#elleh answers

[nightingale-fic-recs]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Fourteen

Summary: Two painful betrayals have launched the future in a direction Delia cannot bear. Will her gamble pay off, or will it all be for nothing?

Author’s Notes: 4.3K words. We’re almost there, y’all. This is the chapter I’ve been dying to write for… well, quite some time now. Let’s get some answers.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically), unfinished story- read at your own risk!

For a long, long time, there was only darkness. An endless, silent black, all-consuming in its emptiness. No sound, no light, no dreams. Nothing.

Then there was a reprieve- brief, and no better. He woke because something was… wrong. More wrong than the vines and thorns curled in and around the flesh of his legs, more wrong than the sinking sensation as the Blight pulled him under.

Something was wrong in his soul. It felt bruised, as though it had been battered against his ribcage, stretched as though it were being pulled out of him. He coughed. Something slimy and pungent coated his throat.

Some sound reached his ears, then- the first he’d heard in…

How long?

He struggled to open his eyes. The sound grew louder, a voice.

Delia.

The thought of her gave him the strength to finally raise his heavy lids.

“Delia,” he murmured. That wretched, soul-stretching feeling returned tenfold. He had the idea he’d doubled over in pain, but he didn’t think he’d actually moved. “What’s happened to… why am I…”

Something clicked horribly. He recognized what he felt slipping away- himself. With startling clarity, he remembered a tale Gideon had told of a sorcerer who dabbled in spells of control. Of a woman he loved, reduced to a puppet for the sorcerer’s perverse amusements.

“How, why…” His head weighed a thousand pounds. With effort, he raised it to stare wide-eyed at Delia. “Delia,” he slurred. His own tongue was rebelling against him.

“Rogier?” Her voice was desperate, hopeful. Something was wrong. Her eyes danced over him, searching for… something. His stomach turned. He had trusted her. He had let himself… He’d thought she…

She grasped his hands. It took every sliver of his fast-fading self-control to pull them back. She looked up, shock written over her beautiful features. Rogier swallowed bitterly. He exhausted the last of his energy and willpower for one word. 

“Why?” It felt clumsy in his mouth, heavier than it ought to be with his broken trust. “Why would you…”

He couldn’t get the rest of the words out; or, he’d forgotten what they were meant to be. Not that it mattered.

“No, no, no, no,” she whispered. “Rogier, no, please.” She fumbled with his shoulders as he sagged down, dragged into darkness once more.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Waking again was even worse than before. He felt searing pain like nothing he’d ever felt before- and he’d died, more times than he could count. He felt… run through. With rising dread, he found he could feel his heart pulsing weakly… around something. There was a guttural, raw, scraping cacophony of sound emanating from somewhere close by. He heard hushing. Something sharp slid from his chest. The sound cut off when he choked on a breath- he’d been screaming.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s almost over.”

Delia. His bleeding heart sang before he remembered- she’d seized his soul, somehow. Something wet and warm was pooling in his lap; something cold dripped from her face onto his hands, where they clutched something warm; her body.

“Ranni, please, hurry. He’s-”

Delia. 

He couldn’t make his hands let her go. 

His consciousness was swimming in and out of focus, the pain crashing over and through him in great waves that reminded him of the sea by the Church of Elleh. He focused every thought on opening his eyes, though it didn’t happen immediately.

Delia leaned forward, cradling his head to her chest. She was rocking frantically to and fro, humming incoherently under her breath. Rogier reached up, finally, weakly, and pushed her away.

He knew it hadn’t been a hard shove- he felt only resistance as he pushed, and had no strength to speak of. But Delia fell back as though she’d been bowled over by a knight on horseback. The bed creaked violently as she landed heavily. Tear tracks laced her dirty face. Her glowing lavender eyes were bloodshot and her dark hair was matted and knotted, as though she hadn’t combed it for an age.

Rogier’s heart clenched, and only the pain of it reminded him that she’d done this to him. “Get away from me,” he hissed. She scrambled back, nearly falling from the bed in her haste. True fear was written across her face.

“Silence, now!” He started when he saw the tall, blue woman with a snowy witch’s hat at the bedside. Two hands were steepled before her, and two more weaved magic through the air. “Thou wilt hurt thyself with this futile movement.”

Rogier’s heart was slowing, vision beginning to blur at the edges. He reached a hand gingerly to his chest and looked down at it, feeling more curious and less angry than he ought at the flow of blood that coated his palm.

“I think I can’t hurt myself more than she has,” he murmured.

From the foot of the bed, Delia let out a broken sob. “Rogier-”

“Stop,” he wheezed. “I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to see you. Ever again”

Through the blurring edges of his vision, he saw her flinch. The witch at the bedside said something softly that he couldn’t hear. Clearly, Delia hadn’t heard her either, because the witch snapped “I said leave us.” Rogier’s eyes slipped shut. “Thou knowest where to go. I will find thee when I’ve done with him.”

“My Lady-”

“Fear not, dear consort, I shall make him whole and hale. Thou wished it so, and I would not repay thine service in blood.”

Rogier’s blood turned to acid in his veins. 

Consort. Service. A puppeteer and a witch’s lackey. 

The words must have meant something to Delia. After a moment’s pause, he felt her rise from the bed. There was a soft scraping as the door shut, and then Rogier fell, again, into darkness.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

He woke with a groan, body and mind aching furiously. He raised a hand to his chest; it came away dry. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathing deeply. 

Perhaps this had all been a dream. 

“Thou’rt a fool, Sorcerer.”

He lurched up, dragging himself away from the voice. The blue witch perched on the edge of a chair at the bedside, ankles crossed daintily. A waking nightmare, then. No one else was in the room. With another sound of protest, he sat up and swung his legs over the bedside. “Yes, I am a fool,” he grumbled. 

A scoff. “If this is how thou plans to return her devotion, her tears are wasted on thee.” Rogier only stared at this woman, this stranger, at home in Delia’s room, at home in the Hold. Consort, she’d said. A pang of jealousy stabbed through him before he remembered his anger.

“She used me,” he growled. But his voice cracked, baring a glimpse of the pain beneath the rage. 

“Thou’st let thyself be used before, and for what purpose? Thou should be pleased. Thy lady has sacrificed all for thee.”

Thy lady. 

Rogier scrambled for his righteous indignation. “She sacrificed me, Princess.” He ground out the words before his voice became a whisper. “And… she is not my lady.”

“Then thou’rt a fool twice over.” The witch’s voice was cold, and her expression was colder. Rogier scoffed. He shoved violently off the bed, stalking forward to get out of this room, away from this conversation. Even now, he wanted her. Even after everything that had transpired; after what he had said; after what she had done. 

A fool twice over, indeed.

It took great physical restraint to stop himself running, following where she went. Taking her in his arms and forgiving everything. He never thought he might curse the use of his legs.

He stopped dead. His legs.

“Ah, and now thou begins to understand.”

He sat, quite hard and quite suddenly, on cold stone. He searched it for answers and found nothing.

The witch spoke again, voice lighter than before. “If mine ambitions were less, I might love her myself.” Rogier’s head snapped up at that, but she went on as though she’d said nothing out of the ordinary. “Alas, she loves only you.” 

“She loves only you.”

The witch regarded him cooly. “Besides, thou makest a fuss over nothing. Thy soul is still quite where it belongs.” Rogier’s hand moved instinctively to his chest, to the bloodstain on his borrowed tunic. “Ah, yes,” she went on. “Thine heart is back just where thou left it, cold though it be.” He felt dizzy, dazed and a little unsteady. 

“I believe I’ve misjudged the situation,” he said softly. 

“Oh, indeed.” Her voice was stormy, though her doll’s expression did not change. “Now, thou art whole and hale, as thy lady bid me leave you. Let it not be said that Ranni the Witch payeth not her debts.” Rogier blinked, mouth falling open. 

Ranni the Witch. 

He had so many questions. But Ranni raised her hands and was gone in a wash of magic before he could speak. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, staring at the floor of the Hold, before he stood on shaky legs. He looked down, running his hands over them.

No Deathroot in sight.

Delia had earned a favor from Lunar Princess Ranni. From Ranni the Witch. 

Delia… was Ranni’s consort. 

He swallowed, hard.

He had made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Oh, Rogier!” It was the young girl Delia had befriended, Roderika. Her hands fluttered at her mouth, at her sides, and then she raced forward and wrapped him in an embrace the strength of which he’d never have expected from someone so thin. Her next words were muffled against his jerkin. 

“What was that? Roderika, was it?”

“I’m so glad it worked, I’m so glad you’re okay. Delia was so worried, and so worried you’d be angry. She was positively sick with it.” Rogier was beginning to feel quite sick, himself. He removed his recently reacquired hat, worrying the sweatband with his gloved fingertips. Roderika had leaned around him. “Where… is Delia?”

He took a deep breath. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia, it seemed, had been well prepared for the likelihood of his anger. Roderika left him as he collapsed into a chair, cradling the box of things she had carefully packed. 

“She was afraid you wouldn’t forgive her.”

He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as he pulled out various items; the cooking pamphlet he’d made her; the boluses and ingredients she’d painstakingly wrapped; a strange, rather large statuette; and at the bottom, wrapped in layers of old clothes, a tiny, silver bell, glowing with a dim blueish light.

“She wanted to destroy it, but she’d been warned it wouldn’t be wise. That breaking it might hurt you, or worse. And I… I agreed.”

Roderika had looked sideways at him, gauging his reaction.

“And now?”

“Now? Well, I don't think it matters now. I’m sure you can’t be summoned with it any more.”

He rang the bell, softly.

Nothing.

He rang it again.

It chimed, but made no other noise, object, or spell.

He clenched it in his fist, and then set it aside. He turned his attention to the statuette, and noticed that there was a note tucked into the column at the base.

“Rogier,

I leave this for you without knowing whether you’ll ever wake up to use it. Although I’m not quite sure how, this trinket will lead the way to Ranni’s cursemark. I only hope that someday soon, you’ll come back and tell me. I only hope that you’ll forgive me.

I was frightened, Rogier. I was terrified of losing you forever, of letting you slip away. I did what I thought I had to in order to keep you within arm’s reach, and it’s possible that will be what keeps you from me in the end.

