood the concept of love, if he'd ever felt it, or any other positive emotions outside of his own warped glee from causing pain, fear, and death.

you'd wondered what it'd say about you, that you could love a monster, an angel of death. did it make you a bad person, possibly just as irredeemable as him. you'd always had a reputation as a good, sweet girl - albeit a little weird and quirky. maybe you weren't as good as everyone had thought, and there was an untapped darkness within your own heart to attract you to someone like art, and to attract someone like him to you. all the questions and what-ifs that fogged your mind - could your love save him? redeem him? did his mercy for you mean his heart could be changed? why were you so fixated on seeing that he changed, because then he'd no longer be art, the man turned demon that had - beyond all odds and reason - captured your heart. would there come a day when you too would be victim to the miles county clown? - all faded away as art's arms slipped around your waist, letting you fall into his embrace, resting your head against his chest, you found that you didn't care about the details.

hope you enjoyed! 🖤❤🖤❤🖤

#art the clown #terrifier #terrifier 2 #terrifier 3 #art the clown x reader #art the clown x reader smut #art the clown x afab reader #art the clown x y/n #art the clown x you #art the clown fanfic #art the clown fanfiction #terrifier fanfic #terrifier fanfiction #art the clown smut #clown fucker #clown smut #my fanfiction #mine

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azrielsdove · 8 months ago

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Petals and Pain: Tamlin x Reader

Warnings: Angst, Suggestive, Longgggg

The halls were dark, quiet, and cold. A stark contrast to the last time you stepped foot in this manor. You crept through the ruins, remembering how the grand place had looked before. It had been fifty-odd years since you last came here, since you last saw your oldest friend.

Everything had changed since then.

You had left Prythian on what was supposed to be a month trip to the other territories. You were to go both as a diplomat and as a tourist. Tamlin had wanted to try to better the Court with what you learned there, a task you so willingly took. You had bid him farewell and set off, excited to see what the world had to offer.

You didn’t know it would be the last time you saw him.

He sent a letter the moment Amarantha showed her evil hand, bidding you stay put. Every instinct in you screamed to run home, but you knew you could be of more help if you stayed away. Perhaps you could seek out assistance from one of the territories.

Your heart ached for the Spring Court all those years. Your travels brought you beauty, sure, yet it all paled in comparison to your home. You longed for the manor, its large windows and warm sunshine. You wished to walk through the gardens, so full of magic and peace. Above it all you missed Tamlin. The two of you had met long ago, when you were both not more than babes. Your parents were high up in the Court, trusted advisors to the High Lord. Often you were brought along as their pride and joy, their perfect little pawn. Talks of a betrothal to you and one of the High Lords sons began as you grew, your parents vying for the eldest. They knew he had the most chance of being the next High Lord. The goal was to get you in the highest position of power possible.

Your friendship with Tamlin grew as you did. He was pushed to the side more often than not, the youngest brother with no hope of ever being High Lord. Your parents were unhappy that he was the one you chose to befriend, but they couldn’t keep you from seeing him. Not without potentially upsetting his father. No, that wouldn’t do for their plan.

Until the slaughter of the entire family occurred. Your parents were unlucky enough to have been there at the time of the attack, murdered alongside Tamlins. Too quickly the manor went from a busy, full, lively place to just the two of you. Tamlin begged you to stay after that, insisting that he didn’t want to be alone. You couldn’t deny that you felt the same and gladly moved into the manor. He appointed you emissary, setting you as the first member of his court. Not long after Lucien showed up and turned your duo into a rather happy trio. You and Lucien worked together to keep the Spring Court in good favor with the other Courts.

You wondered where Lucien was now. What exactly had happened here, besides what you got out of Tamlins last broken letter. You continued further into the manor, peering into each room as you passed. There was no sign of life anywhere. You weren’t even sure if Tamlin was still here. You stuck a hand in your pocket, finger running over the edge of the letter that brought you here.

Spring has fallen.

It is all my fault.

The threat has gone.

Short, and not nearly enough information. You had raced back to Prythian as quickly as you could, trying to imagine what had happened.

Though nothing prepared you for this.

“Tamlin?” You called out softly, unsure if danger lurked nearby. A chill flew through the air, sending shivers down your back. A noise from a few rooms down the hall startled you, eyes darting towards it. You moved hesitantly towards the door, noting the dim light showing from underneath it. Slowly you pushed it open, once again calling out his name. You looked into the room, heart sinking at the sight.

You had found Tamlin.

From where he sat you could see his hair was matted, covered in mud and leaves. His once smart attire was torn and dirtied, hanging loosely off his much too thin frame. You could see his skin was pale, scratches covering most of it. “Tam?” You asked, voice shaky. He turned slowly to you and your hand flew to cover your mouth. His eyes were dark, sunk deep into his head. He looked as close to death as you could get while still being alive. “Oh Tam.” You dropped to your knees in front of him, gently wrapping your hands around his. You stared deep into those haunted eyes, heart breaking. “Let me help you.”

He gave no response, just continued to stare at you in that dead sort of way. You began to doubt there was anything of your friend left. You quickly busied yourself with all the healing remedies you brought from your travels. You weren’t certain what sort of state Tamlin or the Spring Court would be in when you arrived, so you brought as many fit into your bags. A good thing too, for several of these were desperately needed. You gently poured a few different vials into his mouth, watching carefully to make sure they took. You wanted to heal his body and mind as much as you could, in hopes that he could explain what had all happened. You administered one final draught for the night before gently leading your friend to lay in front of the damp fireplace. “Sleep should kick in soon, will you lay here for me?” You asked, laying down the cloak you wore as a sort of sad attempt at a bed. Tamlin laid on it with no comment, the horrid blank stare still on his face. You waited until he was asleep to go scrounge around for some wood, leading to a rather pitiful fire in the great stone fireplace. At least it was better than nothing.

You settled down in the least damaged chair you could find, watching Tamlin. Your mind was racing with questions. You were completely lost on how your once witty and charming friend had been reduced to this husk of a male. And where was Lucien? You were struck with a chilling thought, one that you didn’t wish to dwell on. You shook your head, shooing it away. Lucien had to be alive, something just must have come up. There was a perfectly logical reason for why he wasn’t here, and why the Spring Court lay in ruin. You just had to wait for Tamlin to wake and you could get some answers.

***

It was days before the High Lords eyes opened once more. You spent your time forcing water and various medicinal mixtures down his throat, exploring what was left of the manor when you felt up to it. Your heart ached at seeing what was once your beautiful home in such disrepair. It shattered completely when you made your way to your old rooms and found that they were the only place untouched. Dusty, yes, but otherwise just the same as you had left them. You had quickly brought Tamlin to them after your discovery, setting him up in your grand four poster bed. A reminder of a life that feels so long ago now.

It was soon after that Tamlin came to. He still looked close to death, but there was a minuscule brightness to his eyes that hadn’t been there before. He murmured your name, a hand reaching out for yours. You grasped it tightly, tears pricking at the back of yours eyes. “Tam,” you whispered, “what happened?”

He gave a sad smile, shaking his head. “It was all my fault, truly. Everyone left. I let them all down. I allowed war to come to these lands, I allowed terrible things to happen.” He gave a short, sharp laugh. “All in the name of love. Love. What do I even know of it?”

You were confused, and a tad bit hurt at the mention of this so-called love. “Tell me from the beginning.”

