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occamstfs · 7 months ago

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Tenor Troubles

Masculinization spurred by a going from a Tenor to a Bass, bit of an odd one but hope you enjoy! -Occam

Max probably should have read his contract more closely. He knew that grad students across the board were getting shafted, but the agreement he has with the College of Fine Arts was some next level exploitation. He prided himself on his voice, being able to sing higher than even most of the Altos he has previously studied alongside. But his degree plan on the already signed contract suggests he is going to be enrolled as a Bass in the graduate program. Clearly there has been some misunderstanding that he’ll just need to work out with the department.

He knocks on the door of his advising professor and without waiting for a come in he bursts through the doors to see the man who is both his boss and professor staring at him less than pleased. Max’s face reddens in embarrassment and before he can even open his mouth to speak, Dr. Reyes addresses him.

“Maxwell is it. I trust you have a reason for barging into my office? I ask that you take more care towards decorum in the future.”

Max stumbles through an apology before getting to the matter at hand. “Y- yes of course I’m so sorry doctor it won't happen again, I swear.” He raises his eyes to his professor’s stern gaze, flinching back slightly as he goes on, “it’s just that, um, it looks like there was some kind of mix-up with my enrollment, I mean clearly you can tell I’m a Tenor right?” He raises his tone slightly and smiles awkwardly as he tries to make it clear to the man across from him that he certainly does not have the range.

Dr. Reyes rubs his beard, briefly covering his own mouth and wiping a smile from his face. “Well now Maxwell, there does seem to be a mismatch between your vocal training, and your preferred classes and yada yada,” waving his hands dismissively as Max’s face stains a deeper shade of scarlet by the second. Reyes goes on, “I'll see what I can do but all these changes take time If you must change your plan it’ll be at least a week. Until then if you could see to it that you fulfill the TA demands asked of you and attend your classes hm? You are under contract are you not?” The image of his signature at the bottom of contract feels burned into his retinas as he starts to reply, “well yes but-” An alarm goes off on the professor’s desk. “Very well Maxwell, if you would excuse me.”

Dr. Reyes makes his way to the next class smiling as he too thinks of the fine print of Maxwell's contract. ‘The student will become what the program asks of him.’ What a dunce one must be to sign that without an inquiry. Giving one last glance behind him to see the small student shaking with rage at the series of events, veins appearing to bulge out of his neck as he thinks about chasing after his professor, almost taking a step before grasping at his head. Max doubles over and grunts, after a painful second he rises once more and sees his advising professor enter a classroom. He exhales through his nose and walks to the concert hall with the undergraduate Bass students, the course he is, both legally and otherwise, compelled to assist with.

The Next Week

Max is inches away from just dropping out. He was well-prepared to be constantly stressed from grad school but the wrench of working with students who don’t respect him and professors that are expecting him to sing alongside the rest of these professional bassists, it’s impossible! Dr. Reyes must be doing some sick joke on him, there is no reason it should be so difficult to fix this! He shouldn’t be graded for the university’s mistake. Beyond the looming threat of flunking these courses for his inaptitude he is also constantly hungry. His stomach rumbles and sends pangs through his body as he sits through each course on vocal instruction. He succumbs to stress-eating assuming one plate must fall and it may as well be his waistline.

Every time he indulges in his hunger he finds weight almost immediately piles on. Alongside his meticulously honed falsetto he has always enjoyed just how tight and small he kept his twinkish figure, though this begins to slip as he finds himself straining his tight pants and his stomach showing through his button ups.

The final issue lies precisely in his private vocal practice, in lieu of the training his program should guarantee. As he goes about practicing the arias and vocalizations that he typically uses as warmups he finds himself struggling to hit the highest notes. He works his way through them slowly and slips up, finding his range is peaking out much lower than it ever should. He grimaces and refuses to deign and see if his range has increased in the other direction. He goes note by note, taking his time to feel the stress and vibrations of his vocal chords. Reaching the pinnacle of the piece he strains to hit the high note and his voice promptly cracks. He feels a tear. He coughs and gasps for air concerned that he has truly injured himself.

When no blood or further pain reveals itself Max finally clears his throat and drinks a glass of water. He tests his voice, “Uhhhh-” forcing his hand over his mouth before even getting a full syllable out. Eyes watering as he hears his voice is unmistakably deeper than it was not a minute ago. This spurs him to action as he storms to the college and bangs on the door of Dr. Reyes.

For his part Reyes is sitting at the desk finishing an email and grinning as he hears the banging grow only more fervent at his door. He finishes his email almost laughing at how effective he is at controlling the man at the door. Knock as he may he could not storm in if he wanted to, as he must desperately. Closing his laptop and reaching to grab a tea bag from within his desk he calls to allow Max entry, “Do come in Maxwell.”

Stomping into the room, unaccustomed to the new weight he carries, which Dr. Reyes is all too pleased to notice. He takes a deep breath as he prepares to shout at the professor, his chest growing as his already prodigious lungs expand. Before finishing though Reyes raises a finger and strikes him passive and mute. “Now Max, why don’t you have a seat.” He clenches his hands with a furor and sits, stewing in his mind while also rapt with attention. “How have you been liking your classes?” Max continues to sit silently watching as the prepare a pot of tea, beginning to forget his ire as he looks on in confusion at the man. Reyes turns once more and rolls his eyes, “Well go on.”

Shaking out of it Max finally starts clearing his throat a few times hoping the voice he has worked so hard to protect and train will return “I, ugh- Sorry it’s ugh!” Dr. Reyes leans against his desk and steeps the tea bag, eyebrows raised with a thin smile on his face. Failing to speak as he so wishes the rage returns to Max and he shouts out, “It’s my fucking voice! I came here to learn and all these classes are just a waste of my fucking time!”

Reyes pours the tea into a large mug and sets it in front of his student, “Now now, if you were having voice problems why didn’t you just say so Max. I am a professional after all! Have some of this and I’m sure it will set you right as rain.” The professor watches as Max grasps the mug and stares into it. He remembers that Reyes was already preparing it when he came in. But it’s not as if his advisor would do something truly untoward right? Sensing the hesitation Dr. Reyes’ eyes darken and he commands, “I did say to drink it did I not.”

Max quickly raises the glass and sips. His eyes remain dark and he continues, “what seems to be the problem with your voice young Maxwell?” Taking a break from drinking he starts to explain all of his troubles to the man who should be looking out for him. Gesturing to his clearly larger body, Reyes notices beyond the weight gain that the sitting man is adjusting himself as his pants begin to grow even tighter, his ankles growing exposed as if his legs were lengthening.

He continues to stumble onward with his recollection, forgetting what exactly bothered him enough to storm in. Reyes half-listens and takes care to refill the tea cup as needed, taking in the physical changes to the man rambling and wondering just how far they will be able to go. Eventually Reyes speaks up, “you were having trouble with your voice, yes Maxwell?”

Max’s eyes glimmer with recognition and he almost jumps with a start, “Yes! That was it I couldn’t sing the part I auditioned with in Nessun Dorma and I was-” His professor interrupts as he takes a big swing at Max’s psyche, “Is that so? What were you doing singing that Maxwell, that’s for tenors.” As if a grenade went off in his mind Max struggles to reconcile and remember what his problem was, did he not audition as a Tenor? But he couldn’t sing high to save his life right? Or no.

Reyes watches as Max’s brow grows sweaty in his inner struggle. He physically raises the cup to Max’s mouth helping him finish the entire pot of tea. Confident that the man before him is far enough gone to only latch on his words, Reyes offers him a bone, “which side of your range are you struggling with boy.” Feeling emasculated by the professor infantilizing him he feels an urge to test his lower range. Reyes sees the resolve in Max’s eyes and challenges him, “Go on, sing your lowest note, now.” Max takes a deep breath and produces a sonorous note sustaining it far better than he would have ever expected himself to.

Reyes smiles and shoots to plant another seed, “Well now Maxwell, I’m not quite sure what the problem is then. Your range seems to be what any trained Baritone’s should be.” The word Baritone echoes through Max’s head as he once more grows paralyzed in his own mind. He ekes out a “B- Baritone?” his voice cracking even deeper as he freezes. Reyes watches as his eyebrows knit together in confusion, they seem to grow thicker as they near each other.

Vocal range and masculinity don’t inherently match one-to-one but the professor is more than happy to allow it, staring as the weight from Max’s stomach begins to slightly redistribute itself, it slides up his chest, straining the buttons near his collar. Reyes shifts to look at Max’s face, eyes lingering on the Adam's apple making itself unmissable on his neck. He sees peach fuzz growing on Max’s upper lip and sideburns. Thoroughly pleased with the acceleration he has achieved today an alarm once more goes off on his phone and he readies to send his protege off.

“Maxwell dear, I thank you for your patience. Of course I know that you’d prefer to be with the other Baritone student’s though I am sure you are learning valuable information working outside your comfort zone hm? I’m sure we’ll have this snafu fixed by next week.” Max just stares in a stupor as he stares at his professor, the empty mug of tea still in his hand before he sets it down to scratch at his tighter shirt. Dr. Reyes offers him a kerchief to wipe the drool from his mouth as he leads him out of his office, “Why don’t you try your warm ups, I’m sure they’ll set you right as rain.”

Just as he did last time he takes one last look at his growing student as he begins to wander down the hall, his pants swiftly turning from slacks to tight capris. He hears the echo of the man humming to himself as he walks down the hallway to his own office hours. He’ll need to be ready for whatever his Bass performance students need right? Can’t have them out showing him even if he’s still working outside his comfort zone. Just one more week of this and he’ll get to show off to the Baritones, once more with his choral cohort.

The Next Week

Dr. Reyes stays abreast of how his star pupil is doing this week. He visits during private lessons and checks into lectures on music theory and rehearsals. He hears the man force his voice to be stronger. After any challenge he hears the man force himself to be louder. When struggling with curriculum, surely impeded by the doctor’s manipulation, he clutches at his head as his body surges larger, tightening clothes that were already sizes too large when he started his education here.

He sees Max looking at his reflection in the mirror of a practice room. He checks his beard from every angle, tilting his head up to see his large Adam's apple and smirks watching it vibrate as he hums. He unbuttons yet another button of his shirt, allowing an even greater view of his pecs as thick chest hair spills outward. Reyes hears his voice power through the soundproofed room as he approaches. He has clearly decided to leave Baritone behind without any prodding as he endeavors to show off his talents despite ostensibly singing to himself.

Dr. Reyes knocks on the door of the practice room and like an eager dog Max falls over himself to answer it. He now stands taller than his professor whose head now lies directly at the hairy pecs spilling from his opened shirt. Max’s eyes glimmer as he looks down to the smug face of the professor. He quickly sits down to lower himself below the doctor and eagerly awaits whatever is soon to spill from Reyes’ mouth.

“I must say Maxwell, you have truly outdone yourself. Truly you hold one of the most powerful Bass voices I have heard in my time.” Max sits quietly, his heart racing with excitement from such kind words. He struggles to stay silent, lest he speak out of turn, though he cannot hide the rumble in his chest as his deep breaths accelerate. The doctor struggles to keep it together as he sees a pulse in the unmistakable, currently growing, bulge in Max’s pants. He briefly wonders if he’s gone too far, before looking back to the man’s face, seeing his eyes still staring directly into him waiting.

Perhaps he can go farther. “Is it not a shame though, my dear Max, that you’re not a true Basso Profundo?” There is a loud tear in the room as Max’s body surges larger. He shoots up inches more in height revealing a hairy stomach and pubes that already spill beyond the bounds of his pants. Reyes hears a catch in his student’s breath and watches as his Adam's apple bulge even further from his throat. His cock bursts the zipper of his pants and Max moans loud and deep enough for the professor to feel it in his chest. Reyes can’t take his eyes from the hair covering his chest grows even darker, curling as each strand grows thicker.

Before losing control of himself and his desires Dr. Reyes forces one last statement through Max’s mind, “You know the department has always wanted a basso profundo coach. How would you feel about being an assistant professor, Max?” In response Max can only sit in awe as a look of what can only be described as pleasure stains his face, mouth lolling open as his eyes grow crossed. His hands clench the sides of his chair as he struggles to not lose control over himself and the professor. Thinking of staining the practice room only makes it more difficult to keep it together.

Reyes feels a hunger within himself as he stares down at the massive man seconds away from cumming all over himself. In time he too will only know Max as the powerful man he is now. At this juncture however the doctor sneaks out of the practice room and heads to return to his office to prepare for office hours, what kind of a professor would he be if he wasn’t there for his pupils after all.

Walking down the hallway he hears the man in the practice room lose control, his voice echoing down the hall before hearing him run out and to the nearest bathroom. He prioritizes increasing the soundproofing of the practice rooms before turning to see the new Assistant Professor sprint down the hallway towards the nearest restroom. Struggling to move swiftly or quietly in his far-too-strained clothing. Reyes returns to the desk and smiles once more to himself as he thinks of a future for himself, his program, and his new star Basso Profundo, before hearing yet another knock at the door.

“Do come in.”

#male tf #masculinization #mental change #muscle tf #hair growth #male transformation

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blublublujk · 8 months ago

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nobody knows (2)

-> part 1

word count: 3k

genre: established relationship (hard dom x slutty sub)

pairing: hoseok x reader and jungkook x reader

summary:

a few minutes pass as you entertain yourself on some random game on your phone before he messages again. daddy: if you even think of actually going out with a friend i’ll chop their dick off. me: who said it would be a man? daddy: have fun then baby don't stay out too late!

warnings: [please read if you are sensitive] hard dom hoseok!!, needy sub reader!!, hoseok is actually sweeter this time, cheating ig?, reader gets her period, explicit sexual content: idk how i forgot this last time but DADDY KINK, thumb sucking, blowjob, throat-fucking, pictures during sex, shy awkward virgin jungkook, sexting, cum on panties, suggestive language

a.n: i'd let this hoseok ruin my fucking life. this is so fun. can you tell he's my bias >.< tbh im making up all plot on spot i wanted to explore the actual relationship first before we see anything else of jk x reader. hoseok can be sweet... he needs to fuck the reader already!!! anyways thanks for being very patient with me. see you on the next one ^.^

—> m.list

—> find me on ao3 & twt

“baby.” hoseok’s lips are warm against your cheek, hot breath hitting the soft skin. “i’m off to work.”

your voice is groggy, hair a mess, but it doesn’t stop you from flinging out of bed in a pout. “already? you said we could do breakfast.”

“yeah, well plans changed. i really needa finish this song i’m working on. i’ll be back before dinner. no promises though.” hoseok doesn’t hesitate to say the words, he doesn’t look back as he fixes his collar and brushes fingers through his bed hair. an apology would be nice, but it never comes.

this is the third time this week hoseok misses breakfast, much less makes it to dinner. somehow always managing to create more work for himself and keep busy while you rot away in the dormitory. it wasn’t fair to you, though you can’t really say you didn’t sign up for this. you knew exactly what this lifestyle came with, fame and money only meant hoseok would never truly be yours as you are his and you had to simply respect that. as sad and lonely as you can be at times.

“but daddy—”

“not now angel, you’ll be good for me right?” and just like that you succumb to his strong, firm demeanor. he digs his thumb into the fat of your cheeks, flicking your bottom lip. hoseok licks his own, watching your mouth take his thumb. immediately he feels your warm tongue, sucking him in like a vice, mouth so pliant and fuckable.

he takes that as a ‘yes daddy’ the way you look up at him while you suck on his thumb like the sweet girl you are. eyes heavy and lustful.

well, if he isn’t gonna do breakfast with you as he promised, you’ll get yours right now. two can play the same game, but only one wins in the end. something tells you that you fall victim to the game anyways, it was never yours to win.

your hands find his waistband as you look up to him with hopeful eyes. he’ll probably be late if he plays this game, but it’s too much fun to resist. plus, which man on earth is known for rejecting a blowjob. certainly not this one.

hoseok tugs his pants down, allowing you to pull down his boxers as his cock springs to life. he takes his thumb out of your mouth and caresses your cheek carelessly, smearing your own spit all over it. the things he would do for that face, so pretty and willing. and all fucking his.

you get to work and on your knees immediately. grabbing his cock in your hands, you lick and suck the tip while hoseok throws his head back, feeling you slurp him down. he fails to resist the temptation to fuck your throat so with no warning he holds a tight grip of your hair and forces your head down. mouth hot and tight around him, wetting his cock so nicely.

eyes springing tears already, but alas he’s not gentle. he fucks your throat and you feel him grow larger in your mouth, drooling spit all over yourself. “fuck baby, you’re perfect.”

you moan airily, struggling to breathe as he thrusts harder, throat stretching for him and him only. just like you were made for it.

he groans, feeling that warm wet grip swallowing around him. “just like that, such a slut for it. don’t think you deserve my cum.”

you shake your head profusely, sad-eyes looking up at him while sharp eyes mirror your own. his lips tug at the end and he’s smirking watching you desperately beg for it.

he releases his grip, spit instantly drips from your mouth, covering yourself with your own juices. it’s a mess, but you both love it for different reasons. his dick stands tall and proud, swollen and wet around the tip.

he starts to fuck his own fist, thanks to you, he doesn’t even got to spit on it anymore. his dick is wet plenty. he watches your lustful eyes crave for it, practically foaming at the mouth for it. though you are still gasping for air, you wish he would just fuck it out of you again. you want him so so so bad.

your hands try to reach up at him, but he slaps them away, he isn’t rough and it doesn’t really hurt, but the warning is enough for you to drop them back down. your hands start to rub against your bare thighs, iching to release your own arousal.

“baby’s horny?” it’s like he’s teasing you, almost laughing in your face, his cock is so close to your face you can still taste it.

you instantly nod though with hopes that he’ll help you out.

“yeah? you need daddy’s cock inside you?” hoseok taps his cock against your cheek, pre-cum smearing onto it. it’s cruel the way he toys with his food, but what can he do when you react so beautifully to it. you’re just too easy.

“yes. plu-please.” you whine.

“yes what.” he barks.

“yes d-daddy. i want it so bad.”

you hear him hum pleased, as he continues to jack himself off, he’s getting close and you know it, because his eyes start to hood and he’s breathing heavier. all the more of a reason you wish he would just shove it in you, your pussy is dripping wet for it. if only he were to see himself, he would never stop fucking you!

“stand up.” he orders.

fucking finally.

with wobbly legs you stand and he rough pulls down your shorts. a hand still heavy on his cock, gripping the fuck out of it.

“let me see inside those pretty panties.”

hoseok wastes no time to nut his seed all over the inside of it, covering your bare cunt with his juices and dripping all over the fabric. you both look down as his cum decorates the inside of your panties so beautifully, both panting at the sight. “stay there.”

the taller tugs his pants back up and grabs his phone. he pulls you in for a sudden quick kiss before he takes a picture of the mess he made. “such a perfect sub.”

with another kiss, he puts his phone away and grabs your wrists, tugging your hands off your panties. your panties sit back so prettily and wet against your pussy now. they are sticky and it feels pretty gross against your skin, but you start to forget about it when you feel hoseok’s tongue down your throat.

he finally pulls away with one final kiss, pulling your shorts back on. “go back to bed baby.”

“but ‘m not tired.” you mumble, still horny as ever. cunt begging for cock. anything.