I cannot apologize enough for what I’ve done, only beg you to try to see things the way I saw them- that I might keep you alive, suspended for a time, in a body that could be cured and returned to you. That I might save you.

Please don’t hate me.

All my love, Delia”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Roderika!”

He called her name again as he rushed down the hall, finding her sitting at the great Roundtable. She raised her head from her hands as he skidded to an undignified halt, clattering into one of the empty chairs beside her.

“Roderika, I know I’ve no right to ask, but I must find her. Please…” He swallowed the bitter taste of begging for help. “Please help me.”

Roderika’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not still angry, then?”

His fingers twitched, itching to tap against something; to twist around themselves; anything but to rest, unmoving, on the table top.

He kept them, unmoving, upon the table top.

“I… don’t know that I have any right to be. Although I’m still unsure what happened.”

Roderika’s face twisted in some combination of anxiety and pain. 

In the absence of his own voice, Rogier was suddenly struck by the unusual silence of the Hold. He looked around, momentarily distracted. 

“Where… where is everyone?”

When he looked back to Roderika, she’d turned her face away. He could see tears pooling along her lash lines. 

“Everyone else is… gone.”

Rogier sat back, hard. “Gone?”

Roderika regarded him carefully for a long moment. “I think I should catch you up on what’s been happening since you fell asleep.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Rogier tied his rucksack across the saddle of one of the Roundtable’s horses. 

D was dead. 

He mounted up and set off North, on his way to the Academy of Raya Lucaria. 

Fia had killed him and fled. 

He pulled himself into the saddle, settling back and picking up the reins. He clicked his tongue and squeezed his knees softly. 

Diallos had turned to the Volcano Manor. 

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself as he rode on.  

Nepheli had parted ways with her father, and thereby the Hold. 

Roderika had told him everything she knew; that Delia had depaired of finding the boluses and had made the decision to feed him the potion; that she hoped to wake him after curing the Death Blight; that the sorcerer who’d given her the potion had been killed before telling her how to do it.

She told him that Delia had fought the gods themselves to earn Ranni’s favor, carving the bloody path for her lady’s ascension to the throne. She’d fought Ranni’s mother and killed both of her brothers, scoured the underground cities, and slaughtered their denizens for just the chance to heal him.

And it had worked. 

But she’d already used the potion. 

Roderika had been at a loss- she worked with the spirits of the dead, not living dolls. But Ranni, a doll herself…

Rogier touched his chest, pressing his fingers to his beating heart. 

That had worked, too. 

Roderika couldn’t answer what he was now, but Delia had mentioned a sorceress she’d befriended who might know.

Sellen, the Graven Witch. 

Last Roderika had heard, the witch had moved to the Academy. And that seemed as good a place as any to start looking for Delia, so that was where he intended to go. 

The ride North was wet, but uneventful. In fact, it was so suspiciously quiet that it set Rogier on edge. He saw neither hide nor hair of any living thing until coming across a ramshackle lean-to near the outskirts of the Academy Gate Town. 

A blackguard stood by it, kicking dirt over a fire. He looked up when Rogier approached. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” he growled. “You trying to start something, mate?”

Rogier lifted his hands, shaking his head. “No, no, just traveling through to the Academy.”

“Academy, eh?” The blackguard scratched his chest. “You’re Tarnished, ain’tcha? Can you see it too, then? The guidance of grace, I mean.”

Too?

Rogier’s heart sped. “Did you say ‘too’? Have you met a woman, Delia?”

“Aye, that’s the one. Says she can still see the shine. I can’t see it at all no more. Makes no bloody sense anyway, why some no-name shithead like me should get called to the Lands Between. Cruel bloody joke, you ask me. But that girl…” He shook his head. “You a friend of ‘ers?”

“Yes.” Rogier spoke before he could question himself. “I’m trying to find her. When did you last see her?”

“Oh, mate, it’s been awhile. ‘Elped her fight one o’ them big wyrms up North, I did. But that’s been some weeks, now.” 

Rogier deflated, the spark of hope he’d felt dying out just as quickly. The blackguard stared into his dying fire, either lost in thought or unsure what to do with the morose sorcerer. “You want some of me prawn? Freshly cooked it is. It's yours, if you can meet me price.” Rogier’s mouth watered despite himself. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The meal lifted Rogier’s spirits enough to continue the damp ride North. The Academy gates loomed over him, dark against the setting sun.

He hadn’t crossed a single guard. 

The only threat he’d seen was a group of Albinaurics patrolling some distance away. They hadn’t seen him, and he hadn’t chanced moving any closer. 

Now, as he pushed the heavy Academy doors open, he could see why his journey had been so quiet. Bodies lined the Academy halls. Some lay in dried pools of blood, some hung partway out of windows

Rogier drew his rapier, proceeding with caution. 

An expansive courtyard held more corpses, sorcerers and Nobles alike, and impossibly, a mangled abductor virgin. 

Rogier felt dizzy, imagining Delia hacking her way through these forces. 

For him. 

And he’d told her to go.

He berated himself ferociously as he scrambled up a crumbling staircase, peering over the side. More bodies. He moved carefully along a covered catwalk, stepping into an alcove filled with greenery. When he peered further ahead, he could just make out an elevator. He hurried toward it, eying the nearby knight’s corpse suspiciously. 

He felt much less anxious when the elevator began its ascent, cocooning him within its stone walls.

It rose to a massive doorway set into the wall of a courtyard. One door was cracked open. Rogier squeezed through, mouth falling open at the sight that greeted him: books. 

Towering shelves were jammed full; precarious stacks tipped against every piece of furniture in the room; loose pages littered tables and desks and chairs and even the floor. 

He peered around in awe. 

“Tarnished, are we?” A clear, lightly accented voice rang out. Rogier whirled toward it to see a sorceress standing mere feet away, a heavy tome open in her hand. “Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for someone, a sorceress as well,” he said, gesturing to the glintstone crown she wore. “Her name is Sellen. Do you know her?”

The sorceress's already straight posture, impossibly, straightened more. “I am Sellen.”

Rogier felt his breath catch. “Have you seen Delia?” He’d meant to ask what she knew of primal glintstones, what she could tell him of his new existence. He’d meant to make small talk of sorcery and studies before asking after Delia. But the question burst from him before he could stop it. 

“You must be Rogier. A wonder you should turn up here.” He stared blankly as Sellen padded toward him, depositing her book atop a stack between them. She circled him slowly, tilting her head to and fro. “How did she do it?” she murmured. 

Wordlessly, Rogier unfastened his jerkin. He withdrew a small, wrapped parcel and held it out. Sellen took it, unwrapping it carefully. Her head snapped up when the colorful blade came into view. 

“Well, well. I suppose this wasn’t her first choice.”

Rogier swallowed. “What did it do? What… am I? Now?”

Sellen gestured to him, head still tilted down toward the blade in her hand. “This body, is it your true one?”

“My-” Rogier sputtered. “My true body?”

Sellen made an impatient noise before reaching up to remove her glintstone crown. She was a striking woman with fine features and dark hair. Her noble air was broken only by the scowl she wore. She waved a hand at her own body testily.

“This body is not my own. My true body lies dead, chained in a cellar miles from here. But from your reaction, I presume that body is yours.” She turned, stalking through the bookshelves. Rogier hastened to follow. “My apprentice must have then had help.” She cast a sly smile over her shoulder. “As I’m sure you know, she has no inclination whatsoever toward sorcery.”

“No,” Rogier answered distractedly. “No, she hasn’t. So then how did she do this?”

Sellen had stopped at a tabletop littered with scrolls and lenses, vials and herbs strewn over the desk and in bowls. She raised a lens to look down at the knife.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked. Rogier shook his head.

She scoffed. “This is a primal glintstone blade. The sorcerers of old would cut their own hearts with it, would transfer their souls to primal glintstones. No longer bound by death, they could choose a new body nearly at will.” She looked toward him. “Although I can see why Delia was so attached to that body.”

Rogier felt his cheeks flush. “So then how did she keep my body, if she pierced my heart?”

“My apprentice has made some powerful friends in her journeys. She must have found a sorcerer with magic potent enough to break the puppeteer’s spell.” When Rogier said nothing, Sellen spared him another glance. “You were marked for death. I presume she used the potion she asked me about and found a cure later. Since your soul had already been parted from your body, she would have needed to remove it entirely in order to ready the corpse. I admire her greatly, but as I’ve said, I believe she has no skill for sorcery. Someone else must have performed the necessary rituals so that she could replace your primal glintstone.”

Rogier found his hand once again clutching at his chest. Sellen spared him another glance and scoffed. “You’ve already been branded a heretic. Why does an immortal soul upset you so?”

He sucked in a breath. “Immortal?”

Sellen had begun chipping pieces from the glintstone blade, dropping them into vials and bowls. “Yes, immortal. Weren’t you listening? Now leave me to work in peace.”

Rogier took a step forward. “Please, just tell me where to find her.” Sellen straightened and turned to face him for the first time since he’d handed her the blade. She studied him for a long moment.

“She was to go to the Capital. I know no more than that.” 

Rogier breathed a quick thanks, turning for the door.

“And sorcerer?” He looked over his shoulder at Sellen. Her gaze had fallen, an expression of concern marring her otherwise pretty face. “Please do make sure no ills fall upon her. I’ve grown… quite fond of her.”

Rogier nodded solemnly, cast one last, longing look around the library, and then raced from the Academy.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

He couldn’t say exactly how he’d gotten here- following the path of least resistance, following the path he could best imagine Delia taking. 

Some remnant of Grace, perhaps. 

He put the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter. 

He was on the right track. He had run and crawled his way through sewers and tunnels, over pipes and under gates, down halls and past a towering set of doors to stand at a ledge overlooking a great system of roots.

He could feel her here, as though her presence tugged at the root of his soul. More than that, he could see where she had been- not only in the blood and corpses that littered the path she’d made, although there were certainly plenty of both. 

He could see echoes of her everywhere. Fighting, climbing, dropping from root to root. 

She’d been here, and recently. 

He made his way carefully down until reaching solid ground, only to find himself climbing again not long after. He followed his gut up a precarious path leading from one massive root to another. At the top, he took a moment to look out across the underground expanse. The towers, the lakes, the roots themselves- all of it would be beautiful, if not for the putrid yellow mist that permeated the depths.