And so he did.

He told you of what Amarantha had done, how she had tricked the Courts. How she vied for his hand and when he denied her she cursed all of Spring. He told you how she cut out Lucien’s eye, wincing as he did. He talked about the rules of his curse, how the only way out was to get a mortal to fall for him.

He spoke of Feyre, the love he had mentioned before. You could feel the pain in his voice as he did, as he explained how he tried to save her. “I was ready to sacrifice my entire court, just so she would be safe. A fool I was. A selfish, horrid fool.” He told you how they were all taken Under the Mountain, how Feyre came to try to save him. What she suffered in the months down there. How he didn’t know what to do, besides send Lucien to try to help her.

He talked about Rhysand, who you remembered all too well. He explained how the other High Lord assisted Feyre Under the Mountain, how Tamlin had thought it all a nasty trick. His voice broke as he recalled Amarantha killing her, but Rhysand and the other High Lords worked together to bring her back.

You had no words, shocked at the amount of respect they all had for this girl. Truly, you couldn’t help but be in awe of her yourself.

Tamlin continued, telling you how they were supposed to wed. How Rhysand had crashed the wedding, whisking Feyre away. He told you how Lucien and him thought Rhysand was nothing but evil, mind controlling Feyre to hate them. “Of course, she had every right to hate me. I didn’t know how to treat her after Under the Mountain. I allowed her suffering.” You squeezed his hand reassuringly, urging him to continue.

On he went, explaining that Rhysand and the Night Court were never truly evil, that there is a goodness there. He spoke of the war with Hybern, of what he had done to Feyres sisters. He told you how Feyre had turned the court against him, but it was his own actions that lead them to believe her.

He talked about Lucien, how he had fled with Feyre in the end. “I couldn’t even keep one of my oldest friends. I have done irreparable damage to everyone I cared about. It is good you were away, otherwise you would’ve been hurt too.” His gaze was faraway, eyes shining with untold pain.

You sat in silence for long moments, processing everything he had told you. Lucien had left him. That was no small fact, that what Tamlin had done was bad to have driven him away. Yet as look at the male in front of you, you struggle to see that he is truly evil.

“I believe your heart was in the right place, however your actions were a bit extreme,” you said slowly, careful with your words.

Tamlin laughed. “Just a bit?” You looked up at him, his eyes shining bright as he smiled at you. For just a moment you could see the old him in his face, the strong High Lord you once knew.

“Okay, perhaps a lot. I do not see why that should mean you must live like this now. It is not too late to make amends to your Court, and to Lucien. I am home now, Tam. Let me help rebuild our home.” And you, you thought, looking over his sickly state once more.

He nodded, agreeing. “Yes, yes. You always know what to do. For now, I will rest. I tire too easily these days.” His eyes were closed before he finished speaking, exhaustion taking over once more.

You sat in the quiet room for a while longer, still holding his hand. Your questions were answered, but in their place were a million more. For the first time you began to doubt if the Spring Court and its High Lord were truly fixable.

***

You spent the following days cleaning up what damage you could from the manor while Tamlin regained his strength. You took notice of how most of the destruction seemed caused by a rather large animal, piecing together what must have happened. What sort of a state had he been in to destroy his home in such a way? You had paused your questioning for now, focusing on his healing first. You did find where Lucien now resides and sent him a letter as quick as you could. You weren’t entirely sure what had all happened, but you hoped he would return once more. If not for Tamlin, then for you.

You were busy cleaning in the grand entry when a rather cold chuckle came from behind you. You turned quickly, holding your mop out like a weapon.

“Oh relax, it is only me,” a silky voice said, purple eyes glittering. You frowned.

“Rhysand.”

He placed his hand dramatically over his heart at your cool tone, feigning being stabbed. “Ouch. How long has it been since we last spoke, then? Welcome back to this side of the world. Noticed I didn’t see you in the war.”

You rolled your eyes, setting your mop down. “There could never be enough time in between our meetings. I wasn’t a part of the war, as I was unaware it was happening. The last I heard was the day Amarantha played her nasty trick, and I was told to remain away.”

“Lucky you. Away on your travels, galavanting around while the rest of us suffered.” Rhysand scowled at you, eyes narrowed. “You seem not any worse off for it.”

You crossed your arms tightly in front of you, anger flooding your body. “I did only as my High Lord commanded.”

Rhysand scoffed. “Some High Lord he is. Do you not see the state of your beloved Court? Do you truly believe an innocent male allowed ruin to befall your home like this?”

You took a step closer, ever defensive of your old friend and home. “What I have found is a hurting male, trapped all alone in a nightmare of his own creation. I have heard his regrets and his helplessness. I came back to find my home a dark shadow of itself, my High Lord, my friend, not more than a shell of who he was.” You looked Rhysand up and down. “I have found you, the male who won it all. You have your mate, Rhysand. You have your grand Court, your faithful family. I’ve heard you even have a perfect little son. And yet here you stand, coming to do what, may I ask? Taunt Tamlin? Kick him some more while he’s down?” Your fists clenched, anger tight in your chest. “I admit I do not know all that has transpired in my absence, but I know enough to say what you’re doing is wrong. I do not argue that he has hurt you, has hurt your mate, but to what end must he suffer? Will you not be happy until his heart has ceased beating? What more can he give you?”

Rhysand stood as still as death, eyes studying you carefully. When he spoke, his voice was quiet. “You show a devotion I do not often see. If you ever come to understand there’s nothing for you here, i’d be pleased to see you in Night Court black. As I said so many years ago, Tamlin will never give you what you want.” He was gone in a dramatic swirl of darkness, nothing but a grandiose show of power. You frowned deeper, ever unsettled by the High Lord. He had always been condescending to you, deciding that you were worth hating just for being close to Tamlin.

As I said so many years ago, Tamlin will never give you what you want. You scoffed as the words played again in your head, picking your mop back up. Rhysand had convinced himself long ago that you only stayed close to Tamlin in hopes of being his bride. You’d laughed in his face the first time he said this, completely taken aback by such an accusation. You can admit a part of you would not have been unhappy with such an arrangement, but you had your position in Court on your own. Rhysand never saw you as more than a lovesick puppy that followed Tamlins every move.

When you returned to Tamlin you mentioned the meeting rather briefly, not wishing to upset him any further.

“Rhysand was here?” He asked sharply, eyes scanning you as though for injury. “Did he hurt you? What did he want?”

You sighed, sitting on the edge of the bed and looking at him. “He did not do anything, Tam. I assume he came to make sure you were still miserable. He wasn’t very pleased to find me instead.” A teasing smile danced across your face, an attempt to lighten the situation.

It didn’t work. Tamlin frowned deeply, clearly upset that this happened. “He comes every now and again to remind me i’m worthless and alone. He laughed himself silly when he saw how sickly i’d become last time.”

You forced your anger down, not trusting yourself to speak. While you understood why Rhysand would be so full of hate for Tamlin, there has to be a limit before it becomes just pointless cruelty. You took a deep breath, looking intently at your friend. “Whatever he has said to you is irrelevant now. You are healing, as is this Court. That is all that matters. Do not dwell on the events of the past, not now.” You reached over and grabbed the warm tea you had made, filling his cup with it. “Now drink, and rest. I gather soon you’ll be up to a walk around the grounds.”