“don’t pout angel. it won’t get you anywhere. i’ll be back later. behave.” and with that, hoseok leaves to work (or so he says), leaving you wet and lonely.

to no surprise, hoseok in fact does not make it to dinner. to your surprise, he’s kind enough to leave you a sweet text message instead though.

daddy: [attached image] miss that perfect pussy. you’re so beautiful you know that?

me: you missed dinner

daddy: that’s no way to talk to me angel i said no promises

me: yeah well, i’ll just have dinner with a friend instead ig

daddy: who?

me: wouldn’t you love to know.

daddy: you know i’ll find out anyways? like you could hide anything from me

me: you’re an ass

daddy: you are what you eat

you don’t bother to reply nor entertain his not so funny jokes, but your phone buzzes again to absolutely no surprise. however the following message makes your heart fall straight out of your ass.

daddy: i’m sorry angel. i promise to be home for dinner tomorrow. is that better?

the pit of your stomach burns, really it’s the bare fucking minimum, but you can’t help the way it flips into butterflies. a smile forming on your face.

me: yes daddy

daddy: good girl the very best

a few minutes pass as you entertain yourself on some random game on your phone before he messages again.

daddy: if you even think of actually going out with a friend i’ll chop their dick off.

me: who said it would be a man?

daddy: have fun then baby don't stay out too late!

hoseok’s messages make you giggle so hard. sometimes you forget this is the person you are with, the one you share every little moment with, and the one that would absolutely kill you despite your entire past with him for thinking about someone else. someone younger, bit buffer, close to them. the person they’ve always known all their life. and here you are contemplating doing it all over again. it’s scary how thrilling it all feels. a pawn in your own game and you don’t even know it.

luckily for you and unfortunately for hoseok, there’s no dinner and especially no friend, but there is jungkook. he’s home again, earlier than everyone, as expected.

the younger follows the same routine he has as soon as he gets home. he immediately hops into a quick shower and doesn’t come out to eat till way later. busying himself with who knows what.

jungkook is a bit awkward, more nervous, and careful around you since the whole movie situation, the one where your tits were out by the end of it while he was driving holes into them with his eyes.

it makes you a bit frustrated. at this point, you're begging for attention and he hardly budges, but you also understand his fear.

“that was good noona, thanks.” jungkook picks up his plate, rushing to wash it off and lock himself back in his room.

you hardly ever make dinner like that, but you figured it would be a great way to pass time and an excuse to get off your ass and do something that doesn’t involve rotting away in bed, lonely and horny. and all very much alone. this way, you don’t have to be alone. this way, jungkook fills the empty spot and he doesn’t even know it.

jungkook is quick in the kitchen and you hate it. you obviously weren’t gonna let this happen, not under these circumstances, and not in this way. not after everything. “jungkookie, can you do me a favor?”

“s-sure.” his hands are wet from the sink as he places the plate down, eyes hesitant to look up.

“it’s just, i just got my period and my stomach hurts. a lot.” a hand caresses your tummy lightly, putting pressure where it hurts. thankful that your period arrived after this eventful/uneventful morning.

“oh… im sorry. can i help?” he asks to be nice, not denying you a damn thing.

“can you massage it?” you plead without shame.

“me-e?” he stutters, pointing at himself, flushing pink.

“mhm, who else silly!”

jungkook awkwardly laughs. “yeah okay. lay down noona, i’ll try to make things better.”

with that your back goes on the couch while you look up at him with sweet eyes. “thank you jungkookie, it feels much better when someone else is doing it.”

“yeah, of course.” he lamely replies.

very carefully, you slide your shirt up, revealing much more skin than intended (not really though). the mounds of your breasts sit so pretty like this and it leaves nothing to his imagination. your underboob peaks through and jungkook holds back a sharp gasp.

he refocuses on his mission, hands shaking as he brings them closer. “m gonna touch you now noona.”

though it wasn’t his intention, his suggestive usage of wording nearly makes you moan. you bite your lip to prevent it.

“please.” you whisper calmly, desperately.

jungkook nods and cold hands touch your tummy. they are a bit stiff at first because he doesn’t really know what he’s doing, but he starts getting a hang of it when he hears you lightly hum pleasantly.

he explores your skin, with every noise you make filtering his ear he finds what you enjoy and don’t. he rubs feather-like circles against your soft skin, thumbing over curves and your plushy stomach. you feel so warm in his hands and that makes him feel so good, too good. and the fact that he’s never ever done this before. jungkook thinks it's possible he can cum in his pants, just by doing this alone! he’s really, really lame.

“feels so good, jungkookie.”

“yeah…” he strains, hands heavier on your stomach, but they warm up feeling so nicely against your skin.

“can you- lower, can you go lower?”

his hands are barely above, around your belly button, avoiding anything further down, not sure if it is for his own sake or yours. he’s scared and it’s obvious by the lack of movement.

jungkook avoids your eyes as his hands freeze, hands weighing down on where he was last massaging. “wan— want me lower?”

“yes.” surely he knows what you mean. “please.”

“oh- okay.” the younger says nothing more.

jungkook resumes his movements, his hands going much further down your stomach, just right above your waistband. he thumbs your underwear, trying very hard to hold his breath whenever his fingertips come in contact with the thin yellow fabric whilst still rubbing patterns into your lower belly. he’s hoping you don’t hear how heavy and much faster his breathing has gotten. he’s struggling for air, face beet red. not sure if it’s out of embarrassment or his own humiliation driving him nuts.

he’s not sure what he’s doing anymore. or what has gotten into him. it’s like his dream is set right before his eyes and yet he knows he really shouldn’t be here and doing this. much less with someone like you, but for whatever reason he can’t stop.

“f-feels better?” jungkook asks, light-airy voice.

“much, much better.” you reply truthfully, your stomach buzzing warmly. your eyes take in every movement on his face. from his eyes to his nose, to the way his cheeks puff as he breathes. he’s beautiful. much more when you have him this close, and nothing is stopping you from what you do next.

jungkook’s breath hitches when he feels your soft lips on his cheek. eyes nearly bulging out his sockets because he doesn’t believe his reality. this just can’t be. no one has ever shown this much interest in him. especially not someone as untouchable as you.

it lasts no longer than ten seconds, but jungkook turns into jelly within that time. you aren’t sure why you do it, but it’s the only reasonable way you could possibly come up with to show your appreciation for all he’s done. for being sweet and patient. he’s too generous for his own good.

“thank you jungkookie, you’re so sweet.” he doesn’t even realize you’ve already pulled away and his hands are no longer feeling your heated flesh until he’s watching you walk away, hiding behind the door to your room. hoseok’s room. yours and hoseok’s room. he shouldn’t be feeling like this, but he can’t help the way his stomach twists in knots.

jungkook is left completely speechless, confused.

he shamefully walks back to his own room with no other word, skipping his night routine completely. fuck skincare, he can go a night without it. he’ll manage.

that night, hoseok arrives fairly early. well at least, earlier than usual. you’re still awake when you feel his hand on your hip, feeling his lips pecking the tip of your ear.

“you’re home?”

“yeah, got off a bit earlier than expected. did you eat?” he asks quietly, thoughtful enough to not disturb others. hoseok’s lips still softly kissing behind your ear, practically making you melt into the bed. if you could purr, you are more than sure you’d start purring right about now. hoseok has always been very hands-on, it’s what you adore about him. always making it known how much he wants and needs you.

“i did. have you?” you ask to be polite, though you most likely already know the answer. hoseok may be busy, but he never skips his meals. his discipline is insane. he’s busy, but not ever enough to starve himself. he cares about his mental and physical being just as much as everything else. and he plans on keeping it that way for as long as he lives.

“yeah. they brought take-out from that one place in downtown you like.”

that calls for your slightest attention, shifting your face from your pillow to face him, even in the dark your eyes find his. “zuki’s?”

“mhm.” hoseok steals a kiss like this, sharing a breath as he continues. “that very one.”

“lucky.” you pout, sadly with cramps still lingering around your pelvic area.

“yeah… i brought you some.” he says so nonchalantly.

the older laughs when he feels you shove yourself, full force onto him, hugging him with all your might. “really?!”

“yes, left it in the fridge for tomorrow.” hoseok pauses, fingers tangled in your blow dried hair and breathes in your sweet fresh scent. “unless you wanna eat a late night meal then be my guest.”

“well, i just got my period so...” you contemplate that damn meal, almost sorta justifying your not-so-healthy options.

“then let’s go. i’ll sit with you while you eat.” your boyfriend decides for you instead, tugging you up very gently without another word.

there’s was nothing more to say or decide, hoseok watched as you ate the meal very pleasantly, humming here and there, devouring it all in minutes. you were a very happy, happy girl. and hoseok was a happy man watching you eat so easily. he’d do it all over again if it meant he could see that perfect smile all the time.

and like that, you forget all about today and what made you upset. you are so stupid to think he could ever not love you and care for you. who else than him. even if you have heavily committed your mistakes, so has he, but he loves you, and nothing else matters.

but then again, in another room, jungkook is tearing himself up for it. even though, he’s not really at fault. is he? it sure feels like it is anyways.

at least, it felt that way after beating his cock raw and swollen. flashbacks from earlier crowding his virgin-mind. he’s so so fucked, it’s laughable. pathetic really.

jungkook tries so hard to ignore it and at first he succeeds, but then he hears a bubble of laughter coming from the room beside him and he knows he’s been beaten once again.

“i love you.”

“i love you too baby.”

that’s the last thing jungkook hears before he falls into a deep sleep, eventually succumbing to his exhaustion and overthinking mess. the crowding anxious thoughts die for the first time that night.

#hoseok x y/n #hoseok smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x noona #bts fanfic #bts smut #bts x y/n #jungkook smut #hoseok fanfic #hoseok scenarios #hoseok fic

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k1ngdom-of-thieves · 2 years ago

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how would the first years react to finding out reader is a girl?

You guys really like these types of requests! Thank you so much for supporting me.

Here’s it with the dorm leaders and vice dorm leaders

First years + Finding out reader is a girl!

Ace Trappola

Despite being one of your closest friends, Ace is probably one of the last people to find out. He doesn’t really pay the best attention to his surroundings.

How he found out was by complete accident. He was walk by Sam’s shop when the man himself called out to him to bring you a package.

Luckily he was already on the way to Ramshackle, so this wasn’t that big of a deal. He was still grumbling about doing “your chores” though. And Ace being Ace, was hungry and decided to check your package to see if there was food in it.

What he found wasn’t food, but an entire box of clothes with women’s sizing. Needless to say, you had an extremely confused Ace knocking on the door.

“Hey!! Are you really a girl?! I was looking at this box-I was hungry- Ugh, I’m making myself look like a huge jerk, aren’t I?”

Deuce Spade

Deuce is another who wouldn’t notice for a very long time. I think the only way he’ll realize is if either you tell him, or someone else does.

It’ll be a lot easier if you tell him straight up. If someone else does, he’s just going to think that they’re lying to get a reaction out of him for a while.

He’s gonna be so confused for a while after he finds out. Please give him a minute before telling him anything else. He’s doing the shinji pose lmaoo

The poor guy feels so guilty over making a simple mistake. Expect him to randomly apologize for the next week or so.

“W-WHAT?? I’m so sorry! I thought this whole time- ugh, I can’t believe I made such a big mistake. Huh? You’re not mad? Oh..ok.”

Jack Howl

Jack knew you smelt different from the others in the school, he just couldn’t tell if was because you were magic-less, from a different world, or just because you were around Grim for too long. The idea of you being a girl briefly crossed his mind, but he didn’t give it too much thought.

He found out when you were complaining to Grim about Crowley only giving you clothes in men’s sizing. Now he didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but with his huge ears, he managed to accidentally overhear.

Jack felt incredibly guilty over listening in on a private conversation, but his surprise ultimately overpowered his guilt. He accidentally lets out a loud “Huh?” before covering his mouth with his hand.

When you called out to whoever was listening, Jack awkwardly shuffled out for you to see, lowered ears and all. He immediately started apologizing as his tail stood limp by his side.

*Sigh* “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but be honest with me, is the fact that you’re a girl supposed to be a secret? Or am I just the last person to realize?”

Epel Felmier

Epel didn’t think much of you more feminine appearance. I mean, he’s almost in the exact same boat as you, so he doesn’t have much room to judge.

This is also what led to him finding out. He was complaining about Vil putting him under a strict diet again and how he was glad there was at least one other “pretty boy” at NRC.

Which led to you correcting him. “You know I’m not actually a guy, right?” Poor guy froze up immediately.

This country boy feels the slight pang of betrayal in his heart; he thought you two were in this together! But it turns out he must bare the curse of “cute” alone. He’s so dramatic lmao.

“Wait, but then how did you- nevermind. Guess I’ll have to deal with Vil’s stupid anti-aging exercises on my own then!” He doesn’t realize that this doesn’t change much of anything, you guys aren’t even in the same dorm.

Sebek Zigvolt

Sebek never considered you to actually be a girl. Mostly because he was always paying more attention to Malleus’s “great deeds of the day”. He literally just helped someone with their homework.

He’s also another person that will only believe it if you tell him straight up. He’ll think that everyone else is just trying to make a fool out of an esteemed guard of Malleus!

If this is supposed to be a secret, why tell Sebek, first of all make sure you tell him in an empty room. He’s gonna be so loud about the entire ordeal.

If it’s not a secret, that just makes things easier for you. Either you can tell him straight up, or someone else will end up doing for you. He’s gonna feel terrible about it regardless though, so prepare yourself for a very loud apology.

“I HUMBLY APOLOGIZE FOR MY TRANSGRESSIONS! I-oh, I don’t need to yell? Alright, I am still deeply sorry though.”

#twisted wonderland imagines #twisted wonderland x reader #twst x reader #twst imagines #ace trappola #twst ace #ace trappola x reader #deuce spade x reader #twst deuce #deuce spade #jack howl #twst jack #jack howl x reader #twst epel #epel felmier #epel felmier x reader #sebek zigvolt #twst sebek #sebek zigvolt x reader

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supernova-stardust · 1 month ago

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i should be working on about a million other things, but instead i started writing a new jegulus fic lmao

modern au, sirius and regulus have a good relationship, coffee shop au, regulus learns why life is worth living (spoiler: it’s james. and a cat.)

untitled, 2769 words, unfinished but this snippet leaves off at a good point

***vague mentions of sui attempt, nothing specific or descriptive***

fic after the break 🖤

Regulus thought he knew loneliness before, but nothing prepared him for the emptiness that he was left with upon returning home after his hospitalization. One of the stipulations of his discharge was that he couldn’t stay home alone for the first couple of weeks and so his older brother, Sirius, trails through the door behind him with a gym bag full of clothes and other things he deemed necessary. He closes the door to Regulus’ apartment behind him then drops the bag on the floor next to him as he kicks off his combat boots. Regulus stares at the mismatched socks on his feet, one green and one blue, and wonders if there will ever be a time when he learns to care so little about details like that. Where Sirius learned to care less about what other people think about him and the way he presents himself, Regulus internalized perfection in every facet of his life.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” Regulus says as he turns away and walks further into his apartment that feels less like home than it ever did. He can’t say that he found comfort in the hospital, far from it, but something about his stay made everything here feel less and less like his.

“Reggie,” Sirius’ voice is thick with concern as he hangs his leather jacket on the hook in the entryway. “Can’t we just chill for a bit first? Maybe watch a movie or something?”

“I’m not gonna kill myself in the shower, Sirius,” he shoots over his shoulder and keeps walking towards the bathroom. “But I might if I don’t wash the film from the hospital off my skin.”

Sirius storms up behind him and grabs his shoulder, whipping him around to look him in the eyes. “Don’t fucking joke like that. Not yet. I really thought I lost you, you know.” His eyes well with tears and his face pales and before Regulus can comprehend what’s happening, he’s being pulled into a tight embrace. He’s pretty sure he’s been hugged more times in the past few weeks than he ever has in his entire life.

Regulus finds himself rubbing Sirius’ back, internally cringing at the idea of soothing his brother when he was the one who was pushed so far by the demands of his everyday life that he opted to end it. “I promise to stop making jokes about killing myself for one week if you let me go take a shower, deal?”

“Leave the door open?” Sirius asks as he pulls away and wipes away the tears that have spilled down his cheeks.

“If it’ll make you feel better, sure.”

“It will.”

“Fine,” Regulus agrees as he walks down the hall to the bathroom. He shucks off his clothes and tosses them into the hamper. The hoodie and sweats were clean just a couple of hours ago, but he smells so strongly of hospital and sanitizer that he’s deemed them dirty already. He’ll probably need to wash them multiple times before he’s able to get the smell fully out of them and even then, he’s not sure that he wants to see those particular clothes ever again.

He scrubs at his skin, washing himself at least a half a dozen times before his skin turns pink and he decides that he smells enough like his typical cedar and sea salt soap to be considered clean. His hair is next. The hospital provided 3-in-1 product caused his usual soft waves to matte and lay flat on his head, so he takes his time scrubbing with his shampoo a few times before slathering more conditioner than he would typically ever use and gently detangles with his fingers. When his hair is detangled and his fingers are pruned, he finally turns off the water and wraps a towel around his waist.

Stepping out of the bathroom, he nearly trips. Sirius is sitting on the floor with his back against the wall, one leg bent and the other outstretched across the narrow hallway. He bangs his head on the wall when he looks up at Regulus with a sheepish smile. “Sorry, I was worried.”

“Are you gonna be like this the whole time?”

“At least for a few weeks,” he closes his eyes and leans his head on the wall behind him. “I’m a bit clingy now, Moony has encouraged my bad behavior and I’m afraid you can’t teach an old dog new tricks.”

“You’re literally 28, you’re not old.”

Sirius barks a laugh and tucks his feet under himself so he can stand up. “You’re my favorite brother.”

“I’m your only brother,” Regulus deadpans as he walks past Sirius to his bedroom so he can put on a fresh change of clothes.

When Sirius had started dating Remus, or Moony as he tends to call him, Regulus knew their parents wouldn’t be happy, but he hadn’t thought it would change the trajectory of all of their lives. Sirius had decided to show their parents, rather than tell them, about his new boyfriend by bringing him home for Sunday dinner. Growing up Catholic, Sundays were a day reserved for devotion to God and family. Sirius was in college, Regulus a senior in high school still living at home, and had told their parents that he had been seeing someone special for a few months. Their parents invited Sirius and “the lovely lady” for dinner and instead it was Remus who walked through the door with his fingers interlaced with Sirius’. That was the most tense and silent meal that had ever occurred at the Black household.

When Sirius had returned home for the summer, their parents gave him an ultimatum: conversion therapy or be disowned. Sirius had packed his bags that night.

Regulus hadn’t heard from Sirius for a few months after that. He got accepted into his first choice college and tried to distract himself with schoolwork. He avoided getting close with any of his classmates and did his best to make himself scarce when his dorm mate, Evan, was around. He’d go into a local cafe with his noise canceling headphones and bury himself in studying while drinking more coffee than was probably healthy. On one of those days, Sirius had plopped himself in the seat across from him and glowered. His hair was longer, half of it pulled away from his face in a messy bun, and he had a few tattoos visible on his neck, collarbone, and knuckles.

“Why haven’t you been answering my texts or calls?” Sirius had asked when Regulus wrenched his headphones away from his ears.

“The fuck? You’re the one not answering me.” Regulus had slammed his laptop shut and returned the glare that Sirius was giving him.

Turned out, their parents had blocked the brothers from being able to communicate. When Regulus had confronted them about it, they claimed it was for Regulus’ own good. They didn’t want their ‘only son to be influenced by sinners.’ At that, Regulus had laughed and said that he’d known he was gay since he was a child. He hasn’t spoken to his parents since.