He turned again, stepping through a yawning gap in the roots, and felt his heart turn to ice. In the distance, he could see the heinous, melted face of the Prince of Death, grown into and through the Erdtree’s roots. And at the foot of the roots…

Delia.

His heart skipped back to life. She was fighting, locked in a vicious dance with a shade whose features he couldn’t see. He cried her name, running forward as he drew his rapier. 

He came to an abrupt, painful, and undignified stop halfway across the space. Some unseen barrier blocked his way forward. It wasn’t quite invisible; the scene before him was slightly warped, nearly opaque in comparison to its backdrop.

He scrabbled at it desperately.

He called Delia’s name.

Then, behind the chaos, he made out a pale, slim figure in a dark robe.

Fia.

She’d already seen him, it seemed. Their gazes locked as Delia swung her weapon in a powerful arc.

The specter’s head fell from its shoulders.

A slow smile spread over Fia’s face. She flicked one slender wrist.

Rogier pounded on the barrier, shouting.

He watched in helpless horror as Delia recoiled from the spirit that rose.

The spirit with an all too familiar spellblade’s set.

The spirit with his face.

[nightingale-ghost-writer]

By the Grace Of [Sorcerer Rogier x Fem!Tarnished] - Chapter Fourteen

Summary: Two painful betrayals have launched the future in a direction Delia cannot bear. Will her gamble pay off, or will it all be for nothing?

Author’s Notes: 4.3K words. We’re almost there, y’all. This is the chapter I’ve been dying to write for… well, quite some time now. Let’s get some answers.

Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or events from Elden Ring

Warnings: Language, canon-typical violence, abstract horror? I think? Unedited (basically)

For a long, long time, there was only darkness. An endless, silent black, all-consuming in its emptiness. No sound, no light, no dreams. Nothing.

Then there was a reprieve- brief, and no better. He woke because something was… wrong. More wrong than the vines and thorns curled in and around the flesh of his legs, more wrong than the sinking sensation as the Blight pulled him under.

Something was wrong in his soul. It felt bruised, as though it had been battered against his ribcage, stretched as though it were being pulled out of him. He coughed. Something slimy and pungent coated his throat.

Some sound reached his ears, then- the first he’d heard in…

How long?

He struggled to open his eyes. The sound grew louder, a voice.

Delia.

The thought of her gave him the strength to finally raise his heavy lids.

“Delia,” he murmured. That wretched, soul-stretching feeling returned tenfold. He had the idea he’d doubled over in pain, but he didn’t think he’d actually moved. “What’s happened to… why am I…”

Something clicked horribly. He recognized what he felt slipping away- himself. With startling clarity, he remembered a tale Gideon had told of a sorcerer who dabbled in spells of control. Of a woman he loved, reduced to a puppet for the sorcerer’s perverse amusements.

“How, why…” His head weighed a thousand pounds. With effort, he raised it to stare wide-eyed at Delia. “Delia,” he slurred. His own tongue was rebelling against him.

“Rogier?” Her voice was desperate, hopeful. Something was wrong. Her eyes danced over him, searching for… something. His stomach turned. He had trusted her. He had let himself… He’d thought she…

She grasped his hands. It took every sliver of his fast-fading self-control to pull them back. She looked up, shock written over her beautiful features. Rogier swallowed bitterly. He exhausted the last of his energy and willpower for one word. 

“Why?” It felt clumsy in his mouth, heavier than it ought to be with his broken trust. “Why would you…”

He couldn’t get the rest of the words out; or, he’d forgotten what they were meant to be. Not that it mattered.

“No, no, no, no,” she whispered. “Rogier, no, please.” She fumbled with his shoulders as he sagged down, dragged into darkness once more.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Waking again was even worse than before. He felt searing pain like nothing he’d ever felt before- and he’d died, more times than he could count. He felt… run through. With rising dread, he found he could feel his heart pulsing weakly… around something. There was a guttural, raw, scraping cacophony of sound emanating from somewhere close by. He heard hushing. Something sharp slid from his chest. The sound cut off when he choked on a breath- he’d been screaming.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry. It’s almost over.”

Delia. His bleeding heart sang before he remembered- she’d seized his soul, somehow. Something wet and warm was pooling in his lap; something cold dripped from her face onto his hands, where they clutched something warm; her body.

“Ranni, please, hurry. He’s-”

Delia. 

He couldn’t make his hands let her go. 

His consciousness was swimming in and out of focus, the pain crashing over and through him in great waves that reminded him of the sea by the Church of Elleh. He focused every thought on opening his eyes, though it didn’t happen immediately.

Delia leaned forward, cradling his head to her chest. She was rocking frantically to and fro, humming incoherently under her breath. Rogier reached up, finally, weakly, and pushed her away.

He knew it hadn’t been a hard shove- he felt only resistance as he pushed, and had no strength to speak of. But Delia fell back as though she’d been bowled over by a knight on horseback. The bed creaked violently as she landed heavily. Tear tracks laced her dirty face. Her glowing lavender eyes were bloodshot and her dark hair was matted and knotted, as though she hadn’t combed it for an age.

Rogier’s heart clenched, and only the pain of it reminded him that she’d done this to him. “Get away from me,” he hissed. She scrambled back, nearly falling from the bed in her haste. True fear was written across her face.

“Silence, now!” He started when he saw the tall, blue woman with a snowy witch’s hat at the bedside. Two hands were steepled before her, and two more weaved magic through the air. “Thou wilt hurt thyself with this futile movement.”

Rogier’s heart was slowing, vision beginning to blur at the edges. He reached a hand gingerly to his chest and looked down at it, feeling more curious and less angry than he ought at the flow of blood that coated his palm.

“I think I can’t hurt myself more than she has,” he murmured.

From the foot of the bed, Delia let out a broken sob. “Rogier-”

“Stop,” he wheezed. “I don’t want to hear you. I don’t want to see you. Ever again”

Through the blurring edges of his vision, he saw her flinch. The witch at the bedside said something softly that he couldn’t hear. Clearly, Delia hadn’t heard her either, because the witch snapped “I said leave us.” Rogier’s eyes slipped shut. “Thou knowest where to go. I will find thee when I’ve done with him.”

“My Lady-”

“Fear not, dear consort, I shall make him whole and hale. Thou wished it so, and I would not repay thine service in blood.”

Rogier’s blood turned to acid in his veins. 

Consort. Service. A puppeteer and a witch’s lackey. 

The words must have meant something to Delia. After a moment’s pause, he felt her rise from the bed. There was a soft scraping as the door shut, and then Rogier fell, again, into darkness.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

He woke with a groan, body and mind aching furiously. He raised a hand to his chest; it came away dry. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes, breathing deeply. 

Perhaps this had all been a dream. 

“Thou’rt a fool, Sorcerer.”

He lurched up, dragging himself away from the voice. The blue witch perched on the edge of a chair at the bedside, ankles crossed daintily. A waking nightmare, then. No one else was in the room. With another sound of protest, he sat up and swung his legs over the bedside. “Yes, I am a fool,” he grumbled. 

A scoff. “If this is how thou plans to return her devotion, her tears are wasted on thee.” Rogier only stared at this woman, this stranger, at home in Delia’s room, at home in the Hold. Consort, she’d said. A pang of jealousy stabbed through him before he remembered his anger.

“She used me,” he growled. But his voice cracked, baring a glimpse of the pain beneath the rage. 

“Thou’st let thyself be used before, and for what purpose? Thou should be pleased. Thy lady has sacrificed all for thee.”

Thy lady. 

Rogier scrambled for his righteous indignation. “She sacrificed me, Princess.” He ground out the words before his voice became a whisper. “And… she is not my lady.”

“Then thou’rt a fool twice over.” The witch’s voice was cold, and her expression was colder. Rogier scoffed. He shoved violently off the bed, stalking forward to get out of this room, away from this conversation. Even now, he wanted her. Even after everything that had transpired; after what he had said; after what she had done. 

A fool twice over, indeed.

It took great physical restraint to stop himself running, following where she went. Taking her in his arms and forgiving everything. He never thought he might curse the use of his legs.

He stopped dead. His legs.

“Ah, and now thou begins to understand.”

He sat, quite hard and quite suddenly, on cold stone. He searched it for answers and found nothing.

The witch spoke again, voice lighter than before. “If mine ambitions were less, I might love her myself.” Rogier’s head snapped up at that, but she went on as though she’d said nothing out of the ordinary. “Alas, she loves only you.” 

“She loves only you.”

The witch regarded him cooly. “Besides, thou makest a fuss over nothing. Thy soul is still quite where it belongs.” Rogier’s hand moved instinctively to his chest, to the bloodstain on his borrowed tunic. “Ah, yes,” she went on. “Thine heart is back just where thou left it, cold though it be.” He felt dizzy, dazed and a little unsteady. 

“I believe I’ve misjudged the situation,” he said softly. 

“Oh, indeed.” Her voice was stormy, though her doll’s expression did not change. “Now, thou art whole and hale, as thy lady bid me leave you. Let it not be said that Ranni the Witch payeth not her debts.” Rogier blinked, mouth falling open. 

Ranni the Witch. 

He had so many questions. But Ranni raised her hands and was gone in a wash of magic before he could speak. 

He didn’t know how long he stayed there, staring at the floor of the Hold, before he stood on shaky legs. He looked down, running his hands over them.

No Deathroot in sight.

Delia had earned a favor from Lunar Princess Ranni. From Ranni the Witch. 

Delia… was Ranni’s consort. 

He swallowed, hard.

He had made a terrible, terrible mistake. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Oh, Rogier!” It was the young girl Delia had befriended, Roderika. Her hands fluttered at her mouth, at her sides, and then she raced forward and wrapped him in an embrace the strength of which he’d never have expected from someone so thin. Her next words were muffled against his jerkin. 

“What was that? Roderika, was it?”

“I’m so glad it worked, I’m so glad you’re okay. Delia was so worried, and so worried you’d be angry. She was positively sick with it.” Rogier was beginning to feel quite sick, himself. He removed his recently reacquired hat, worrying the sweatband with his gloved fingertips. Roderika had leaned around him. “Where… is Delia?”

He took a deep breath. “I was hoping you might be able to tell me.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Delia, it seemed, had been well prepared for the likelihood of his anger. Roderika left him as he collapsed into a chair, cradling the box of things she had carefully packed. 

