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honest-moth-of-silver-grove · 26 days ago

Note

hc for adrian having a girlfriend or s/o prior to his mother's death. they're human and maybe her apprentince or something. and the church takes her too, but before they can burn her at the stake, dracula shows up and rescues her because he knows lisa was fond of her. during adrians and draculas fight maybe she interbenes at a critical moments so drac doesnt kill him and alucard gets away but she's now a prisoner of dracula w/n his castle. and maybe she befriends the generals?

A/N: Aw, man. Sometimes I wonder if Lisa did have an apprentice, that maybe Dracula wouldn’t be as anti-human as he ended up being, or if she could start to turn him to see the error of his ways sometime before Alucard and Dracula end up in Adrian’s childhood bedroom.

Apologies for the delays in updates. But my brain went WILD with this request so it’s a long one, I hope that makes up for the less frequent posting. Anyway, I hope you enjoy these somewhat bittersweet (then depressing then bittersweet again) headcanons! (Also this is unbeta-ed and prob grammatically messy as hell, so read at your own expense lol.)

Word Count: 6.2k

TW: Canon Typical Descriptions of Graphic Violence; Brief Mentions of Sexual Violence; Canon Death; Descriptions of Torture (the church is high-key fucked up here) 

Adrian W/ A Human S/O Reader (Who’s Also Lisa’s Apprentice, Prior to Her Death):

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━

The Beginning:

Okay, so let’s get one thing straight… FIRST OF ALL, Lisa would adore you!!! Like, you make her baby boy happy and you’re smart??? What else is there to it? And then to top it all off, you’re super sweet and kind and interested in learning about medicine and the world around you!

Lisa meets you once over dinner and she’s already planning the wedding in her head.

Adrian is smitten, because of course he is, but in an adorable, somewhat restrained way. He doesn't have a lot (ahem, ANY) experience in this department, so he’s hesitant to take things forward with you, mainly because he doesn’t want to scare you off or make you suspicious about what he is. (It’s hard to make out with someone when you have two big vampire fangs in the front.)

Adrian is young, like you. So, on top of all the complications, he feels no need to rush things. Sure, he’s heard a few whispers here and there about Dracula having a son, a son who according to rumors and gossiping villagers is to rise as the antithesis of Dracula. It’s all silly superstition, but it does stay fixed in the back of his mind. What would this future legacy mean for his relationship with you? And, should it ever come to pass, would you even be a part of it?

That’s neither here nor there though, and in the meantime, the two of you simply enjoy the talking phase. You get to learn more about each other's interests, and beliefs, but mostly, you spend time in proximity to one another— you remain busy attending to his mother, learning all you can about healing while he, just a table over, spends his time rereading one of his many favorite tomes.

I honestly don’t see you meeting Dracula until you and Adrian are like a fully committed couple. I’m pretty sure you would have to have been Lisa’s apprentice for a while and/or lived with the Tepes in their Lupu cottage for months before Lisa finally breaks through Dracula’s protests and makes him officially meet you.

I don’t think that meeting would happen in Lupu either. No, I imagine it would have to take place at Dracula’s castle, just in case you were to freak out, you’d have no way of escaping and telling any others.

I can almost see your reaction being similar to Lisa’s upon first entering the castle, especially if Adrian is already at your side. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure Dracula is terrifying, but there’s also a giant telescope in the next room calling your name so….

Much to Adrian’s relief, this newfound information doesn’t make you frightened of him at all, if anything, it simply reignites your fascination with him. You throw rapid-fire questions at him: If he's part vampire, how come you’ve seen him eating human food? Does he need both food and blood to satisfy each of his halves? If he needs blood, he could take some of yours you know…

Your penchant for learning softens Dracula a little. For a brief time, he wonders if, perhaps, it was as Lisa said, that the humans could change, that humanity was changing for the better.

He sits across from you at their grand dinner table, watching you intensely as you and Adrian talk about the recent literature you’ve read. You’d no doubt feel Dracula’s all-powerful gaze on you, making you turn to him and… Wait, did you just smile?!

You’ve got guts, Dracula will give you that.

Knowing the family secret, you can’t exactly break up with Adrian, nor do you have any desire to. I wonder if Dracula would have rings made for the two of you, maybe commission a new family portrait or two.

You stay with Lisa in Lupu during Dracula's travels. Adrian is around, although he's always off between the castle and their cottage, so you never feel entirely alone or vulnerable. Your life is perfect! It’s better than you could have ever imagined!

That is, until…

━━━━━ ● ━━━━━

The During:

When the Church comes to take Lisa, you beg them to see reason. You cry and scream, hell, you even try to fight your way out at one point, only for both you and Dr. Tepes to be overpowered by the Church’s henchman.

The two of you are taken, violently, to Targoviste, where you’re thrown into dark, damp cells with little to no light. Freezing, you huddle together for warmth, each trying your best to reassure the other, that all will turn out well. Adrian was still around, right? He’ll have to come home to find you missing, he’ll come and rescue you. And Dracula was due to return soon, correct? Surely, they’ll come. Surely, they’ll stop this madness.

It’s a few days later, after hours of interrogation and brutal torture that you realize with a heavy heart, that no one is coming to rescue you. And what’s worse, that these so-called men of the cloth cannot and will not listen to reason. You’re starved and beaten, your hair is sliced off so close to your skin, that they take bits of your scalp with it in some places. And despite initially being imprisoned with Lisa, you find yourself being separated from her for longer periods.

The men try everything to get you to turn on her. They tell you if you recant her wicked ways now, say she used her evil magic to trick you, your sentencing will be easier. You could still live— they dangle betrayal in front of you as a last lifeline. You don’t take it of course. You love Mrs. Tepes, and you know she’s no witch. You muster what little might you have left, spitting at the men as you tell them to go to hell. You swear she’s innocent, that she knows nothing. Hell, at one point, you find yourself confessing to having manipulated her! You don’t think they buy it though, if the poor doctor’s screams from down the hall are anything to go by.

The night they light the pyre, the night of Lisa’s murder, you’re sick on more than one occasion. You scream your throat raw, begging them to burn you first! That she was innocent! That you corrupted her! That it was all your doing! But to no avail.

In a scene that could only rival the Crucifixion of Christ himself, you look up through tear-soaked eyes to see Lisa, enshrouded in flames, begging Dracula to show mercy on her killers, to forgive them, that they know not what they do. “I know it's not your fault,” she cries out, “But, if you can hear me, they don't know what they're doing! Be better than them. Please!”

You sob and wail, watching as your would-be mother-in-law is burned alive. You scream out for someone, anyone! To please help you, save you! With Lisa’s last words echoing in your mind, you can’t help but fear Adrian’s and his Father’s reactions, should they find you both killed.

Oh, gods…

You don’t know what makes you feel sicker… The barbaric display you’re witnessing now or the hypothetical one that threatens to wipe out all living people in Wallachia once Dracula learns of what’s happened. You need not wait long for an answer.

In a fury of fire and grandeur, Dracula’s head appears, molded in flame, demanding to know what has happened to his wife. You cry out to him, apologizing profusely, saying you begged them to burn you first! You scream out how they refused to see reason, they killed her for helping! Injudiciously, in your indignant anger, you plead with Dracula to release his fury on the priests who did this, to send them to hell to be tortured for eternity for this unforgivable transgression!

With the silent fury of a gathering storm, Dracula’s fiery visage speaks calmly as his anger grows concertedly less. "I give you one year Wallachians,” he finally decides. “You have one year to make your peace and remove any marks you have made upon the land. One year, and I'll wipe all human life from the land of Wallachia. You took that which I love, so I will take from you everything you have and everything you have ever been. One year."

No sooner than he spits out the words, a coil of fire bursts from his image, winding itself around your body. The guards surrounding you gasp and flee, avoiding the coil’s tail as it whips back and forth, hoisting you into the air.

The fiery coil burns your skin, and the smell of even more burnt flesh makes you gag. If you had any bile left over at all, you’re certain it’d come up yet again. The pain is like a thousand stinging nettles and boiling water constricting your arms and midriff all at once. Your vision grows blurry as you feel your body move through the air, your nostrils taking in one last wretched breath of sulfur and smoke.

━━━━━ ◉ ━━━━━

The After — Part One:

When you awake you find yourself laid, practically bare, a heap on the floor within Dracula’s castle— the evil Lord himself only feet away, raging over his magic well— as shards of his magic mirror whip around him at incredible speeds. Your head is pounding, it feels as if it might explode, and your arms… Fuck.

Where the supernatural coil grabbed you, your skin was red and raw, small pockets of blisters already beginning to form. Your arms tremble uncontrollably as you try to move them, the pain that’s consuming your nerves is far too intense to hold them steady as you sit up into an upright position.

It doesn’t feel real; nothing feels real. It feels like a nightmare. It had all been perfect, everything was perfect— you all were happy! How did it turn into such horror so fast?

Shakily, you rise to your feet and clutch the remains of your clothes to your chest in an attempt to preserve your modesty, although it’s more of a subconscious act on your part. Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion, yourself included. It’s like the air is heavier here somehow, its weight filling your lungs and weighing you down.

A loud noise shocks you back to the present, nearly making you stumble over in fright. At least you would have, had Adrian not used his superspeed to catch you before you fell. One of his gloved hands grasps your left arm directly over the burn, causing you to let out a hiss. His rectangular eyes look wider than you’ve ever seen as he releases his grip, looking over your battered form.

“(Y/N) ...” Adrian says, his voice serious and quiet, barely a whisper.

You shake your head furiously, unable to trust your ability to speak without breaking. Upon Adrian’s gentle insistence, you feel your mouth opening, and the words slipping out, scraping against the back of your reddened throat as they exit your frail body.

“They killed her, Adrian…” you whisper, your voice quivering. “I, we tried to stop them, they just wouldn’t listen!” Somehow, your eyes begin to water again, despite your earlier certainty that your body had no water nor tears left in it at all.

“Once she realized they wouldn't listen to reason, she lied and told them I was innocent. She told them she had manipulated me, that I was just a child, that I didn’t know what I was doing, that she never got the chance to teach me!” A feeling of guilt consumes you as you speak the words aloud, and soon enough, your body is once again plagued by uncontrollable sobs.