“What movie do you want to watch?” Sirius yells from outside his bedroom, pulling him from his thoughts.

“Do you really have to ask?” Regulus tugs his shirt on as he shouts back.

He hears Sirius groan before yelling “don’t you ever get sick of watching 10 Things I Hate About You?”

“No, actually.” Regulus deadpans, walking into the living room to see Sirius sitting on the couch fiddling with the remote. “There’s something soothing about watching Patrick fuck up so royally and still win the girl at the end.”

“You need more therapy.”

“Obviously. Now put the movie on, I’ll make popcorn.”

***

In the morning, Regulus goes through his morning routine and feels his nerves settle for the first time in weeks. The thing no one talks about when you’re hospitalized is how disrupted your everyday life is. Of course there’s the whole ‘in the hospital’ bit, but it’s the little routines that calm Regulus’ nerves that, because of his particular brand of mental illness, they always try to interrupt. Exposure therapy or something, they say. He thinks it’s bullshit.

And so he finds comfort in waking up at exactly seven, stretching for fifteen minutes, brushing his teeth, showering, being meticulous about his skincare and styling his hair. These are all little things that he usually takes for granted in his daily life that suddenly became impossible to uphold when other people were checking in on him and watching his every move. He dresses in an oversized burgundy knit sweater and black trousers and grabs his bag. Pulling out his headphones, he slips them around his neck, then double checks that his laptop is safely inside and heads towards the living area towards the front door. Sirius is laying on the couch with blankets wrapped tightly around his body and surprisingly, is awake and staring at his phone.

“Didn’t think you’d be awake yet,” he says to Sirius as he grabs his favorite black oxfords and slides them on.

Sirius grunts sleepily in response. “Didn’t get much sleep, if I’m honest. Your couch sucks.”

“You don’t have to stay,” Regulus says blandly. “I know they said I couldn’t be alone, but I’m fine—”

“Reggie, I’m staying.”

“You really don’t need to.”

“Me staying is the only reason you were allowed to leave, you know that. You were at that meeting.”

“Fine,” Regulus relents. “I’m going out, I’ll be gone for a few hours. Do you want coffee when I come back?”

“Are you going to Galactic Grounds?”

“I go there every day, Sirius. They’re the only place that makes good coffee around here.” Plus the guy that works there is cute as hell, but Regulus refuses to say that part out loud to his older brother. “Do you want coffee or not?”

“Yeah, I’d love coffee. Text me when you get there?”

“Sirius—”

“And when you’re headed home? I promise I’ll chill out in a few days, just humor me. Please?”

“Fine, bye.”

“Love you, Reggie.”

“Love you, Sirius.”

***

As he makes his way into the cafe, Regulus pulls his headphones down to hang around his neck. The shop is generally pretty quiet, but the whirring of machines and general chatter are enough to make him flinch anyway. He stands in line, waiting as patiently as possible and mindlessly scrolling on his phone. When he looks up and glances behind the counter, he sees the cute guy who always makes his coffee just right. James.

James looks up from the machine where he’s steaming milk and fumbles the little metal pitcher. The smile on his face lights up the entire shop. “Reg, hey!” James seemingly abandons the steaming milk to stare at him until the customer at the front of the line clears their throat. James’ cheeks turn red. He apologizes to the customer and then directs himself back at Regulus. “Can you stay so we can catch up?”

“Uh, yeah, sure. I’ll be here for a while. I’ve got a lot of work to catch up on.” He really didn’t. The novel he’s been working on isn’t exactly going anywhere and his and Sirius’ Uncle Alphard made sure that all of their needs were met, so ‘work’ wasn’t exactly a necessity. It was just something to keep himself busy and to take his mind off things. ‘Things’ being mostly coping with mental illness and childhood trauma, if he’s honest.

Regulus goes to pull out his wallet to pay for the coffee when James stops him. “Nah,” he says. “On the house. It’s just a black coffee, Reg.”

Regulus cringes a bit at feeling like he owes back a favor, but tries to shake the feeling. This was something they worked on in group therapy; sometimes people just want to do nice things for you. Let them. And so he picks up the coffee and brings it over to his usual table in the corner. He settles into the comfortable booth and pulls out his laptop, staring at the screen asking for his password while he processes the fact that James wanted to catch up with him. Catch up? They’ve never even had a conversation beyond simple pleasantries.

He moves to readjust his headphones over his ears when he notices James throwing his apron on the rack near the bar and striding over to where he’s seated.

“Hey,” James says as he noisily pulls a chair out so he can sit. When he sits, he scooches himself in, the chair dragging and screeching the whole time. Regulus does his best not to make an expression at the sounds, but clearly his face betrays him because James quickly apologizes.

“Hi,” Regulus tentatively replies. He has no idea what he’s doing, normally he avoids conversations like this. The rehearsed small talk and polite niceties are fine for transactional interactions, but sitting here with James staring at him, he feels exposed. “So,” he tries. “What’s up?”

“Not much,” James grins. “How about you? You usually come in daily and I haven’t seen you for weeks. Did you do anything fun? I missed seeing you.”

Regulus flinches at that. Of course sweet, wholesome James would immediately want to know what fun and exciting things he got up to while he was away. It would never even cross his mind that Regulus had disappeared because he tried to off himself, then when Sirius found him, he’d been hospitalized for weeks. “No,” Regulus says in as level of a tone as he can manage. “I didn’t do anything fun, but I did do lots of crafts.”

“Oh, uh— Okay. That’s cool. I didn’t know you were crafty.”

“I’m not.”

James stares at him in confusion before he laughs, bright and carefree. “Fuck, you’re funny Reg. I don’t even think you mean to be.”

“Look, I do have a lot of work to do—”

“Sorry, yeah. My break is almost over too, but I just wanted to… I know this isn’t professional or anything, and honestly I’ve been avoiding it because I know this is a weird dynamic where I make you the perfect coffee every day and you don’t wanna lose that in case it goes poorly, but I’ve been wanting to ask you out for a while and just— You not being around for a bit made me worried I wouldn’t get a chance to ask you again, so while I still have the guts, will you let me take you out sometime?”

“You want to go out on a date… with me?” Regulus has never heard anything more ridiculous in his life. This sunshine golden retriever of a man wanted to take him out on a date?

“I mean— Sorry if I read you wrong, if you’re not interested in guys, or uh… me, that’s cool. I’ll keep making your perfect coffee and no harm done. I just figured I’d shoot my shot, y’know?”

“I am— Interested. In guys.” Regulus pauses for a moment, feeling awkward and unsure of himself. He hasn’t had anyone ask him out on a proper date before. Typically, he just goes about things the old fashioned way: dating apps and swiping until he finds a reasonable match. It never goes well, but it never goes poorly enough that it’s stopped him from the cycle either. When he looks at James, really takes him in and realizes that he hasn’t explained that he wants to go on the date, he quickly adds, “I’m interested in you too. I’ve always thought you were cute.”

James beams then hands him his phone. “Can you enter your number? I’ll text you and we can make more concrete plans?”

At first, Regulus is shocked by the casualness at which James just… hands him his phone. Then he realizes that James probably never had parents who pried or jealous ex boyfriends who demanded to read every text exchange. He enters his phone number in a new text and texts himself the star emoji so that he has James’ number too and hands back his phone.

James glances at his phone and then asks, “Why the star emoji?”

“For my name.”

James stares at him in confusion, but as he opens his mouth to ask he hears his co-worker calling out for him to come back from his break. “Fuck, I’m late. Sorry—”

“Go, James.”

“Yeah, I’ll text you later okay?”

“Okay.” Regulus smiles softly as he watches James stand up from the chair across from him and rush back to his place behind the bar.

#wip #jegulus fanfiction #jegulus #james x regulus #sirius and regulus #regulus being regulus #regulus black #james potter #sirius black #marauders fanfiction #marauders era #marauders #harry potter fanfiction #my writing #ao3 #james potter is a simp #regulus black is autistic

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hiorintruther · 2 years ago

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Dragging myself out of inactivity to grossly overanalyse/scream about the chapter 213 Kunigiri stuff coz I’m so mentally unwell and it’s their fault.

First of all, I love how in order to get into the other stratums, players first have to submit a request form. Presumably they’d have to state a reason for going and I doubt “I want to see my friends” would be allowed because some people would end up using it as an excuse to slack off, so I wonder what Chigiri said to get his request accepted? Obviously he was actually coming just to see Kunigami but he probably needed to make up an excuse (either that or Ego/Anri let him through because BLTV really is just football Love Island atp).

Anyway, I love the intro panel for Chigiri in this chapter coz it says SO MUCH about him.

It’s the hair.

Chigiri barely ever wears his hair up, not even while playing football (and I’ve made my thoughts on that clear in the past so I’ll refrain from any ranting). On the field he’ll have that weird half-braid thing going on, and off the field he usually just wears it loose. One of the only other times we see him with a ponytail is in chapters 150-151, during the 2-week break post U-20 match. I think this shows that Chigiri is putting active effort into his appearance for his visit with Kunigami. He puts his hair up when he wants to make a good impression — in the Shibuya chapters he’s also wearing a rather nice outfit, so he was focussing on his appearance then too. This time around, he’s specifically doing it for Kunigami because he’s unsure about what Kunigami thinks of him after “ghosting” him during the MC match. This is Chigiri going all-out to impress through subtle gestures and small changes that are consciously made and will subconsciously be picked up on.

(There’s also Kunigami’s canonical thing for the napes of necks (egoist Bible) to take into account which… listen we have no proof that Chigiri is aware of it but we also don’t have any proof that he’s not. Who’s to say he didn’t choose this hairstyle specifically because he knows it shows off his nape, which is usually kept hidden under his hair? He’s already a bit of a flirt after that “such an insensitive hero” comment back during the Second Selection. It isn’t impossible.)

Next, the iconic “keep an eye on me” line.

First off, Nomura really decided to make Chigiri look that pretty when he said this. Boy looks absolutely gorgeous. I’m aroace but I would’ve folded. Kunigami is stronger than me.

Second off, I like how this shows Chigiri being attentive towards Kunigami. When they first reunited, it did come across a bit like Chigiri was being dismissive of what Kunigami went through in the Wildcard, saying that he’d treat Kunigami as exactly the same person he was before (although it’s arguably understandable since they’d only just met again and Chigiri has no idea what happened in the Wildcard). Now though, it’s clear he’s observed the change Kunigami went through and a) wants to make amends for his previous comments, and b) still wants to be with Kunigami. While there’s never a direct apology given, it’s clear he doesn’t think of Kunigami the same way he did before the Mc match and wants to make amends. Honestly, idk if a direct apology would’ve been a nice addition or would’ve just made Kunigami feel worse — Chigiri is a proud person and Kunigami doesn’t want pity, so this less direct approach was probably the best way to go about things.

Thirdly, when Chigiri says “from now on, I’m gonna be keeping an eye on you”, it’s not just a promise to acknowledge Kunigami’s skills as a footballer. It’s also a subtle way of saying “you’re not getting rid of me. I’m staying right here”. Adding to that the “so, you better keep an eye on me too, got it?”, it’s both a declaration that Kunigami shouldn’t underestimate Chigiri and a “you’re gonna be seeing a lot of me so get used to it”. (Side note: Isagi’s face on this page is so fucking funny to me he’s just like “yeaaaaaah, these bitches gay. Good for them” lmao.)

Last thing I’ll scream about is this:

FIRST NAME BASIS!!!

Obviously Chigiri is specifically using “Rensuke” as a little jab at Kunigami to get him riled up. Chigiri is just like that when it comes to teasing. Still, it’s nice to know that he feels comfortable enough around Kunigami to say something like this without Kunigami getting angry or making things awkward between them. We’ve seen Bachira do this with Isagi too during the Barcha match, so that’s nice little bachisagi parallel. At the very least, Chigiri is showing that he wants their friendship to continue and is going to continue to treat Kunigami as a close friend, no matter how much Kunigami might try to push him away.

Conclusion to my ramblings: Chigiri is putting in the work and I respect him for it. Kunigami is in a bad place rn and what he needs is someone as stubborn as Chigiri to see him through. Chigiri knows what it feels like to feel depressed and push everyone else away because it happened to him too. He thought for a time that everything was over for him. No doubt he’s recognising those things in Kunigami and wants to help him out, especially since the two of them had grown pretty close before being separated.

Kunigiri has my whole heart!!!

#blue lock #bllk #kunigiri #kunigami x chigiri #kunigami rensuke #chigiri hyoma #blue lock manga #blue lock manga spoilers #blue lock chapter 213 #I’m so feral about these two #Kunigiri is one of my favourite bllk ships #never thought I’d see them again #fun fact I actually had a fanfic idea after chapter 208 where Chigiri appeared but thought it would never ever be canon #guess I was just wrong #it really does feel like kaneshiro was writing a fanfic with this one #kncg

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cherubharrington · 11 days ago

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Authors note: got the banner from @adornedwithlight

Rafe x Sofia

Sofia felt like an outsider in her own body, her leg shook as she looked ahead of her. Her eyes not adjusting, she felt like she was in a dream. One she couldn’t wake up from.

“Sofia Cameron, has a nice ring to it. Don’t you think?” Rafe asks, his eyes are soft. Adoration coating his face. But Sofia can’t speak, like something is preventing her to. She gives a small smile and a nod.

Something starts to hurt, she doesn’t realize what it is. Until she looks down and she sees blood coming out of crescent shaped finger marks on her palms.

“Sofia?” He asks, he looks down and sees her hands. He ticks. “Why would you do something like that?” Concern etches his features now and she wants to run.

“Rafe, I want to go home.” She says, she doesn’t know how she manages to find her voice.

“Home? At the cut?” He asks, it’s like he’s far away. His voice drifting from the next room but it’s not. He’s right next to her. “For how long?” He asks, his voice still sounding like he’s not right beside her.

“For a couple of weeks.”

Rafe tenses, Sofia isn’t sure what he’ll say to that.

“Why so long, huh? You’re trying to escape or something?” He laughs but Sofia can tell it’s not real. He wants her to loosen up. Tell him the truth. His laugh comes out more maliciously than he intends.

“Of course not, I just miss seeing them.” Sofia says. Her smile is plastered on. She even tries to make it reach her ears.

“Fine, but a week.” He says, strictly. Sofia isn’t shocked by this. He’d become more stricter with her. Like he was her dad. She suppressed an eye roll.

“Two.” She counter argues.

“One week.” He says again.

“Two.”

They stare at each other for a long time, finally, Rafe sighs.

“Fine, two. But don’t pull any funny shit, a’right. I’ll find out.”

Sofia breath was coming out in huffs. She had to act fast. Her eyes barely registering the clothes she was stuffing into her luggage. Some seemed to look like Rafes shirts. The ones he let her borrow. She didn’t have time to think and neatly put them in. Whatever fit, fit.

The dark room was oddly quiet without the 6’5 blue eyed boy in it. Usually, she was used to hearing him mumbling to himself. Hitting his hands against the surface of whatever was nearby. She had never thought much of it. Until now. She decided to pack her stuff in the dark. Made it less obvious of what she was doing. So she couldn’t tell what was going in the bag. She just knew clothes were being placed in it.

Her heart was racing, she never knew she could be this scared of someone she loved. This wasn’t the Rafe she thought she knew. This was someone else entirely. And she was going to stick around and find out what “if I go down, you go down with me” meant.

She had been foolish. Foolish to think, he hadn’t found another way to see what she’d been doing. Once, everything had been placed in her luggage. She began to wheel it out of the closet into the main bedroom. When she saw a figure sitting on Rafes chair. She jumped.

“Your luggage looks like it’s filled to the brim. I bet if I went into the closet, most of your stuff wouldn’t be in there.” Rafe said.

Sofia felt her heart drop, her eyes widen as she stared at him. His eyes looked into hers intensely. His jaw looks about ready to break, if he continued clutching it.

“Speak! Goddamn it!” Rafe yells.

She jumps and lets out a noise.

“Of fucking course. Knew this would happen. Everyone thinks I’m stupid.” He says mumbling to himself. He begins to rap his hands aggressively on his chair. “You do know I have cameras everywhere. I knew I couldn’t trust you anymore.”

“I have presents I wanted to give to my parents.” Sofia lies but she knows she’s been caught. She probably looks too tense to have utter true words.

“Fucking liar! Half of your side of the closet is empty! Do you think I’m fucking stupid!” He barked at her, Sofia flinched. But she clutched her luggage handle tightly, knowing if she had to let go. She wouldn’t let herself.

“You know what Rafe. Fuck you.” Sofia spat, she was sick of him. Sick of him trying to control her. Sick of him treating her like a pet inside of a human being. “You can’t keep me locked away forever. I deserve to be with my family. I deserve to be with other people besides you.”

Rafe only scoffs, “Not after what you did. You don’t get to fuck me over and get away with it.”

“So you’re punishing me? What you said hurt me. And you don’t even want to acknowledge that. Like it doesn’t matter. I’m just pogue remember.”

Sofia gets closer to him, letting go of the luggage and pushing him harshly. He moves back, but she continues to shove him.

“Why would you want me here? You don’t live with a pogue, remember! You have your fucking standards!”

It’s like something snaps in him because hes viciously shaking his head. Tears springing in his eyes.

“I didn’t mean that, okay. I’m sorry. It wasn’t— I love you Sofia. Okay, I love you. You have to realize what you did hurt me too. And now—

He breaks out into a sob.

“Now you just want to fucking leave me. Like—like I don’t matter to you! What you did…I don’t think I can financially recover from. Unless I have some kind of miracle.”

Sofia felt the guilt building a home in her heart. She knew she would have to live with that forever. But it was like he knew how to snuff the flame of escape from her. She let go of the suitcase handle, and sat on the edge of the bed.

Rafe approached her slowly. She stared down at his shoes. Not willing to stare at his face. He sat down next to her. His hand on top of hers.

“I knew you would never leave me baby.”

#rafe x sofia #sofia outer banks #rafe cameron angst #rafe cameron #outer banks #rafe obx #rafe cameron fanfiction #rofia

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television-overload · 6 months ago

Text

of our own making

(an X-Files fanfic)

Chapter 33/34 - end call

[Read on AO3]

Mulder isn’t sure how long he's out for, but he knows it can’t have been more than an hour or two before something wakes him from his dreamless slumber. He blinks a few times at the striped pattern on the ceiling from the street lights shining through the blinds, and suddenly remembers where he is.

The sound he hears is the familiar cry of Madeline, just the beginnings of it, but he knows if it goes unanswered for much longer, she will be harder to console. He gets to his feet, running his hands over his tired face as he crosses from his room into the hall.

He only hesitates a second before pushing open the door to Scully’s room, peeking his head inside. She’s sitting up in bed, looking disoriented and adorable, clearly only having woken up a moment ago as well.

“Stay there,” he says quietly, accidentally startling her with his presence. “I can get her this time, hon.”

He’s not sure where that endearment came from, exactly, but he can blame it on the lack of sleep later if she asks. He makes his way over to the bassinet, peering over the edge at the baby inside.

“Diaper change,” he informs Scully, lifting Maddie out and taking her over to the changing table next to the dresser. By the time he gets her cleaned and changed, Scully is passed out again on her side, her hair fanning out over the pillow with a bit of drool escaping her lips. He chuckles softly, taking Maddie with him as he goes out to the kitchen to prepare some formula for her.