***

Tamlins healing came slowly, and not without challenge. The first day he got out onto the desolate gardens surrounding the manor he fell into a darkness deeper than before, pained at seeing what his home had become. The physical healing was only part of the battle, the healing of his mind was what truly ailed him. You had brought him back to bed, forcing him to eat and rest. Once you were certain he was down for the night you made your way back outside, sitting on the cracked grand steps leading up to the entry.

And you cried.

This task was more than you expected. Tamlin was in worse shape than you ever imagined, the Court was nothing more than a few dead plants. You had no idea where to go from here, how else to aid in his healing. Even when he was healed, how were you going to go about healing the Court? Bringing the fae home? You’d heard how it had fallen, the poison Feyre had spewed, the ways in which some of what she had said rang true. You knew how Tamlin put his faith in the wrong beings, how his focus on her lead to his destruction. This was beginning to feel like all too much on you, but you refused to give up on him.

Someone spoke your name softly.

You shot up from the steps, eyes narrowing as you took in your surroundings. Your heart stopped when you realized who was standing in front of you.

“L-Lucien?”

His name was enough to have him running up to you, wrapping you tight in his arms. You sunk into his embrace, tears taking over with a new force. You allowed yourself to let out all you had been holding back, safe in the arms of one of your closest friends. Lucien held you close, body shaking with his own emotion. The two of you stood that way until your eyes were dry. When you finally pulled back enough to look up into his face your heart ached. One hand came up to gently touch the scarring left by Amarantha, anger and pain in both of you. “I’m so sorry I left.”

Lucien shook his head vigorously. “None of that. I stood by Tamlin when he decided you should stay away. I do not regret that choice for a moment.” He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead, giving you one last squeeze before letting you go. “How is he?”

You sighed deeply. “He’s bad. I am starting to lose hope.” You were ashamed to speak the words out loud.

Lucien reached out and grabbed ahold of your hand. “Take me to him?”

You nodded, leading him through the desolate manor. You heard his sharp intake of breath as he took in the destruction, even with your pitiful attempts at fixing it. You paused outside of your rooms, looking up to Lucien. “He has not told me all that transpired between you, however he has told me enough. I am sorry for the pain you have suffered at his hand. The male you are about to see is but a shell of the one you once knew. If it’s too much I do not expect you to stay.”

Lucien squeezed your hand reassuringly. “At the end of it all, Tamlin was one of my greatest friends. And you are worth more than any pain he has bestowed upon me. I do not wish to see either of you suffer anymore than you already have.”

You gave him a watery smile and pushed open the doors. You felt his hand go slack as he took in the sight of Tamlin tucked into your bed, how sickly he still looked. You stayed close to the doors as Lucien approached him, allowing him to process what he was seeing. “Oh, Tam,” he whispered, a hand running across his face. “What have we done?” He stood there for a while, looking over his old friend. You went to him when you noticed the gentle shake of his shoulders, tears falling slowly down his cheeks.

“Come,” you whispered, wrapping an arm around him. “He will not wake until well into the morning. I’ll make you something warm to drink and you can rest until then.” You led Lucien down to the kitchens, fixing him up a cup of tea. He sat in silence while you did, staring blankly at the wall.

“I should not have left him in my anger,” he finally spoke, looking up as you handed him the cup. “I was so hurt by how he had acted, but I was not innocent in all that happened. Even when I disagreed with his actions I still followed him, up until the end. I’ve allowed him to fall into this state.” You knelt down in front of him, wrapping your hands around his.

“You must not think like that. We all have our own guilts and pain, but we must come back together now. Everything has changed and yet so much is the same. I have missed you, Lucien. I have missed the both of you more than I can say.” You looked down at your hands around his, taking a deep breath. “We need to come up with a plan to help him, to save our Court. Otherwise it will remain dead for eternity.”

***

Weeks went by. Lucien stayed and helped you, the two of you fixing up your home. Tamlin had improved greatly in the physical sense, but his mind was still riddled in guilt. Your pain at seeing him struggle had slowly turned into anger. “What else can we do, Lucien? Do you expect me to sit and wait decades more for him to move on?” You seethed, pacing back and forth in front of the grand fireplace. The two of you spent most nights in the newly refurbished study, the favorite of the rooms you’ve redone. The estate had been mostly repaired to its former glory, aside from the missing staff and High Lord.

“You know how long it can take. You saw the state he was in. I know it is frustrating to continue waiting but what else do you propose we do?” Lucien was as exhausted as you were, but his own guilt at letting Tamlin fall this far kept him slightly more amicable. You paused your pacing, turning sharply to look at him.

“I’m going to tell him off. We have let him deal with everything in private as much as we can. He needs a wake up call, and so help me I will do it.” You made your way from the room before Lucien could stop you. You knew you should calm down before you get to Tamlin’s rooms, finished only days ago. Your hands were clenched tightly into fists at your sides as you stormed through the manor, trying to decide what to say. All you knew was that you were angry and tired of watching your dearest friend lose himself.

You reached his doors rather quickly, shoving them open without a second thought. They clattered against the walls, alerting Tamlin to your presence. He looked over at you curiously, eyes scanning over you. “Has something happened?” He asked, sitting up in his bed. You crossed your arms tight in front of you.

“Yes, as a matter of fact. Something has happened.” You watched his expression change slightly at the pure rage in your voice, as if he knew what you were going to say. “You. You, Tamlin. I am sick and tired of watching you wallow in self pity. I understand, you were hurt. You are ashamed of how you acted in your own rage. But how long must this go on? I am home, Tam. I am here, for you. Lucien and I have repaired this estate and you have done nothing but sit in this godforsaken bed and pout!” You couldn’t help the increased volume in your voice, all your hidden frustration bursting free from you. “I want you to get up. I want you to get out of this bed, put some damned clothes on, and come to work. Do you understand?” You stared him down, breathing slightly heavy.

Something strange flickered through his eyes, an emotion you had never seen in him. His voice was deathly cold when he responded. “Are you making demands of your High Lord?”

An exasperated sigh rolled off your lips. “At this point I’m more High Lord than you are.” You knew that was cruel, a direct attack to his already hurt pride. The rational part of your mind was screaming for you to calm down, to take a step back. But your anger was winning. “I came here to help you, Tamlin. Have I not done so? Have I not devoted my life to yours?”

His scoff cut you off. “No one forced you to do that,” he spat out, leaning back against his headboard. “You did not have to come back here. You shouldn’t have come back here.”

You rolled your eyes. “This is my home. You are my home! Don’t you get it, Tam? It has always been you!” The anger rushed out of your body at your confession, a sudden lightheadedness coming over you. “It was always you,” you whispered out, a hand coming to rest on your forehead. The strength left your body, your legs failing to hold you up. The floor was coming up fast, blessedly fast. You hoped you would hit it hard enough to forget this moment, your embarrassing confession.

Then you stopped. Strong arms wrapped around you, pulling you back up. One stayed tightly around your waist while the other cupped your chin, forcing you to look into the perfect green of Tamlin’s eyes. “Say it again,” he whispered, breath ghosting over your lips.

“It is you. You are my home,” you murmured, brain foggy at his proximity. In all the decades of loving him, you had never been caught in a moment like this.

Tamlin took a deep breath before moving a millimeter closer. “How long?” He asked, each syllable causing his lips to brush against yours.