“She was afraid you wouldn’t forgive her.”

He swallowed hard around the lump in his throat as he pulled out various items; the cooking pamphlet he’d made her; the boluses and ingredients she’d painstakingly wrapped; a strange, rather large statuette; and at the bottom, wrapped in layers of old clothes, a tiny, silver bell, glowing with a dim blueish light.

“She wanted to destroy it, but she’d been warned it wouldn’t be wise. That breaking it might hurt you, or worse. And I… I agreed.”

Roderika had looked sideways at him, gauging his reaction.

“And now?”

“Now? Well, I don't think it matters now. I’m sure you can’t be summoned with it any more.”

He rang the bell, softly.

Nothing.

He rang it again.

It chimed, but made no other noise, object, or spell.

He clenched it in his fist, and then set it aside. He turned his attention to the statuette, and noticed that there was a note tucked into the column at the base.

“Rogier,

I leave this for you without knowing whether you’ll ever wake up to use it. Although I’m not quite sure how, this trinket will lead the way to Ranni’s cursemark. I only hope that someday soon, you’ll come back and tell me. I only hope that you’ll forgive me.

I was frightened, Rogier. I was terrified of losing you forever, of letting you slip away. I did what I thought I had to in order to keep you within arm’s reach, and it’s possible that will be what keeps you from me in the end.

I cannot apologize enough for what I’ve done, only beg you to try to see things the way I saw them- that I might keep you alive, suspended for a time, in a body that could be cured and returned to you. That I might save you.

Please don’t hate me.

All my love, Delia”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

“Roderika!”

He called her name again as he rushed down the hall, finding her sitting at the great Roundtable. She raised her head from her hands as he skidded to an undignified halt, clattering into one of the empty chairs beside her.

“Roderika, I know I’ve no right to ask, but I must find her. Please…” He swallowed the bitter taste of begging for help. “Please help me.”

Roderika’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re not still angry, then?”

His fingers twitched, itching to tap against something; to twist around themselves; anything but to rest, unmoving, on the table top.

He kept them, unmoving, upon the table top.

“I… don’t know that I have any right to be. Although I’m still unsure what happened.”

Roderika’s face twisted in some combination of anxiety and pain. 

In the absence of his own voice, Rogier was suddenly struck by the unusual silence of the Hold. He looked around, momentarily distracted. 

“Where… where is everyone?”

When he looked back to Roderika, she’d turned her face away. He could see tears pooling along her lash lines. 

“Everyone else is… gone.”

Rogier sat back, hard. “Gone?”

Roderika regarded him carefully for a long moment. “I think I should catch you up on what’s been happening since you fell asleep.”

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

Rogier tied his rucksack across the saddle of one of the Roundtable’s horses. 

D was dead. 

He mounted up and set off North, on his way to the Academy of Raya Lucaria. 

Fia had killed him and fled. 

He pulled himself into the saddle, settling back and picking up the reins. He clicked his tongue and squeezed his knees softly. 

Diallos had turned to the Volcano Manor. 

He sucked in a shaky breath, trying to steady himself as he rode on.  

Nepheli had parted ways with her father, and thereby the Hold. 

Roderika had told him everything she knew; that Delia had depaired of finding the boluses and had made the decision to feed him the potion; that she hoped to wake him after curing the Death Blight; that the sorcerer who’d given her the potion had been killed before telling her how to do it.

She told him that Delia had fought the gods themselves to earn Ranni’s favor, carving the bloody path for her lady’s ascension to the throne. She’d fought Ranni’s mother and killed both of her brothers, scoured the underground cities, and slaughtered their denizens for just the chance to heal him.

And it had worked. 

But she’d already used the potion. 

Roderika had been at a loss- she worked with the spirits of the dead, not living dolls. But Ranni, a doll herself…

Rogier touched his chest, pressing his fingers to his beating heart. 

That had worked, too. 

Roderika couldn’t answer what he was now, but Delia had mentioned a sorceress she’d befriended who might know.

Sellen, the Graven Witch. 

Last Roderika had heard, the witch had moved to the Academy. And that seemed as good a place as any to start looking for Delia, so that was where he intended to go. 

The ride North was wet, but uneventful. In fact, it was so suspiciously quiet that it set Rogier on edge. He saw neither hide nor hair of any living thing until coming across a ramshackle lean-to near the outskirts of the Academy Gate Town. 

A blackguard stood by it, kicking dirt over a fire. He looked up when Rogier approached. 

“What are you lookin’ at?” he growled. “You trying to start something, mate?”

Rogier lifted his hands, shaking his head. “No, no, just traveling through to the Academy.”

“Academy, eh?” The blackguard scratched his chest. “You’re Tarnished, ain’tcha? Can you see it too, then? The guidance of grace, I mean.”

Too?

Rogier’s heart sped. “Did you say ‘too’? Have you met a woman, Delia?”

“Aye, that’s the one. Says she can still see the shine. I can’t see it at all no more. Makes no bloody sense anyway, why some no-name shithead like me should get called to the Lands Between. Cruel bloody joke, you ask me. But that girl…” He shook his head. “You a friend of ‘ers?”

“Yes.” Rogier spoke before he could question himself. “I’m trying to find her. When did you last see her?”

“Oh, mate, it’s been awhile. ‘Elped her fight one o’ them big wyrms up North, I did. But that’s been some weeks, now.” 

Rogier deflated, the spark of hope he’d felt dying out just as quickly. The blackguard stared into his dying fire, either lost in thought or unsure what to do with the morose sorcerer. “You want some of me prawn? Freshly cooked it is. It's yours, if you can meet me price.” Rogier’s mouth watered despite himself. 

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

The meal lifted Rogier’s spirits enough to continue the damp ride North. The Academy gates loomed over him, dark against the setting sun.

He hadn’t crossed a single guard. 

The only threat he’d seen was a group of Albinaurics patrolling some distance away. They hadn’t seen him, and he hadn’t chanced moving any closer. 

Now, as he pushed the heavy Academy doors open, he could see why his journey had been so quiet. Bodies lined the Academy halls. Some lay in dried pools of blood, some hung partway out of windows

Rogier drew his rapier, proceeding with caution. 

An expansive courtyard held more corpses, sorcerers and Nobles alike, and impossibly, a mangled abductor virgin. 

Rogier felt dizzy, imagining Delia hacking her way through these forces. 

For him. 

And he’d told her to go.

He berated himself ferociously as he scrambled up a crumbling staircase, peering over the side. More bodies. He moved carefully along a covered catwalk, stepping into an alcove filled with greenery. When he peered further ahead, he could just make out an elevator. He hurried toward it, eying the nearby knight’s corpse suspiciously. 

He felt much less anxious when the elevator began its ascent, cocooning him within its stone walls.

It rose to a massive doorway set into the wall of a courtyard. One door was cracked open. Rogier squeezed through, mouth falling open at the sight that greeted him: books. 

Towering shelves were jammed full; precarious stacks tipped against every piece of furniture in the room; loose pages littered tables and desks and chairs and even the floor. 

He peered around in awe. 

“Tarnished, are we?” A clear, lightly accented voice rang out. Rogier whirled toward it to see a sorceress standing mere feet away, a heavy tome open in her hand. “Why are you here?”

“I’m looking for someone, a sorceress as well,” he said, gesturing to the glintstone crown she wore. “Her name is Sellen. Do you know her?”

The sorceress's already straight posture, impossibly, straightened more. “I am Sellen.”

Rogier felt his breath catch. “Have you seen Delia?” He’d meant to ask what she knew of primal glintstones, what she could tell him of his new existence. He’d meant to make small talk of sorcery and studies before asking after Delia. But the question burst from him before he could stop it. 

“You must be Rogier. A wonder you should turn up here.” He stared blankly as Sellen padded toward him, depositing her book atop a stack between them. She circled him slowly, tilting her head to and fro. “How did she do it?” she murmured. 

Wordlessly, Rogier unfastened his jerkin. He withdrew a small, wrapped parcel and held it out. Sellen took it, unwrapping it carefully. Her head snapped up when the colorful blade came into view. 

“Well, well. I suppose this wasn’t her first choice.”

Rogier swallowed. “What did it do? What… am I? Now?”

Sellen gestured to him, head still tilted down toward the blade in her hand. “This body, is it your true one?”

“My-” Rogier sputtered. “My true body?”

Sellen made an impatient noise before reaching up to remove her glintstone crown. She was a striking woman with fine features and dark hair. Her noble air was broken only by the scowl she wore. She waved a hand at her own body testily.

“This body is not my own. My true body lies dead, chained in a cellar miles from here. But from your reaction, I presume that body is yours.” She turned, stalking through the bookshelves. Rogier hastened to follow. “My apprentice must have then had help.” She cast a sly smile over her shoulder. “As I’m sure you know, she has no inclination whatsoever toward sorcery.”

“No,” Rogier answered distractedly. “No, she hasn’t. So then how did she do this?”

Sellen had stopped at a tabletop littered with scrolls and lenses, vials and herbs strewn over the desk and in bowls. She raised a lens to look down at the knife.

“Do you know what this is?” she asked. Rogier shook his head.

She scoffed. “This is a primal glintstone blade. The sorcerers of old would cut their own hearts with it, would transfer their souls to primal glintstones. No longer bound by death, they could choose a new body nearly at will.” She looked toward him. “Although I can see why Delia was so attached to that body.”

Rogier felt his cheeks flush. “So then how did she keep my body, if she pierced my heart?”

“My apprentice has made some powerful friends in her journeys. She must have found a sorcerer with magic potent enough to break the puppeteer’s spell.” When Rogier said nothing, Sellen spared him another glance. “You were marked for death. I presume she used the potion she asked me about and found a cure later. Since your soul had already been parted from your body, she would have needed to remove it entirely in order to ready the corpse. I admire her greatly, but as I’ve said, I believe she has no skill for sorcery. Someone else must have performed the necessary rituals so that she could replace your primal glintstone.”

Rogier found his hand once again clutching at his chest. Sellen spared him another glance and scoffed. “You’ve already been branded a heretic. Why does an immortal soul upset you so?”

He sucked in a breath. “Immortal?”