He returns and takes a seat in the rocking chair, moving Scully’s robe aside so he can sit down in it while he feeds the baby. As much as he usually dislikes being kept awake in the middle of the night, this isn’t so bad. Maybe in a few weeks he’ll be tired of it, but for now, it affords him the opportunity to see Scully in a way he doesn’t often get to. And getting to be a father? Just the cherry on top.

Maddie falls asleep again before she can finish the bottle, which means she’ll almost certainly be up in another hour or so wanting more. Resigned to this fact, Mulder lifts his elbow up and places a kiss on her sweet-smelling forehead. Maybe it’s too early to say, but this little creature can do no wrong in his eyes. Even if she keeps them up all night, he’ll never forget what it took to get here. This is what they’d wanted, him and Scully, and all the highs and lows that come with it.

Careful not to jostle her too much, he settles her back down in the bassinet and puts the cap back on the bottle. It’ll need to go in the fridge until the next feeding, probably. He walks over to the door, placing a hand on the door handle.

“Where are you going?” Scully slurs, her eyes half-lidded beneath furrowed eyebrows. She lifts herself onto her left elbow, a movement that—in her semi-conscious state—takes a lot more effort than usual.

Mulder holds up the half-filled bottle of formula and gives it a little shake. “Putting this away,” he answers in a hushed tone.

“Are you coming back?” she asks.

He stares at her, wondering if she’s even aware of what she’s saying, or if she’s just talking in her sleep.

“I was going to go back to bed, but I can if you want me to,” he answers; Then, after a pause, “Do you want me to?”

“Yes,” she breathes, laying back down and adjusting the covers over her shoulders.

His heart pounds in his chest. “Okay,” he says, his voice strained. “I’ll be right back.”

This time when he returns, he opens the door with less hesitation, since theoretically, he has an invitation. He briefly wonders if she’d just wanted him to sit in here and talk or something, but the way she’s pulled back the covers for him clarifies her meaning pretty effectively.

The mattress dips below him as he takes his place on the right side of the bed. He’s not sure she’s even awake anymore, but he reminds himself that she asked for this. It’s not even that unusual these days to share a bed with her, and yet each time, he still feels as nervous as the last.

She hums in appreciation once he gets settled, rolling over to face him.

“I like having you here,” she says sleepily, wrapping her arms around his right arm.

‘What a coincidence,’ he thinks, ‘I like being here.’

It doesn’t matter if they get woken up every couple hours throughout the night—it’s one of the best night's sleep Mulder has ever had. For the first time, he has his family all under one roof. Never mind the roof—they’re all in one room.

When they wake in the morning, Scully’s head is resting on his shoulder, and his hand is tucked snugly around her waist.

He can’t imagine a better place to be.

-.-.-

She leaves Mulder with Maddie in the living room while she puts the laundry away, smiling to herself at the sight of the two of them playing together. Maybe playing is an exaggeration, but Mulder keeps making her kick her legs to the beat of whatever of his CDs is currently playing in the CD player, a game she seems rather indifferent toward.

She does seem to like being in the bouncy chair, though, even though she hasn’t quite figured out how to reach for the colorful toys dangling above it. It’s only a matter of time before she’ll be shoving anything and everything she can reach into her slobbery mouth, Scully reminds herself. There’s plenty to enjoy about these newborn days, and she vows to make the most of them.

As she’s finishing hanging up one of her work shirts in the closet, her cell phone rings on the nightstand where she’d left it the night before. She hooks the hanger onto the rod and sets the remaining pile of clothes on the bed before picking up the device and checking the caller I.D.

Bill, Jr.

Scully sighs and pushes the door to her bedroom closed, leaving only a small crack in case Mulder needs something. Only then does she feel ready for the conversation that is about to take place.

“Hi, Bill,” she says, feeling dread pool in the pit of her stomach. This was one of the consequences of not telling her family that she’d tried to forget about, initially, but now it had come back to bite her.

“Dana,” he says. “So, I talked to Mom on the phone yesterday.”

Scully sits down on the edge of her bed. It’s either that, or pace around in circles until she wears a hole into the carpet, and she’d really like to not have to replace the carpet in here another time.

“What did she tell you?” she asks, calculating just how upset she needs to be with her mother the next time she sees her.

“Nothing,” he answers. “She couldn’t talk, just said she was very busy and that I should call you.”

Scully suppresses a breath of relief.

“I was actually going to call you today,” she says, which is mostly true. Mulder had been asking her all morning when she’d get around to telling the rest of her family, and she’d promised it would be soon. She knew it was probably making him as anxious as she was. He’s the one who had worried about Bill since the beginning of all this.

“So, what is it?” her brother asks, clearly bracing for some kind of life altering news. “Cancer?” he guesses, muttering the word in hopes of it being wrong.

“No,” she’s quick to assure him. “No, it’s not that. It’s– um…”

How to go about this? She has a couple options here. Which part of the news should she break first?

“Spit it out, Danes,” he says, clearly growing impatient.

“I, um…”

Good news first, right? Well, not that any of it is bad news, from her perspective, but from Bill’s…

“I adopted a baby, Bill,” she says, keeping her voice quiet enough that Mulder won’t hear.

“You did what?” he asks, still processing what she’d said. “A baby? Why would you–? Without telling us?”

Scully purses her lips, keeping silent while he comes to terms with this announcement.

“It’s not—” he stammers, searching for the right words. “It’s not like… Emily… right?”

She huffs, despite knowing he means no offense by asking. But somehow, it still hurts to hear the detached way he questions her.

“No, just a regular adoption through an agency,” she says, working hard to keep the annoyance out of her voice.

“By yourself?” he asks, emphasizing the words.

And here’s where things could go south very quickly.

She’ll just say it. Like ripping off a band-aid.

“With Mulder.”

It would be better, she thinks, if Bill would just jump straight into yelling at her, but instead she has to sit through at least thirty seconds of complete silence, the tension making her want to snap.

“With Mulder,” he finally repeats, the tone of his voice indiscernible.

Scully’s tongue peeks out and runs over her upper lip, a nervous tic she’s thus far been unable to quell. “Is there a problem with that?” she asks, testing him. Daring him to voice his disdain for the man she’s chosen to spend her life with.

Bill Jr. has never been one to back down from a challenge.

“What, are you trading off taking care of it like some class pet, Dana?”

And there’s the predictable moment where he pushes her over the edge. It was only a matter of time before he said something truly hurtful.

“Her name is Madeline, Bill,” she says forcefully, her voice raising an octave. “And actually, Mulder and I are living together. We’re raising her together, as partners.”

“As partners,” he scoffs. “What, he couldn’t at least make an honest woman out of you? I can’t believe Mom is supporting this—”

“If it matters that much to you, I’ll have you know that Mulder and I are, in fact, married,” she says, taking a tone of superiority that she usually reserves for embarrassing sexist law enforcement officers in Podunk, U.S.A. “But before you come flying across the country raring to fight, we only got married to make the process easier. You don’t have to worry about your poor defenseless sister falling to the whims of some quote-unquote ‘dangerous man.’”

“Dana,” Bill says, frustration and disappointment evident in his voice. “I just don’t understand you. You could have any man you want, someone who would give you a real family. Why would you settle for this– this… arrangement you have with your work partner?”

“Why can’t you just be happy for me, Bill? Why do I have to explain myself to you?”

“Is this what you were hiding at Christmas? Is this why he came along?”

Her deafening silence is all the answer he needs.

“I can’t believe this. My baby sister has a sham marriage…” he groans. “How could you let this happen, Dana? What are you going to do when he runs off to go search for aliens and leaves you?”

“Mulder has been the best father a kid could ask for,” Scully speaks angrily into the phone. It’s one thing for Bill to insult her, but the things he’s saying about Mulder are unacceptable.

“I hope that’s true,” he spits. “I hope for your sake, Dana, that you’re right. But I’m telling you right now, I don’t have much confidence in the guy. How can someone like that, with his head constantly in the clouds yelling that the sky is falling, ever be the father he needs to be? I just don’t see it. Why couldn’t you just find someone who loves you and settle down the normal way? Why?”

Scully’s pounding heart shatters, spilling all over the floor in tiny pieces and knocking the wind out of her.

“He does love me,” she gasps through tears, hoping that if she says it with enough conviction, it might be true. “He does.”

She’s not sure who she’s trying to convince now, her brother, or herself. Either way, it’s clear he detects the uncertainty in her voice, that nagging bit of doubt she can’t seem to shake. She imagines on his face the smug look of a slimy defense lawyer about to rest his case, knowing that he’s about to let a guilty man go free. Her stomach twists sickly.

“You sure about that?” Bill asks.

A gentle tap on her shoulder startles her out of her near panic attack, and she looks up to see Mulder standing there, an unreadable expression on his face. How long he’s been listening, she doesn’t know, but with tear-filled eyes, she feels vulnerable and hurt and just wants it to stop. He holds his hand out for the phone, and she releases it from her iron grip, handing it to him without a word.

His thumb immediately finds the end call button, and he tosses it on her bed without a second glance.

Crouching down to her level, he holds her gently in place by placing his hands on her arms, locking his eyes with hers with an intensity she’s rarely ever seen.

“I do love you,” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Don’t listen to him. I love you.”

His thumb brushes soothingly over the smooth underside of her elbow, and she finds she can’t look away. She’s too overwhelmed now to contain her tears, and she doesn’t have the strength to do so even if she tried. They spill forth like a river, and she holds fast to his words, afraid that if she lets go, she’ll be pulled under by the current.

“You do?” she asks, trembling under his grip as she searches his eyes for the truth.

He nods simply, his brows furrowed in worry at the state of her.

Desperately, and without a second thought, she wraps her arms around his shoulders, holding onto him tightly. The position can’t be good for his knees, but he responds in kind, encircling her waist in the security of his arms.

“I love you too,” she gasps, hardly able to get the words out through the tightness constricting her throat, but she has to. He needs to know what she should have told him long ago.

His shoulders drop in relief, and she feels him bury his face in her neck and clutch her tighter, his hand moving up her back to entangle with the hair at the base of her neck.

“You’ve given me everything,” he murmurs into her skin, his voice breaking with honesty. “This family, Scully… I’ve wanted this with you for so long.”

She lets out a sob, grabbing at his shirt for purchase and refusing to let go. His Adam’s apple bobs against her shoulder, and she knows him well enough by now to know that he, too, is overcome with emotion.

He pulls back suddenly and his eyes meet hers, watery and clear, a direct window into the depths of his soul. For the first time, everything he feels is laid bare at her feet, and she knows without a shadow of a doubt that he loves her. Every bit of her, just as she does him. And for the first time, she allows herself to believe it.

Under the weight of his undisguised adoration, she almost forgets how to breathe.

She has just enough time to draw one last shaky breath before he surges forward and kisses her, covering her mouth with his like a desperate man that has been dying of thirst in the desert. His lips are salty with tears—either hers or his, she can’t tell, but what’s the difference? He drops his knees to the ground, allowing him a little extra height and better stability so he doesn’t have to rely on her for balance quite as much.

They cling desperately to each other, here in this small bedroom in their apartment in Georgetown, and she realizes all at once that she has everything she could possibly want. His hand cups her cheek, his thumb brushing tenderly against her jaw as his lips move firmly and smoothly over hers.

This is it, the thing she’s scarcely allowed herself to hope for. Mulder—all of him. As a friend. As a partner. As a husband. Now, a lover.

Her family.

“Your brother’s an idiot,” he says into her mouth, startling a huff of a laugh out of her before he devotes himself entirely to the kiss, giving his utmost care and attention to the fullness of her bottom lip.

She smiles and pulls back just long enough to look at him, his shining, tear-filled eyes and radiant grin making her stomach do somersaults.

“Shut up, Mulder,” she says, cupping his face between her hands.

His fingers brush her tears away, leaving only happiness in their wake.

And she kisses him again.