“Since we were children. My father pushed for me to marry one of your brothers, but I never held any interest in them. My heart has always called out for you.” Your body was on fire, every slight brush of his lips against yours a lightning strike under your skin. “I waited. I waited for you to choose me at Calanmai.” You felt his nails dig slightly into your waist at that, a shuddering breath running through him. “I waited for you to seek a wife once you were more comfortable as High Lord. I waited and waited. Then you sent me away.”

The hand under your chin moved to hold your face, thumb running gently over your cheek. “I sent you away,” he began, voice heavy, “because it was getting too hard to focus with you around. With the constant need running through my veins.” His hand dropped to the back of your neck, squeezing ever so gently. “Every Calanmai my body sang for yours. It took insurmountable control to not drag you in that cave with me each year.” You couldn’t help the noise that came from you at that. Something in Tamlin snapped, his pupils blown wide before pressing his lips fully against yours.

The kiss was harsh, unleashing decades of pent up desire. You cried out when he bit your lip, canines sharp. The taste of your blood on his tongue was positively sinful, making you feel a way you never had before. His lips moved from yours, running down your neck before his teeth sunk in to your shoulder. You moaned his name loudly, throwing your head back in a silent plea for more. Tamlin growled, the arm around your waist moving to slide down between your thighs. His fingers teased the waistband of your pants, your skin burning in the wake of his touch. You had half a mind to grab his hand and force it where you needed him the most, when Lucien decided to make his presence known.

“I see we kissed and made up?” He cooed, a smirk on his face as he leaned against the doorframe. Tamlin turned sharply to him, elongated nails and teeth on full display.

“Leave. Now.”

***

One year later

The Spring Court was alive once more. In fact, it was more beautiful than it had ever been. The flowers bloomed bright and big, their pleasant perfume filling the lands. The grass was the richest shade of green, the trees sang in the wind, and the air ran fresh. It was a paradise. You were admiring the peonies in the garden when two arms wrapped around your waist, tucking you close. You leaned into Tamlin’s hold, a content sigh escaping you.

“How are the flowers today, my love?” He asked, pressing a kiss behind your ear.

“They are perfect,” you said with a smile, resting your hands over his. You looked down at the glittering emerald set in gold on your finger, a matching golden band circling his own. “How is my husband today?”

“Mmm,” he groaned, pressing more kisses down your neck. “Greatly improved now that I have you here. The other Courts are being rather obtuse about answering our letters.” You turned in his arms, resting your hands upon his chest.

“Do you wish for me to deal with them again? You know they rather like me,” you teased, playing with the fabric of his shirt. Your husband rolled his eyes, leaning down to kiss you sweetly.

“They do seem to prefer you, High Lady.” You smiled at the title, a name you were still getting used to. You caught his lips with yours once more, threading one hand up through his hair. He sighed into your mouth, pulling you tighter against him. You lead the kiss, allowing his mind to grow muddled under your touch. You tugged on some strands of his hair, relishing in the guttural sound he made before pulling away from him and out of his grasp.

“Come on, High Lord. Let’s go convince the other Courts that a Spring ball is an excellent idea, planned by their very favorite High Lady.”

***

Ahhhh I LOVE this one. I hope you all do too! This took me agessss to write, but I am ever so thankful for your patience with me. <3

Note: If you do not like Tamlin, that is fine, but do not come here to argue. Just scroll on <3

#azrielsdoves 1k celebration #tamlin x reader #acotar x reader #tamlin x y/n #tamlin x you #acotar x you #acotar x y/n #petals and pain

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dwntwn-strnlo · 1 year ago

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HAND MAKING matt sturniolo

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 𝓈𝒾𝓃𝒸𝑒𝓇𝑒𝓁𝓎, dwntwn-strnlo.

↳ 𝐀/𝐍. im back :) . . . is this me trauma dumping? idk yeah probably

↳ 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆. matthew sturniolo x harvard student!reader

↳ 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘. to relax ones mind

↳ 𝐑𝐄𝐐𝐔𝐄𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃? no!

↳ 𝐂𝐖! slight panic attack but not really, crying, failing school? happy ending, pet names ig idfk, profanity

"what are you doing?"

"im making your hands, darling!"

you felt like a crumbling mess. school has been pushing you to your brim, and you just left the building with the knowledge that you just failed two of your finals. you wanted to fall to the floor in front of your professors, and just cry. hoping that your desperate pleas for a stable future would be enough to let you retake the mind numbing tests over again.

how in the world could one study at the most prestigious university if they can't even ace a final? you worked your whole life for this school, practically threw away your childhood and lived with the gilmore mindset to get here. just to fail. just. to. fail.

stepping off the campus and reaching the city bus, it slowly started to set in. you felt nauseous. like you were being held upside down, feet in the air and your arms on the floor. but no. you were sitting in a bucket seat that matched some torn down 80's arcade floor. so, you held your bookbag close to you, closing your eyes. overcompensated with the feeling of dizziness and fatigue.

as much as you tried to tune it out, you couldn't get rid of the lingering smell of weed and coffee that permanently stained the crisp air that is of cambridge and boston.

---

nearing the inner city, you opened your eyes and picked up your phone. pressing it to your ear after hitting call.

the phone rang once before it was picked up on the other end and a gentle "hey," comes through. you could hear the smile in matt's voice; the one simple, sweet word rang in your brain. bouncing off the tissue walls before settling back to silence.

"im almost home," you mumbled. your voice was lower and raspy then you intended. the last thing you needed was for your boyfriend to grow worried. but that's exactly what you knew would happen.

you could hear him suck in a breath on the other end of the phone, "is something wrong? why are you coming home early, baby?"

"i uh- i finished my final early." your voice was still tiny in comparison to the chatter that danced over the bus.

he hums, not wanting to necessarily drop the conversation, but he knew that you would be more open about it face to face. and not on a public transport bus that has heard and spilled countless secrets.

"i'm almost home," you uttered. hanging up the phone call before matt could ask more questions.

you sat silent the rest of the ride, bouncing your leg until it grew numb.

---

walking in the door, tears brisked at your eyes. you could finally let your walls down now that you were in a safe environment. you called out your boyfriends name as you walked up the stairs. the sound of ruffling and a door opening echoes through the house.

"hey, baby," he gently smiled, his attempt to comfort you immediately works. just his presence makes you giddy, your heart starting to race.

you didn't want to load your troubles onto him, but you could no longer fight the stray tears that glide down your cheeks.

dropping your bag on the floor, you close your eyes. attempting to stop your tears from flowing, but it doesn't work.

it doesnt take long for you to be embraced by matt. his arms snaking around your waist as you held yourself against his chest. sobbing quietly into his grey cotton shirt. "i fucked it all up, matt..." you cried. holding onto him tighter then you thought possible.

matt soothingly rubs his hands up and down your back, pressing a soft kiss atop your head. "c'mon," he whispers softly, "come talk to me." he carefully pulls you over to the couch, and you open your eyes but sit down without glancing at his face.

"i failed my finals," you sobbed, squeezing your eyes tight. tears streamed down your face, you felt like a total mess.

"aww baby..." he cooed. the frown in his voice ultimately made you feel worse. he took your hands in his, gently rubbing his thumb across the back of your palms. "i'm sorry."

you couldn't help but stay silent. even if you tried you didn't think you could speak again.

matt started massaging at your hands, and you perked up. he played at each knuckle and each indent, each scar and each freckle.