Adrian listens intently to your words, his brows furrowed. You watch through teary eyes as a range of emotions flash across his face: anger, hurt, pain, sorrow, and finally… acceptance. Your beloved hardens his gaze, choking down whatever grief he may be feeling. At the present, Adrian knows, there are more pressing matters at hand.

You follow Adrian’s steely gaze back, seeing his Father where he is bent over his summoning circle, cursing in a language that is foreign to you before he switches back to Romanian.

“One year! It will take me one year to summon an army from the guts of Hell itself!” Dracula proclaims, promising to enact vengeance for the death of his love.

“No.” Adrian counters, slipping out of your grasp.

“Adrian,” you whisper, warningly. “Don’t—”

“What do you mean, ‘no’? That woman was the only reason on Earth for me to tolerate human life!” Dracula retaliates, enraged his son could even conceive of such lenience.

“Then find the one who did the deed,” Alucard proposes. “If you set loose an army of the night on Wallachia, you cannot undo it, and many thousands of people just as innocent as her will suffer and die.”

“There are no innocents! Not anymore! Any one of them could have stood up and said, ‘No, we won't behave like animals anymore.’"

“(Y/N) did.” Adrian points out. “She tried to take all the blame, in an attempt to save Mother’s life.”

Dracula looks over at you with blood-red eyes, contempt clear on his face. “And yet,” he snarls, “Here she stands, and my Wife, your Mother does not!” He hisses the last word, livid that out of the two of you, you were the one who survived.

With large, fearful eyes, you watch as Adrian closes the gap between him and his Father.

“I won't let you do it. I grieve with you, but I won't let you commit genocide.”

“Adrian,” you warn again.

The next bit happened all so quickly.

Faster than you could blink, you watch, helpless, frozen in horror as Adrian charges his father, his longsword drawn. Despite their vampiric speed being unrecognizable to the untrained human eye, you swear you watch the scene unfold in slow motion. Adrian charges first, but Dracula, roaring in a fit of rage, counters faster— his Father’s elongated claws slash diagonally across Adrian’s chest, before his fist pauses, still embedded deep within your lover’s gut.

You don’t have time to think before you act. To you, Adrian has the abilities of a god, but to his Father… It was clear there’d be no match. You have no clue how you got your hands on it, no idea as to how you even managed a successful hit, but the next thing you know, a triangular shard of magic mirror is impaled in Great Lord Dracula’s back, put there by your very hand.

Too terrified to even breathe, the only sound you can hear beyond your racing pulse is a wet, gory squelch as Dracula retracts his claws from Adrian’s body. You hear the spray of blood before you see it, a rush of bright red blood gushes onto the marble floor between Dracula and his son.

Standing at his impressive full height, Dracula turns ever so slowly, ever so menacingly, to face you. His pupils are that of a blood moon, his sclera so bloodshot they practically look as black as night. In that second, you know you’ve fucked up.

You cower as Dracula raises one hand to you, instinctively shielding your neck from his nasty bloodied talons. With surprisingly repressed strength, Dracula backhands you, the force sending you flying backward, smashing into the base of one of the curved bookshelves lining the walls of his summoning room.

With his focus still on you, Dracula stalks toward you. Knowing it’s now or never, you scream at Adrian to flee. “Run!” The words rip out of your raw throat, sounding like an eleventh commandment.

You see Adrian, previously stunned by his Father’s disregard for his life, holding together the gaping wound across his chest. He has no time to even spare you, his beloved, a last look before evaporating into clouds, his cloud of bloodied mist bolting for the door, fleeing as fast as his injured state would allow him.

Dracula only turns to watch as his son, his very possibly fatally wounded son, flees the confines of his castle. For a moment it is silent— only the sound of both yours and Dracula’s heaving breaths echo across the chamber.

Clenching his clawed fingers into a fist, Dracula says nothing as he too makes his way to the castle doors, leaving your bruised and broken body alone in the dark.

━━━━━ ❍ ━━━━━

The After — Part Two:

Somehow, Christ only knows, you find your way to one of Lisa’s old labs and do a half-assed job of patching yourself up. You find your burns and dislocated shoulder to be the most painful of injuries.

Thankfully, Lisa had taught you enough about setting a patient’s shoulder that you managed to smash it into an adjacent wall, popping your joint back in yourself. The burns you wrap in honey and milk-soaked linen gauze, wincing every time the bandages brush against your skin. It’s awful work, slow work too, but you must have managed it alright because you find yourself patched up and passed out in one of the castle’s kitchens a few hours (or days? had it been days?) after that.

You eat raw vegetables and berries— nothing that requires cooking. Lord knows you couldn't prepare anything successfully now even if you were to try. Eating your foraged meal in silence you debate your next steps. Do you go back home? Would your family even welcome you home after your long and unexplained absence? And if they, along with all the humans in Wallachia were ultimately to be driven from the land, did it matter anyway?

‘Oh god,’ you think. You have to warn them, have to make them flee before a year is up. But where would you go? Where could you go? Greater Styria was a possibility, although it was not by any means an easy journey, and the climate there was much colder than your folks were used to here. You shakily rise to your feet and set out to find a map within one of the Castle’s many libraries.

After a good night’s rest, you find your mindset with a newfound determination: you will go home. You were going to get your family on the move and then… Then, you’d come back here.

You knew, in all likelihood, that returning to Dracula’s castle after the fact entailed certain death. But you also knew, things would get worse if he were to be left alone.

Dracula may not have ever loved you for a daughter-in-law. Hell, he may not have ever loved anyone aside from Mrs. Tepes, but you promised her while huddling together that first night in those dingy cells that no matter what happened, should either of you get out alive, you would not leave Adrian and Vlad. “They need humans, (Y/N),” Lisa coughed into your ear. “And most importantly, humanity needs them.”

Dracula would resent your company, he would want to be rid of you. But you could not be rid of him, not after what Lisa had asked of you.

‘Besides,’ you thought, ‘Nobody should have to grieve alone.’

The journey back home to your parents is majorly uneventful. Sure, it was touch and go for a while, your body was exhausted after the ordeal you endured, and your wounds had gotten infected once or twice. Thankfully, you had the mind to pack with you any potential treatments you might need.

It felt good to be home, to be amongst family again. You couldn’t stop crying and hugging everyone when you first arrived. You kept the details to a minimum but made it clear they needed to be the hell out of Wallachia before a year. You told them you had found an apprenticeship, that the woman was kind to you, but while in Targoviste, you saw the burning of a witch, and soon after the face of Satan himself appeared in flames, threatening the crowd. It caused a panic, you see, and you had gotten trampled in the process.

You didn’t bother to explain that the woman you were learning under was this so-called witch and that this Satanic figure was her husband. Nor did you tell them of your half-inhuman partner. You knew had you told the family the whole truth, they might have cast you out as a devil worshiper and a liar and choose not to heed your words.

Your warnings spread through your extended family like how ivy creeps up a stone wall. A fair part of your relatives in the country believed you enough to agree to uproot their lives and settle outside of Wallachia: some settled on Syria, others had decided on Greece, Egypt, or Rome. The more skeptical ones who hemmed and hawed over the validity of your claims agreed to move into the countryside, a decent distance from any major Wallachian city or village.

When you were certain they’d heed your words, you told them you could not stay with them, your Mother wept for three straight days and your Father could do little to console her. As much as it broke your family’s heart, you knew that your need to return to Castlevania was larger than yours. You weren't just doing it for your family, you were doing it for every family across the land. You couldn't be selfish. Mrs. Tepes was the most selfless woman you had met, and she taught you well. If you meant what you said to her when you first met, that you wanted to help people, you would need to buck up and accept the consequences of that.

Your journey back to the castle was much more melancholy than your journey home. You could almost feel the whispers of the tortured souls Dracula had slain before blowing cold air into your ears, begging you to turn back. Nevertheless, you continued. You entered Castlevania to find you were alone, however, that would not be the case for long.

Months later you had fallen into somewhat of a predictable routine within the castle and its new occupants. Dracula had recruited two humans to serve as his war planners— men by the names of Hector and Isaac, respectively. You appreciate the levity Hector, and his undead pets bring, and you admire the intelligence and loyalty Isaac has. You just wish they weren’t going along with Dracula’s plan.

You tread carefully as you find the time to express to each of his Generals that you wish they wouldn’t go through with this plan. You explain humans are not the kind of species to give in to subjugation, they will revolt eventually. You suggest the vampires come up with some sort of tit-for-tat system with the humans instead like, for example, promised blood servants would equal vampiric protection for that territory.

It’s safe to say no one is impressed with your centrist ideals, so eventually stop taking part in the conversation. You silently hang around Hector, and just listen with a sorrowful expression, satisfied with knowing that if you can’t change the Generals' minds, you can, at the very least, make them somewhat uncomfortable.

When Carmilla arrives, you’re immediately put off by her little display of insolence. Unlike yours, her dissent doesn’t seem to come from a place of concern. You make a mental note to keep an eye on her.

It’s during the General's next argument that you receive a ray of hope: “We are quite certain that Alucard sleeps at Gresit.”

You feel your body grow lighter.

“So, that means,” you speak aloud to yourself more so to anyone else, “Adrian is alive?”

You’re met with a handful of annoyed glares from the other vampires as Isaac continues: “And that there was recently a Belmont there.”

Upon hearing Carmilla berate the others for not sending night creatures to the ancestral Belmont home, your smile falls and your improved mood falters. These Belmonts were famous monster hunters, famous enough to frighten your current vampire company. That means, if there was a Belmont in Gresit, at the same time as Adrian, as Alucard, whatever the hell he’s going by these days, it could prove disastrous for your love. For all you know, he’s still recovering from the wounds dealt to him by his Father. And if this Belmont, this monster hunter strikes first and asks questions later, he may accidentally kill the only living vampire in existence who stands against the very nature of this war.

‘How ironic,’ you think solemnly. Just as fast as the universe gives you hope, it rips it away once more.

You excuse yourself, and make your way towards Hector’s forge, aiming to distract your distraught mind with some cute reanimated pets.

Shortly thereafter, Hector joins you. He asks if you truly did not know Dracula’s son was still alive. You shake your head ‘no’, telling him how you had prayed every past night to any God who would listen, that they would send their holy armies and angels to guard him, but no, you had mostly just feared he was dead.