Lovely tag list ♡: [if you would like to be added or removed, let me know!]

~~~

AHHH that's the end (except the epilogue) 🥲 I can hardly believe it. I'll have a longer author's note tomorrow with the last chapter, but for now, here's a drawing I spent WAY too long on (not an artist, but I tried)

@today-in-fic @ao3feed-msr @agent-troi @angegova @baronessblixen @calimanc @captainsolocide @clo-thespin @cutemothman @danasculls @deathsbestgirl @edierone @enigmaticxbee @figureofdismay @frogsmulder @gillian-anderson-in-the-tardis @hippocampouts @invidiosa @monaiargancoconutsoy @msrafterdark @numinousmysteries @primrose19 @randomfoggytiger @skelavender @skylarksong @stephy-gold @teenie-xf @the-redhead-in-a-dress @vincentsleftear

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neontoad · 10 months ago

Text

“One soul in two bodies”, people often say about Double Black. Chuuya calls bullshit on that. It’s ridiculous. But then why every time Chuuya comes to work after tossing and turning in bed all night unable to fall asleep, he sees that Dazai has dark circles under eyes as well? Why every time when Chuuya checks his phone at 3am, insomnia eating him alive, he sees that Dazai is online, too? Why does it feel like there is one more person wide awake in the sleeping city when Chuuya’s staring at the ceiling, as wakeful as ever?

One night, a message pops up on his phone.

🐟: You awake?

“Fuck off,” Chuuya mumbles to himself and turns the screen off. The night is quiet. The air still seems to be vibrating after the notification chime. He counts seconds.

Nothing disturbs the silence anymore.

The next day Dazai keeps yawning and stealing glances at Chuuya as they sit in another boring meeting. He ignores him, even though every time Dazai covers his mouth with his hand, Chuuya can’t help but yawn too.

He sleeps well that night. He knows Dazai does, too - he can tell by how stupidly annoying he is the next day. Chuuya knows well that only well-rested Dazai possesses such a ridiculous ability to get on Chuuya’s nerves in record time. He sleeps okay again. And again. And again. Chuuya even starts thinking that maybe he’s finally out of that cursed bout of insomnia. Seems like Dazai managed to get some sleep, too.

Until another night comes.

He’s exhausted - they have just finished a mission, the last one in a strenuous sequence, and the only thing Chuuya wants is to sleep until next week.

He can’t.

His phone chimes.

He doesn’t bother looking - he knows who’s texting him. Dazai’s insomnia is not his problem.

He lies with his eyes closed, hoping that maybe, just maybe he’ll be able to trick his brain into finally shutting down and letting him fall into Morpheus’ embrace, giving him the rest he so desperately needs. He doesn’t know how much time passes until he hears a knock.

“The fuck you want?” Chuuya grumbles, looking at Dazai miserably standing in the hallway of his apartment building.

“Just checking on my dear partner.”

“It’s 4 in the morning.”

“You make it sound like it’s a problem.”

“I was sleeping, you bastard.”

“Don’t lie to me.”

Dazai yawns and Chuuya follows suit, stretching his sore muscles. Fuck this, he thinks. I’ll let him be. Without saying a word, he turns on his heel and marches to the kitchen. Dazai follows him and plops on the stool. He probably thinks he looks smug. He looks like shit.

“I’ll have a whiskey,” he croaks and smiles.

“Fuck off,” Chuuya says, pouring Dazai three fingers and sliding it across the table before stopping in front of his wine cabinet. That’ll do, he thinks and pours himself a glass of red.

“You know, chibi,” Dazai muses, watching the ice in his glass bob up and down, “I blame you.”

Chuuya takes a sip of wine. He wonders if he looks as stern as he hopes he is. Or does he, akin to Dazai, resemble a miserable stray dog? He doesn’t know. He doesn’t care.

“Whenever you can’t sleep, neither can I,” he continues. “It’s like we have some kind of invisible bond.”

Despite his fatigue, Chuuya can’t help but chuckle. Invisible bond! Dazai sure loves these stupid pretentious speeches. What an emo.

He downs his wine and goes to the living room. “Take your ass with your invisible bond to the couch,” he commands. “Let’s play.”

“It’s not a laughing matter!” Dazai whines but obeys, finishing his whiskey and leaving the cup on the table like the ungrateful pig he is.

Whiskey made him feel warm and fuzzy, making the unwelcoming sleepless night feel slightly less dire. Besides, playing video games with the slug is certainly a better pastime than tossing and turning on his old mattress. They play for a few hours, sleepiness going away as they keep beating each other in a video game, pushing each other with their shoulders and yelling at the top of their lungs.

Chuuya doesn’t care about his neighbours complaining - there’s no one living above him anymore, anyway.

The dark night gives way to the pale morning, timid rays of sun sneaking through the closed blinds. A ray falls on the empty whiskey cup, the last drops of the amber liquid shining like gold under the light. Another one shines on the shattered controller lying in the corner. Another ray of sun caresses the leaves of a half-dead plant on the bookshelf. Another - the picture on the wall, the five people on it forgotten by all but one. Another - the cobweb on the ceiling. Another - the brass door handle. As more time passes, the sun gets more comfortable dancing in the small apartment, its rays travelling across the walls, trinkets and furniture until they reach the boys sprawled on the couch.

Their breath is even, chests rising and falling in unison. Chuuya’s head is resting on Dazai’s lap, his hand against his chest still holding the beaten controller. He squirms when the sun shamelessly goes across his eyes but doesn’t wake up.

Neither does Dazai. He just smiles through his sleep and puts his hand on Chuuya’s back. The rays of sun stall before continuing to move across the room as if taking in the unusual, eerily peaceful atmosphere in the living room, the raging fire turned into quiet embers for a bit.

Chuuya might call bullshit on the “one soul in two bodies” idea.

But… the sun surely knows better.

#bsd #bungou stray dogs #skk #chuuya nakahara #dazai osamu #soukoku #mini fic #teen skk #pm skk #literal sleeping together #soft skk #developing relationship

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uwuyangeppie · 4 months ago

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hi, i was the anon that asked about the lockdown scenario!!! it was wonderful, especially that last bit about knowing about his affections before escaping to getting trapped in the underworld ❤️

i imagine he goes to the underworld with serval in their companion mission with another agenda, and that's to check whether or not his darling is still there. of course his duty and his sister's feelings come first, but there's a chance that he might catch a glimpse of them. it takes all of his restraint and discipline not to stray from the group when their familiar figure catches his eye, talking to some stranger he couldn't care less about.

of course he makes a mental note to come back and finally claim what's his

it’s taken a while for me to jump back into writing because i’ve had some stuff going on, but it’s been even longer for you, lockdown anon… i’m really sorry about that :(

anyway,

gepard is ecstatic when bronya tells him that they’re lifting the lockdown.

of course, he keeps this to himself.

well aware that how he’s acting on his feelings is wrong, he can’t very well tell her that he’s so excited to see his darling who escaped from him again. he doesn’t want to use the phrase “ran away”, a small part of him hoping that it was just a misunderstanding.

it’s nice that this part is deep in denial, but he knows, deep down. you could relieve his fears, but the fact that you haven’t even bothered to come back up says enough, doesn’t it?

bronya gives him a lot of work to do after she lifts the lockdown. between managing the guard and dealing with all the paperwork, his free time dwindles down to zero. frustration and desperation drags him through the toughest parts.

and then serval decides she wants to leave belobog.

what perfect timing!

he’s been asked to reconnect with a group called wildfire, which would really only be another meeting in disguise. he’d be in and out. but now, since he’ll have another “purpose” for being down there, it’ll give him a chance to explore a little.

and it works out almost exactly like that.

his eyes are rarely on the path in front of them; his eyes always darting down side streets, hoping that he’ll see you, even if it’s just a glimpse.

by the time he spots you, way down a side street, he’s well and truly dizzy. it’s worth it, though. you’re safe and just as beautiful as he remembers you being. perhaps even more so, now. his chest tightens; gepard realises just how much he’s missed you.

if he chases you, you’ll run.

how awful is that?

you are talking to a man that’s probably wasting your time just by being around you. for some reason, you seem to be happy to keep up the conversation.

the trailblazer and serval haven’t slowed down. why would they? he hasn’t been able to introduce you to them as his partner (not for lack of trying on his part, though! you’re just so uncooperative…), and so he has to walk away, not quite willing to risk destroying everything today.

he sighs- serval teases him for it.

not today, not tomorrow, almost certainly not next week. it might be a long process, but you’ll be back in his arms. he just has to be patient.

and once he retrieves you, he’ll make sure to keep a much closer eye on you.

#wrote this twice and deleted both drafts #i had stuff going on and then i wrote a couple of pieces in my notes #but it was all really bad LOL so my writing mood dropped real fast #then i wanted to read about yandere gepard and got guilty #anyway i’m adding stuff to the queue now #gepard landau x reader #gepard x reader #honkai star rail #honkai star rail x reader #hsr #hsr x reader #yandere gepard #yandere gepard x reader #asked and answered

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sugarbell · 6 months ago

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hii!! i just read your teen!wally post and LOVED IT! could you write more about it? maybe about wally dating a more quiet girl who doesn’t really fall for his flirting quite as easy

love your work!!

Working on it now😘

Wally is so annoying. Like he’s gonna be so annoying.

He’s the type to see you, maybe in school or something if you’re a normal civilian and go “oh, she’s pretty.” Then man’s will do a double take because anytime Wally sees a pretty girl, Wally wants the pretty girl. Then he’ll backtrack and be like “ohh…she’s pretty”

Mans will probably approach you with some terrible line like “Hey, how’s it goin’?” Leaning against your locker with a smirk while you’re just trying to get your books to get to the next class. And you’re just like…😐.

“I’m Wally. My friends call me The Wallster, Wall-Man, even Wall-tastic, but whatever works for you, babe.”

His flirting is not working on you. In fact it’s rather stale and you’re really not in the mood and you just want to get to class.

You’re the quiet type and you really don’t wanna be rude, but you need to get your books to get to class and he’s leaning right on your locker. You just look at him a little shy, nervously fidgeting with the hem of an oversized sweater. “Um…h-hi.” You’d mumble, and he’d smirk. “Oh, so you’re the shy type? That’s cool.” And you don’t really have the time to entertain him where on another day, you possibly might. “R-right…um, I kinda have to get my—“Cool, so what do you say me and you grab a burger…or two sometime?” And he’s raising his brows at you with finger guns and a dopey smile, shoulder still leaned against you locker. “Uh, I-i don’t know, I really just need to-“oh, c’mon, cutie. We’ll have fun. Unless you don’t like meat. Y’know a friend of my friend, Dick actually doesn’t like meat either so that’s fine. We could grab like a…salad…or..something.”

Your head is turning like… how many times is this redhead gonna ignore you? You need to get to class. Did he say his friends name was…Dick? So Wally’s waiting for your response, leaning in closer invading your personal space and asking you again, and you take that opportunity to suck under him and quickly grab the books out of your locker before you dart off down the hall.

And he’s just standing there like …😀

It’s a bit of a shot to his ego and his pride but honestly he just comes back even more determined. He’s set his sights on you and if there’s any challenge he’s not gonna back down from, it’s a girl. At first he probably thinks it’s his timing, cuz otherwise you would’ve totally been into him, right? I mean what girl wouldn’t be into the Wall-man? Or maybe you really just didn’t like meat? So he’s planning to catch you again at school next week and then he sees you at a diner studying. With a half eaten plate of chicken tenders and fries no less!!!😮

Safe to say man is hurt.😞 when he sees it he’s like??? Soooo she does eat meat? Okay, okay, so it had to have been the timing. Now might be a better time, he thinks. (He’s bad at timing) Dude matches up to you and is like “Hey there…again.” He’s a little nervous which is unusual because he kinda figures that it wasn’t the timing and that you genuinely just might not be interested in him, so it’s throwing him off his (nonexistent) game. You’re looking up from your book, cringing a little at the sight of him. “Hey…Wally, right?” You ask, unsure. And he’s like 😮 “So you remembered me, huh? Well, what can I say, I’m pretty unforgettable.”

And you mutter under your breath, “Yeah, that you are.” And you didn’t mean for him to hear it, but he does and he’s like so hurt. Butttt he’s not giving up. “Soo, Whaddya say we grab a coffee? Together? Me and you.” And you’re not really falling for it. Like, so far this guy has been…interesting, but is he the type of guy you’d want to go out with? Not really. He’s loud and he’s always cracking jokes and invading your personal space and you really just wanna be left alone to read but he’s not taking the hint.

Like I said before. He’s annoyingly persistent, and when he finally does catch the hint, he’s got that charming, dopey, boyish grin and he’s like “I’m not leaving until you agree to go out with me.” So you kind of have no choice but to go out with him, if you wanna keep your sanity. It probably takes a while, like mans would’ve slid into your little diner booth in the corner and kept making jokes that you nervously laughed at, and then there would’ve been this awkward silence afterwards and you would’ve glanced back down to your book then back at him as your little way of saying “do you mind leaving because I was reading in piece and you’re really loud and eating my fries and invading my personal space and my reading time.

Yeah, so when he catches the hint, he hits you with the “go out with me or I’ll keep bothering you.” And it would be more annoying to you if it wasn’t slightly endearing. His persistence anyways. He really wanted to go out with you that bad? Well…what did you have to lose? You were pretty quiet and didn’t get out too much anyway, or didn’t have many friends and this guy was…admittedly, cute, albeit different from the type you’d normally go for. But maybe a good different. When Wally finally leaves you in peace after a good thirty minutes of bugging you, he’s left you with an empty plate of chicken tender crumbs and one fry, with his number—classic scribbled sloppily on the napkin. You huff deciding to pack up because it’s getting late anyways.

When you and Wally do start dating I feel like the dynamic between him and you would be so funny. Because he’s so loud and boisterous and he’s always rambling and moving, and you’re quiet and shy and you’re mostly just sitting down listening to whatever it is he’s chosen to ramble about that day.

Sitting on his bed maybe, while he’s pacing around the room in front of you tugging at his messy red hair and having a true mental breakdown because Bat-Burger is taking their seasonal autumn cheese-dog off the menu, and he’s just “Can you believe it? I mean can you believe it, babe? They’re taking it off. Since when?!” And you’re just watching him, letting him get it out because there’s no use in even trying to speak when he’s on a rant. He’s always moving, always eating, always on the go, and he’s a fast speaker. He says what’s on his mind, all the time, whether that’s a good thing or a bad thing sometimes depends on the situation. His mouth moves a mile a minute and his brain sort of catches up afterwards.

Maybe you’re doodling in a book, looking up at him occasionally because I feel like when Wally’s on a rant he’s the type of person to look back at you and make sure you’re still with him. Like “I mean, it was one of the best-the best things on the menu! And they’re just gonna—what? Just gonna take it off? I mean it’s just crazy! Right babe?” He’s always calling your name or searching for approval because he needs to hear it, he needs to hear that you’re still with him, or that you’re agreeing with him, or that you think he’s doing good because ally loves and breathed for that.

Especially if you’re quiet, because that means it’s even more precious to him to hear approval form you, and he love, love loveeeess to get praise from you. Let’s say you’re at the beach or something and he’s throwing a football around and he makes a particularly good catch, like Wally’s got such puppyboy energy, he’s bounding over to where you are tanning, doing some light reading, he’s got his shirt off, he’s a little sweaty, sweat dripping down from the curly red strands of hair that fall over his emerald eyes. “Did you see that catch, babe?”

“Mhm, it was great, Walls.” And he’d give you the biggest smile ever like he feels so proud whenever he gets your approval especially because you’re a girl of few words which means thag the words you share with him are even more precious, especially when you’re praising him.

And he makes an effort to be interested in what you’re interested in even if he’s not interested in what you’re interested in. (Does that make sense?)

If you’re reading when he comes over, after you tell him his catch was great he’ll peer down at the book you’re reading, dripping seawater on the pages, and giving you a bashful grin when you stare up at him like “really?😑”

“whatcha readin’ babe?” And you’re all bright eyed even though you know he’s probably not even understanding a word you’re saying. “O-oh, it’s Jane Eyre; it’s about this young woman who’s living with her terrible aunt, and she goes to this school—oh! And she’s in love with this guy named Rochester, it’s a classic and one of my favorites and it really has detail about a woman’s life and—…

You’ll catch the confused smile on Wally’s face midway through your rant and smile, cutting yourself off. You’ll lean up and kiss his cheek making his freckles cheeks turn pink, half from the sun, and half from you.

Another thing? Wally’s always ranting, right? Always rambling about something. Food, science, his speed, metabolism, literally anything under the sun. But when you do it? Oh my gosh his heart melts. Since you’re quiet and don’t talk too much, he already loves when you say anything and he treats any words that come out of your mouth like they’re holy. (Especially because you were so quiet and just not having it when he was trying to court you in the beginning so he just treasures every word you say, never intentionally cutting you off or trying his best to be interested in what you’re saying even if it’s about the most boring topic in the world)

So when you rant, Wally is just all ears. Since you’re so quiet j get the feel that you won’t just rant or ramble about anything like Wally will but more so about the things that you’re passionate about. If it’s reading, you’re rambling to him about some book that you just finished and how it made you feel and what was in it and all the elements that the author added to it that made you connect with the characters, and Wally’s just sitting there, all puppy like and he’s all ears, even though he’s not really catching everything you’re talking about /man’s attention span is so short, but for you he’ll make a conscious effort to keep it on you/

And most of the time, either at the end of your rant, you’ll realize he has no idea what you were yapping about because he’s just got this blank dopey smile on his face, or when you’re done rambling he’ll just be quiet and looking up at you like 😃, so you’ll realize then, or midway through the rant like on the beach you’ll see that he really doesn’t have a clue and just give him a find pet on the cheek, or you’ll quiet down and smile again him.

Now at first Wally felt bad about it. He couldn’t he’ll that his attention span was so short, he’s always bouncing, always fidgeting, moving around, doing something, and staying focused on one thing for too long just bored him so quickly, but you’re always listening to whatever he says til the very end! So he felt bad that he wasn’t giving you the same attention and focus that you gave him. And in the beginning of your relationship, when you would just stop talking midway through your rant, he’d be like ☹️, cuz he realizes that he’s zoned out again and you must’ve noticed and that’s why. Every word that comes out of quiet! readers mouth is just so precious to him and so when you suddenly just go quiet he felt bad about it, and it took a lot of reassurance on your part at the start to let him know you weren’t upset or anything. That’s why now when you just stop talking, you’ll let his cheek or kiss him or smile at him to let him know you aren’t upset. Every now and again you may forget and he’ll be like “I’m sorry😞” and you’ll have to reassure him that you’re not upset with him

Poor boy needs tons of assurance and attention and praise from you. If you’re laying on his bed reading and he’s with you, you can usually tell when he’s slowly starting to get restless. He’ll start bouncing his knee or picking at his clothes, clicking his tongue, tapping his foot until it distracts you and you look up. Most times he doesn’t realize he’s doing it but when he sees you look up out of his peripheral he’ll give you a lopsided sheepish grin. “Sorry.” Hell mutter with that smile that makes you physically unable to be angry at him. Usually you’ll be like “wanna go out for a bit?” And he’ll be like “…n-nah, I’m cool here.” Because he knows that you probably wanna read, but when you push a little more. “Walls, we can go, seriously. It’s nice out.” He’s starting to break down but not just yet because he really is thoughtful no matter how shallow he sometimes seems. You’ll probably have to say something like “I wanted to go out anyways” and then he’ll be like “phew! Okay, let’s go babe!”

Another thing, if you’re taking too long to get ready I swear he will just toss you over his shoulder and speed off with you. Sometimes he does it just to be silly. Like you’re sitting down, watching tv and it’s one of those times where Wally’s getting restless but you’re ignoring him because he won’t just say what he wants. “Babe.” You continue staring at the tv screen. His hands are tapping your thigh gently. “Baaaaaaabe. Aren’t you like, tired of sitting here? Why don’t we go-I dunno, out or-or something?”

You’ll pause the show, glancing over at him. “Wally, do you want to go out?” And he’ll look like a deer in headlights. Like I said, he’s thoughtful and hell always wanna do what you wanna do first. Sometimes he gets insecure that you won’t tell him everything since you’re so quiet. Like he gets unsure if he’s being annoying sometimes and he’s not sure if you’ll tell him when he is being annoying or a handful or too chatty because you’re so quiet. So like I said, lots of reassurance, and once you get more comfortable with each other, further into your relationship he’ll learn your tells, how your jaw will tick when you’re getting annoyed, or how your brows furrow.

Anyways, he’ll be like “n-nah, not really. I was just asking if youuu wanted to go out.” And I’m telling you, you’ll be so done with this man. Like.

You’ll say something like “Nope, actually I’m fine here.” Just to mess with him so he’s suffering inside. Wally patience is so thin. My man will literally “tough it out” if you can even call it that for another ten minutes, at most.

Then he’s like “ugh, I give up, woman!” And you’re smiling placing your book down or whatever and getting up. “Shall we go, Wally?” And he’s just grinning at you, speeding over to you and pushing you down, kissing you too you lose your breath. Then he wins. You won the first game, the waiting game, but he’s winning this one. He knows just how to make you flustered anytime. Oh my gosh and he’s always stealing your food. Seriously you can’t eat anything around this man.

“Babe. Baaabe. Can I have some? Please?” That’s him.