Sellen had begun chipping pieces from the glintstone blade, dropping them into vials and bowls. “Yes, immortal. Weren’t you listening? Now leave me to work in peace.”

Rogier took a step forward. “Please, just tell me where to find her.” Sellen straightened and turned to face him for the first time since he’d handed her the blade. She studied him for a long moment.

“She was to go to the Capital. I know no more than that.” 

Rogier breathed a quick thanks, turning for the door.

“And sorcerer?” He looked over his shoulder at Sellen. Her gaze had fallen, an expression of concern marring her otherwise pretty face. “Please do make sure no ills fall upon her. I’ve grown… quite fond of her.”

Rogier nodded solemnly, cast one last, longing look around the library, and then raced from the Academy.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙⁺˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚⁺‧͙

He couldn’t say exactly how he’d gotten here- following the path of least resistance, following the path he could best imagine Delia taking. 

Some remnant of Grace, perhaps. 

He put the thought from his mind. It didn’t matter. 

He was on the right track. He had run and crawled his way through sewers and tunnels, over pipes and under gates, down halls and past a towering set of doors to stand at a ledge overlooking a great system of roots.

He could feel her here, as though her presence tugged at the root of his soul. More than that, he could see where she had been- not only in the blood and corpses that littered the path she’d made, although there were certainly plenty of both. 

He could see echoes of her everywhere. Fighting, climbing, dropping from root to root. 

She’d been here, and recently. 

He made his way carefully down until reaching solid ground, only to find himself climbing again not long after. He followed his gut up a precarious path leading from one massive root to another. At the top, he took a moment to look out across the underground expanse. The towers, the lakes, the roots themselves- all of it would be beautiful, if not for the putrid yellow mist that permeated the depths.

He turned again, stepping through a yawning gap in the roots, and felt his heart turn to ice. In the distance, he could see the heinous, melted face of the Prince of Death, grown into and through the Erdtree’s roots. And at the foot of the roots…

Delia.

His heart skipped back to life. She was fighting, locked in a vicious dance with a shade whose features he couldn’t see. He cried her name, running forward as he drew his rapier. 

He came to an abrupt, painful, and undignified stop halfway across the space. Some unseen barrier blocked his way forward. It wasn’t quite invisible; the scene before him was slightly warped, nearly opaque in comparison to its backdrop.

He scrabbled at it desperately.

He called Delia’s name.

Then, behind the chaos, he made out a pale, slim figure in a dark robe.

Fia.

She’d already seen him, it seemed. Their gazes locked as Delia swung her weapon in a powerful arc.

The specter’s head fell from its shoulders.

A slow smile spread over Fia’s face. She flicked one slender wrist.

Rogier pounded on the barrier, shouting.

He watched in helpless horror as Delia recoiled from the spirit that rose.

The spirit with an all too familiar spellblade’s set.

The spirit with his face.

[negare-boshi]

Prompt; Kyoutani and Yahaba being forced to share a bed, sarcasm, bantering, blushing, cuddles, denial etc ensues. (Honestly I just love this trope XD)

HI, HELLO, THANK YOU! I don’t know if this is what you wanted ;___; i tried. 

(also i started it like three times and i might develope one of those into a ‘future fic’ thingy because why not, so THANKS)

Here we go

Yahaba is about to die.

If it’s of a heart attack or in the hands of a bloody youkai, he doesn’t know, but if Yahaba has to take another step in this darkness, he’s sure he won’t make it out alive.

“Watari?”

Watari doesn’t answer. Yahaba has lost him some corridors ago, right when the lights had gone out on them. The storm has been raging for hours, now, but its intensity hasn’t decreased on the least. Yahaba’s heart will explode if another lighting flashes on him.

Taking in a sharp breath of courage, Yahaba keeps walking forward. He’s not sure where he is, exactly, but if his memory doesn’t betray him, the next door should have some of Aoba’s players.

Yahaba’s heart is beating out of rhythm by the time he knocks on it, thunder crashing somewhere on his back. There’s sweat running down his spine, no matter the unraged wind hitting the windows. Something cold touches his nape. Yahaba thinks, It’s a breeze, it’s a fucking breeze, it’s a goddamn—

The door opens right when Yahaba’s turning around and a lighting lights up the outside, shaping a shadow that should not be there at all.

Yahaba shrieks so loud he scares himself, and he jumps into the room and into whomever has opened the door with enough strength to throw them both to the ground.

“Close the door! Close the door, close—˝

“Shut up!”

Yahaba’s fingers dig on Kyoutani’s arm, —of course Kyoutani had to be the one to witness Yahaba’s worst panicked moment—, and doesn’t let go even when Kyoutani leans forward and kicks the door closed.

Another thunder resounds around them, and Yahaba can’t hold the little whimper that leaves his lips.

“You scared of storms or what?”

Yahaba frowns and glares at him, (glare might be too nice a word, for Yahaba’s squinting, trying to make out where Kyoutani’s face really is).

“It’s not the storm, I—” don’t tell him you felt something, don’t tell him you felt something, don’t— “There was… something… outside.”

A beat of silence. Then, “Seriously?”

“Don’t mock me.”

“I’m not.” Kyoutani sits beside him and grabs his wrist. “Let go, dammit, you’re gonna make me bleed.”

“There was something,” Yahaba repeats, and there’s panic in his words now. “I felt… I felt it, okay?”

“You’re full of shit.”

Yahaba growls at him. “Yeah? If you’re so sure there’s nothing, let’s go!”

Kyoutani snorts. Yahaba doesn’t see him clearly enough to hit him, although he wants to very much. “This is my room. Don’t wanna step outside for shit, thanks.”

“Oh, so much for the brave stance, huh.”

“I’m not scared,” Kyoutani groans. “Whatcha doing here, anyway?”

“I’m looking for Watari. He got lost when we—”

Another thunder, this time so close Yahaba’s bones clatter. He’s not aware he’s grabbing Kyoutani’s arm and has his nose buried in his shoulder till the echo vanishes and his heartbeat falls into a regular pace.

“You are scared of storms,” Kyoutani says, amused.

“Shut up.”

But this time Kyoutani doesn’t untangle Yahaba’s fingers from his arm, no matter how hard Yahaba’s still holding him. Kyoutani’s pulse is constant under Yahaba’s hand, warm and solid and real.

Yahaba doesn’t want to let go, but the lights are still off, Watari’s still lost, the storm—

“What were you doing outside, then?”

“Trying to find the fuses.”

“Do you even know where they are?”

“Obviously not.”

“That’s pretty dumb, then.”

“What—”

Another lighting, another thunder. Yahaba controls better the sound of pain this time, maybe because Kyoutani’s hand covers Yahaba’s, and Yahaba’s heart skips a beat for reasons not related to the stupid storm.

It’s not fair. Yahaba oughtn’t be feeling safe in a room with Kyoutani, of all people. Not when—

“Scared of storms, scared of ghost, starts something without knowing how the fuck it’s supposed to happen… really, how did you manage to become captain?”

Yahaba snarls. “You little piece of—”

They both see it, this time. Yahaba knows, because Kyoutani’s heart goes from steady to mad crazy in a second under his fingers, his muscles tense and cold on his grip.

It’s just a second, the lighting showing them the shadowed figure of something, —someone— on the door from outside the window, but it’s enough to make Yahaba want to crawl under the tatami and die in piece.

“Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck—”

“That— What?”

“WE ARE GOING TO DIE!” Yahaba screams, all composure lost, nose buried in Kyoutani’s shoulder. “Oh, god, we are going to die! I knew I shouldn’t have let Watari convince me to book this shitty place!”

“Calm the fuck down.”

“You calm down! We are gonna get murdered!”

Kyoutani grabs Yahaba’s arms and shakes him, but it only makes Yahaba’s panic worsen, because as soon as they turn he can see the window, and what looks like a hanging body right outside. The shriek he lets out probably deafens Kyoutani, but what surely chokes him is the deadly grip Yahaba has now on his neck.

He can’t bear stare at anything, so he closes his eyes and lets Kyoutani’s warmth be the only real thing in his world.

“Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit.”

“Can you fucking calm down?”

“I already told you I can’t!”

“God, you are so fucking annoying.”

Yahaba wants to say, I know that, I know that, you don’t need to remind me, I know I’m annoying and I always yell at you and that you hate me, probably, and that you wish it’d been anyone else who’d stumbled into your room.

But what leaves his mouth is, “I can’t move.”

Yahaba waits a second for the mocking remark, but Kyoutani only sighs deeply and soundly. “I really don’t understand how you made it this far.”

It stings, but Yahaba’s lips are sealed for all he’s worth. He shakes his head, Kyoutani’s groan heavier than any thunder so far.

“You saw it too, though, didn’t you.”

Kyoutani stiffens under Yahaba. “Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Yahaba wants to yell at him, I’m not crazy! I know you saw!, but a part of him relishes the fact Kyoutani’s not losing his shit, too.

“I need to go find the fuses, but—”

“Pointless. It’s the middle of the night, anyway. If they aren’t asleep, fuck them.”

That brings another question into matter.

“I can’t—”

“Move, yeah. So you say.”

“Stop being so condescending.”

“At least I’m not laughing at you. Be thankful.”

“Thankful!” Yahaba leans back, eyes open. He’s close enough to Kyoutani, they’ve been in the dark long enough that he can see the shape of his nose, the sneer on his lips, the light in his eyes. They are close enough Yahaba can feel his breath. “Oh yes, my big brave ace, you’ve been nothing but helpful.”

“Tone the sarcasm down.”

“You tone it down!”

Maybe Yahaba’s mental capacities aren’t in their best shape, his retorts nothing short of childish and typical of what one would expect of a ten year old. Kyoutani arches an eyebrow, and somehow his hands shift and find Yahaba’s waist.

The blush has nothing to do with that. The raise in his body temperature is just a reaction to the closed room, to the fact they are burning oxygen faster, being this close.

“You feeling better?”

“No!”

“You are nothing but work, you know.”

“I am– Seriously? Says the man who can’t even listen to what I say when we practice.”

“That’s not true. I do listen, I just ignore most of your orders, because they suck.”

“That’s it,” Yahaba growls, a hand on his hip, the other pointing at Kyoutani’s face. “You are reckless and suck at teamwork and you believe your perception of a game is better than anyone else’s.”

“So do you.”

“I am the captain!”