You spend the rest of the night talking to Hector about Alucard, Adrian as you knew him. How smart he was, how much the two of you used to laugh, and how much he looked just like his Mother.

“Perhaps that’s why,” Hector supposes, “Dracula could no longer bear to see him.”

You say perchance he’s right, conveniently leaving out the part where the Father and Son duo almost fought to the death right in front of you.

The conversation with Hector reignites something within you. You feel as if you had been praying all this time for an answer, and this was it. Alucard was alive, and so was Belmont. You understand now what needs to be done.

Your lover must once again fight his Father, and this time, he must win.

Your silent observations allow you to learn of Carmilla’s scheme fairly early on, as well as Godbrand’s demise at the hands of Isaac, yet all that time, you say nothing. You keep your mouth shut and your eyes down. If Carmilla divides Dracula’s army and court, she will inevitably make it easier for Alucard and Belmont to destroy him.

The Generals, and even Dracula himself, believe you are mourning the loss of your love for the second time, as his demise will be inevitable the moment he meets his Father and his armies— or at least, that’s what they assume.

When Carmilla has Hector send special night creatures to the remains of the Belmont home, you attach a letter around one of the creature's necks, hoping your love will notice it, and if he doesn’t, you pray he instinctively outwits the traps that await for him within his Father’s castle.

━━━━━ ❂ ━━━━━

Beginning Again:

The night Dracula chooses to move the Castle to Braila, you manage to speak with him one last time.

You bring him some tea, even though you know he won’t drink it, and you tell him, for what must be the hundredth time, how sorry you are about all that’s happened. You apologize for not being able to do more to save his wife. You tell him that if you could do it all over again if you were given a choice between who they should burn first, you’d demand it be you.

Dracula turns away from the fire to look at you upon hearing those words.

“She was fond of you, you know.” He says, sounding far away as if lost in a distant memory. “She was overjoyed at the thought of gaining a daughter”

You nodded along a hurt smile on your face. “It was my honor.” Gathering your courage you continued: “Even though it didn’t work out, I want you to know I loved your wife very much… And,” you kept going. “I love your son very much.”

Dracula said nothing. He simply turned his attention back to the flames within his study’s fireplace.

“It’s not too late, you know,” you prod gently. “If Adrian is alive, he could still come back, we could still be a family-”

“No!” Dracula’s low growl sent shivers down your spine.

For a moment you feared he would rise to attack you or perhaps berate you further, but no such action came. Instead, the former Great Lord Dracula’s shoulders deflated back to their hunched position, as he fell silent once again.

Quietly, you made your way back to your room, shutting and locking the door behind you. If you had any tears left at all, you would have shed them throughout the night. Instead, you merely lay awake, staring at the ceiling, wondering if there would even be a tomorrow to awaken to.

Pleased to still be alive at this point, but feeling increasingly suffocated by this overwhelming sense of doom, you spend the next day cooped up in your room, on your knees, the rosary in your hand, whispering prayers of safety for your loved one. You couldn't explain it, but at the time, you felt compelled to recite prayer after prayer and reveal all the fears and worries in your heart.

You speak out to Death, to God, to all the angels and saints, and beg them to grant Adrian safe passage as he completes his task of saving humanity— it’s something his Mother would have wanted after all.

Amidst your fervent prayers, you feel the Castle shake and creak, but you soon realize something is off: it keeps jerking from side to side, several times, way too many to be a case of a single relocation. Your heart races, and in the pit of your gut, you know this is it:

The Alucard has come.

Your love has come back for you.

You scramble behind the door, poised with a wooden stake in hand (just in case, you never know), and wait.

And wait.

Following a crescendo of metallic crashes and screaming, you hear more crashes, this time lesser in intensity and they’re accompanied by the distinct scent of fire, sulfur, and burnt flesh.

It terrifies you, bringing such horrible memories of your almost demise to the surface. You look down at the burn scars on your arms and feel physically ill. Every time you shut your eyes to blink, you see the corpse of Ms. Tepes, burning alive right before you as if no time has passed at all, as if you’re trapped in the permanent hell of that memory.

The overwhelming ornery atmosphere in the castle only grows, seeming to suddenly flood your nostrils and every pore.

You watch in shock and horror as thousands of soot-colored transparent ghouls burst through your doorway, the shock of the impact sending you reeling into the bed. Tortured faces of all shapes and sizes circle you menacingly, before bursting through your room’s glass window, vanishing just as fast as they came.

Within an instant you feel… lighter, freer almost. It’s as if something major has changed, but you don’t know what.

Timidly, stake still in hand, you make your way down the castle corridors. Unfortunately, you have to take several detours, your regular route being cut off by giant holes in the architecture. A good portion of the castle looks like it had been hit with cannon fire.

You sincerely hope that whatever caused that damage is no longer rampaging around these halls, lest you stumble upon them yourself.

By the time you reach the throne room, the sun is just peeking out from behind the horizon. The sight of it flowing freely into the castle interior lifts your spirits with hope. Sunlight means no vampires. No vampires means…

You follow the originating path of the sun’s beams, finding three figures illustrated against the sunrise. One of them is a burly-looking man, with a large frame and broad shoulders. Another is a woman, at least, you’re fairly certain they’re a woman, with curly hair, dressed in flowing blue robes. And the third is….

You don’t even need a second glance to know who the third person is.

Crying out his name, you run towards your long-lost lover, almost losing your footing over all the debris covering the floor. But just as he would before, and just as he always would, your lover, Adrian, catches you before you can fall.

The two of you cling to each other for dear life, just silently sobbing, feeling grateful to be in one another’s embrace. You’re not sure how long the two of you stay intertwined like that, you just know however long it was, it could never be enough to make up for how much you missed him this past year.

“Adrian,” you clutch his coat, “I thought you were dead! I thought he had killed you! I was so worried.”

“He almost did,” the strange broad-shoulder man reveals in a teasing fashion. You watch as the robed woman elbows him in the gut.

“Alucard,” Adrian says, regaining your attention as he grasps your hands in his. “I am Alucard now.”

You look into his golden eyes, sensing while this is still very much the body of the man you loved, this Alucard before you, is not the same person that your Adrian was. After all this time, it feels like quite the loss, and yet, you cannot fault him for it. You are unaware of the journey he’s been on, of the sacrifices he’s had to make. God knows your character must have changed as well, living amongst a vampire court and necromancers for just under a year.

You back away from your love, temporarily ignoring his concerned expression.

“Hello Alucard,” you say, extending a hand, “My name is (Y/N). And I’d very much like to share a drink with you if you’d let me.”

“Don’ know about Alucard,” the broad man mumbles, gripping his side in pain, “But I’d very much like a drink. Or five.”

“Trevor!” The robed woman scolds.

“What?”

You smile at the three of them, feeling beyond blessed that your love has found such wonderful new friends.

When you had first fallen for Adrian, you assumed your family would consist solely of him, his mother, and his father, that you’d spend the rest of your days learning medicine in a little cottage nestled in Lupu. That simple life was to be yours. But now, it’s all changed. And Alucard is all that remains of that family you once loved.

You gaze out into the forest beyond the castle grounds, closing your eyes and sighing as you feel the morning’s sun on your face.

Yes, it was true Mrs. and Mr. Tepes were gone.

It was true that the old Adrian could never come back.

But if you had to choose a new life, a life here amongst a gorgeous castle, with your former lover and his two new friends, well… you doubted you could pick a better one than that.

A/N 2.0: WHY DID THIS TAKE ME SO LOOOONG? Who knows? Anyway, it’s here now. And hey— did you pay close attention to the symbols in the dividers? Go ahead and look back if you didn’t, just a silly little fun symbolism storytelling. Oh, also, I will finally be updating The Queue List to reflect all the asks I’ve since answered and posted to not confuse people checking on the status of their ask/new readers.

If you liked reading this, please REBLOG! Likes are great but reblogs spread my work much further.

If you really, really liked reading this, Consider Buying Me a Coffee <3.

#adrian tepes x reader #alucard castlevania #alucard x reader #alucard x you #alucard imagine #adrian fahrenheit tepes #adrian tepes #alucard #castlevania imagine #castlevania x reader

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venture-through-the-mist · 3 months ago

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Thoughts on The Lotus Eaters

As I’m sure is obvious, this will be discussing the Lotus Eaters quest in detail, so if you haven’t played it yet, I’d suggest skipping this post! I don’t want to spoil it for anyone (because even though it’s a short quest, I still think it benefits from being played with no prior knowledge of what it entails), so the full post will be below the cut.

Alright, I have SO many thoughts, so I’m going to try and keep this somewhat concise…ish. This is mostly just a bunch of rambles, so I apologize for any grammatical errors or if it’s hard to understand. I just kinda…wrote what came to my mind.

First off,

The Music: I briefly mentioned this in another post, but holy shit the music for this update is amazing. I mean, we all knew it would be, Warframe has a tendency to put out absolutely awesome songs, but oh my god. We get two more versions of what is one of my favorite songs in the game. The loading screen version of ‘This is What You Are’ has to be, by far, one of my favorite things I’ve heard from this game. I love the feel to it, like a combination of ‘old’ Warframe with ‘new’, 1999-era Warframe. I’ve had it playing on repeat almost all day because it’s so good.

Now, for the version of ‘This is What You Are’ that we actually get during the quest, the one that Lotus is singing to herself. I, admittedly, didn’t pay too much attention to it when I was actually playing the quest, at least not beyond “omg Lotus is singing, that’s awesome” (I was just too excited about the actual quest lol). However, when I listened to it again, I was fascinated by the subtle differences in how this version sounds compared to the ‘normal’ version of the song, or even to the new version in the loading screen. The singing is a lot more staccato, and the notes don’t flow into each other in the ways they normally would. It’s almost as if Lotus is having to concentrate more on what comes next (at least, that’s my interpretation), which makes sense given that we know that she’s singing in order to drown out the Indifference’s voice. Her singing also sounds a little sad, or maybe just lonely, to me. Her mind is filled with the Indifference trying to influence her, and she’s taken it upon herself to be a barrier (or as she says it, a “distraction”) between It and the Tenno. She’s secluded herself (again), and her tone of voice seems to reflect that.