"what are you doing..?" you whispered, looking up to meet his swirling eyes.

he smiled softly, "i'm making your hands darling!" he giggled, trying to cheer you up.

you felt like clay under his touch, like he was molding you perfectly to fit with him. he held your hand close to him as he soothingly caressed your skin.

you felt like his sculpture in the back of an art studio, the lights blinding as it's a late night and school ended hours ago. your artistic sculpture was due days previous, but matt wouldn't settle for anything else other than perfection. taking his time to make you a work of art.

you felt like sand at the beach, matt's hands as the water as they came with the tide, and gently washed at the tiny beaded rocks that were your knuckles and scars.

you felt like-

"are you alright?" he asked sweetly, bringing your knuckles up to his lips as he pressed a kiss onto your skin.

until he spoke you didn't even realize that your tears had dried, and you were more focused on his touch than anything. school pushed to the back of your head, becoming the least of your worries in this very moment.

you slowly nodded, a small smile peaking over to meet his.

TAGLIST

@thetriplets3 @stxrniqlo @ifilwtmfc @iha8you @oneirophobic @20nugs @gracietaylorsversions @fenoy7 @mlimmm @prettysturniolo @ssturniolo @gabbylovesreading @oh-toseewithoutmy-eyes @matthewmurdockswife @jellybeanbby @slaysturniolo @iheartshifting @mxqdii @luvsturniolo @lvrsparadise @partoftoofuckinmanyfandoms @sstvrnioloo

#matt sturniolo #sturniolo triplets #sturniolo #chris sturniolo #nick sturniolo #matt sturniolo x reader #matthew sturniolo #matt sturniolo imagine #matt sturniolo x you #matt sturniolo fluff #matthew sturniolo x you #matthew sturniolo x reader

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tenebraevesper · 5 months ago

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With Light In My Heart, Entry 2: The Mural

''Don't let this be your destined fate, you know I can't just sit and wait. That plentiful sigh, that beautiful lie, I won't deny how this broke you. I'll ask you once where this all ends, you won't just simply make amends. Unjustly profound, brought up to break down, your reverence was torn apart. How far will I go in spite of my cries? I know that I'll see it through! I'll look right up to the timely skyline! We will push until we go beyond your wildest dreams! We go beyond the ever-unknowing! Beyond, not without you! We go beyond that very endless blue! Well I know, wherever I go, I won't be alone! I haven't lost my pull to you! When, not until the end, not without my friends, push on into the beyond!''

– Beyond by Victor McKnight and Callie Rae (Sonic Frontiers)

xXxXxXx

''There is nothing better than having a well-balanced breakfast,'' Sonic said, stretching his arms as he gazed at the food on the table.

''You're eating chili dogs. You can hardly call that junk food 'well-balanced','' Shadow responded in a dry tone, sitting across the table and holding a cup of black coffee, with a pastry and coffee beans on the side.

''Says the guy who eats coffee beans raw,'' Sonic pointed out in a snarky tone, albeit with a smile on his lips.

''Tch.'' Shadow took a sip of his coffee, not responding to Sonic's question. He knew that his own taste on food was weird in comparison to other people, but he didn't care. Sonic chuckled softly, grabbing a chili dog and stuffing it into his mouth, enjoying it's savory taste.

The two hedgehogs were currently sitting at a café inside the Restoration HQ, with Sonic having dragged Shadow there to get some proper breakfast before they leave for their journey. Shadow went along with it, having been a little curious about the Restoration HQ as he didn't recall ever visiting it, not even before it got destroyed by it's own battleship during the Clean Sweepstakes Incident. He had to admit, it was impressive how everyone put so much hard work to build it, and later on rebuild it, and keep it operating. They were also well coordinated, rebuilding any damage across the Earth left by Dr. Eggman and other threats, as well as protecting citizens and reconstruction efforts. Since G.U.N. had been out of commission since the Eggman War, they were the only organization who could do anything on such a level.

Shadow noted how Sonic had a relationship with the Restoration similar to the one he used to have with G.U.N – neither hedgehogs were members of their respective organization, even though Shadow had been several times mistaken for a G.U.N. agent by those who didn't know the truth about his status. Instead, Sonic would help the Restoration out whenever he could, preferring to do his own thing and having the freedom to act on his own rather than having to listen to someone else. Shadow's own situation was a bit more complex, as he didn't particularly care about G.U.N., but he wasn't above becoming allies with them if their goals aligned. Otherwise, he stayed out of their way and Commander Abraham Tower didn't bother him unless necessary, since their relationship was still a little tense and the last thing G.U.N. needed was to get on Shadow's bad side. Shadow also doubted that Commander Tower forgot about him, Rouge and Omega breaking into a G.U.N. base to steal one of their rockets to travel to the ARK when he sensed Black Doom's return.

Shadow broke out of his thoughts, ignoring the noise in the background as people passed by, talking, doing tasks or just following their daily routines. He put down the coffee cup, glancing at Sonic, who was still busy finishing his plate with the chili dogs. ''Have you thought about where you'd want to go on this adventure or do you plan to go into this blindly?''

Sonic paused for a moment, thinking about it. ''I actually wanted to do a detour to Angel Island. I had promised Knuckles to check on the Master Emerald from time to time.''

''I'm surprised that the echidna was willing to leave it unprotected,'' Shadow commented.

''Knuckles agreed that the Master Emerald isn't really in danger of being taken since Eggman seemed to have lost interest in it. In fact, the last time it was in danger, it was because Neo Metal Sonic took it to power himself up and become Master Overlord, and I doubt that Metal Sonic would try that again,'' Sonic replied, with Shadow vividly remembering that event. ''Since then, Rouge was the only one who had tried to steal the Master Emerald, but considering how Knuckles brought her along, there doesn't seem to be anyone he has to worry about.''

''Hmph, I can only imagine how their treasure hunt will go,'' Shadow commented as he took another sip of coffee. He knew well that Rouge loved to mess with Knuckles, having a great fondness for the echidna, but whether it was because she genuinely liked him or because he was in the possession of the largest jewel she had set her eyes on, he couldn't tell. He assumed it was a little bit of both, but he wasn't going to speculate about their relationship since it was none of his business.

''I think they'll be fine,'' Sonic said, being more optimistic than his rival. He knew that Knuckles and Rouge weren't the best of friends, but at the same time, they could get along well and he was sure that they had fun on their treasure hunt.

''I assume that there is also a reason for why you're not guarding the Master Emerald full time,'' Shadow said, with Sonic giving him a sheepish smile.

''Actually, during the first few days when Knuckles was gone, I had gone to Angel Island and tried to see whether I could pull it off,'' Sonic admitted.

''Let me guess – you didn't even last an hour before getting bored and leaving,'' Shadow said, giving Sonic a smug smile as he imagined his rival going stir-crazy while standing on the altar.

''For your information, I did last more than an hour,'' Sonic replied, furrowing a brow. ''In fact, I lasted several hours.''

Shadow rose an eyebrow, clearly not too impressed. ''I still have my doubts.''

Sonic tried to keep a straight expression, but it was obvious that there was no way of convincing Shadow as the dark hedgehog saw through it. Sonic sighed, coming clean, ''Okay, I guess the only reason I lasted so long was because I decided to take a nap.''