Kyoutani huffs. “And so what? That doesn’t mean you know what’s best for the team all the time, or what are the best plays in every single match.”

That’s true. It hurts, but it is true, although Yahaba has been trying to ignore that same fact since he became captain three months ago, trying to fill the space Oikawa left behind.

“Take that expression off your face,” Kyoutani growls, and Yahaba blinks in surprise. “I’m not attacking you, don’t take it personally.”

“It feels pretty personal.”

“Well, it isn’t.”

“Really? Because when you say—˝

Lighting and thunder, all together, happen three times in a row, with no break in between for Yahaba’s sanity to find any peace. He makes a strangled sound of despair, his hands again on Kyoutani, the only real thing in the world right now, and by the time it passes, he’s sweating as if he’d just played a five sets match.

“Your heart is beating like crazy.”

“I’m not feeling very good right now.”

“Let’s go to bed.”

“I can’t sleep with this storm going on!”

“I’ll sleep with you,” Kyoutani muters, already shifting away from Yahaba’s grip.

“What?”

“You heard me. Bring your ass here, come on.”

“I don’t wanna—˝

But the next thunder has Yahaba on his hands and knees, crawling to the futon in less than a second. Kyoutani’s already there, and he pulls the blanket over their heads, covering them from the darkness, the rain and the light.

They’ll probably have to take it off soon, but Yahaba’s thankful for the heavy air, Kyoutani’s warmth and the protective veil they build around him.

“Thanks.”

Kyoutani shrugs. They are nose to nose, their hands almost brushing. Yahaba’s pinky finger twitches, so close to Kyoutani’s he’s tempted of tangling them, of holding him. It’s dumb. Kyoutani is Yahaba’s main source of frustration, of anger, of hurt. Sometimes, when they play something magic happens and they sync, and they know what the other’s thinking without words, and they just become this tandem of ace and setter, of partners, Yahaba has trouble imagine on his own.

But those times are few and hard to arise. The trick of their happening it’s just a mystery to Yahaba’s eager senses, so he usually ends up mad at Kyoutani for not filling up all his expectations.

“You okay?”

“Am I a bad captain?” Yahaba whispers, the words leaving his lips without his permission. It’s too late to back down now, so he says, “Am I a bad captain to you?”

“What’s with that question?”

“Answer me.”

Kyoutani shifts closer, and their fingers touch. Yahaba’s heart stutters in his chest. All his attention focuses on his hand, on the spot where they are touching, on the skin that could be touching his next.

“I think you’re a good captain, but you need to listen more. You’re not Oikawa, you know.”

“I know,” Yahaba says, hurt, hurt, hurt, because that’s what Kyoutani does, hurt Yahaba with his power, with his presence, with his truths.

“I’m not saying it to be mean,” Kyoutani presses, because he’s a sharp bastard as well. “Not being Oikawa it’s not a bad thing.”

“So you say.”

A thunder echoes around them. Yahaba flinches, unbidden, still scared of the shadows even under the covers of this little world Kyoutani has made for him. Another thunder is crashing over them when Kyoutani says, “Come here”, and grabs Yahaba so his head rests on his arm, his nose in his chest.

Yahaba doesn’t bother hiding his fear, nor does he pretend it to be an accident when his arms cross from his body to Kyoutani’s, circling his waist. A soft hand finds his hair, and brushes it, soothing his fears away.

“Just go to sleep, would you? No point on going to bed if you keep talking bullshit.”

“Fuck you.”

Kyoutani’s muscles move under his palms. He’s so warm. And he smells good, too.

“Kyoutani.”

“Mmmh?”

Yahaba has so many things to say. You are a jerk anyway. This was nice. Did you really not see anything? Please, help me be a better captain. God, you smell so good. Can we do this tomorrow too? Please, please, can you let me sleep with you every night we stay in this awful place? Would that be okay? Would you like that? Do you like me?

Does this mean something to you too?

“What is it?”

“Nothing. Forget it.”

“Just spit it out.”

“No.”

“Goddammit, Yahaba, I swear—”

Another thunder. Yahaba tightens his arms, buries himself in Kyoutani’s body. Their legs tangle. Yahaba maybe whimpers in fear.

“I hate storms.”

“Yeah, I noticed.”

“I can’t sleep, even if—”

“Not enough, huh?”

Yahaba’s too lost to the never stopping fall of thunder after thunder, so loud now it’s as if trees are being crashed by a divine force in this same room. He feels small and meaningless, his mind a chaos of scenarios of death and shadows in walls and scary tales, and so he says, “It’s not enough distraction, okay? I can’t play deaf. I can’t ignore—˝

“God, you are fucking difficult, aren’t you.”

Yahaba means to answer him, —the banter is keeping him sane,— but he has no chance to word anything else because as soon as he leans his head back to growl at Kyoutani, Kyoutani is there, there, there everywhere, and he’s looking at him with enough intensity to make the world just vanish and he—

Yahaba lets himself be kissed, because the roar of his blood in his ears finally quiets the crazy nature around him. He lets himself be kissed a second time because Kyoutani has the most beautiful eyes up close, and a third because Yahaba might have dreamt of kissing Kyoutani more times than he cares to admit.

They are chaste and short and dry, but Yahaba doesn’t care. He wants Kyoutani to keep kissing him, just like this, for the rest of the damn night.

But Kyoutani stops at the fourth time, so red Yahaba knows he’s blushing by how hot his face feels.

“Better, now?”

“No,” Yahaba says, just to piss him off. “Kiss me again.”

“What? No! I was just— I was just distracting you! Shut up, I’m not kissing you again.”

“Fine, then I will.”

Kyoutani lets himself be kissed too, although Yahaba doesn’t pretend to know his reasons. It’s rougher, this time, because Yahaba has little to no self control at this point. Kyoutani’s hands are gentle on Yahaba’s face, and his lips are gentler still, and by the time the storm clears off, Yahaba has memorised Kyoutani’s lips by heart.

It’s funny, when Kyoutani says, “Now you owe me,” as if the little paradise he’s built for Yahaba under his covers were nothing but a one sided favor.

But what really brings a laugh to Yahaba’s lips is when he answers, “Fine. I’ll make it up to you tonight,” and Kyoutani, beat red, chuckles with the softest of expressions, and nods.

[ellehletoile]

Just read ur fanfic "How to crush" on ao3 (I know a year late but well) I swear it's by far one of the best fanfics I've ever read and by all means I've read a lot.. just wanted to thank u for this masterpiece :3

okay i’m… speechless. I’ve been making this weird noise of happiness for like three minutes now i’m so so so happy to read this message, you can’t even begin to imagine how much. ‘How to Crush’ is my baby and it’s one of the fics i’m more proud of and reading you liked it AND you actually taking the time to let me know it’s just so… oh man, thank you so much. 

[eternalmarika]

guiding moonlight. - chapter 02

Summary: in which a tarnished meets a wolf, in a misty wood.

Author’s Note: lots of context and setup in this one, apologies for that. but Kalé is important to me. also lore is played fast and loose in this since it's a fromsoft game that came out a week ago therefore I understand a whole lot of not a lot

Chapter 01 | Ao3

-----

It was not Aderyn's finest moment.

The wolven warrior seemed content to do naught but watch as the Tarnished crept along the edge of the ruins, sword held low as they muttered beneath their breath. Their summoned wolves sniffing at the rubble or sitting back on their haunches, curiously eyeing the man high above them. Aderyn made a face before turning the corner. Traitors.

"Friend or foe?" They called up to him, feeling more and more foolish as time went on. They thought for a moment that the shine of silver eyes studied them, but perhaps it was only a trick of the moonlight. The warrior remained silent, barely seeming to even notice the presence of the spirits and the Tarnished. Aderyn huffed, hand firmly planted on a cocked hip as they rose to full height, eyes narrowing as they gazed above.

"It wouldn't kill you to say hello, you know. It took quite a bit of effort to get through here." Still they prattled on, carefully stepping over risen roots and chunks of moss-covered stone; aware of the danger, in calling attention to oneself with voice raised, but more curious than cautious.

"Doubtless you've noticed there's quite a few bears of unusual size roaming about," Aderyn continued, poking their head around a corner of the ruins and making a face, a sharp rumbling coming from further in making their brows arch high. "Least you could do is offer the barest hint of common courtesy."

Was that a huff of amusement, nearly lost to the wind? They'll never know for certain. The moment Aderyn glanced skyward with something akin to victory, the rumbling crested and all at once a great bear roared and reared, sending pieces of the ruins tumbling tumbling around them, and the Tarnished felt the blood drain from their face.

"Well. Shit."

A sharp whistle from between their teeth had the wolves springing from their laze, and they fumbled for only a moment as they fished the silver chain from beneath their shirt. Bringing the finger whistle to their mouth, they swung onto Torrent seamlessly as he appeared in a cloud of starlight, digging their heels in with an apologetic rub if their palm over the base of a curved horn.

"Off we go," Aderyn whispered to the horse, shooting through the ruins and leaping unto the path, baying wolves sharp on their heels.

-----

"You ran from a bear?" Kalé's deadpan tone gives nothing away, which surely means he is laughing at them.

"I prefer to see it as a tactical retreat," Aderyn shoots back with a casual wave of the hand from where they lay on their side, opposite the merchant's bonfire. A part of them hopes the flush high on their cheeks goes unnoticed, but knows without doubt Kalé's keen eye will spot it regardless.

True to form, the merchant lets slip low, wheezing laughter, and ignores the shards of grass the Tarnished launches at him. They watch the blades fall uselessly to the ground below, eyes rolling before they move to lay on their back.

"Yes, yes. Poke fun at the poor bastard who's running amok in this godsforsaken place, trying to actually fix things. You're welcome, by the way."

"Ah, my great Tarnished hero. Come to end the endless and cease the hopeless. And flee from forest creatures in between answering the golden call."

"I'll put out your fire and then you'll be cold. How's that?"

"I've a bearskin cloak tucked away."

"Ooh, you've got me there."

"You should get yourself one."

"Hilarious."

-----

There's not always a need to call on the spirits that answer the bell, but sometimes one needs company. Smart-mouthed nomadic merchants aside.