Also, after the quest, if you go and talk to Daughter/Kaelli in the Necralisk, ‘Party of Your Lifetime’ plays now, instead of whatever song was playing before. I just think that’s neat (and also brings in some interesting ideas for 1999…what did our Drifter do?).

Moving on…

The Story: I had absolutely zero idea where the story was going to go from this update, but I was a bit worried about how they’d go about locking us into playing as the Drifter for 1999, since — although I 1000% agree with why the Drifter is definitely going to be the one going back in time — I’m definitely someone who would rather play as my Operator for my own lore reasons (and I can’t think of a reason that my Operator would let the Drifter do this instead of her). I was actually wondering if they’d actually lock us into the Drifter without giving us a choice, or if they just wouldn’t give us the option to do the romance stuff if we chose Operator (for obvious reasons…bc yk, they’re a child). But, I really enjoy the route they went down, how Lotus knows that the Drifter has to be the one this time, because if the Operator does, that might just be giving the Indifference exactly what it wants. She’s, once again, protecting her kids in the way she knows how, by taking them out of the conflict in any way she can.

But, I’m getting a bit ahead of myself, so let’s backtrack a bit and talk about how cool it is that we see the Operator and the Drifter interacting with Lotus at the same time. I may have missed something in the quests leading up to that, or this might just be something attributed to the Man in the Wall’s hijinks, or…something, but I thought that they couldn’t be in the same place at the same time/in the same ‘reality’. So, I was quite surprised (pleasantly, ofc) to see both of them. I really love the difference in the dialogue options when we initially talk to Lotus. The Operator is torn between wondering if Lotus is alright, and also being super worried about what the hell the noise is, in a way that makes me think they definitely suspect that the Indifference is meddling with things again (which makes sense, given that they’re actively in the Sanctum). Honestly, the Operator was probably waiting for something like this to happen. They know, or at least suspect, that Lotus saw the Man in the Wall after the battle with Ballas, it was only a matter of time before that became important. The Drifter, on the other hand, is more concerned with Lotus herself, warning her to be careful, reassuring her, but also wondering what she means by “It’s you”. Maybe the Drifter doesn’t really know the extent of the effects that the Indifference has on the System, maybe the Operator is just trying to protect Lotus in the only way they know how…get the perceived danger away from her first, ask questions later (I’ve noticed from their dialogue throughout the game that the Operator tends to have a bit of a sharper temper than the Drifter does…perhaps bc they’re younger). Either way, it’s nice that they have different responses to seeing Lotus and hearing the noise.

I chose the “Are you okay” and “What do you mean, ‘it’s you’?” dialogue options, and I absolutely loved that my Operator’s line was “This isn’t just a bad memory, it is? This is new”. This acknowledges, at least in my interpretation, that Lotus does have lingering emotions from everything that’s happened in the past (Ballas/The New War, Hunhow, etc). Once again, Warframe surprises me by remembering to make the trauma that a character has gone through actually relevant to the story even after we’ve dealt with the source of the problem. I probably shouldn’t be surprised at this, but most video games I’ve seen don’t tend to do that. Usually characters are…somewhat fine after experiencing something horrific, so it’s refreshing to see a different (more realistic, imo) take on it. This isn’t even the only time we see this in this quest/afterwards. Lotus outright confirms it herself (“I will not let it devour one instant of my pain. Not even Ballas. Not even the Jade Light.”), and in doing so, is also showing us how she’s dealt with the events of the prior storylines. She’s gone through a series of extremely traumatic events, and she still has those painful memories, but she’s not going to succumb to the Indifference, even if It promises to take that away. She’s been hurt, yes, but she is healing, and she’s finally in a place where she can actually do so as herself. That doesn’t mean it’s easy for her to ignore the voice that’s calling to her —the voice that only she can hear— but she’s determined to. I’m curious if the voice-lines after the quest are different if a player had chosen Margulis or Natah instead of Lotus after the New War, though.

I find it very interesting that Lotus calls the Drifter ‘my champion’. I just really enjoy the fact that she definitively sees the Operator and the Drifter as two separate people, as opposed to ‘her child’, and ‘her child but older’, because I feel like that fact could have certainly been a cause of a bit of discomfort and a learning curve for both her and the Drifter after the New War.

Now, onto the 1999 portion of the quest, which, even as short as it was, was quite interesting. It was really weird to be in the Mall again and not hear ‘Party of Your Lifetime’ playing or see other Tenno dancing around the stage (like how it was during TennoCon). It was quite eery, and I love it. Also, we got to see Kalymos again, so that’s a plus.

All in all, this quest answered a lot of my questions about how the game is going to transition to 1999 (and even answered questions that I didn’t know I had). However, I am slightly (read: very) concerned at the same time, mainly because of the line with Lotus saying “If I become something you do not recognize, do not mourn”. I feel like that’s potentially foreshadowing something…They don’t usually put lines like that in without reason. Maybe I’m just reading too far into that…but I suppose we’ll see when 1999 comes out.

Anywho, another thing that I wasn’t expecting but am really glad that we got was the continued acknowledgement of Lotus/Natah/Margulis being a system. This happened not once, but twice (to my knowledge), and I think it’s really great that they didn’t just disregard the whole “I am not one” thing from The New War after we made our choice between the three of them. It’s really nice to see that that wasn’t just a one-off line, especially as we continue to get more and more moments where the game references them.

This is already way longer than it probably should be, but what can I say? I like well-written characters, and this game has so many of them. I’ve definitely forgotten some things that I’d wanted to put in this post, but ah well.

#warframe #warframe spoilers #warframe the lotus eaters

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the12thnightproject · 6 months ago

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Chapter Six: Mitsunari POV (gacha) - The Closed Door Conumdrum - We peek inside Mitsunari's brain and discover he's not nearly as absentminded as he seems. Ok. Not as absentminded.

Mitsunari x OC; Nobunaga x Mai

Previous Chapter

Logline - In order to protect a political alliance, Katusko and Mitsunari must pretend an engagement. But this “all business” arrangement is threatened by a coup against Nobunaga… and by feelings.

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

Accurate communication is essential on the battlefield. The ‘fog of war’ can create confusion, cause errors, and even be the cause of self-inflicted casualties. It is essential that prior to a battle beginning, clear lines and methods of communication are established.

Personal comments: Lady Okatsu is willing to eat my carrots, which is a promising development for our alliance.

Additional Note One: Lord Hideyoshi saw the above note and reminded me that carrots are good for me and that I should eat them.

Additional Note Two: Lord Masamune also saw the above and asked me if “willing to eat my carrots” was a euphemism. Am unsure what he meant.

The words of the book he was reading wavered before his eyes, then disappeared. No. It was dark. Everything had gone dark again. Dark and …

Mitsunari reached up and removed the scarf that had been tossed over his head. Mitsuhide stood in front of him, holding a tray that contained several dishes of food (including a main dish that held far too many carrots) and jar of something that looked sticky. Was that a new dessert? And why had Mitsuhide delivered his meal? He dipped a finger in the sticky substance and brought it to his mouth.

“I wouldn’t if I were you. It’s unlikely to kill you, but I doubt the effects would be at all pleasant.” Mitsuhide put the entire tray into his hands. “It’s salve, for Okatsu’s eye.”

“Is she in here?” Mitsunari glanced around the archive room, but the only other occupant was Mitsuhide.

“No. You are to deliver this to Okatsu – I’m certain, that she at least, must be hungry by now.” Mitsuhide paused for a moment, then seemed to come to a decision. “I told the maid not to bring her evening meal.”

Why had he done that? Mitsunari was aware that Hideyoshi was upset with all of them, but it was unfair of Mitsuhide to only punish Lady Okatsu. He was also certain that Hideyoshi was unaware that Okatsu wasn’t being fed.

After another long moment, Mitsuhide eventually answered his unasked question. “In order for the charade of an engagement to succeed, you and Okatsu need to figure out how to act like a couple in love.”

Love? Mitsunari liked Lady Okatsu, but he didn’t have the slightest idea how to behave as if he loved her. “What is the best tactic for love? Where would I begin?”

“You need to spend more time with her. Starting tonight. Lovers enjoy sharing a meal together.” He tapped at one of the dishes on the tray. “Lovers converse. Often, they casually touch each other – as Nobunaga and Mai do.”

I wouldn’t be so impolite as to touch her!

Mitsunari’s panic at that instruction must have shown on his face, for Mitsuhide softened his tone. “It is for you and Okatsu to decide for yourselves what feels the most natural.” Mitsuhide gave Mitsunari a light push toward the door. “Having a frank conversation would be the best place to start.”

Lady Okatsu’s door was shut. Mitsunari looked at the tray in his hands and wondered how to slide it open without dropping anything. If he were being honest with himself, he was surprised he’d managed to carry the tray from the archive room without incident.

Well. There must be a trick to it. Maids did this every day and he’d not heard any of them drop trays. But maybe they did? Maybe dropped trays was an ongoing issue that needed solved. What if they were to build small tables outside of each room? That way one could put the tray down, open the door, then pick the tray up again.

Although such a solution might take a while.

Perhaps he should talk to Lady Mai and discuss having the maids deliver meals in teams of two, so that there would always be someone to open the door. Though that would be a waste of manpower, would it not? What if each dinner tray came equipped with an attached stick that could be used as a lever to pull the door open? He was halfway through the schematics of such an invention before he realized that Lady Okatsu’s food was getting cold. Maybe she would open the door for him. “Lady Okatsu?”

He heard her rustling around. “Come on in.”

That… solved nothing.

He started to shift the tray to one hand. It tipped precariously.

Thankfully, before disaster struck, Lady Okatsu slid open the door, let him inside and immediately cleared a space for him to set down the tray. He appreciated her ability to understand what was needed without verbal instructions. It was a good quality to have in a warrior.

Not that she was a warrior. Tonight, she was a civilian, and a wounded one at that. As it had been his slow reaction time that had allowed her to get injured, he owed her an apology. “I’m sorry for-”

“I need to apologize for-” she said at the same time.

“I’m sorry-” Wait… Should he also apologize for interrupting? “I’m sorry you were hurt.” Her eye had turned purple and looked swollen and painful. At the last moment, he realized he’d been about to touch it, and quickly pulled his hand back. “I should have protected you.”