Shadow snorted in amusement. ''I knew it. You don't have the patience to just stand in front of the Master Emerald when there is nothing going on.''

''Pffft, don't tell me that you could do it better,'' Sonic responded in a challenging tone, with Shadow immediately responding without even thinking.

''Of course I could do it better than you, and you know that. In fact, it wouldn't even be a challenge for me,'' Shadow said confidently.

''Hey, Sonic! Woah, you're also here, Shadow?!''

Before Sonic could respond to Shadow's taunt, they were interrupted by two familiar faces, those being Tangle and Whisper. Sonic greeted them, while Shadow just nodded politely in response.

''I didn't expect either of you to see here. What's up?'' Tangle asked.

''Shadow and I have been talking about going to Angel Island. What about you two?'' Sonic asked.

''We were about to have a girl's day out, since nothing is going on,'' Tangle replied, flashing a bright smile to Whisper, who smiled back warmly.

''Tangle wanted to spend some quality time,'' Whisper added in her trademark whisper, being just loud enough for Sonic and Shadow to pick up what she wanted to say. Tangle, shooting Whisper a playful grin.

''I think we've earned it after all the hard work.'' She then turned to the two hedgehogs. ''You two also have fun!''

''Don't worry, we will!'' Sonic replied, smiling brightly, while Shadow remained silent and less optimistic. He still wasn't sure what to make of the whole journey he agreed to go on, but he doubted that he would have much fun since he was certain that Sonic would keep annoying him. Once Tangle and Whisper left, Shadow turned to Sonic.

''How do you plan to get to Angel Island?'' he asked the cobalt hedgehog.

''We'll use the Tornado…'' Sonic trailed off for a moment when he realized something. He then chuckled nervously, rubbing the back of his head. ''Except, Tails took the Tornado when he left.''

''You don't have any alternative plan?'' Shadow asked, furrowing a brow, with Sonic's sheepish smile telling him everything. He sighed in exasperation. ''How did you even manage get on Angel Island previously?''

''Knuckles left before Tails did, so I could still use the Tornado to visit the island. I guess that's why my mind jumped straight to that,'' Sonic explained.

''That's just typical…'' Shadow muttered, taking another sip of coffee, placing the empty cup on the table and eating a coffee bean. ''I guess I'll have to look out for you, again.''

Sonic pouted. ''Oh, do you have a plan, Mr. Ultimate Lifeform?''

''I have a Chaos Emerald on me. Once we get close enough to the current location of Angel Island, I can use Chaos Control to get us there,'' Shadow replied, a smirk forming on his lips. Sonic quickly perked up, feeling a familiar rush of excitement.

''That's great! If you're done, we can leave as soon as possible,'' Sonic replied. Shadow nodded, placing another coffee bean in his mouth as he wondered how that visit would go.

xXx

There was a flash of cyan light when Sonic and Shadow suddenly appeared at the outer part of Angel Island, being surrounded by a jungle. Sonic had a rough idea of where they were, turning to Shadow with a curious look.

''If I remember this right, you know the way to the Master Emerald altar, but you haven't seen the rest of the island,'' Sonic said, with Shadow nodding. ''Lucky for you, I've been on Angel Island enough times to know what places to visit, even with Knuckles trying to kick me off the island most of those times.''

''I couldn't even imagine why he would do that,'' Shadow replied in a deadpan tone, his lips curving into a wry smile when Sonic gave him an exasperated look. He had figured that, if he was already going to tolerate Sonic teasing him, he would step up to the challenge with some teasing of his own. They were equals, after all.

''In any case, I was thinking that we could race to the altar,'' Sonic said, deciding to ignore Shadow's comment, not wanting to admit that he was well aware that he did give Knuckles a reason to kick him off the island a couple of times, but he was convinced that the other times the echidna got annoyed at him wasn't his fault. Besides, he and Knuckles were on much better terms now. He then flashed a cocky smile. ''Ready? GO!''

Sonic didn't even give Shadow the time to orient himself, vanishing in a flash of blue as he dashed towards the altar. Unfortunately for him, Shadow was already on his tail and catching up fast. Even with Sonic getting an early start, Shadow knew him well enough to be aware that the moment his rival mentioned a race, he'd have to be alert and match Sonic's energy. He could hear Sonic's laugh as they were head-to-head, dashing between the trees to find an optimal route to the altar, with the flora only serving as an obstacle course. Sonic actually wished that the race lasted a bit longer when they spotted the ruins and the bright green Master Emerald on top of it, with the two hedgehogs skidding to a halt right in front of the staircase that led to it.

''Ha! Sonic the Hedgehog once again proves that he is The Fastest Thing Alive!'' Sonic boasted, pumping his fists as he struck a victory pose.

''Tch, you call that fast? I was clearly ahead of you,'' Shadow told him, scoffing as he folded his arms across the chest.

''No way, dude! I totally won this one!'' Sonic replied, trying not to look at the skid marks left on the ground proving that their race was a tie. Frankly, he didn't really care about winning or losing the race, he just wanted to banter with Shadow and he was happy that his rival was responding in a positive way rather than keeping quiet. It made things between them much more interesting and he really enjoyed it, sincerely hoping that Shadow enjoyed their rivalry just as much.

Their banter died down soon, with both looking at the Master Emerald on top of the altar, keeping Angel Island safely afloat. There was something awe-inspiring about this powerful gem of unknown origins and the reason for many battles over it. Sonic was well aware of the origins of the Chaos Emeralds, thanks to his adventure on the Starfall Islands, but the Master Emerald remained a mystery.

''Looks like everything's fine with the Master Emerald,'' Sonic commented, with Shadow's ruby eyes shifting to the side as he glanced at the cobalt hedgehog, arms folded across his chest.

''I suppose the fact that the island wasn't stuck in the ocean was the first sign that the Master Emerald was still where it belongs,'' he remarked in a dry tone. Sonic just chuckled lightly at the remark, then took note of a couple of Chao playing nearby the altar.

''At least these guys are having fun,'' Sonic commented, then beckoned Shadow to follow him. ''Com'n! I did say I'd take you on a tour, didn't I? I hope you can keep up with me!''

''Don't underestimate me, Hedgehog!'' Shadow responded, quickly following Sonic.

xXx

''Welcome to Hidden Palace!'' Sonic said as he and Shadow reached the next area, having left just Lava Reef or, as Sonic described it, the ''more scenic route''. Shadow disagreed, having had to pull Sonic away from stream of lava that suddenly burst through a wall after Sonic got too close to it. The enthusiastic hedgehog was too busy telling Shadow everything about his own first time visiting Angel Island too notice the more hazardous spots, but, as usual, he didn't really care that much about the danger he found himself in, but he thanked Shadow for the save.

Shadow followed Sonic to Hidden Palace, taking note of how it was a massive subterranean cavern populated by plateau-like formations of crystalline rock that line the floor and ceiling for as far as the eye can see, followed by an architecture adorned with pillar walls and a multitude of bright neon colours. Having already seen several other Zones, like Marble Garden, Carnival Night (with Sonic briefly getting annoyed at a particular Spinning Wheel), Sandopolis, Azure Lake and so on, he had to admit that he didn't expect the island to have such a variety of places. In fact, he realized that he knew very little about Angel Island besides it being the location of the Master Emerald and Knuckles' ancestral home, noting how Rouge probably knew her way better around the island than him given all the times she came here to annoy Knuckles.