Aderyn sets up their small camp for the night, pressed against a crumbling wall of the Church of Elleh. They'd turned some pages of a glintstone sorcery tome, watched Kalé fletch some arrows, and chucked a pebble or three down towards the wandering knight. The night moves slow, and they'd prefer to stay situated until the rising of the sun to continue delving across the Lands Between. A respite earned well, they think, after a day spent beneath the earth in hidden tombs and caves. Their leg is still sore after twisting it during a roll away from a particularly large and cranky beastman. Small victories, in the form of a cool breeze on a warm night. The crackling of the fire, the gentle glow of the Grace nearby. There isn't even any screaming or sounds of combat from somewhere across the Lands. Akin to bliss, really.

Aderyn lifts the bell with a sigh, head tilted back until they lean against the wall. The small bell tolls, and from the shimmering air in front of them comes the spirit wolves, studying the Tarnished curiously. They smile, reaching a hand out invitingly and huff a small bit of laughter when the trio come to gather around them, settling down with a huff.

They're tangible, there enough to touch. Fur feeling strangely cold, but soft and thick beneath Aderyn's palm. They run a soothing hand up and down the head of the largest, who sets himself down over their lap like an overgrown hound.

It makes it all feel less lonely. Less daunting and frightening. More like a journey chosen, and not a destiny owed.

The Tarnished leans back, gaze turned skyward. The wolves press against them, a comfortable presence and weight beside them. The moon shines bright, lighting the ruins and the trees in a dull glow. Their mind wanders, just a bit, to the wolven warrior of the wood. Howling yet silent when they'd made their presence known; uncaring of any attention he'd surely garnered from so much noise in the thick of dangerous woods, yet content to ignore a lowly Tarnished. Aderyn's expression pinches into a frown, digging their fingers into the scruff of their wolf and giving him a scratch. They glance towards the nomad across the ruins, mouth opening and closing.

It's a longshot, but his people travel to all corners. And if they're all gossiping busybodies like Kalé, well. There's a fair chance.

"Do you know anything about the Mistwood, to the east?" They break their companionable silence, leaning further into the wolf at their left.

"It houses large bears," Kalé answers without looking up from his work. He's unbothered by the presence of their summons, for which Aderyn is grateful.

Considerably less grateful for the deadpan snark. Aderyn feels their left eye twitch, blowing a fallen lock of dark hair from their face. "Gods you're funny. Truly. Busting my side laughing, over here."

Kalé has mercy, and they can practically hear the rolling of their eyes. "I've not set foot myself, but I've heard tales about a hidden entrance to Siofra River nestled within."

Aderyn hums beneath their breath. Not exactly what they had in mind, but information to lock away for later nevertheless. They trail a hand down the flank of the wolf beside them, biting down on their bottom lip.

"I heard ... a howling. From within some ruins in the forest," they say as casually as possible, wondering just how much to tell the merchant. It isn't that they distrust him, more along the lines of how much do I wish to be laughed at today?

The nomad says nothing, gazing down into the bonfire with a low hum beneath his breath. "I suppose he must still be skulking about," Kalé finally says after a time of consideration, mostly to himself. He puts down the small knife and feathered arrow he'd been fletching, and meets Aderyn's eye over the fire. "Why not meet him for yourself?"

"Tried that. Wasn't terribly effective," they respond with a wave of a hand, face heating at the memory.

Kalé laughs lowly, shaking his head. "He's a bit guarded. The next time you hear the wolf's howl, make this signal right under the source." Aderyn arches a single dark brow as Kalé lifts an arm aloft, snapping his fingers in their direction.

"That's it?" They ask, glancing from his eyes to his hand and back again.

"That's it."

"Is this a trap? I thought you liked me."

"You're a valued customer, bringing me many a rune. It is a wise investment, your continued existence," Kalé responds with a shrug. Aderyn feels something very nearly akin to warmth beneath their ribs.

"There is nothing to fear," he continues after a moment, and despite most of his face being covered Aderyn has the sneaking suspicion he's smiling at them. "I just have an inkling the two of you might hit it off."

[hmsquared]

Not super good at editing, so I’m just going to answer these prompts.

Favorite NPCs: Kalé, Varré, Yura, Jerren, the Narrator

Favorite Bosses: Tree Sentinel, Ancestor/Regal Ancestor Spirit, Margit/Morgott, Rykard

Favorite Armor Sets: Patches, Maliketh, Kaiden Sellsword

Favorite Starting Class: Prisoner

Favorite Weapons: Maliketh’s Black Blade, Blasphemous Blade, Bloodhound’s Fang, Serpenthunter Spear

Favorite Ash of War: Black Flame Tornado

Favorite Location: The First Step, Church of Elleh, Grand Lift of Dectus (Altus side), Leyndell

Favorite Soundtracks: Limgrave, Altus Plateau, Leyndell, Morgott the Omen King, Ancestor Spirit, Opening, Final Battle

Favorite Dialogue:

“Ah, yes. Tarnished, are we? Come to the Lands Between for the Elden Ring, hmm? Of course you have. No shame in it. Unfortunately for you, however, you are maidenless. Without guidance, without the strength of runes, and without an invitation to the Roundtable Hold… you are fated, it seems, to die in obscurity.”

“If it isn’t Nerijus, the Bloody Finger. The end is nigh, for you and your cessblood.”

“Rise now, ye Tarnished! Ye dead, who yet live! Hoarah Loux, chieftain of the badlands! The ever-brilliant Goldmask! The loathsome Dung Eater! Fia, the deathbed companion! And Sir Gideon Ofnir, the All-Knowing!”

Favorite Cutscene: The opening narration, Margit’s boss fight, Gurranq’s transformation into Maliketh, Melina burns the Erdtree

Favorite Ending: Age of Fracture, Lord of Frenzied Flame

Favorite Enemy: Imps, Kaiden Sellswords

Least Favorite Enemies: Giant Bats, Dogs and Giant Dogs, Fingercreepers, Giant Crows

Favorite Questline: Yura, Roderika and Hewg

#ELDEN RING GRAPHICS CHALLENGE here’s a little prompt list i worked up for elden ring! this challenge/prompt list is for fun and created to help inspire content creators in their creations! tag your creations with #eldenringgc so others can see your work! 

prompt list:

favourite NPC(s)

favourite boss(es) 

favourite armour set(s)

favourite starting class

favourite weapon(s) + favourite ashes of war

favourite location(s)/scenery

favourite soundtrack(s) 

favourite quote/dialogue

favourite cutscene

favourite ending

favourite enemy ( 👀 or… least favourite? )

favourite questline 

the tarnished: introduce your character! 

free space: anything not included above! 

[ao3feed-iwaoi]

Working Under

Read this masterpiece on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2CGfhiD

by Elleh

“Iwaizumi–san? Are you listening?”

A lewd wet sound fills Hajime’s ears, and it takes him a long second to fill his lungs with enough air to answer, “Yeah.” It comes out hoarsely, but the secretary doesn’t seem to mind much.

“I can’t find Oikawa-san at the moment. What should I do with this?”

“Just, uhm, bring them to Hanamaki.” Hajime’s hips rock forward, unbidden, his cock getting deeper into a wet, hot mouth. “Please.”

The secretary must say something else, but by the time the loud peep of the call being cut off fills the room, Hajime’s panting out and harsh, his hand deeply buried on Oikawa’s disheveled hair.

“Oh, shit,” Hajime arches his back when Oikawa takes him so deep the head of his cock hits his throat. “Fuck.”

Words: 3331, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Series: Part 2 of Office AU

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru

Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Additional Tags: Kinktober 2017, Sex Toys, Dildos, Alternate Universe - Office, Blow Jobs, Explicit Sexual Content, Butt Plugs, Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Aged-Up Character(s)

read it on AO3 at http://ift.tt/2CGfhiD

[ao3feed-iwachanoikawa]

From The Shadows

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2DmPI5q

by Elleh

“I thought watching people fuck wasn’t your thing,” Oikawa musters, and Hajime’s blush tints with shame. He’s unable to answer, and when Oikawa presses himself harder on Hajime’s back and puts his hands on his hips, all the air filling Hajime’s lungs evaporates. “What made the change?”

“Shut up.” Hajime rests his head against Oikawa’s. “Shut up. Shut up.”

“Okay.” At the touch of Oikawa’s fingers around his own, sheathing his cock, Hajime startles. “I won’t talk. But let me help you.”

Words: 2535, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru

Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Additional Tags: Kinktober 2017, Voyeurism, Hand Jobs, Masturbation, Friends to Lovers, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2DmPI5q

[ao3feed-haikyuu]

Stallisiac

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2fTkdti

by Elleh

“What am I doing?” Iwaizumi asks Tooru’s collarbone. Tooru gasps against his hair, and needs a second to answer him.

“Taking advantage of one of your employees.”

Iwaizumi’s groan has nothing to do with pleasure and all with shame, and Tooru, being the mess that he is, chuckles in answer.

“Please, don’t say that.”

“Don’t worry, Iwa–chan, I won’t tell anyone.”

Words: 4286, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English

Fandoms: Haikyuu!!

Rating: Explicit

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: Iwaizumi Hajime, Oikawa Tooru

Relationships: Iwaizumi Hajime/Oikawa Tooru

Additional Tags: Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Alternate Universe - Office, Aged-Up Character(s), Aphrodisiacs, Bathroom Sex, Idiots being clumsy and horny and drugged, Hanamaki is a little piece of shit, Kinktober 2017, Iwaizumi Is a Good Boss, Save Iwaizumi 2k17, Explicit Sexual Content

read it on the AO3 at http://ift.tt/2fTkdti

[jinsookyuu]

100 questions thing

only if ur interested in my answers heh

1: Is there a boy/girl in your life?

hmm... no, if you mean relationship-wise

2: Think of the last person who hurt you; do you forgive them?

nahh.

3: What do you think of when you hear the word “meow?”

cats! what else?

4: What’s something you really want right now?

a long hug

5: Are you afraid of falling in love?

i’m a dangerous girl, so i’m not afraid of that. i’m willing to fall in love

6: Do you like the beach?

totally!!!!! i love the feeling of the waves

7: Have you ever slept on a couch with someone else?

that sounds fun!