“Oh, no. It wasn’t your fault. I shouldn’t have gone over there in the first place… and once the fighting started, I should have stayed out of your way. It’s my fault. I didn’t think.” She looked away from him, and Mitsunari realized that Mitsuhide had been correct – the two of them did need to learn how to communicate. Not simply to portray love, but at more importantly to be able to cooperate during this mission.

However, medical aid was the first order of business. He handed her the salve and the cloth. “For your injury. Ieyasu makes it.” Second order of business? Determine what had happened at the restaurant. Lady Okatsu didn’t come across as particularly flighty. “Why did you go to talk to the sailors? You must have had a good reason.”

There was a battered, and unfortunately food splattered drawing on the desk. It was a sketch of a young man, who, from the shape of his face, could be related to Lady Okatsu. “My brother is missing, and the last information I had about him was that he had been imprisoned on a ship of some kind. So, whenever I see sailors – I ask. But normall… Normally they answer my questions.”

She moved the portrait aside and picked up the ointment. After taking a cautious sniff, she dipped her finger in and swiped it across her cheek… missing most of the injury entirely.

He ought to assist her. Perhaps this was what Mitsuhide meant by ‘casual touch.’ “You missed a spot – let me help.”

Lady Okatsu hesitated a moment before sitting down on the futon. She turned her face to him and shut her eyes.

It wasn’t as if he’d never treated battlefield wounds before – but the hurried ‘patch them up and move on’ atmosphere of a medical tent was different from this peaceful summer evening. It was so quiet he could hear the buzzing of the cicadas and the setting sun shone through the window at just the right angle to highlight a hint of red in Lady Okatsu’s hair. Though he knew nothing about women’s hairstyles, he suspected it wasn’t supposed to look like that, with pieces of it falling out of the complicated knot. He liked it though - it made her look a bit more approachable.

Right. The salve. He knelt next to her, dunked his fingers in the jar, and… was that too much? Better too much than too little. He transferred the ointment to her face, doing his best to spread it all over her wound before that extra glob slid-

Oops.

Lady Okatsu shivered.

“Did I hurt you?” Maybe he was putting it on wrong. He reminded himself again that Lady Okatsu wasn’t truly a warrior, for all that she was fierce and efficient.

“No.” She lightly touched the now-oily wound. “It tickled, actually.”

Hm. He had indeed put too much on. He didn’t think it was supposed to look shiny, it ought to sink in. Better try to rub it in a little more. But… now his fingers were all oily too. He tried to get the last of it with his palm, and -

Interesting.

The curve of her face fit exactly into his hand, as if her cheek and his palm were pieces of a puzzle. “There. Done.”

She opened her eyes and Mitsunari realized their faces were too close. And he was still touching her. Mitsuhide’s instructions or not, this did not feel like the prescribed ‘casual touch.’ He jerked his hand away and jumped to his feet.

Lady Okatsu reached up and brushed her fingers across her face in the spot where his palm had been a moment earlier, and he had the strangest urge to put his hand back again. She cleared her throat. “Thank you.”

You’re welcome. But the words stuck in his throat, so he smiled and bowed. He should leave. Yes. It was time for him to leave. This was enough getting-comfortable for him.

Her words stopped him at the door. “Wait. Have you eaten?”

Hm. He had not. Right. Eating together was what Mitsuhide had intended.

She beckoned him back inside. “There’s more than enough for two people.”

Yes, this was obviously true, although… “Yes. If you promise to eat all the carrots. I do not like them.”

She laughed. “Sure – if you do the same with the mushrooms.”

Perhaps that was part of what ‘love’ was. Finding someone who would eat the food you did not like. He settled down at the writing desk and watched as she divided up the dishes, keeping the carrots for herself, and transferring the mushrooms into his bowl. It might be a good idea to keep a list of things he liked about Lady Okatsu, so that if he were questioned about the truth of their relationship, he would be able to respond without hesitation.

She eats my carrots.

She is interested in military strategy.

She made sure that books didn’t fall on my—

In that instant, the memory of Lady Okatsu moving the pile of books this morning was replaced with the memory of the elderly bookseller moving a similar stack earlier this summer. He might not be good with names, but he was good with faces and… yes. He was certain that several weeks ago Lady Okatsu had been in Azuchi. And she had been disguised as an old man. Which potentially meant that… “Are you a spy?”

She paused, her food halfway between her bowl and her mouth, and looked warily at him. “No. Why are you asking?”

Best to simply get it all out in the open. “Because you were in Azuchi a few months ago dressed as an old man.”

“How did you know?” She must have determined that she was ok with him knowing because she returned to eating.

“When we met, you were familiar, but I couldn’t remember where I had seen you. Then, today in the bookstore, when you moved those books before they fell, I realized you had done that before.” And… having put together Lady Okatsu and the old man, he suddenly realized she had also been the young man he met outside the castle yesterday morning. Interesting.

She seemed nonchalant about the whole thing. “Yes, that was me. But I wasn’t spying. I mean, to me, spying is sneaking into some place and stealing information that they don’t want anyone to know about, right? I was observing things that anyone could have seen if they were paying attention.”

“Hrm.” He didn’t quite agree with her definition of spying, but he supposed part of that would depend on who she passed on her observations to. “What were you doing with the information?”

“Generally, it’s for those people who don’t want to be caught in the path of warring clans.” Either she was pretending she wasn’t worried, or she truly was not worried. Or… Mitsunari simply wasn’t interpreting her emotions well at all? It could be that. Reading people’s emotions wasn’t his strength. Maybe he ought to tell Mitsuhide and have him question her?

That idea made him pause – Mitsuhide had a reputation, a well-earned one, for his harsh interrogations. The thought of Lady Okatsu (or, whoever she was) at Mitsuhide’s mercy made his chest tighten.

But she anticipated that thought too. “In any case, Mitsuhide knows about the booksellers – my employer runs it – and if he had a problem with it, he would have put a stop to it. He uses it himself as a message drop.”

Ah. That was ok then. It seemed that Mitsuhide had taken the time to find the most qualified person to portray his fiancée. Okatsu was a professional observer (to use her word) and Mitsunari could count on her as a colleague, rather than worry she was a spy. “I ought to have realized Mitsuhide had taken this into consideration already.” He relaxed… then noticed there was another dreaded carrot in his bowl. He tossed it at Okatsu’s dish.

Even better, she could be counted on to simply play her role, and act as a rather specialized warrior. She could pretend to be in love without truly being in love. “If you are a professional observer, Okatsu, then you aren’t someone Mitsuhide forced into this charade. Nor are you someone whose feelings could be hurt.”

“Why would my feelings be hurt?” There was a hit of something less-than-professional in her voice. He’d apparently said something wrong. But he couldn’t think what that might be.

Not daring to look at her, he tried to explain without making it worse. “I don’t want to be in love with anyone. I don’t have time for it, and I don’t want you to think-”

“No worries. Once our fake engagement is called off, I’ll go back to being a messenger and a scout, and I really like that job.” A wayward mushroom found its way into his dish. “Anyway, I imagine being a wife would severely limit my ability to search for my brother.”

Good. They seemed to have sorted out… er… whatever it was that he had said. “We are in agreement then?”

“We are.” She smiled at him, and he couldn’t help but smile back, feeling relieved that they could now be friends and fellow soldiers without the danger of feelings getting in the way of things. This was good.

This was exactly what he wanted.

That taken care of, he thought back to Mitsuhide’s suggestion and asked Okatsu (or should she still be Lady Okatsu? Maybe he needed to continue to use the formal, otherwise he might get it wrong when they were public? Although maybe an engaged couple were allowed to be less formal?) about her life as a courier and was rewarded with an interesting story about a time she had had to help a ninja out of a tree.

He sat back and listened to her chatter away knowledgably about politics and military strategy. On one level, he had a feeling that she had chosen her topics because she knew that these were things that interested him, but she had to have some interest herself to be able to speak so confidently about such things. “I witnessed a couple of the battles of the Siege of Itami last year. Was that triple column your formation?”

He nodded. The formation hadn’t been what had proved the deciding point in the campaign, though. They’d won when they filled in the castle’s moat… which had been Mitsuhide’s idea.

Before he could point that out, Lady Okatsu moved on to a different topic. “I bet you’re really good at shogi.”

“I don’t know how to play.” He’d wanted to learn but hadn’t made it a priority. Lord Hideyoshi relied on his battle plans too much for him to take the time to learn a new game on his own and he’d not found anyone willing to teach him.

“I know Mitsuhide plays – half the messages I’ve delivered over the past four years have been a part of a long drawn-out game he’s been playing with Aki.” She picked up a cloth bundle, then unwrapped it to reveal a shogi set. “I could teach you.”

That was an enticing idea. As much as he enjoyed listening to Okatsu’s stories, learning to play shogi sounded even better. If he were playing a game, he would be less stressed to think of things to talk about. “I would enjoy that very much. Mitsuhide has refused to teach me.”

Over the past week, Mitsunari had learned two things. One: he very much liked shogi. Two: Okatsu took defeat remarkably well. Rather than be upset that he’d surpassed her abilities, she instead took it as a challenge to improve her own game. Or games, since they’d branched out to Go and ban-sugoroku.

“You two are playing the less exciting version of Go.” Mitsunari looked up to see that at some point, Lady Mai had come into the room with a bundle of clothing. He’d been so intent on the game he hadn’t heard her enter.

There was a more exciting version? He took a quick peek at Okatsu’s face, but she didn’t appear to be familiar with that either, because she said to Lady Mai, “Alright, since you’re clearly waiting for me to ask – what is the more exciting version?”

“Nobunaga and I play with penalties … and favors.” Lady Mai winked.

“Oh! So, if I were to lose, Okatsu could tell me to eat my carrots?” In the years before he’d been sent to temple to be a page, he had played “Go” with his older brother. The penalties for losing hadn’t been much fun. Luckily, he’d quickly learned how to win, although that hadn’t always stopped the penalties. “That might add an element of daring to the game.”

“Uh, yeah. That.” Lady Mai laughed to herself. “Eep.”

“Serves you right.” Lady Mai and Okatsu seemed to be having a conversation that was flying past him. He wasn’t sure if it was the sort of conversation that Masamune and Mitsuhide took part in, or if this was something that would go into the mysterious vault of “women.” He figured if it was important, Okatsu would tell him later.