''If we go over there, we'll reach Sky Sanctuary, which Knuckles had told me was a sacred territory only he could visit. He still allowed me and Tails to go there because we were all chasing after Eggman to get back the Master Emerald,'' Sonic explained, pointing at the path ahead. Shadow rose an eyebrow.

''If it's a sacred place, are we even allowed to go there without the echidna's knowledge?'' Shadow asked, with Sonic pausing for a moment. He knew that Knuckles had trusted him with watching the Master Emerald in his absence, but the echidna never said anything about keeping an eye on the other Zones. ''Ehhh, I guess he wouldn't mind since he agreed to let me keep an eye on the Master Emerald. We'll just do a quick peek. Besides, if you enjoyed seeing the previous Zones, then you have to see this one! The sight is amazing!''

''You're the tour guide,'' Shadow stated in a matter-of-fact tone, shrugging. So far, Sonic's tour didn't disappoint and he found himself interested in listening to Sonic's tale about his past adventures. Admittedly, Sonic was far from ideal, since his own descriptions were based on either what he had experienced or what Knuckles had told him, but he managed to keep Shadow's attention.

The dark hedgehog suddenly stopped as they came across peculiar room, his jaw dropping slightly as he stared in stunned silence at what was depicted on the stitched mural on the wall. Sonic took note of Shadow not following him and turned around, following Shadow's gaze and grinning as he realized what distracted his rival.

''Right, I forgot this was here,'' Sonic said.

''Is that…?'' Shadow trailed off, glancing at Sonic, who just nodded in response. Their attention then turned back to the mural, which was an abstract depiction of Dr. Eggman being inside a large robot and holding the Master Emerald while confronted by Super Sonic.

''You know, I was also surprised when I saw this. I had actually asked Knuckles later about it, but he said that the mural was ancient and that he had no idea who made it. He even speculated that it may have been thousands of years old,'' Sonic explained.

''Whoever made it, they had to have some kind of insight into the future to depict you in your Super Form fighting against the Doctor,'' Shadow said, not really sure what to think about what he saw. Clearly, whoever created this mural deemed this battle important enough to be etched into the wall.

''I guess… Oh, wait!'' Sonic snapped his fingers. ''There is another mural I could show you, but it's at Mystic Ruins. There is a really exciting story tied to that one, and we could also crash for the night at Tails workshop.''

''I suppose I could Chaos Control both of us to Mystic Ruins,'' Shadow said, then followed Sonic as the cobalt hedgehog rushed forward to where Sky Sanctuary was, deciding they would go the first before their detour.

At Sky Sanctuary, Shadow had to admit that Sonic was correct in describing the Zone as ''amazing'', and he also understood why only Knuckles, as the Guardian, was allowed to go here. It felt as if he had entered a different world, the Zone being an ancient, aerial temple located high up in the sky above the clouds. There were many ancient ruins scattered across it, made up of white, mossy stone that floated in the sky; as well as of dark blue glass with a technological pattern. He noticed that it also appeared to serve as the home for Chao, with a few of them flying past them, and two Chao who have been playing where they were standing getting curious about the two hedgehogs.

''Angel Island really does have some interesting locations. I can see why Knuckles protects not only the Master Emerald, but the whole island,'' Shadow said. Sonic whistled.

''Wow, you should tell Knuckles that,'' he said, grinning. Shadow didn't respond, instead just gazing ahead, with Sonic knowing that his rival wasn't the type to just compliment people unless he had a really good reason for that. ''Should we go to Mystic Ruins? I know I didn't show you all of Angel Island, but you can always return here by yourself to explore it.''

''I'm fine with leaving,'' Shadow replied, reaching for the green Chaos Emerald in his quills and holding it up. ''Chaos Control!''

There was a bright flash of light, with the two hedgehogs suddenly vanishing, along with the Chao.

xXx

Sonic grinned when he found himself on the familiar grounds of Mystic Ruins, beckoning to Shadow to follow him to a shrine, neither of them noticing the Chao who had followed them. ''Over here!''

Shadow was genuinely curious about what Sonic wanted to show him, aware that the Mystic Ruins did hold a lot of significance, even if he was unware of their full story. They eventually reached the shrine, finding a mural that shocked Shadow even more than the one at Hidden Palace.

''The BioLizard?'' he muttered the first thing that came to his mind, his eyes wide, only to notice Sonic giving him a surprised look. He then shook his head, immediately realizing his mistake. ''I… Forget about what I said.''

''Well, it does kinda look similar to the BioLizard at first glance, but it's not the BioLizard,'' Sonic said in an understanding tone, glancing back at the mural of a blue, lizard-like being destroying a town. ''That's Perfect Chaos.''

Feeling a little relieved that Sonic didn't tease him for his mistake, Shadow turned his attention back to the mural, figuring that Sonic would soon launch into an explanation in regards to who Perfect Chaos was.

''This was during an adventure that happened before I met you. It's a bit of a long story, though,'' Sonic started.

''Go ahead. I've been listening to all of your previous stories, and I don't mind hearing more,'' Shadow replied in a rather matter-of-fact tone. He actually meant it, having noted that Sonic wasn't as obnoxious as he could be and he was curious about the story behind Perfect Chaos. Sonic grinned at the encouragement, having actually been a little worried that Shadow might lose interest. He turned to the mural, only for both of them to see the two Chao flying up to it, staring at the mural in curiosity, recognizing the being depicted on it, but unsure what to make of it.

''You guys know who that is,'' Sonic stated, with the Chao turning around and flying up to the two, with one Chao settling down on the top of Sonic's head, while the other preffered holding onto Shadow's shoulder, both eager to listen to Sonic's story.

''So, everything began when I ran into this water being at Station Square and battled him, only to learn from Eggman he was the God of Destruction, Chaos. Eggman and Chaos disappeared, but the next day, when Tails was testing a Chaos Emerald at his place, we got ambushed by Eggman who stole the Chaos Emerald, giving it to Chaos, who then transformed. As it turned out, Eggman wanted to gather all the Chaos Emeralds to make Chaos stronger, so Tails and I made the decision to stop him. That didn't really go well for us, because he had managed to steal the two Chaos Emeralds we recovered, and we ran later on into Knuckles, who thought that I stole some of the Master Emerald shards,'' Sonic explained.

''Why would he believe that?'' Shadow gave Sonic a questioning look.

''I dunno. I guess Knux had been getting tricked by Eggman, again,'' Sonic replied with a shrug. ''We did end up battling Chaos again after he absorbed another Chaos Emerald, but he and Eggman then retreated, and when we tried to pursue them, the Tornado got shot down, and I found myself at Station Square again in the aftermath. There, I ran into Amy, who wanted me to protect a Flicky, Birdie. I wasn't really in the mood to deal with her, but that didn't matter because she and Birdie ended up kidnapped by one of Eggman's robots, so I had to chase after them,'' Sonic added in a sheepish tone. While he certainly cared a lot about Amy, he didn't look back fondly on her clinginess and relentless pursuit. ''Luckily, Tails found me with the Tornado 2, and we got onto Eggman's ship, where we found Amy, Birdie, Eggman and one of Eggman's robots. I fought against the robot at first, but Amy got in-between us and said that he was her friend and that he had helped her.'' Sonic hummed in thought as he recalled the memory. ''I think his name was Gamma. He kinda looked like Omega, only taller.''