If you’re on your period, Wally will show up at your place with so many bags of all your favorite fast food places. At first he might not know, and he’ll show up to your house, using his key to get in and coming to your room seeing you all curled up in bed, and he’ll be like “babe. You didn’t respond to my meme. Are you mad at me?:( and then he’ll realize. Oh…ohhhhhh

Honestly he probably wouldn’t get it at first, Wally’s the type of person to not understand what you’re trying to convey to him. Like if you’re quiet and you’re trying to beat around the bush and tell him you’re on your period in a way where you really don’t have to tell him, he’s not gonna understand. He’s gonna be like what? Huh? Babe what are you talking about. He’s frustrating like that in the best way, but sometimes it gets irritating especially when it’s a give and take situation; like push and pull. You’re quiet reavers and a little shy and really don’t wanna have to tell him this but he’s pressing you for information and he’s confused which makes it ten times worse because when Wally’s confused about something he presses even harder for answers until you end up coming out with it.

“Wally, I’m on my period, okay?!” And he’s like….ah…got it.

“Ohh….ill be right back babe.” And five minutes later he’s whooshing back into your room with bags of your favorite fast food stuff and cliche stuff from stores like pads in EVERY size because he forgot to ask, chocolates, etc. he’ll set down the bags of food and you’re all excited and when you go through it, half the containers are opened and empty, and he’s just like

“…🧍‍♂️🤷‍♂️what? I may have had some…on the way over here…” with crumbs on his mouth and it’s so endearing but you’re cranky so you’re mad at him but he’s too cute and such a loveable dork that you really can’t stay mad at him when he looks at you with those green eyes and that stupid smile. Especially not when he’s willing to sit still in bed just to cuddle with you all day because you aren’t feeling well. One of the few times he can actually come himself to Keep. Still.

Also I fully believe that he just keeps a fidget toy in his back pocket or something. Maybe even something of yours like a scrunchie or one of your bracelets that he can fidget with when he’s bored. You’re always finding little things like that of yours going missing and the next time you’re cuddling with him, you hear the familiar sound of your charm bracelet jingling and he’s flicking it around in his hands and you’re like “😑” and he’s like “😶wut?”

If he’s with you, then he’s playing with your hair, or fiddling with your clothes, or he’s playing with your hands or the bracelet or rings on your hands. Wally acts really tough and like a hotshot but in reality with you he’s so so insecure. Wally knows he can be a WHOLE handful; and he knows he can be annoying and since you’re so quiet he’s constantly worried you won’t say anything to him when he is bugging you, like k said before. So sometimes he’s hesitant to touch you or to talk to you if there’s something on his mind and you can tell he may be hesitant to let you know because he doesn’t wanna bother you especially when he knows he gets carried away very easily. Just please reassure this boy and give him lost or attention and confirmation.

One last thing! Especially if he’s bored and you’re with him, and he just wants attention. Like hell get jealous of your book because you’re reading it even though you’re RIGHT there next to him; but he’ll be like. “Babe.” And if you hear him but don’t really register his voice or the fact that he’s calling you, being so wrapped up in your book, man’s will grab the book and toss it to the other side of the room with an angry pout and his arms crossed, eyes closed like “😤” And then when it’s too quiet he opens his eyes to see you staring at him like “🫢wtf?” And he’s like “😔I’m sorry, babe but you weren’t paying attention to me and just got jealous.”

Then he’s getting up, albeit sulkily to go get your book, bringing it back to you like a puppy bringing a stick back to its owner and he’s plopping back down beside you, sulkily! Until you’re like “alright, alright, come here” and he goes from “😞to🤩” real fast, and bounding into your arms, cuddling you. He’s content just tj have any attention from you, even if it means he has to sit still for it.

Wally’s just ugh! He’s so puppy coded. You’ll have to take him outside frequently because he gets too pent up inside.

You have to constantly give him affection and attention otherwise he gets silly and silly and has outbursts.

He’s always whining when something doesn’t go his way or how he wants.

Literally has to show you every accomplishment he makes and has to hear you say something nice about it otherwise he’ll crumble because if he’s not showing you and if you don’t see the cool things he’s done then what’s even the point?😕

He’s so excitable and he’s just always energetic.

Loves to lay on top of you with all his weight and just have you play with his messy constantly wind blown hair.

We talked about him eating your food but he just loves sharing his food with you too. Wally is generous and an adorably messy eater, like hell have his mouth stuffed full with a loaded sub and he’ll take you staring at him incredulously as in “how and why on earth are you actually shoving that much food into your mouth is that even possible?” As “omg walls your sandwich looks so yummy please can I have some?” And he’ll be like “huh? You want?” And he won’t give you a chance to say anything before he’s got his hand on your jaw firm but gentle and shoving food down your throat and once you finally swallow the huge bite of whatever it is he’s decided to feed you that day, you’re just like “….sigh. Thanks, babe.” And he’s all like “😗😉😁you’re welcome babe.”

He’s so silly and stupid but in the best way possible like omg.

Just puppy energy Wally has me😩

Hope this was to your liking, sweets, I kind of merged it with another request from a friend, she asked me for a bookworm/nerd! reader with Wally so I brought these two together and here you go! Enjoy!

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gerec · 9 months ago

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Valentine’s Day Ficlet - Accidental Valentine’s Date

Anonymous asked: hm maybe have them end up on a date on valentine’s day by pure accident?

-----

Charles finally picks up the phone after the third emergency of the day, when Hank tells him about the ‘minor’ explosion on the third floor. Though he’s the CEO of Xavier Pharmaceuticals he’s still mostly a scientist at heart, and is very invested in the research that he helped to pioneer. He’s going to be very cross when he finds the culprit responsible for blowing up his lab, a state of the art facility he built to his custom specifications.

The phone connects after the first ring. “This is Lehnsherr.”

“Erik, hi, it’s Charles, Charles Xavier—”

“Charles,” Erik says, cutting him short. He can’t tell by the tone of voice if the man is wryly amused or genuinely annoyed by his call. “You’re not calling to reschedule again, are you? This is the second time in less than a week. I’m beginning to think you don’t actually want to go on this date.”

He bites his lip to stop from blurting out something rude, like how he doesn’t really have time to date, and that he only agreed to being set up on a blind date so Emma and his sister would stop hassling him about his sad personal life. And based on the short conversations they’ve had so far, he’s not sure he and Erik really have that much in common, besides how dedicated they are to their respective careers. Maybe he should just politely beg off so he can go back to putting out the fourteen fires he’s got going at once—

“Look,” Erik says, and this time he definitely sounds put out, which, considering he’s been mostly curt and dismissive every time they’ve chatted is pretty galling. “If you don’t want to go, just say so and stop wasting my time. You’re not going to hurt my feelings.”

Oh, the absolute nerve of this man – “Sounds like you’re the one looking for an out, Mr. Lehnsherr. I mean, my lab exploded today which is why I’m calling but if you think that’s not a good enough reason to reschedule than by all means, we can cancel outright.”

There’s a beat of silence before Erik asks, “An explosion? Was anyone hurt? Are you alright?”

“No, no one was hurt thankfully and I’m fine, thank you for asking.” He exhales loudly and adds, “Look, I really am sorry for cancelling tonight. Let me make it up to you. Tomorrow night, 7pm at Armando’s Bistro. The food is excellent there.”

“Tomorrow? Are you sure you can get us a table on such short notice?”

Charles bristles, but pushes down his annoyance at Erik’s incredulous tone. “Yes, yes I know the chef; he’s a good friend of mine. He’ll get us a good table.”

“Alright…tomorrow it is then. 7pm at Armando’s; I’ll meet you there.”

“See you tomorrow night.”

He hangs up and sighs, then immediately calls his assistant, Alex.

“I need you to get me a table for two at Armando’s tomorrow night at 7.”

“Tomorrow? You have a date on V—?”

“Yes, tomorrow, and please let Darwin know I want the works.” Charles is a catch, dammit, and he is determined to impress his sullen and (probably) judgemental date even if nothing comes of it but a good meal.

“Okay, boss. You got it.”

“Thank you,” he says before hanging up and promptly forgetting about it for the next 24 hours.

----

Charles gets to the restaurant five minutes early, only to be told that his date has already arrived. The hostess Angel smirks at him as she leads him to their table, which is at the back of the restaurant with a stunning view of the river. He notices a lot of besotted couples holding hands and smiling dopily at each other – even more than usual – and wonders if Darwin is offering some kind of Prix Fixe special for two on the menu.

He's momentarily stunned when he finds the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen in his life, seated at their table.

“Erik?” “Hello, Charles,” the man says, and oh, now that he’s close he can read intense interest radiating from his thoughts, impossible to glean during any of their previous conversations over the phone. Or perhaps the interest exists only now that he’s laid eyes on Charles for the first time, a little ruffled and still in the blue suit he wore at the office. “Nice to finally meet you,” he adds with a sly smirk, sharp eyes taking Charles in from his head to his toes.

“Likewise,” he answers, and when they reach to shake hands the touch electrifies him to the core. Charles finds himself completely entranced by the brilliant mind inside the lithe body, his focus so fixed on Erik that he barely hears what the waiter says, nor does he wonder why they’re given no menus to peruse.

“We didn’t order this,” Charles says, when the waiter – Sean – arrives as they exchange pleasantries, delivering a bottle of Dom Perignon and two crystal flutes. He returns immediately afterwards with two lovely plates of appetizers; a dozen raw oysters with trimmings along with another dozen baked in butter, breadcrumbs and Grana Padano cheese. “Is this on tonight’s fixed menu?”

“Oh no, Mr. Xavier. This is a very special meal the chef designed just for you and your guest - a romantic and sensual journey for the senses! Happy Valentine’s Day to you both.”

He has no idea what expression he makes, but Erik starts chuckling, and reaches to pat his hand. “You had no idea today was Valentine’s Day, did you, Charles?”

Truthfully, he can’t remember the last time he looked at the date on the calendar, since he relies almost exclusively on Alex to get him to meetings at the right place and the right time. Of course, now the ambience and the clientele in the restaurant make perfect sense, though he’s a bit mortified that he’s essentially forced Erik to agree to a blind date on Valentine’s Day of all days.

Then, he remembers asking the restaurant for ‘the works’ and groans, realizing he all but demanded the outlandish meal Darwin has clearly planned for the evening.

“No, I’m so sorry! I know this is way too much for a first date—”

“So…now’s maybe not a good time to tell you that I’m Jewish and can’t eat shellfish?”

“Oh! Oh, no, Erik! Oh my god—”

Erik grins at him with all teeth, which Charles finds stupidly attractive even in the midst of his rising panic. “Charles, Charles! I’m just kidding! I don’t keep Kosher.”

“You—” He starts laughing, embarrassment and annoyance deflating at the way Erik is radiating warmth and genuine delight over Charles and his predicament. Maybe the date is still salvageable, he thinks, if they go somewhere with less pressure and expectation for full throttle romance with a capital ‘R’. “Ugh, this is a disaster. Do you want to get out of here? Maybe go grab a beer and wings?”

Instead of answering him, Erik merely waves to get their waiter’s attention.

“Yes, Sir?”

“Can you tell us what else we’ll be having for our ‘romantic and sensual journey for the senses’?”

Charles snorts, barely holding back his laughter as Erik gives him a conspiring wink. Entirely unruffled, and pointedly ignoring their snickering, Sean dutifully recites the rest of the menu.

“For the main course, a 40 ounce, Prime Angus Porterhouse steak for two, aged 45 days and served rare with foie gras sauce as well as ‘His and His’ lobsters. And for dessert, Swiss chocolate martinis alongside a Madagascar vanilla soufflé for sharing.”

Erik leans in and gives a considering hum. “I don’t know about you, Charles, but I think that sounds too good to pass up. Plus, you owe me a nice meal for rescheduling on me twice. Why don’t we stay, and see what the rest of the night brings?”

Then he feels the press of Erik’s thoughts directed right at him – a skill taught by Emma no doubt, considering their close friendship – the words accompanied by images of after dinner, with a confidence that Charles finds utterly charming, Do you think they’ll make us some chocolate dipped strawberries to go?

“Yes, that’s an excellent idea,” he says, letting Erik know he’s answering both questions with a cheeky smile. “Can I pour you some more champagne, Mr. Lehnsherr?”

#gerec writes #cherik #valentine's day fic #modern au #this is the last one #sorry for those I didn't get to!

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animeloverskylarmoon · 1 month ago

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Ichigo Kurosaki (Bleach) - Extra 1

It’s been a few weeks since the incident and you feel much lighter.

You’re also very grateful for Byakuya’s intervention. While he’s very curt with his words and orders, there’s that underlying care that’s forever present. Like whenever he’s around Rukia. Her rank as a Head Captain demands respect, you know that’s why he tends to stick closer. Regardless of how much her abilities have improved, he’s still rather protective of her.

“Kuchiki-taicho, is there anything else?”

He shook his head, and Rukia smiled, placing her cup of tea down.

“You’ve gotten stronger.”

You blinked, cheeks flushing as you scratched your head.

“I-I guess so.”

You’re still getting the hang of controlling said strength. Renji is grinning from his spot and from the look you know he’s about to say something stupid. But the door before you slides open aggressively.

“WHY THE HELL WON’T YOU GUYS KEEP KENPACHI ON A LEASH!!”

It’s Ichigo.

His robes are torn and from the bruises on his cheek, it’s clear he’d made a narrow escape. Rukia looks ready to scold him for his intrusion, but his eyes turn in your direction and he straightens. You’re just sort of staring. While you’re no longer cowering at the sight of him, there’s still a level of intrigue when he does show up.

“It’s you again..”

He murmurs.

You’re once again a bit flustered. You were hoping the next time he showed up you would be more sure, helpful. After all, you owed him at least that much. You’re not sure how to really act, and you just end up bowing.

“O-Ohaiyo Kurosaki Ichigo!!”

He sweat drops at the manner of address.

“Just Ichigo is fine.”

“Hai, Kurosaki-san.”

“Ichigo.”

“Hai!!”

You still haven’t straightened and he just sighs. Rukia looks a bit relieved, and Byakuya watches silently.

“You look like crap, you should head over to Hanataro.” Renji advises. Ichigo just looks annoyed and when you rise, you notice that he does look a bit worse for wear. Knowing Kenpachi he probably tossed him around before he managed to get away.

You realize now that he’ll be off again and you haven’t fully apologized or made up for what happened.

“This is my chance!”

“I-I can escort you over Kurosaki-san!”

Your determination is a bit alarming.

“I-It’s fine. I know how to get there.”

He takes a step, but you block his path.

“Please! Let me escort you!”

It’s clear that you won’t take no for an answer. Ichigo relents.

“Fine.”

He grumbles.

Your eyes light up as you turn back to Byakuya.

“I will return with him fully healed Taicho.”

“I expect nothing less.” Byakuya states.

You beam, moving back to Ichigo.

“Let’s go.”

Ichigo is about to step forward, but he’s startled when you lift him and heave him over your shoulder.

“W-What the hell!!”

“You’re injured, leave it to me!!”

Before he has a chance to complain, you’re gone. Renji just snickers.

“That poor idiot, now he’ll never get rid of her.”

That was in fact very true.

After that encounter, you were stuck to his side throughout every visit. You were keen to know the days he would drop by and you were the first person he would see when stepping out of the gate. You made a habit of getting there before Kenpachi to avoid past situations.

Ichigo understood that you were just trying to be helpful, apologize, but it seemed that you’d taken it completely to heart. For the next few months with every visit, you were like a maid at his beck and call. He wasn’t sure how to respond, because you’d say outrageous things with a straight face.

“You look tired, would you like me to carry you?”

“Your robes are torn, let me sew it for you!”

“If Kenpachi ambushes you again I will gladly be a decoy and withstand any injury, even death if necessary!”

“Please let me check your body, you might have other injuries!”

He wasn’t sure how to act. The most recent visit he decided against telling anyone. He just showed up hoping to avoid the hassle. Unfortunately he wasn’t as slick as he thought. He managed one step before you were right in front of him.

“I knew I felt your reiatsu crossing through the gate. You should be careful, Kurosaki-san. I would hate for you to run into someone like Zaraki-taicho.”

Running into the crazed reaper felt almost better at the moment.

“I’ll be fine.”

He stepped around you and you just trailed behind with a smile.

There was a part of him that knew he should be happy, after all, you weren’t running away from him or looking at him like he was some monster. The circumstances should be a relief, but at the back of his mind he couldn’t fight the feeling that it was all just a way to make up for it. Even the moments with you that he did enjoy, like when you both stopped by Jushiro’s for a treat.

“Ukitake-taicho this is delicious!”

You were eating the soup hurriedly.

“Oii! Slow down, it's hot!”

Ichigo’s scolding words made you look up with a blink. There was a small piece of beef stuck to your cheek and he reached over with a napkin wiping it off. It was instinctive, at the time it felt no different from what he did for his sisters when they were younger, however the smile you sent him had caught him off guard.

Your cheeks were red, whether from the steamy meal or your general enjoyment of it all.

At that moment, all he wanted was to see that again. The pure joy you seem to emit. You looked so carefree and it left a warmth in his chest.

He didn’t realize how much he appreciated your crazy presence until that moment. That’s why your attentiveness was disheartening, because it wasn’t for him, not really. It was some obligation towards a situation you felt guilty about.

He stopped abruptly and you did too.

“Is something wrong Kurosaki-san?”

“You can leave now, I know how to get to the barracks without causing an issue.”

“It’s really no problem, I’m happy to-”

“No.”

His tone was firm and he still wouldn’t fully look at you.

“I’ve got it from here.”

With a blink, he was gone, flash stepping away. You just stared, a bit unsure of what you’d done because he was clearly upset about something.

Now without any tasks, you just drifted back to your squad. You tried to rid it from your mind, but it wouldn’t leave you. After an hour or two of moving aimlessly in the sixth squad, you intended to pay Rukia a visit, if nothing but to walk Ichigo back.

“He’s already left.”

Rukia’s words confused you because he always came to see you before he would head back. Now you were certain you’d done something wrong.

You couldn’t leave things like this.

There was only one thing to do.

~Karakura Town~

“That was a quick trip, did they get tired of you?”

Jinta was laughing boisterously. He expected a retaliation, but Ichigo just walked past him.

“See you later Kisuke.”

He exited the shop, heading down the street. In the back of his mind he understood that it was childish to leave without even telling you, but he couldn’t get his mind to stop thinking about it.

“Is your hair really natural?”

“You’re really nice even though you look scary.”

“T-This candy is melting in my mouth, it's delicious!”

“Don’t worry, I’m sure Zaraki-taicho just really respects your ability, that’s why he tries to kill you every chance he gets.”

These were all things that you’ve said to him, moments he’d shared. With how crazy your first meeting was, he supposed it made you unapologetically honest, and there was a part of him that appreciated the transparency.

It just made it harder for him.

The sound of your call was forever engraved in his mind and more than anything, he just wanted it to be more.

He wanted more.

“Kurosaki-san?

“Kurosaki-san..”

“Kurosaki-san!!!

The last call had him blinking and he was surprised when you dropped right in front of him.

“I found you Kurosaki-san! Why didn’t you say goodbye? Is everything alright? Were you injured by Zaraki-taicho again?”

You moved to check and he stepped back, this time glaring.

“You don’t have to keep chasing after me, I know you just feel guilty.”

From your expression it's clear you weren’t expecting that. You seemed hurt, and he immediately regretted it. With a soft exhale, he turned.

“Forget about it. Just go back.”

He intended to disappear again, if nothing but to save face. It was wrong to take it out on you, but he was agitated. You following him all the way here was just proof that whatever this was would never be genuine.

Just as he planned to leave, you grabbed his sleeve and he halted.

“I-It’s not just guilt.”

Your lips quivered and Ichigo looked down.

“W-We’re friends aren’t we?”

You sounded like it would break your heart if he said otherwise. He felt the uncomfortable twist in his gut, because the last thing he wanted was to make you feel bad. He fully turned and you released his shirt.

You weren’t sure what you were expecting, but a hug wasn’t it. Your eyes were wide, face partially buried into his chest. He was holding you so tightly, and when you felt the soft breath he let out, you found your body relaxing. There was just something right about being this close to him.

“We’re friends.”

He finally spoke, and your eyes watered as you returned the hug.

#ichigo kurosaki #bleach #soul reapers #trust #past #understanding #reconcile #fluff #humor #care #friends #cute #ichigoxreader #gotei13 #love #feelings

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thetomorrowshow · 1 year ago

Text

the gambler, he broke even

cw: major character death, grief, heavy amounts of grief, talk of death, references to dead bodies

"I don't want to," Scott says, turning back to his work.

Ilphas sighs. "My lord, I understand that this is a difficult moment for you. However—"

"Don't give me that 'difficult moment' bit," Scott says, a little more venom in his voice than intended. "We don't know that—"

"The facts of—"

"There aren't any facts, it's all speculation—"

"The facts of the matter are," Ilphas says over him, "that you need new mourning robes. Whether or not the Codfather has passed."

"But he has not passed," Scott insists. "If he had, our enemies would boast of the victory! I am certain that he—"

"My lord, the Ocean Queen requested the body this morning."

Scott's breath freezes in his lungs.

He can't make his voice work. He can't ask the questions that are suddenly barreling through his mind.

What does Lizzie know?

What did the enemy tell her?

Will he truly have to face the body of his betrothed?

"Did—" he manages, before his voice gives out.

Ilphas, somehow, knows exactly what he's trying to ask. They shake their head just slightly. "No response yet. But sire, the Ocean Queen is already in mourning, despite your lack of conviction. You must think of how your people see you."