Meanwhile, Mai interrupted their game in process by requiring that Okatsu try on her new clothing. While his ‘fiancee’ hurried behind a screen to change, he killed time by setting up a shogi game to play against himself. Then Mai handed him a bundle of fabric as well. “I made a couple new kimonos for you too.”

He hadn’t realized that he’d be receiving a new wardrobe for this journey, but he supposed there might be formal occasions where Lord Hideyoshi would want them all to dress up. Rich clothing was a form of armor, he knew, a way to alert others that your clan had money and enough resources to spend it on luxury.

He peeked inside the bundle and saw the not only the purple hues that he normally picked out on his own (it was simpler for him to acquire clothing that looked similar – less chance of mismatching something), but also something in a dark blue-green shade. He sent an enquiring look at Lady Mai.

“I believe that’s Lady Okatsu’s favorite color,” she said to him softly, and indeed a moment later, Okatsu emerged from behind the screen wearing a complimentary lighter blue-green kimono.

“This is easier to move around in.” She turned from side to side, and the material made a soft swishing sound against her body.

That sound of fabric rustling across her body… it created an echoing vibration in his head, that for a moment blocked out all sound. He shook his head to clear it.

He hoped he wasn’t coming down with something.

When he was able to refocus his attention on the present, it was to see Okatsu swirl around and kick her leg up and out to the side. “This is amazing. Thank you!”

Mai smiled just as the door slid open behind her. “This is what I do. But… don’t tell Hideyoshi.”

Lord Hideyoshi and Lord Mitsuhide came into the room. “Don’t tell Hideyoshi what?”

“How much she spent on the fabric.” Okatsu lied to Hideyoshi so smoothly that if Mitsunari hadn’t known she was lying, he would have believed her. In fact, she possibly was telling a truth, but not the one in question.

And Lord Hideyoshi seemed to accept it without a second thought. “Oh, don’t worry about that. It’s your due as an Oda Princess.”

Mitsunari couldn’t decide how he felt about the lying. As a tactician, he thought her ability could be useful. But personally, he hoped that she never lied to him.

If she did, though, would he even be able to tell?

@bestbryn @katriniac @lyds323 @briars7 @lorei-writes

#TBTMND #a mitsunari night's dream #ikemen sengoku #fanfic #ikesen fanfic #ishida mitsunari #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen mai #oc: katsuko #katsuverse #throwback thursday

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jadooghar · 2 years ago

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Is it easier to hurt happy people in relationships?

The brief solution is "They may be". If you need to recognise what satisfied humans can do to keep away from being harm in relationships, please study on!

Your thoughts is made of parts; the innovative element and the logical element. We`ll name the primary element System 1 and the second one element System 2.

Here are greater unique descriptions of every gadget:

System 1: proper temper, robust intuition, multiplied creativity and innovation, gullibility, at risk of logical errors

System 2: vigilance, analytical, multiplied intellectual effort, unhappiness, suspicion, and usually on shield

Is this an "both/or" situation? Can you've got got the exceptional of each worlds? Yes, that is how the human thoughts is made, to replace among instances of threat, concentration, and attention to instances of openness, relaxation, and creativity. The hassle arises whilst someone chooses to live in a single gadget or the alternative.

For instance, if you have been harm in a courting, both contemporary or prior, you could keep onto emotions and mind which are related to the ache you felt. Increasingly, your System 2 is engaged and will become ever vigilant to search for extra methods you are being harm, the benefit with that you used to engage adjustments to require greater intellectual and emotional effort, the sensation of unhappiness of what you've got got misplaced withinside the courting develops (resentment), and your shield is usually directly to save you similarly harm.

This is unfavourable to the connection due to the fact it could create a downward spiral of the interplay and reason the alternative man or woman to have interaction their System 2, as well. An instance I use for that is the man or woman you watch from a distance at a restaurant. They whinge to the hostess/host and they're brief with the waiter/waitress. If they arrived with a person else, even that man or woman is handled suddenly and unkindly. Why do they behave like this? Very simply, they were harm and that they behave this manner to hold every body away in order that they do not get harm again.

The contrary may be true, too. If you've got got been harm in a courting and also you hold working to your System 1, you may without difficulty be taken benefit of. The different man or woman maintains doing and announcing matters that harm, however your System 1 is not wondering logically, is gullible, and it reasons you to get innovative and in an excellent temper, believing you may discover a manner to make the connection better. Many instances it doesn't. And, you get harm less complicated and greater frequently.

Real happiness is most effective located whilst the proper stability is struck among System 1 and System 2. Just think you may cross again to the paranormal time while you first entered the connection. Somewhere among there and wherein you're now's the stability point. In the primary few weeks or months of the connection, your System 1 turned into in charge. You right away were given in an excellent temper each time you noticed the man or woman or maybe simply heard their name. You each have been innovative to your courting, often sudden the alternative with gifts, telecellsmartphone calls, texts, cards, and the like.

You went with your "gut" feel (intuition) lots of the time and stuff you usually would not or might have achieved failed to matter, if it thrilled the alternative man or woman. Consider wherein you are at in that courting now, perhaps months or years into it. Many humans locate it calls for greater paintings and energy (System 2) than they're inclined to use up to locate the identical stage of exhilaration and enjoyment, or maybe near it.

Read More: HOW LITTLE THINGS CAN MAKE A BIG DIFFERENCE, THE TIPPING POINTTHE TIPPING POINT, How Little Things Can Make a Big Difference.

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todoscript · 4 years ago

Text

sweetest delight

SYNOPSIS: While Shouto’s out hunting down villains on Valentine’s Day, you try your hand at making some sweets to celebrate the occasion, and in doing so, find your efforts rewarded in more ways than one.

pairing: pro hero!todoroki shouto x fem!reader

genre: smut. fluff. pro hero au.

word count: 7.3k+

warnings: 18+. characters are aged up. dominant!shouto. apron kink. praising. oral (both receiving). face-sitting. 69. cum-eating.

author’s note: god, this is long overdue, but i finally got this thing out after all this time. and of course, it ended up getting out of hand again

“Fuck, fuck, fuck–”

A range of curses spewed from your mouth as the unpleasant smell of your burnt confections permeated the space of your kitchen, threatening to notify the fire alarm overhead of your latest baking mishap. Luckily, you entered the kitchen just in time to dissipate the smoke before it can do so, fanning your towel while navigating to the oven to find your crisp, blackened sweets already ruined inside. The corners of your lips slipped into a scowl at another failed batch of mini chocolate cupcakes at your hand. You slid on a pair of oven mitts to transfer the set off the rack and onto the kitchen counter.

A flicker of optimism in your head presented the thought that they didn’t seem that bad at first glance, going so far as to believe they might’ve tasted relatively fine and that the burnt parts simply added a bitter flavor that would balance the overall sweetness of the decadent chocolate cupcakes. But upon closer inspection, you knew you were lying to yourself.

Flipping the miniature cakes out of the molds, you discovered the sweets were encased in a dreary black outer shell, a sight which made you grimace, wondering how you screwed up so badly to have concocted such a dismal image. You definitely had no right feeding these to Shouto, let alone offer them to him as a Valentine’s Day gift.

As everyone knew, the fourteenth day of February marked Valentine’s Day, the day where couples expressed their love to one another by giving gifts, spending quality time through dates, and displaying many other forms of affection. This year, however, Shouto was called in at his agency to investigate a case of villains whose plan was to wreak havoc on this special occasion.

Now, any person would find it normal to be peeved over these circumstances—having their lover’s free time eaten up by work when they could be celebrating together with a nicely lit dinner or a casual, romantic night at home, and perhaps cap off a wonderful evening with a smooth transition into the bedroom. Much better than spending a day at home alone, pitifully watching couples intertwine their hands together in envy as they walked along the sidewalk beneath your apartment complex, right?

Well, you, on the other hand, were a different case. Rather than sulk around as you waited for Shouto to arrive home later, you decided this would be the perfect chance to whisk up some sweets to surprise him. After all, what’s Valentine’s Day without some chocolate delights on the side, made with vanilla, sugar, cocoa butter, and lots of love and effort. A perfect way to welcome Shouto home from his mission while honoring the festivities, you’d say.

Besides, you understood the situation well enough to recognize that the citizens’ well-being came first before any date of yours. Your boyfriend was a hero, after all, and a Pro at that. It’s not as if you and Shouto hadn’t celebrated Valentine’s Day together before. So long as he came home—intact—prior to the clock ticking to midnight, one day didn’t bother you.

Though… after witnessing the aftermath of several failed attempts at baking thus far, you started to wonder if it would’ve done you better not to get so involved, only to waste resources and pervade your kitchen with an acrid smell.

Still, despite the trials and tribulations, you were determined to come out on top. You tapped your index finger repeatedly against the surface of the marbled counter. “Did I mix up the baking times? Maybe I undermined the portion sizes so the cupcakes started cooking faster?” you speculated out loud, wondering how to troubleshoot the minor errors to come out successful in your next attempt.

After some thought, you decided not to dawdle on your overthinking for too long and shrugged off the idea of redoing another batch of cupcakes. “It’s fine, I’ll just move onto the chocolates then. They’re the star of Valentine’s Day so better to focus on those,” you told yourself. A grin found its way on your face as you rolled the sleeves of your blouse up your forearms. “Alright, let’s get to it then!”

You retrieved a recipe sheet from across the counter, scanning through the contents while overlooking the ingredients lying in front of you. Compared to baking cupcakes, chocolates should be easier to tackle since you weren’t entirely making them from scratch. All you had to do is temper the chocolate melts in a bowl over a heat source, pour them into silicone molds, and refrigerate until hardened and shaped to the perfect, bite-sized delight. Seemed simple enough.

Okay, maybe it wasn’t quite as simple as you thought.

Or rather, you chose to make the whole process more complicated than it needed to be, not realizing the ambitious turn your take on these chocolates was moving toward until you drove yourself into another mess.

Your first trial of bonbons was sprawled out over parchment paper, waiting for your verdict. Eyes roaming the array of sweets tentatively, you absorbed the mixture of pink and white hues with an unsure look on your face. Somehow during the process, you opted to forgo the customary milk chocolates for white and strawberry, which was the closest you could get to matching Shouto’s signature hair colors.