8: What’s the background on your cell?

lee jinsook, the one and only

9: Name the last four beds you were sat on?

uh... my bed? lskdlskd

10: Do you like your phone?

it’s slow as heck and it doesn’t have much space, but i can manage with it. it’s smol which is why i don’t take it out in public, but it’s a good size for my hands

11: Honestly, are things going the way you planned?

my life in general? a lot of parts, no. but there have been lovely surprises along the way <3

12: Who was the last person whose phone number you added to your contacts?

can’t remember...

13: Would you rather have a poodle or a Rottweiler?

rottweilers are cool

14: Which hurts the most, physical or emotional pain?

huh. why’s this a question??? emotional.

15: Would you rather visit a zoo or an art museum?

why the hell is THIS a question????????? an ART museum. a zoo is... not a nice place for the animals that live there

16: Are you tired?

yep

17: How long have you known your 1st phone contact?

my whole life kdjlsjdsjd

18: Are they a relative?

yup

19: Would you ever consider getting back together with any of your exes?

nope

20: When did you last talk to the last person you shared a kiss with?

i haven’t kissed anyone on the lips before ksljdl

21: If you knew you had the right person, would you marry them today?

i’d take my time

22: Would you kiss the last person you kissed again?

what did i tell you? i haven’t kissed anyone on the lips before!!

23: How many bracelets do you have on your wrists right now?

my hairbands. 2 of them, black

24: Is there a certain quote you live by?

just don’t give up, move on and keep moving

25: What’s on your mind?

hhhnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnnothing much, now that i think about it

26: Do you have any tattoos?

nope

27: What is your favorite color?

greeeeeeeeeeeeen

28: Next time you will kiss someone on the lips?

soon hopefully

29: Who are you texting?

someone special

30: Think to the last person you kissed, have you ever kissed them on a couch?

CAN YOU SHUT UP

31: Have you ever had the feeling something bad was going to happen and you were right?

yup

32: Do you have a friend of the opposite sex you can talk to?

of course

33: Do you think anyone has feelings for you?

maybe?

34: Has anyone ever told you you have pretty eyes?

yeah hahah

35: Say the last person you kissed was kissing someone right in front of you?

CAN YOU STOPPPPP

36: Were you single on Valentines Day?

ye

37: Are you friends with the last person you kissed?

sigh

38: What do your friends call you?

ella, elleh, smol tiger, jin, jinyeon

39: Has anyone upset you in the last week?

bsdjahsdkhasjdabsdkab a lot of people

40: Have you ever cried over a text?

yep, in a good way too tho

41: Where’s your last bruise located?

haven’t been bruised recently

42: What is it from?

ey...

43: Last time you wanted to be away from somewhere really bad?

yesterday and todaysjhdlsjdks

44: Who was the last person you were on the phone with?

my mum

45: Do you have a favourite pair of shoes?

my shoes with zips

46: Do you wear hats if your having a bad hair day?

yep

47: Would you ever go bald if it was the style?

i dont care about the style

48: Do you make supper for your family?

sometimes

49: Does your bedroom have a door?

uh... what bedroom doesn’t have a door...

50: Top 3 web-pages?

what the hell kind of question is this

51: Do you know anyone who hates shopping?

i dont think so

52: Does anything on your body hurt?

yeah

53: Are goodbyes hard for you?

if it’s from/to someone i care about, of course

54: What was the last beverage you spilled on yourself?

soya milk kjdksjd

55: How is your hair?

not so bad

56: What do you usually do first in the morning?

wake up skdjlad

57: Do you think two people can last forever?

sure

58: Think back to January 2007, were you single?

what the hell? yeah sure i was kjdkljsd

59: Green or purple grapes?

purple

60: When’s the next time you will give someone a BIG hug?

soon hopefully

61: Do you wish you were somewhere else right now?

all the time sometimes

62: When will be the next time you text someone?

right now ksjdksd

63: Where will you be 5 hours from now?

my main house

64: What were you doing at 8 this morning.

on my phone

65: This time last year, can you remember who you liked?

i didn’t like anyone

66: Is there one person in your life that can always make you smile?

yeahh

67: Did you kiss or hug anyone today?

noooo

68: What was your last thought before you went to bed last night?

“thank god”

69: Have you ever tried your hardest and then gotten disappointed in the end?

haven’t we all

70: How many windows are open on your computer?

four

71: How many fingers do you have?

....ten?

72: What is your ringtone?

a ringtone from a depressing but amazing anime

73: How old will you be in 5 months?

BI MIL I YA

74: Where is your Mum right now?

at home probably

75: Why aren’t you with the person you were first in love with or almost in love?

he’s a weird guy

76: Have you held hands with somebody in the past three days?

hmm yeah

77: Are you friends with the people you were friends with two years ago?

yup totally

78: Do you remember who you had a crush on in year 7?

some random girl from tumblr

79: Is there anyone you know with the name Mike?

ew no

80: Have you ever fallen asleep in someones arms?

I WANT TO

81: How many people have you liked in the past three months?

not many

82: Has anyone seen you in your underwear in the last 3 days?

not in the last 3 days but my mum has, recently skldsdj

83: Will you talk to the person you like tonight?

see first question

84: You’re drunk and yelling at hot guys/girls out of your car window, you’re with?

no one because the idea of getting drunk is eh

85: If your BF/GF was into drugs would you care?

i would stop them, it’s dangerous

86: What was the most eventful thing that happened last time you went to see a movie?

i fell asleep skdjksjkj

87: Who was your last received call from?

my mum

88: If someone gave you $1,000 to burn a butterfly over a candle, would you?

that’s cruel...

89: What is something you wish you had more of?

sanity

90: Have you ever trusted someone too much?

hmm... not sure

91: Do you sleep with your window open?

if it’s hot

92: Do you get along with girls?

what the hell? uh, sure, the girls that i’m friends with... but why is this question a thing? what???

93: Are you keeping a secret from someone who needs to know the truth?

hmmm they don’t need to know

94: Does sex mean love?

yeah

95: You’re locked in a room with the last person you kissed, is that a problem?

OH MY GOD I HAVEN’T KISSED ANYONE BEFORE!!!!

96: Have you ever kissed anyone with a lip ring?

CAN YOU PLEASE READ THE ABOVE QUESTION

97: Did you sleep alone this week?

i always do...

98: Everybody has somebody that makes them happy, do you?

of course

99: Do you believe in love at first sight?

sometimes

100: Who was the last person that you pinky promise? 

i haven’t pinky promised with anyone before... hm

[negare-boshi]

man yesterday was the worst day of the year for me but when i got a notification that you updated it made it less shitty so tyty~☆

OMG IM SO GLAD I COULD HELP YOU A BIT. I hope you’re feeling better, and I send you all the love and all the virtual hugs

[ellehletoile]

for the asks meme! 23, 59, 69

23: Do you have piercings? How many?

I don’t! But I wanna pierce my ears (as in, at the top of it).

59: Do you like the snow?

I LOVE SNOW OKAY? LIKE, IT’S A PHYSICAL THING THE WAY I LOVE SNOW. 

69: Do you believe in soulmates?

I do! But not the “romantic, destined” sort of soulmates. I believe there are persons in the world that share a connection, or like their souls are tangled, a bit like the red string of destiny from japanese folklore. I believe there’s people out there who are a mirror of your best qualities, and with whom you can meet for a single night and be changed forever. Those are the soulmates I believe in.

thank u so muuuuch for this!!!

70 horrible questions

[negare-boshi]

I just finished reading your DaiSuga secret Santa story and I loved it! The perfect way to start December 24! (Bc in my country the celebration lasts two days) 💕💕💕💕😍 Thank you very much for all what you've done! MERRY CHRISTMAS!!🎄🎄🎁🎁💕💕🎉

AHHHHH!!! THANK YOU SO MUCH I’M SO HAPPY IT GAVE YOUR 24TH A GOOD START!!! (In my country Christmas also starts on the 24th!!). I hope you have a beautiful Christmas dear nonny!!!

[negare-boshi]

also also also can i note how much i LOVE that in both "gag me" and mirror sex fic iwa had an excuse/reason to be more harsh and dom the living hell out of oikawa while still being soft loving and caring fhjdsahf i love it so much its my favorite kind of iwaoi where oikawa pisses him off somehow and iwa takes it out in the bedroom, oikawa pliant and responsive and asking to be destroyed. god thank you for writing them EXACTLY like i always think of them. uggh god fucking bless

YOU ARE WELCOME THIS IS MY PLEASURE I’M SCREAMING SO LOUD. also iwaizumi will always and forever be a nice caring lover even if he’s so pissed he could actually punch through walls, like he is this nice and loving person i just get extra emotional about this boy oh my. 

[negare-boshi]

Your fanfics are literally top tier God level types of writing. Please don’t ever stop writing. & Your take on Iwaoi is so fucking brilliant and everything & more we could ever hope for. Thank you, thank you, thank you!!!! Hope you feel better soon, try to take care of yourself~

This has been pulling me through some shitty days so, thank you so much for these words and for taking the time to send them to me. I do struggle a lot to make a right representation of Iwaizumi and Oikawa because, gods, they are such amazing, rich characters, and I fear I’m never doing them enough justice. I’m so happy you like the way I portray them

Although it’s hard sometimes to feel good and shit (more when it’s not as much a physical thing as emotional chaos) no matter what, I won’t stop writing. Ever. I needed a longer while this time to find my confidence again, and I might still fighting to get it all back, but I’m here and I wanna write and thank YOU so much for sending this. 

(i feel i ranted hella, sorry. i’m just super happy and smiling like a dumb idiot when i read this and well, thanks really)

[negare-boshi]

Hi its me again, I absloutly love your writing! Your last two pieces were written so beautifully i think i lost count how many times i have reread em, i hope to see more when october ends! All the angst please //prays Thank you for these high quality iwaoi im blessed every time i see a new update and again, keep up the good work! 💙♡

‧⁺◟( ᵒ̴̶̷̥́ ·̫ ᵒ̴̶̷̣̥̀ )

oh my god like i tried to let this ask rest for a night so i could answer it coherently, but i can’t be coherent because this is so fricking nice. I’m so so happy you enjoy that au (it’s all thanks to iwaoi, tbh, they inspire me hella) and the fact you took the time twice to come and let me know i’m just *has eyes widen and teary because is emotional* thank you so much, i hope next works won’t disappoint and HOLD TIGHT FOR THE ANGST, because it will probably come soon lol.