Scott honestly couldn't care less about how his people see him. He opens his mouth to say something of the sort, but Ilphas cuts him off.

"If you are not in mourning, they will believe that you care not for your own betrothed, sire. How do you think they will perceive your care for them?"

Ilphas is right, of course. They're rarely wrong.

It just already hurts so much. Scott doesn't want to acknowledge that Jimmy might be—that—

He can't think on it or he'll cry again, as he already did this morning.

And he knows that fitting for the dark robes will be even worse.

"Can I not just wear the clothing from my parents' death?" he asks, his voice thin and unfortunately pitiful.

Ilphas shakes their head. "The death of a betrothed is entirely different from the death of a parent," they say patiently. "The clothing will be different. Besides, I recall hearing that you . . . burned that set."

True. He forgot he did that.

He's not going to get out of this, is he? His advisors have been pushing for him to recognize Jimmy's . . . to recognize it for the past three days. He's thus far been able to redirect the conversation to more urgent matters, what with there being a war and whatnot, but Ilphas cornering him in his office wasn't a move he expected.

He doesn't have time to argue about this. He has a war to fight.

"Fine," he says after a moment. "When should I call for the tailor?"

"I, of course, know not your schedule," Ilphas says dryly. "But the tailor is already at the palace, waiting for you to see zem. Would you like to send a messenger with a time for today?"

He might as well, Scott thinks dully. After all, if Lizzie has requested a body, then she expects to meet with Mythland within the next week. He'll probably need to accompany her.

"Send a messenger, tell zem I'm available at any time," he waves off.

He thinks the conversation is over. It really ought to be, with the way he picks his pen back up and stares down at whatever this supply plan is that he's meant to be reviewing and signing off.

But Ilphas lingers, half-turned away. "I am . . . truly sorry, my lord. Your rule is too young for wars and pains such as these. If there is anything we might do to ease your burden. . . ."

"I'm not a charity case," Scott mutters. "I'm the king."

"With all due respect, you are a person," Ilphas says gently, "just as any other person. And you have lost more than many persons."

Scott doesn't respond, and after another moment, Ilphas bows and shows themself out.

They're right. Scott's the youngest ruler Rivendell has ever had, forced into the rule by the early deaths of his parents and the banishment of his brother. Their deaths, his frequent 'illnesses' and 'accidents' (read: assassination attempts by his brother) when younger, and now this war and its consequences.

He has to practice thinking it, at least.

Jimmy is—

Jimmy—

No. It—

He swallows back the lump in his throat, angrily dashing a hand across his face when a tear spills from his eye. He's fine. Everything is fine. He just has to get fitted for mourning robes for his fiance, is all. He's fine.

Who is he kidding?

Scott slumps over his desk, doing his very best not to cry all over these official papers. He's not the first person to lose someone. And he's not the first person to fight a war. He certainly isn't the first to do both at once. He's nothing special.

As much as he tells himself that, it doesn't make it hurt any less.

He allows himself a single, tearless sob before sitting back up, straightening the papers before him. He needs to sign off on this supply plan. He sequestered himself in his office to do precisely this and nothing else, because it was technically due before he returned from his tour of the country, and it's several days overdue now.

Unfortunately, the plan is about seventy pages long, and he's only halfway through, and he can't just skip to the end because there are random pages throughout that need his signature and seal.

So Scott turns the next page, even as his heart crumbles a tiny bit more.

Before he can finish, he's summoned away for fittings, and he leaves his office feeling much too young to be in such a position, and much too old to feel such sharp pain.

Two days later, Scott and Ilphas and his small guard sail (accompanied by Ocean Kingdom dolphins, for speed) to the Crystal Cliffs, to meet with King Sausage of Mythland.

The Crystal Cliffs had been the decided-upon meeting place by Lizzie and Sausage, after Gem had offered it up as a temporarily neutral ground. The meeting is officially occurring to discuss 'eventualites and possibilities for the future of the Codlands', but everyone knows that it's really just an inquiry after the fate of the Codfather.

Scott arrives at midday (he's greeted in the hall of the school of magic by Gem, who hugs him and whispers "you are so strong" in his ear) and barely has time to change into his newly-made mourning clothing (a soft, black robe with a high collar, puffy sleeves that gather at the wrists, a black leather waistcoat and a matching open-front surcoat—and there would usually be a veil, too, with his specific situation, but the court still hasn't ruled as to whether or not he and Jimmy were still betrothed) before he's whisked away to the meeting room.

Lizzie's already there, sitting at the head of the table, a green-skinned woman whom Scott assumes is one of her counselors sitting beside her. She holds her head high, face stern and hair pulled back in a tight bun under her coral crown, her dress made of layered shades of grey.

Scott nods to her, self-consciously adjusts his signet earring (all other jewelry having been discarded as part of his mourning vestments), and takes a seat at her open left hand (a chair made specifically for him, missing its back to make room for his wings), Ilphas sitting beside him.

Nobody speaks, even when Gem slides into the room alone and sits across from Ilphas. Scott stares straight down at the dark oak table to avoid looking in anyone's eyes. He doesn't want to see pity in Gem's eyes, nor see Jimmy in Lizzie's.

He swallows.

He wishes, harder than he's ever wished for anything, that he didn't have to be here.

And then the doors open, and two guards of the Crystal Cliffs escort King Sausage of Mythland (followed by two Mythland knights in full armor) into the room.

He's dressed in black and red, accents of gold thrown in here and here. His tunic is black, a gold belt cinching it around his waist, a red surcoat laced up over it. A red cape hangs from his shoulders, chunky pieces of gold clasping it around his chest. His crown, golden and polished, sits purposefully a little crooked on his greased-back hair.

Nobody rises to greet him. They sit and stare as the man nods to each of them, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

Scott has never wanted to kill anyone more.

And that's saying a lot, because he saw fWhip push Jimmy off the edge of the world, and he wanted to kill that man pretty badly then.

Scott forces his hand—resting flat on the table—to stay still. If his fist clenches, it'll only give Sausage the satisfaction of knowing that Scott is angry but can't do anything. He isn't going to give up that power.

Sausage takes his seat at the opposite end of the table from Lizzie, leaning back as if he owns the place. Gem rolls her eyes.

"How's it going, guys?" Sausage says cheerfully.

Scott could dive across the table and throttle him right now. He could stab him through his stupid red surcoat, knock the shining crown off his head, slit his throat and watch him choke on his own blood.

They're nice things to imagine. Scott rather thinks those images keep him calm better than any other self-discipline.

"Thank you for joining us, Sau—Lord Sausage," Gem says stiffly, turning to face the man. "I believe Aundrea of the Crystal Cliffs Academy will be taking notes on the meeting, is that acceptable for all involved?"

Lizzie nods primly. Scott purses his lips, gives a short nod. Sausage shoots a thumbs-up.

One of the Crystal Cliffs guards steps forward and takes a seat, setting down some paper and a pen in front of herself.

"All right," Gem says. "Present at this meeting is me, the Wizard Gem, and two knights-slash-students of the Crystal Cliffs Academy, Aundrea and Matteo; her majesty Queen Lizzie of the Ocean Kingdom and a member of her council, Kilisaltana; his majesty King Scott Smajor of Rivendell and a member of his council, Ilphas; and his majesty King Sausage of Mythland accompanied by two Mythland guards, Ephraim and Levi. Are all present ready to begin?"

More nods around the table.

Gem nods as well. "All right," she says again. "Remember that I am a neutral party in this discussion, and I am only here to mediate. Lizzie, if you—"

"We're meeting about the future of . . . the Codlands, right?" Sausage interrupts, leaning back in his chair.

"Yes," Lizzie says, speaking for the first time. Her voice is cold, controlled. "I am inquiring—"

"Right," says Sausage. "I figured. You want the Codlands, don't you? Since it's basically a part of the Ocean Kingdom, anyway?"

Scott stares at the fingers of his left hand, still relaxed on the table. The Codlands, of course, is not a part of the Ocean Kingdom. Sausage knows exactly what he's doing. It's petty and ultimately will achieve nothing to snub the Codlands, but such is politics.

Lizzie, of course, keeps her cool. "Oh, of course—as one from Mythland, I wouldn't expect you to know much of the developed lands beyond your borders. The Cod Empire is its own kingdom, ruled by the Codfather."

Scott's eyes flick up to watch Sausage. Sausage's lip curls just the slightest bit.

"I don't know about any Codfather right now," he says, tone airy. "It looks like I'm the one ruling the Cod Empire."

"It appears so," Lizzie says, with a brief inclination her head. "And what," she says carefully, face stoic, "has happened to the Codfather?"

Scott takes a slow, silent breath at the way his heart jumps. Here's the confirmation. This is the question that all his hopes and fears rest upon.

He doesn't want to hear the answer. He doesn't want to know, he doesn't want confirmation, he wants to live in this horrible purgatory forever where he never knows if Jimmy's alive but at least there's still a possibility that he isn't dead.

Sausage stares Lizzie in the eyes, gaze piercing and dark. "He's dead," he says simply, obviously forcing away a grin. "My armies killed him and vanquished his people."

Scott's stomach drops out of his body.

No.

No no no no no—

Lizzie clears her throat. "As his next of kin, I request the body of the Codfather."

Gem blinks.

Sausage gasps, then giggles. "Wait, you guys were related? That makes so much sense!"

Lizzie doesn't move. She waits, eyes hard, until Sausage gets over his surprise. Scott isn't really sure why he's surprised. He's fairly sure Jimmy mentioned their relationship at the wedding. Of course, it's just like Sausage to not listen.

Jimmy's never going to make a speech again.

No. This can't be true, this has to be one of those horrible nightmares—

"I don't have it," shrugs Sausage.

He doesn't have—he doesn't have the body? How can he not—

"I know for a fact that he's dead—saw the body myself—but we made a mass grave and threw all those Cod savages into it. If you want to go digging around until you find a maggoty Jimmy, be my guest!"

Scott's going to kill him he's going to vomit he's going to break down right here—

"Use his proper title," Lizzie snaps. "He is the Codfather, the ruler of the Cod Empire, and will be respected."

Sausage raises an eyebrow. "Right," he says, voice dripping with doubt. "We all know his claim to the throne was . . . less than legitimate. And I have the Codfather Head, so that makes me ruler, right?"

Nobody responds. Scott swallows, trying to calm his rebellious stomach, trying to hold back tears.

He flexes his fingers, just slightly, just enough that his hand doesn't curl into a fist and sock Sausage in the jaw.

Sausage has conquered the Cod Empire. He is, technically, the ruler, as much as Scott hates to admit it.

"So," Gem says, after the silence grows too long. "Queen Lizzie, what is your suggested plan for the future of the Codlands?"

Lizzie steeples her fingers, leaning on the table. "My suggested plan," she says, voice once again calm and careful, "is the release of the Codlands into my stewardship, with the promise that those people will not take up arms against Mythland for the remainder of the war. In exchange, I will release those of Mythland that the Ocean Kingdom has claimed as captives."

Sausage clicks his tongue. "Hm. How about you surrender to the Great Ruler Xornoth, and then we'll give you minor reign over both the Ocean Kingdom and the Codlands, reporting directly to Xornoth?"

It's Lizzie's turn to raise a brow. "In your dreams, respectfully," she says, precisely and politely.

"In Scott's dreams, more like," mutters Sausage. Scott just swallows again, stares hard at a point above Lizzie's shoulder. He'd known that those had been more than dreams.

Xornoth has the power to invade his dreams, fight him without even crossing the border. How are they meant to win?

"Well, if you won't accept that, how about you give up all captives of Mythland, the Grimlands, and the Lost Empire?" suggests Sausage.

Lizzie frowns. "Neither Count fWhip nor Emperor Joey are present at this meeting, and I will not bargain with them."

Beside her, Kilisaltana nods approvingly. She leans over to Lizzie, whispers something in her ear.

"Lord Sausage of Mythland," Gem addresses, "are there any other conditions that you will accept under this compromise?"

"Nope!"

Kilisaltana leans back; Lizzie nods and shifts her attention back to Sausage. "A different compromise, then," she says. "Mythland maintains a presence in the Codlands, but the empire is technically under my government and the people of the Ocean Kingdom and of the Codlands may move freely between the two empires. Additionally, the return of my Mythland prisoners."

Sausage's lazy smile doesn't drop. "I don't think so," he says. "Y'know, I kinda like ruling those swamps! We're going to turn the people into respectable, educated folks—we don't need the Ocean messing that up. How about this, though—I'm in charge of the Cod Empire, but trades remain open between the Ocean Kingdom and the Codlands, and you return my loyal Mythlanders to me!"

Again, Lizzie confers with her advisor—and surprisingly, Ilphas pushes back their chair and quickly steps over to join the quick little council. Scott leans in as well.

"He needs the trades," Ilphas whispers. "Mythland alone cannot support a war-ravaged country."

Kilisaltana nods. "We can bargain him down to just the trades, then?"

"I believe so. Perhaps more."

"Counter-proposal," Lizzie declares to the table. "The trades remain open, and a prisoner exchange commences—you return to me my subjects, and I return yours. Would that be sufficient?"

Sausage's lips twist down a little, clearly displeased, but he actually pauses to think.

It's a good compromise, even if it's not what they want. It benefits the both of them, while opening up a route for escape for the Cod.

Sausage nods shortly. "I have the Codlands, you have trades, we both have our soldiers back. It sounds . . . acceptable."

"Perfect," Gem says, clapping her hands together. "For the remainder of the meeting, we will work out some of the simpler matters of the trade arrangement, then adjourn. We can hold more meetings over the next week to get the details down, and then commence the arrangement once that is complete. Is that possible for both involved parties?"

Both nod.

"Why is Scott here, then?" Sausage asks innocently. "Here to surrender?"

Scott doesn't allow his fingers to curl into a fist. He forces his hands and shoulders to stay as relaxed as possible.

Thankfully, Ilphas speaks up. "His majesty Lord Smajor has the right to assist the Ocean Queen in the rites and stewardship of the Codfather and his possessions, and as such is present."

Sausage rolls his eyes, looks to Scott.

When Scott speaks, his voice doesn't shake. He doesn't stumble over his words. He doesn't lose his composure.

"I am here, Lord Sausage, to confirm the fate of my betrothed," he says, colder than Rivendell on a winter morning. "The Empire of Rivendell declares its loyalty to the Ocean Kingdom and the Cod Empire—and their successive, rightful leaders, as Queen Lizzie is and Codfather Jimmy was—forever. And," he continues, and he has no idea where these words are coming from, from some power beyond him— "by burying the body of the Codfather in an unmarked grave, you are in violation of section 4 subsection D under the heading 'Respect' in the House Blossom Peace Accords, where it states that, dead or alive, in war or peace, the rulers of the twelve empires must be granted full respect. That is all I wish to say at this time."

Sausage harrumphs. Gem, not quite smiling, gives Scott a subtle thumbs-up.

"Thank you for your comments, Lord Smajor," she says. "And I will be following up on that law with Lady Katherine of House Blossom personally. Shall we move on?"

The meeting wraps up after nearly half an hour of Sausage arguing against every one of Lizzie's suggestions, with barely any progress made. But they both agree on a day for the meeting this week, and Sausage is escorted out by his two guards and Gem's two knights, waggling his fingers at them over his shoulder.

Gem gathers up the papers that Aundrea had left behind. Lizzie stares at the closed door.

Scott looks down at his relaxed hand, cold and pale on the table.

He's not sure if he's looking for comfort or to give it, but after a long moment of silence, he reaches forward and takes Lizzie's limp hand in his own.

He squeezes tightly, even as Lizzie doesn't move, trying to send every thought that he's thinking her way—an endless stream of I know I'm here it hurts I'm here please help we have to go on I know.

Lizzie sits motionless, expression stony, and as Scott watches, a single tear rolls down her cheek.

Jimmy's gone. He's really, truly, gone.

Buried indistinguishably among the bodies of his people, in one grave together.

And really, Scott thinks, while he would've wanted to honor his fiance, he thinks that Jimmy would prefer it like this. He'd never been one to raise himself above his people. He'd never seen his own worth as greater than anyone else's.

Scott wonders, suddenly, if Jimmy had any sort of funeral arrangements made. Surely the Cod Empire has traditions for their rulers, but was there anything specific that Jimmy wanted during the memorial service? A particular song sung, or speech given?

Where will such a service be held, in the middle of a war, when the land of the deceased has been conquered?

He's crying, Scott realizes vaguely, nose burning and face wet.

He just grips Lizzie's hand tighter and lets his heart shatter.

And Lizzie, after a moment, squeezes back.

"When are you leaving?"

Scott tugs at the itchy high collar of his mourning robe. "Tonight, if possible. Tomorrow morning if the seas are rough."

He doesn't mention why the seas might be rough. Gem, tactfully, doesn't either.

"Do you think you have time to check out something I found?" she asks, finishing up the braid in his hair before starting on another. "I was going to call Katherine down to look at it with me, but I could definitely use your help."

"Check out what?" Scott says suspiciously. He adjusts his position a bit, trying to keep his legs from falling asleep.

He and Gem are in her room, Gem on the bed, Scott kneeling on the floor beside her, while she braids his hair. Ilphas had initially refused to let Scott out of their sight, but it had only taken one glance at Scott's tired, teary eyes for them to sigh and nod.

"I found . . . a library," Gem says eventually, combing her fingers through his hair to pull out the braid she'd been working on, then starting anew. "Crystal Cliffs has always been a place of knowledge, you know? We collect history and magic from all over the world. And this library looks old. Like, centuries old. And you're looking for an old book, right? To defeat Xornoth?"

Scott nods, then freezes when it tugs on his braid. Gem tsks and starts over again.

"Yes," he says. "I've searched every library in Rivendell, however, and all of those would be about that same age. I can take a look before leaving, though, if you like."

Gem hums in affirmation. "We can go before supper. You can bring a guard if you need, it isn't a secret. Knowledge should never be a secret."

Some knowledge ought to be a secret, Scott thinks to himself, remembering the revelation he'd had while traveling.

He's Aeor's Champion, probably.

Best to not think about that when he knows Xornoth has direct access to his brain, is it?

So, something else. Something else to think about.

Right. There's really only one other thing to think about.

"Jimmy braided my hair, once," Scott says quietly.

Gem's hands stutter, but she doesn't say anything. She just keeps working, fingers gentle in his hair.

"It was when we were betrothed," Scott continues. "It had been a long day, and I told him I was tired, and he had me sit on the bed and he stood behind me and . . . he just braided. Really intricate braids, too. They were beautiful. I left them in for three days."

He kind of wants to cry.

"I didn't know he could braid," Gem murmurs.

Scott shrugs. "Me neither," he says. "He told me it was Cod tradition, and that there are people who actually work as just . . . braiders. There's different kinds of braids for different occasions. He said he only knew how to do a couple kinds. He was . . . he was embarrassed. Because—because he did birthday celebration braids in my hair."

He doesn't know why he's saying all this. A tear drips down his nose, and he leaves it there.

Gem giggles a little. "So you walked around for three days with the Cod equivalent of a birthday hat on your head?"

"Well, nobody saw it," Scott defends himself. "I was wearing my betrothal veil. But—" and now he's really starting to cry, chest shaking with the effort of repressing it— "but he said that he would learn the marriage braids. So that—so that when we got married, we—we wouldn't have to go to a—a braider. Because of—of the veils. So that no one—no one would see us before the wedding."

"Oh, Scott. . . ."

"Sorry," he manages, wiping a hand across his face. "I'm fine, I-I promise, it's only. . . ."

"It's hard," Gem says, tying off the braid. "It's okay. I can't even imagine what you're going through right now."

Scott takes in a shuddering breath, trying not to make any embarrassing sounds. "Do you—do you think," he asks after a moment, "do you think he's . . . in a better place? Do you think he's—he's h-happy?"

"I think so. I think he's right here watching over you, telling you that it'll be all right, that he'll see you again one day. What do you think?"

Scott sniffles. "I—I hope he's not hurting anymore. He was—he was always hurting. I hope—I hope his scars are gone, and, and his scales are back, and he's happy."

Gem cards her hands through his hair, soft and careful. "Me too," she says, her voice shaking just the slightest bit. "He deserves it."

Scott nods vigorously, the lump in his throat suddenly too large to speak. If anyone deserves it, Jimmy does.

He really hopes he's happy.

He just wishes that would be enough.

It's elvish belief that there are different levels of an afterlife, with the most restful and happiest being only open to elvish royalty and legendary heroes—the stars of whom make up the Crystal of Rivendell constellation in the skies.

Even if Jimmy is happy, Scott will never see him again. Not unless an exception is made, and one never has.

Jimmy wasn't a legendary hero.

He wasn't elvish royalty.

He was just Jimmy.

Scott lets himself cry, feeling as if his heart is being torn out of his chest, for several minutes there on the floor of Gem's bedroom. He lets it hurt. He lets it wash him away, lets himself sink into it, until nothing exists but the pain.

It's cathartic, or something like that. Jimmy deserves the tears.

"You did amazing, earlier," Gem tells him when his sobs devolve into hiccups, when he starts to pull himself back, his head barely above the sea of pain again. "During the meeting. If I know Sausage, he was hoping for a big reaction. You and Lizzie were incredible in there."

Scott manages a wet chuckle. "I just imagined killing him," he admits. "It helped quite a bit."

"Oh, I used to do that all time in Wither Rose Alliance meetings. Super therapeutic."

Scott wipes his eyes on the stiff fabric of his sleeve cuff. He's not done crying, by any means. He probably could cry all day and not run out of tears.

But he has responsibilities to take care of.

"So," he says, after a profoundly teary sigh, pulling himself up to sit beside Gem on the bed. "Where's this library?"

They meet Katherine there, an hour later, halfway up one of the cliffs that the empire is built around. She squeals when she sees Scott, gives him a hug.