You’d thought it’d be cute for the treats to have a slight resemblance to him as a simple yet sweet reminder that he was on your mind throughout your progress. But staring down at the final product, you wished you guessed ahead of time that the vision you sparked in your head was not going to be as bright and pretty in comparison to what came out.

You frowned at the batch with narrowed brows before begrudgingly scooping a piece and tossing it into your mouth. The sweetness of the strawberry and white chocolates coexisted together to form a smooth texture that left behind a creamy, floral undertone on your tongue. What was incredibly lacking, however, laid in the looks department. The visuals left… more to be desired, to say the least.

With the idea of wanting to use two different flavors of chocolate, you also played on the notion of incorporating a theme. That theme being half-and-half. And half-and-half being splitting the colors on the chocolates right down the middle.

Though not a complicated plan for an adept baker, it was the exact opposite for a newbie like you who had came up with the idea on the spot. With your chocolates appearing in odd shapes and sizes, not one seemed to resemble another, which was the result of both your lack of patience and miscalculations. You had to allow one of the flavors to harden in the mold before adding the other to not prematurely mix the colors, but judging by the swirls of pink and white surrounding the chocolates, that didn’t seem to go so well. Add on to the fact you had some trouble inverting them out of the silicon molds—the edges of the chocolates ending up smooshed or torn off entirely—and you were left with another failed attempt at a Valentine’s present.

“Guess making sweets isn’t really my thing, huh?” You sighed, body slumping forward against the kitchen counter in defeat. Your eyes wandered from your sad chocolates to the hefty amount of dirty dishes piled in the sink. All this, and you weren’t able to make anything worth giving to Shouto. What exactly were you going to tell him when he came home, bearing witness to this entire mess? No, Shouto was probably under enough stress and fatigue as it was after working all day. Plus, his anticipation for a gift would only be amplified if he saw the number of baking supplies you’ve wasted today. At this point, you had to turn in the towel.

“Oh well… I better clean everything up before Sho comes home and start on din–”

Your words were interrupted by the sharp sound of the front door opening.

“I’m home!” an all too familiar voice announced, one that you were more than aware belonged to a particular fire and ice hero.

Surprised, you glanced over at the clock to check the time, which read a bold 6:00 PM—sooner than you expected your boyfriend to arrive home from his duties that day. So soon, in fact, that you weren’t able to even begin erasing any of the evidence littered around the kitchen.

“Y/n?” you heard him call. Freezing in place, you picked up Shouto breathing in a quick whiff. “What’s that smell?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response, traveling through the enormous apartment to find that answer for himself. Hearing his feet shuffling across the hardwood floor, you moved quickly.

“The kitchen smells sweet but also... bitter.”

Sweet and bitter..? you repeated but soon realized what he meant—those damn burnt chocolate cupcakes you left out. While in your rush with making the chocolates, you had forgotten to dispose of them beforehand. Though the bitter smell was not as prominent as when the cupcakes first came out of the oven, it still didn’t evade Shouto’s keen senses.

After shoving the burnt mini cupcakes in a trash bin, you scrambled to the entrance to the kitchen, thankfully cutting Shouto’s path off just in time as you met him there. “Oh hey, Sho, why didn't expect you to come home so early!” you greeted, a cheerful lilt in your tone as you leaned an arm on the side of the doorway, hoping to come off ordinarily chill to avoid any questioning looks. It seemed you achieved that much at least by how Shouto smiled warmly at your appearance.

“You should’ve shot me a quick text or something.”

“Sorry, we managed to track down the group of villains right away and finished the mission smoothly without any casualties,” he explained. “I guess I was in such a hurry to come home and celebrate Valentine’s Day with you that I must’ve forgotten.” The soft look on Shouto’s handsome features had you in a daze for a second; you nearly missed him descending his head to your level so his lips could find yours. Eventually, you broke from your stupor and swiftly turned your head so he planted a peck on your cheek instead.

You were never one to purposely avoid a kiss on the lips like that from him��far from it actually—but you didn’t want him to find any residual sweetness on your lips from the confections you taste-tested that day and have him bring up if you made anything for him. One thing you surely couldn’t avoid, however, was his puzzled face at your uncharacteristic actions. Still, Shouto wasn’t one to overthink the details. Instead, he decided to look at the bigger picture, such as the dirty yet cute, pink and brown frilly apron tied around your body.

“Your apron’s a mess,” he chuckled lightly. The comment caught you off-guard, eyes slowly traveling down to the flour and chocolate stains on your Valentine’s-themed apron. “Have you been cooking?” he asked. You fumbled with your answer.

“O-Oh yeah..! In fact, I’m… still cooking, actually!” you quickly added, making up for your lack of words. “C’mon, it’s probably been a long day for you. You should go freshen up in the shower while I get everything done and cleaned!” You tried shoo-ing Shouto from the kitchen’s vicinity, but he didn’t budge.

“I can help out if you like. I wouldn’t want you to fix everything up by yourself, especially since we’re supposed to spend the rest of Valentine’s Day together,” he said, and as much as you liked to take him up on his kind and thoughtful offer, you had to object.

Firmly shaking your head, you continued your attempts at pushing Shouto to retreat to the shower and scrub off the troubles of his day. “No, you’ve probably done enough work today as it is! Just let me handle the rest, ‘kay?” you insisted, straining a smile. However, your hurried shoving felt almost too persistent than what Shouto found normal.

“Well, what are you making then–” As he tilted his head up to sneak a peek, you followed his movements, elevating yourself onto your tiptoes to block his vision in time.

“S-Soba noodles..! Cold! Just how you like them,” you answered after partially interrupting him. Quirking a brow at your fidgety gestures, Shouto stared at the smile etched on your lips which screamed of suspicion. Now he was sure something was up.

“Love,” he said, his voice a tone lower than usual that made goosebumps appear on your skin, staring at his turquoise and gray eyes warily, “are you hiding something from me?”

“What? Psh, no,” you feigned innocence, shrugging, “Why would you think that?”

Shouto gave you a look, silently telling you that you should more than know the reason why, but you chose to remain ignorant. No point in questioning it any further then. He would have to pry the answer out himself.

Aware that you had no intention of letting him pass voluntarily, Shouto began putting his hero training to use. He side-stepped in a single motion, quickly pivoting on the balls of his feet to slip through your defenses. You didn’t have time to ask yourself what happened before you turned around to watch his reaction to what you left for him on the kitchen counter.

Upon entering the kitchen, Shouto’s heterochromatic eyes were immediately drawn to the marbled white-and-pink sweets sprawled across the parchment paper. His interest piqued, he walked straight to the chocolates with you trailing behind. You could feel the heat in your cheeks slowly rise from the embarrassment at seeing Shouto inspect your sorry excuse of chocolates.

“Hm, no soba noodles, but I may have found something even better,” he said, and you wondered if you heard correctly or that maybe he saw something you didn’t. You rapidly blinked about four times, letting your vision adjust, and yet your chocolates remained.

“You’re kidding… right?”

Shouto lifted a brow at your hesitance. “No, why would I be kidding?” he replied thoughtfully. He took one of the chocolates off the parchment paper, raising it in the air between his thumb and index finger. “You made these for me, didn’t you?”

“I mean, yeah, they were supposed to be a Valentine’s Day gift, but…”

“But..?” A frown settled on his lips, watching you nervously twiddle your thumbs while you held your hands against your apron. “Y/n, you can tell me.” Not liking how you weren’t meeting his eyes, his finger drew your chin up so he could get a better glimpse of your face.

“But they don’t look the part. They’re hideous,” you quietly admitted, your words mellowing into a whisper the more they departed your lips. The way he treated your creations as if they belonged on a pedestal didn’t sit right in your eyes. “So I... didn’t want you to see them, or any of this actually. I thought if you saw what I was doing, you’d get your hopes up for something special, only to be disappointed.” You tried avoiding his gaze again, but Shouto wouldn’t allow it, following your eyes as his hand pried yours apart to take one in his own.

His focus shifted from the pink and white chocolate held in front of him to the uncertainty clouding your expression. “I’m not sure what you mean. They look fine to me.”

“Sho, you don’t have to lie to me just so you don’t end up hurting my feelings. Anyone can see how uneven they look,” you said, pointing at the rest of the batch still sitting on the counter behind him. There was a low chuckle coming from the male’s lips, one that you guessed was out of amusement, but you were too caught in your troubled feelings to be sure.

“Well, I have to admit, they don’t exactly resemble the perfect, visual representation of the chocolates you’d find at the store or anything,” he acknowledged with you mumbling an ‘I told you so’ in response before he continued, “but that’s the reason why I like them. That means you made them for me and there isn’t any chocolate like it. They’re one of a kind.”

His genuine words took you aback, eyes glimmering and cheeks flushed. You were too wrapped up in your need for perfection that you didn’t realize you could consider your efforts that way.

“Besides,” he threw the little bonbon in his mouth, “they taste great,” he said as the strawberry and white cream melted on his tongue with its rich sweetness.

Despite his praise, you thought he had only said that because you knew for a fact that the chocolates did at least pass in the taste department. “But what if they had tasted bad too? What would you have said then?” You were bold enough to question, though half-worried about his answer in the back of your head—worried that he would have to take back those sweet words of his.

“I still would have eaten them, regardless. I’d never waste anything you’ve made for me, you should know that. To me, these chocolates are the sweetest delight not because they’re the best looking or tasting, but because they came from you,” he answered earnestly, bending down to tuck a hair away from your stunned yet grateful appearance which looked as if you were nearly about to sigh out loud in relief. You brought your body into his chest, tucking your head beneath his chin, and he wrapped his arms around you, lips pressed against your hair.

Shouto didn’t grant you much time to bask in your solace however, before beckoning you over to the kitchen counter. He wasn’t done teasing you just yet.

“Normally couples give each other milk chocolates on Valentine’s day. Any reason you decided on white and strawberry then?” Shouto noted, a grin on his lips as you seemed reluctant to reveal your reasoning—lips pursed and fingers playing with the hem of your apron.

“Well, they’re supposed to be your…” You finished by motioning at the crown of your head before pointing to his red and white locks.