''If he looked like Omega, it is possible that he was part of the same E-100 Series robot line. Omega was the last one to be created,'' Shadow said, tilting his head. ''I suppose he'd be happy to hear that he wasn't the only one to rebel against Eggman.''

''Heh, yeah. Anyways, I told Tails and Amy to leave because the ship was losing altitude, while I went to pursue Eggman. I eventually found him with Chaos, who had absorbed six Chaos Emeralds, and Big,'' Sonic continued, with Shadow giving him a look of surprise. He still remembered his own meeting with the purple cat in the White Space, having been displaced from time and space, but nonetheless being good company. ''Turns out, Chaos absorbed Froggy, so we had to fish him out first before we could continue. Luckily, we defeated him, and when I went after Eggman again, only to find myself here, at Mystic Ruins. That's when I saw this orb of light, who guided me to this shrine and showed me the mural.''

''What was that light?'' Shadow asked.

''Her name was Tikal, and she was an echidna who lived thousands of years ago. She had shown me what happened in the past, with the full story being that the echidnas back then raided the altar where the Master Emerald and Chaos Emeralds were, hurting many Chao in the process. Tikal tried to stop them, but their destructive behavior only enraged Chaos, who was the protector of the Chao, causing him to turn into Perfect Chaos. Since Perfect Chaos had the power to destroy the world, Tikal had no other choice but to seal him and herself into the Master Emerald,'' Sonic explained.

''Cha-chao…''

Both hedgehogs turned to the Chao who were with them, taking note of their sadness. The story of what had happened was quite traumatizing, even if it was so long ago, showing just how destructive greed and rage could be.

''I know that it's not something you guys want to hear, but it was key information that we needed to understand Chaos,'' Sonic said in a sympathetic tone, with Shadow glancing at him curiously, his expression hiding what was on his mind. Sonic continued the story, not even noticing Shadow's gaze, ''In the end, we confronted Chaos once more at Station Square after he became Perfect Chaos by absorbing the negative energy of the Chaos Emeralds and flooding the city. Tikal wanted to seal Perfect Chaos again into the Master Emerald, but I refused, since that wouldn't be right. Considering how Perfect Chaos' heart was filled with rage and anguish, it wouldn't have changed his feelings even if he got resealed. After all, if he got unleashed again, he would've gone on another rampage, and I wanted to stop that from happening for good.'' Sonic then shot Shadow a grin. ''So, I used the positive energy of the Chaos Emeralds to become Super Sonic and defeated him and calmed him down, with Tikal and Chaos then disappearing. However, that wasn't the last time I fought him.''

''Really?'' Shadow tilted his head, both him and the Chao being surprised to hear that.

''Yeah. Remember the Time Eater?'' Sonic asked, with Shadow nodding, having an idea where this was going. ''I was sent to a version of Station Square that had been attacked by Perfect Chaos, but this time I had managed to defeat him without the Chaos Emeralds. That's impressive, right?''

Shadow knew well that Sonic was just fishing for a compliment, so he decided to tease him a little. ''I suppose it shows your growth between the two events. Unfortunately, growth in strength doesn't indicate a growth in maturity.''

''Ouch,'' Sonic grumbled, noting the smirk on Shadow's lips. ''Are you even able to talk to people directly without making backhanded compliments?''

''I'm merely pointing out the obvious. For all the saving you did, you also made a lot of reckless decisions that endangered our world,'' Shadow responded in a matter-of-fact tone. Sonic rolled his eyes, placing his hands on his hips as he furrowed a brow, not backing away from this argument.

''Fine. Name one event where it was completely my fault that the world was in danger,'' Sonic said.

Shadow gave him a hard stare, responding, ''Two words – Paradox Prism.''

Sonic's eyes suddenly widened when he recalled that particular event. His ears drooped as he felt a sudden rush of anxiety, followed by the sound of shattering and the image of a void filled with gates to other places; remains of his own world. He suddenly turned around, a nervous look forming on his expression as the rubbed the back of his head and avoided Shadow's stare, with the Chao on his head giving him a worried look.

''I… I guess that was my fault,'' he muttered, only to give Shadow a questioning look. ''Hey, what did you even do with the Paradox Prism?''

''I made sure to hide it somewhere where neither the Doctor nor you can find it and shatter it again,'' Shadow told him in a sharp tone, with Sonic wincing.

''That sounds right…'' Sonic said, falling silent for a moment, then sighed. ''Not gonna lie, I actually thought that the event you'd mention would be the Metal Virus.''

Shadow's eyes widened, as he was genuinely stunned to hear Sonic bring that up. He lowered his gaze, recalling the frustration and anger he felt when he confronted Sonic, putting all the blame for Mr. Tinker becoming Dr. Eggman solely on his shoulders. He felt a sting of guilt, having had enough time to reflect on what happened to understand that he had been too harsh on Sonic. After all, Sonic wasn't the only one who saw that Mr. Tinker was different from Dr. Eggman, having lost all of his memories, as the Chaotix Detectives, Rouge and Shadow himself had also been there, all of them agreeing with the decision to leave him in that village. Not to mention his own reckless decision of refusing to back off from the fight against the Zombots, his pride and belief of having immunity to the virus as the Ultimate Lifeform getting to his head. In the end, he payed the ultimate price for his own arrogance and jerkass behavior.

''I… I regret what I said during the Metal Virus incident,'' Shadow muttered, turning on his heel as he left a stunned Sonic, walking away. ''We should bring the Chao back to Angel Island.''

''H-Hey, wait!'' Sonic joined the dark hedgehog, who did his best to ignore the cobalt hedgehog, as well as the uneasy look the Chao on his shoulder gave him. It didn't work, as he felt Sonic grabbing his arm. ''Shadow, wait.''

Shadow stopped, glancing at Sonic, who gave him a sympathetic smile. ''I don't think we really had an in-depth talk about all the stuff that had happened, but if you're okay with it, I would like to talk to you more openly.'' Sonic let go off his arm, lowering his gaze. ''I know that I'm not the best at talking about my feelings and that kind of stuff, and you aren't comfortable with it either, but I feel like some of those conversations are long overdue.''

There was silence, with Sonic wondering if he overdid it. Then, Shadow nodded.

''This is something I can agree on,'' he replied, his response filling Sonic with relief. He smiled, glad to see that Shadow would be staying instead of avoiding him. He had figured that it wasn't necessary to talk now, since they had time. Instead, he stepped in front of Shadow, with a challenging smirk.

''Then, I assume you would also agree on a race around Angel Island? And by that, I mean the whole island. You already saw the race track,'' Sonic said, noting how Shadow perked up. If there was anything they felt comfortable with, it was their rivalry, and they were going to take full advantage of that bond.

''Are you that desperate to lose?'' Shadow asked, taking out the green Chaos Emerald.

''Pffft, I will run loops around you,'' Sonic replied, him and Shadow glancing at the Chao, who cheered for them both. They couldn't help but smile at them, feeling a bit more at ease.

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#With Light In My Heart #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonadow #whisper the wolf #tangle the lemur #whispangle #chao #sonic x shadow generations #sonic adventure #perfect chaos #chaos #sonic 3 & knuckles #knuckles the echidna #idw sonic #sonic prime

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