Scott has never hugged Katherine before in his life. He'd laid down the ground rule early on that he wasn't okay with hugs, and she'd accepted that immediately (unlike Gem, who had never seemed to learn).

But he's gotten more accustomed to physical touch over the past months, and he barely even freezes up before returning the hug, squeezing her tightly.

"I didn't think you'd still be here!" Katherine says excitedly when she pulls back. "Is Lizzie still here?"

"No, she left already," Gem cuts in. "Scott's leaving after supper, I just wanted him to see the library."

"Oh, right," Katherine says. "Scott, I've been looking through all of the libraries in my empire, and I haven't found anything."

"That's all right," Scott tells her. He'd asked her, months ago now (as well as every other empire he was allied with), to search for anything that could destroy the demon. "I haven't found anything, either."

"Well I found this library!" Gem says proudly. "I've already started looking through it, but I felt like three heads would be better than one."

And with that, Gem goes behind a boulder. "This way!" they hear her call faintly.

Scott looks at Katherine, then the two guards who had accompanied them, then back at Katherine. She shrugs, gossamer wings fluttering behind her.

Nothing left to do but go in, Scott supposes. He moves past Katherine, ready to squish through the tiny entrance that Gem had gone through, but Katherine catches his shoulder.

"I'm really sorry, Scott," she says, and to his surprise, there are already tears gathering in her violet eyes. "We weren't very close, but I was one of Jimmy's first allies. Do you know when the funeral will be?"

Scott bites his lip and shakes his head. "There's . . . there isn't a body," he says after a moment. "So Lizzie may put it off for some time. Thank you."

Before she can say anything else, Scott turns away and starts moving through the strict passage between the boulder and the cliff face.

It's tight, and his feathers get pushed all the wrong ways, but Scott scrapes through, heaving and pushing against the boulder until he finally manages to come out the other side.

On the other side is a dark tunnel through the cliff, a little patch of light visible at the end.

Scott reaches out blindly for a wall, fingers landing on roughly-hewn stone.

He follows it along, twenty, thirty, forty strides, as the light looms larger and larger, and then he's stepping through the other end of the tunnel—

Whoa.

This—this is a library.

This is an old library.

It's a dimly-lit, dusty, high-ceilinged area, shelves going up twice as tall as Scott, books crammed into every space available. He maneuvers his way between stacks of books and curling parchment paper, through a tiny footpath that leads deeper into the library.

It gets more claustrophobic the deeper he goes, wings held tightly to his back to avoid accidentally knocking something over, like one of the lamps hanging from the sides of the bookshelves. That would be bad. Or one of the precarious piles of books next to the lamps. That would possibly be worse.

He passes by hundreds of books, the titles on the spines in languages that he doesn't speak and several he doesn't recognize, and the titles he can read are old and rubbed-off—Great Tales of Haddenbur, one reads, yet on another he can only make out F l di a r or el.

He can't figure out a system. One book looks like a collection of adventures, and the next one like a cookbook. It's not alphabetical, either—he sees a Z title right next to a D, next to an H.

It's confusing, and strikingly mazelike, and Scott mentally marks a couple of notable-looking books (overly large, or brightly colored, or hanging dangerously off of the shelf) as landmarks, a way to get back to the entrance.

He finds Gem fairly deep in, between two rows of shelves that form a little alcove against a wall. She's flipping through a book, and when she sees Scott, she holds it out.

"Can you read this?"

Scott inches sideways past a stack of parchment rolls and straightens out in the alcove, gingerly taking the book from her.

It's a form of elvish, but not exactly like Rivendell's. The words on this page make some sort of sense if he stares at them long enough—that one surely says 'herb' and the one beside it looks kind of like 'medicine', so maybe some kind of healer's guide—but the characters aren't quite right. To his surprise, it's recognizable as Old Elvish.

He's run into a couple of books like this in his searches, most of which are sorted into their own sections, with Old Elvish scholars from the university available upon appointment to read them aloud to library patrons when necessary.

He'd gone through every Old Elvish book that he could find in the City, having the titles and chapter headings read to him, and occasionally passages. None of them had proved fruitful, despite them being the most likely place to find any instructions on how to defeat Exor and his champion. The older the book, the better the chances.

Scott wishes he'd paid more attention in his youth. He had taken Old Elvish classes as part of his childhood tutoring, but he hardly remembers any of it.

He knows enough to slowly decipher titles, though—enough to, at least, know whether or not it would be relevant to his search—and with time he could sort through all of these books and decide which ones might be useful.

And he wants to, as well.

Something feels different, here.

"Do all of them look like this?" he asks, flipping open the book.

"Look like what?" asks Katherine, coming up behind him.

"All the ones in this section," Gem answers. "It's some kind of elvish, I can't read it."

"It's Old Elvish," murmurs Scott, closing the book and tucking it under his arm. "I can kind of read it. I'll need time."

Gem grimaces. "You have to get back to Rivendell. Maybe—"

"I can stay three days," Scott decides on the spot. "I think . . . I have a good feeling about this."

He can't describe it further than that. He just feels . . . a pull to these books, a spiritual connection that he can't explain. There's something here that he needs to find, something too important to hand off to someone else.

Aeor wants him here.

"That's—that's great!" says Gem. "Should we go get supper, then, and start on it tomorrow? Do you need to call your council?"

He doesn't want to leave. Not with this pulling at his soul. Not with this invisible string tying him to something here.

But he does need to call his council, quickly tell them his visit has extended, and then hang up before they can complain. And he's pretty sure his communicator doesn't have any connection out here.

"Supper, then return tonight," Scott says decisively. "Can we do that?"

So, that evening, after messaging his council to tell them of the extension and then turning off his communicator before getting a response, Scott and Gem and Katherine head up to the secret library to begin the search, accompanied by four guards assigned to sit in the dark passage and wait.

Scott quickly sequesters himself in the Old Elvish section (or, the section that seems to be majorly Old Elvish, with random other books thrown in where there's extra space), handing a book in Old Elvish each to the girls so they can search the rest of the library for matching letters.

Then begins the long and laborious task of reading what he can of the titles and chapter headings of every single book in the section, in addition to the occasional one that Gem or Katherine carries over.

It's exhausting, and his eyes burn, and he feels too warm in all these layers, but he leafs through page after page and forces himself to focus.

Scott makes it through maybe twenty useless books that evening before the other two drag him away from his work to go to bed.

He does kind of need it. Maybe he can attack the books with a renewed vigor in the morning.

He hadn't brought a change of clothes, so Scott wears his travel clothes to bed that night and puts his mourning things back on when the dawning sun wakes him, too bright in his still-burning eyes.

He eats breakfast alone, Gem and Katherine in some official meeting that hadn't pertained to him. They join him when it's time to head to the library, bright and early, both hopeful and smiling beside Scott's dark presence.

It feels strange.

It feels sad.

Scott spends hours alone that day, skimming through books upon books upon books, interrupted every once in a while by Katherine having him get up and walk around for a minute, or Gem telling him it's time to go eat. The three of them usually fly down for meals, leaving the library guard to change out while they eat. Then they fly back up, eliminating the fifty or sixty minutes it would take to climb back up. They don't have much time, after all. Every minute saved is priceless.

And those priceless minutes find Scott sitting on the hard stone floor, staring at books about every possible subject except the one that he so desperately needs.

And his soul still itches. There's something here. Buried among these thousands of books is something useful.

So he keeps looking.

It's getting to be late that evening when Scott, setting a book into his pile of discards (there's only two books that he's set aside to take home, neither of which look very promising), stands to get the next book and pulls a tome off the shelf that doesn't look at all right.

It's old, certainly. Scott's no scholar, but he'd probably date it back around a thousand years. It isn't bound with leather, but with something grey and oil-stained, the pages stiff and a pale green. The writing on one of those old pages (so old that Scott has to take extra care so as not to break the page, as brittle as it is) is blue, hard to see.

And Scott doesn't recognize the letters at all.

"Hey, Gem?" he calls (his voice breaks a little on her name, but he swallows and pushes through), after staring blankly at it for several moments. "Can you come look at this?"

He hears shuffling of piles and a book fall over, which means she's on her way. Scott closes the book, turns it over in his hands.

No title on the cover—he's found that only about fifty percent of the books he looks at have anything on the cover. Unlike anything he's seen so far, though, hanging from the spine by a cord is a drawstring pouch about the size of Scott's palm, made of the same material as the book.

"What do you need?"

He looks up, sees Gem smiling tiredly, Katherine standing behind her. He hands her the book.

"Do you know these letters?"

Gem opens it up, frowns. Looks closer. Turns the book upside down.

Scott waits patiently.

"It kind of looks . . . Oceanic," she says after a minute. "Just from how big it is, and how strong the lines are. And this kind of looks like glow squid ink, and maybe a seal cover. Should we give it to—oh!"

As she turns it back upright, a thin book falls out of the back and tumbles to the floor. Scott picks it up, carefully flips it open—yep, same make and script, but clearly a different author, and maybe a bit more recent.

"Right," Gem says, and Scott realizes she's peering down at the smaller book as well. "Should we give these to Lizzie?"

Scott puts them both in his satchel with a nod, then goes to grab the next book—but Gem catches him by the arm.

"Let's go to bed, how about," she suggests. "You have two more days to find it. Maybe it would be best to come back in the morning with a fresh, well-rested mind."

She's probably right.

Scott just feels that if he doesn't totally exhaust himself, he'll lie up all night, trying hard not to think about why his bed feels so lonely.

But he packs up the two Old Elvish books he'd found, and then puts away his discard pile (after marking with a slip of paper stuffed between books where in the shelves he'd left off). Then he follows the other two out, taking a moment to stretch his stiff wings before taking flight and returning to his suite of rooms.

And just as he assumed he would, he lies awake in bed for hours, until he finally cries himself to sleep.

As it turns out, he doesn't have two more days.

His council contacts Gem, and tells her in no uncertain terms that Scott had better be on a ship to return the next morning or they'll crown a new king.

Scott's pretty sure they can't do that, but it's best to play it safe.

So he puts on his mourning robes again (they smell fresh and are folded when he picks them up, which means that Gem had found a way to have his laundry done overnight, which might just be the kindest thing ever and no Scott isn't crying—) and skips breakfast to go to the library early, Katherine and Gem reluctantly grabbing food for the road.

He's been working all day—he also skipped lunch to keep it going, brain absolutely melting as he stares at another page of a language he doesn't really understand—when he hears his name in the girls' quiet conversation that's become background noise.

He freezes, cross-legged on the floor with a book in his lap, and strains his sensitive ears to listen.

"—is he doing?" Katherine's saying.

Gem sighs. "He's not doing great," she says. "I don't think I've ever seen Scott cry, you know?"

"Me neither. That just sounds . . . wrong."

"Mhm. He didn't cry at all for that . . . that stupid meeting, though. He and Lizzie both. They just sat there, all . . . cold, and imposing. Have you ever seen Lizzie angry?"

"I don't—wait, yes, at the End. She was scary."

A little chuckle from Gem. "Yep. She was like that—worse, maybe. But after Sausage left, she and Scott just kind of . . . held hands and cried. It was bad."

"Wait, so what's this about there not being a body? Scott said something about it, about how the funeral might be delayed?"

"Yeah, because Sausage is an idiot," Gem says heatedly, then quieter, "I don't know why he did it—he should be smarter than that—but he just—he just threw Jimmy's body in a mass grave. Like he wasn't even an emperor. Like he wasn't anything."

"Wait, that violates the House Blossom Accords," Katherine says instantly. "Under 'Respect', section—"

"Yep, Scott brought that up. But Sausage was just—ugh, he was being so weird and racist! He basically said because the Cod people are 'savages' and 'uneducated', they didn't deserve better than a mass grave."

"Gross. Jimmy's been—or, Jimmy was a ruler almost as long as he's been one, he should know that they're not any different from other people."

"Right? Sausage never used to act like that. I don't know what happened to him." She huffs, and Scott hears a book get set down. "Anyway, I'm not going to ask Lizzie or Scott to dig through a literal pile of bodies to find Jimmy, you know? Especially since it's been at least a week, and bodies start to decay pretty quickly. . . ."

"Totally. It's going to be hard without a body, though."

"That's what I was thinking. I think—not that Scott has to move on right away or anything, but I think it'll be really tough to do it without a body to bury."

"He needs that closure."

"Mm."

They fall silent, and Scott looks down at the book again to see a tear fall on the decrepit page. He whispers a curse, presses his cuff to the splash of water.

He would feel offended that they were talking about him behind his back, but he mostly feels embarrassed. And sad.

They're right. Scott hadn't even thought about it, but he thinks that if he had Jimmy's body, he wouldn't feel quite so large a hole in his heart. At least then he could say goodbye. At least then, he could maybe fix his hair so it isn't sticking up like it always is, grip his lifeless fingers one last time—

Scott swallows back the sob, letting out a little shuddering gasp in its place. He can't—he can't cry here, when Katherine and Gem are right over there and he has very limited time to find a very important book—

"Let's give him some space," he hears one of the girls whisper, then some shuffling and shifting of papers and footsteps.

"Scott, we're going to go get some fresh air," Gem calls from somewhere. "You should take a break at some point, okay?"

Scott doesn't respond, and after a moment, he hears their footsteps recede down the passageway.

He closes the book and sets it in the discard pile (it had been about grammar or something, probably something he needs but not at all what he's looking for), then clears a space on the floor and just lies there on his side, wings pulled tight against his body. He doesn't want to accidentally knock over any books or damage them by leaning on them or something, and he feels so tired, and he just wants to lay there and cry, and he doesn't have time for any of this—

A sob tears from his throat, and Scott covers his face with his hands, trying to stifle the sounds.

He shouldn't be this emotional, especially not in public. If he lets himself break down every time someone so much as mentions Jimmy, he'll be nothing but a weak wreck who isn't worthy of his rule.

And maybe it's a sign of his weakness that Scott lets himself cry a minute longer.

And maybe it's a sign of his unworthiness when he almost immediately slips into sleep.

Blood drips down his fingers and onto the shining white coat of the stag that he loosely clutches to. The stag walks on, carefully stepping around knobby tree roots and over lumps in the earth that might make the journey even more painful for his many wounds.

Scott's entire body hurts, pulsing from head to toe. He can feel a missing tooth, a broken rib. His left arm hangs uselessly to the side. His right arm is covered in blood.

The stag walks, undeterred, even as Scott's head slumps against its neck, even as his body becomes more like deadweight than anything else.

It's peaceful in his pain. Grass is pressed down into the ground with every footstep the stag takes, springing up behind it. There's the light tune of a chickadee singing somewhere in the woods, the rustling of a small animal in some brush they pass.

It's gentle, almost, and Scott sighs and just exists at the most basic level possible.

The ground becomes softer, the stag's hooves leaving imprints in the earth. Then there's a puddle of water, here and there, then mud squishing underneath each step. A bullfrog croaks off to the left, singing to the gentle song of flowing water and dripdrops from leaves.

And then the stag stops.

Scott really ought to look up, see why it's stopped. What it's trying to show him. But his head is too heavy, his body too pained.

He can't even begin to muster the strength.

The stag, then, tips its head down—down, down, until Scott's hand slips free of its tenuous grasp and his bleeding body starts to slide. He tumbles slowly, between the antlers, and falls, almost silently, into a dark pool of water.

Red billows up in clouds around him as Scott falls deeper, the cool water washing away so many aches and injuries. It feels nice, clean despite the murkiness. It's healing, and relaxing, and he can just release any breath in his chest and let the water take him.

He sinks in slow-motion, allowing the pond to carry him deeper, until his toes hit the sandy bottom and he hangs there, almost suspended.

Something swims up to him—a cod, he realizes after a moment. It pokes playfully at his nose, then swims above his head.

Scott's eyes follow it, then turn past it as he can see, standing on the distant surface of the pool, the white stag.

As soon as Scott is looking, the stag prances across the water, and he watches even as his eyes grow heavy and begin to close.

Still it prances, a tiny beast traveling across the inside of his eyelids—and when he opens his eyes, across an old, stone floor, up a pile of books and across a shelf, cantering along until it stops beside an unassuming brown leather-bound book.

It looks at the book, then back at Scott.

CRASH!

Scott starts awake, sitting up, frantically reaching out to catch whatever had fallen.

"Sorry!" Katherine whisper-shouts. "I knocked over some books, sorry. You can go back to sleep."

Scott rubs his eyes, blinking around at the dimly-lit library, Katherine and Gem standing frozen a couple of feet away from him.

"How long was I asleep?" he mumbles, pulling his knees up to his chest.

Gem exchanges a look with Katherine before shrugging. "Maybe twenty minutes? We were going to give you twenty more before waking you up, sorry."

"No, no—I need to be up," he says. "You should've woken me."

Another look exchanged. "Look, Scott," Katherine says gently, "we think you should maybe take a break? We could go eat something, come back for a few more hours before setting the library aside? Gem can keep looking, and you can come back in a couple of weeks—"

Scott stops paying attention, remembering the stag . . . across the floor, up the stack of books over there, across the shelf. . . .

Scott stands, trips over a book he'd left on the floor, catches his balance against a bookshelf before Katherine can rush forward.

"Scott, you need to rest," says Gem firmly. "I'll find an Old Elvish translation dictionary or something and go through these myself, okay? I want you to go home and take care of yourself."

Scott continues to ignore her, pushing past both of the girls, shifting aside a stack of books to find the shelf that he'd seen in his dream—

There's the book. Exactly as it appeared in his dream.

Scott grabs it, tugs it off the shelf, even as Katherine and Gem both voice their protests.

On the leather cover is a simple, golden stag.

Scott flips it open, barely registering as the other two fall silent. The title page is instantly familiar, one of few that Scott has actually seen in Old Elvish before.

The Tale of the Two Stags.

He pages through it quickly—it's long, far longer than the story usually is, and it's been annotated. There are handwritten notes in the margins, in a form of Elvish more recent than everything else here, close enough to the current form that Scott can mostly read it.

The mountaine in the este?, one note reads, underlining a sentence. How did Conal finte it? Will the same mountaine suffise?

These are notes from Alinar himself, Scott realizes, as he reads a few more, sudden chills encompassing his entire body.

Alinar held this book.

Alinar wrote in this book.

He flips to the final pages, those that would be blank, to find that they are covered with precise notes written by Alinar. He catches the word daemone several times, something about a cristyl, what appears to be some kind of a plan, complete with a diagram. . . .

"This is it," he says quietly. He looks up; Katherine and Gem are staring at him, mouths slightly ajar. He snaps the book shut, holds it up. "This is the book."

He knows it, too. Not just because Alinar had handwritten notes in it, not just because he was led to it. But he feels that pull, that spiritual connection. It's strong, unfathomably strong, binding him to this book in his hands.

"Scott, how . . . how did you know where that was?" Gem asks slowly.

"It was behind other books," adds Katherine. "In a section that you haven't even started on."

Scott shrugs. He really isn't sure how to answer without telling them that he thinks he might be Aeor's Champion, which isn't exactly something that he wants to be advertised. What if word got around, and then he utterly lost against Xornoth? He doesn't want to give false hope.

And maybe, perhaps more relevantly, saying it out loud comes with more revelations that he doesn't want to face.

"I had a good feeling, I suppose," he says.

Gem gives him a dubious look. "That's not a 'good feeling'," she says. "That's magic. Is that what elves' magic is like? Really good intuition? I've been trying to get an elven teacher for the Academy so that I can learn more about—"

"It's not really something we can teach, or learn," Scott interrupts. Maybe best to let her believe that it had been his inherent magic (which really isn't that impressive, seeing as all it really is is the ability to make some powerful suggestions or commands, and their promises are a bit more binding than others, the magic diluted as the generations pass from Alinar's rule, the last generation of great favor in Aeor's eyes) that led him to the book.

"Oh, so it's more instinctive! So is it a conscious—"

"Gem, how about we go eat now, and you can quiz me all about fae magic when you take me back to the Overgrown," Katherine suggests. "That way, Scott can get home before his advisors send assassins after us."

Right, he does need to get back home.

"And maybe he can get a change of clothes," adds Katherine.

Scott's stomach drops a little bit. There'll be another set of mourning clothes waiting for him, more likely than not.

And then there'll be other, harder things. He'll have to release some sort of statement of mourning, and if the court decides that he and Jimmy were still betrothed, he may have to declare a day of mourning for the entire country. He'll have to work with Lizzie to pull together some sort of memorial service, if possible. He'll have to sit through all sorts of official people giving their condolences. He'll have to run a war.

Maybe, if he asks nicely, Gem will let him stay a little longer.

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