Heh... Cute. The grin that was persistent on his features widened, and your response earned you a kiss on the cheek. “Thinking about me, huh?” he teased. You were more than aware of your intentions throughout your chocolate-making process, but it didn’t make the whole situation any less embarrassing when your motives came to light out of Shouto’s own mouth.

You pouted profusely, turning your face in the other direction as you nudged his arm. “Aren’t you going to eat the rest then?” you asked despite your demure demeanor. You couldn’t see it, but you were positive he was aiming that amused expression in your direction, leaning his head on his palm while his elbow was leveled on the counter.

“You made a lot of chocolates today, love. You don’t expect me to finish them all by myself, do you?” You heard the rustle of the parchment liner unsticking to something behind you. Then a finger poked your cheek, and out of curiosity, you followed where the disturbance came from, only to have a swirl of pink and white pushed past your lips.

“Mm..” you hummed surprisingly in delight at the harmonious strawberry and cream flavors coating your tastebuds.

“Tastes good, doesn’t it?” he asked.

“Yeah, I got to taste them before you arrived home.” You rubbed the back of your head. “And um, I didn’t exactly make these from scratch...” You went about divulging your methods to him, explaining your usage of chocolate melts, which all in all saved you a lot of time, considering your earlier mishaps with the brownies—a misfortune you also confessed to as you side-eyed the trash bin.

The dual-haired male laughed with mirth at the disasters you tangled yourself into today. “Seemed like you had an eventful Valentine’s Day at home without me.”

He scanned over your outfit, consisting of a simple buttoned blouse and a pair of jeans. What caught his eye the most was the frilly, laced brown and pink apron tied around your body. You must have bought this specifically to get in the spirit of Valentine’s Day because this was the first he’s seen you in this. Normally you’d wear those plain cotton aprons while you were cooking. Not something so charming and—dare he say—refreshing.

As you were continuing the conversation—going on about how vanquishing criminal organizations was more productive than whatever you were concocting at home—your words faded into the background. Shouto found it hard to focus on what you were saying, while your animated gestures seemed to enhance the shape of the apron against your body, emphasizing your physique.

Recalling the story you just mentioned, he imagined what the scene of you frantically dashing around the kitchen would look like as you wore this cute thing. Was it weird of him to hold fantasies of arriving home, being greeted by your endearing self donning this garment, dolled in its intricacies with a smile gracing the lips he oh so wanted to kiss every day?

Shouto would think so. He’s never heard of any anecdotes of this kind of behavior before. Perhaps it was how dainty and frilly the material appeared against your figure that stemmed such a risqué thought from him. If that was the case, then this apron was no different than lingerie. Or more specifically, those delicate lace babydolls you’d wear for him on those special occasions, in which you displayed the zenith of lust and vulnerability that rendered him a man ensnared by his need to utterly ravage you–

Fuck. Letting those imaginations cross his mind was a dangerous move. He felt himself getting hard, body exercising the willpower not to pounce and concede to his fantasies. Then again, no one could really blame him for thinking of his girlfriend this way on Valentine’s Day. Especially when you looked so damn cute right now that he could just eat you up.

“Shouto?” Your voice diverted his attention from the growing problem in his pants, though only for a moment. When his focus returned to you, all those lascivious thoughts buried in the back of his head made their way to the forefront again. Damn, did he have it bad.

“Is something wrong? You were zoning out for a bit.”

He shook his head, dispelling your concern. However, it was going to take more than that to sweep away the lust consuming his mind. “It’s nothing. More importantly, why don’t we continue tasting these chocolates?” Pulling up a stool, he took a seat next to the kitchen counter.

Just as you were going to mention that you needed to start on dinner soon, Shouto suddenly drew your body in between his parted legs. Thrown slightly off-balance, you instinctively held onto his shoulders to keep yourself steady.

You couldn’t help but notice the hand traveling up your legs as it situated itself on the back of your thigh, but the detail was abandoned as soon as it was manifested. The proximity between you two was too much not to overlook now. Shouto peered up at you with what you made out to be smoldering intensity, and the sight reduced you to shying away from his eyes again.

Of course, Shouto didn’t take a liking to that. With you so close, he didn’t want anything hindering his front seat viewing of your candid reactions. “Baby, look here,” he called to you. You followed his command, turning back to face the grin reaching his lips. “There’s my pretty girl.”

You attempted to open your mouth to reply but found another ball of marbled chocolate placed where words should’ve been.

Soft lips wrapped around him, Shouto had to fight back the urge to groan, feeling your tongue graze the pad of his thumb as he fed you the candy. His other hand, formerly occupied with rubbing subtle circles on your clothed flesh, wandered to the satin ribbon of your apron fashioned behind you.

It wasn’t long until you discerned the game he was playing through the fiery looks and frisky touching.

Well, enter player two.

You brought a hand to his wrist, keeping him there as your tongue made work at licking away the residual chocolate melted on his finger. You moved from his thumb to his index finger, noting not to miss anything with every flick as you confidently returned the heady expression with batted eyelashes.

Shouto breathed in silently through his nose, gritting his teeth, your sultry actions having an innate effect on him, to which you smirked at. There was a slight tug on the ribbon wrapped behind you. It wasn’t firm enough to where the knot came undone, but enough that you noticed his fixation on the material. If he was making an effort to exert some self-control, it was futile at this point. No doubt, he was going to take you before Valentine’s Day was over.

“Hmm, you’re right, these chocolates are pretty tasty. But it’s probably because you’re the one feeding them to me that they taste just soooo good,” you mused, adding a sensual tonality to your voice as you concluded your words with one last kitten lick.

The man before you bit the inside of his cheek, your voice alone making blood rush south. You little minx. He was going to make doubly sure you understood just what you were doing to him.

Finally releasing his hand, you reached over beside you to grab a chocolate off the parchment paper. “For you~” You giggled as you led the confection to Shouto’s mouth. He readily accepted your gift, lips wrapping around the tips of your fingers as the mellow flavors soothed his taste buds. He made a point of re-enacting your little show, tongue languidly lapping your fingers while he maintained steady eye contact. You shuddered at the wet warmth abiding your skin, the suffocating sexual tension in the air causing you to press your thighs together. The action was not overlooked by Shouto, who smiled amidst cleaning your fingers with every brush of his tongue.

“What’s wrong, love? You were so bold and talkative earlier. Cat got your tongue or something?” he teased. A smirk ran across the curl of his lips as his licks turned to kisses he planted on the back of your hand.

After finishing his task of lapping up every essence of sweetness off your skin, he lifted himself from the stool. Doing so made him stand tall over you, and he easily cornered you to where your back met the edge of the counter. Your wrist captured in one of his hands, he wove an arm around you, pulling your body into him.

“You know, there’s something I want to eat right now other than chocolates,” he confessed, forehead pressed to yours and glinted heterochromatic eyes latent with an insatiable hunger. The baritone of his voice sent shivers through your body and a throb aching in your core.

You innocently tilted your head at him. “Oh, is that so? And what would that be?”

He chuckled darkly at your redundant question.

“Why you of course, my love.”

The moment the words reached your ears, he lunged forward to seize your lips. You quickly followed in the sensual movements of his soft lips against yours like it was a practiced routine, not resisting his tongue prying its way into your mouth and submitting to the dance that made pleasure course through your veins.

A single tap on your thigh was your cue to hop into Shouto’s waiting grasp and wrap your arms around his neck. You pulled your bodies closer to where the few layers of clothing you both possessed did nothing to hide your enthusiasm for each other. You could feel your nipples under your bra stiffen at your arousal, growing more sensitive as you pressed your chest to him. Meanwhile, his hard erection shamelessly poked the inside of your thigh to which his grip was poised on remaining firm, grinding your lower half against him.

You expected this was where he intended to have you—right then and there in the middle of the kitchen—but to your surprise, Shouto had other plans. He navigated you two to the dining table as you continued feverishly making out with your legs wrapped around his waist. Never breaking the hot mingle of your lips, he carefully placed you on the edge. His hands were free to roam the expanse of your body, palming at places that elicited airy moans from you as he inscribed the niceties of your bonny apron into his memory. Though he cursed the unnecessary layers that obscured your beautiful flesh from him.

Finding the clothes still on you equally unbearable in the heat of your movements, you were on the same wavelength as him. You sought out the satin ribbon tied behind your back that kept the apron on your form, but before your fingertips could even reach the material to tug the knot loose, Shouto seized your wrists and led your hands away. Your face was scrunched with bewilderment by how sudden his actions were.

Shouto didn’t think he could have a fetish over something as ordinary and domestic as a decorative garment tied around your waist, but this Valentine’s Day was proving him otherwise. He was not about to pass an opportunity to absolutely ruin you in this pretty thing.

“Keep it on,” he ordered, voice deep and commanding.

“H-Huh? What about my clothes?” you stuttered, confused at first. You wanted to ask what spurred him to give such a demand, but you were too caught in the moment to think of objecting to his request (not that you had much choice anyway).

“Let me.” That was all he said before his hands sought after the waistband of your jeans and the buttons of your top. He pulled and undid the apparel until you were left in only your panties and that lovely apron. Your bra was quickly disposed of to the pile next to his feet thanks to the clip being located at the front this time, and he was eternally grateful for the convenience. You didn’t even have to mention anything for his own clothes to float above yours on the floor, sitting back on the table to admire his toned physique, now free for you to ogle in just his briefs.

His hooded, icy eyes concentrated on every aspect of your appearance. He didn’t dare miss a single detail in front of him—from your bare, flushed skin glowing beneath the light fixture to your aroused nipples shaped through the thin fabric. You were a sight Shouto would gladly worship for the rest of his life.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes, my love, and I’m going to enjoy ravaging you until all you know is my name.”

His words alone were enough to send a tingle of anticipation to your cunt. You did not shrink at his assertiveness, instead embracing both yours and Shouto’s desires with open arms.

“You have me, Sho. I’m all yours.”

The man released a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding before inhaling and diving in. Your lips reencountered each other, continuing from where you left off with his tongue chasing after you. You laced your fingers in his soft hair to press him deeper to you as Shouto navigated down your neck. He sucked and licked at your skin; every tug he felt on his scalp compelled him to lay marks as he inched closer and closer to your breasts.

“Ahh.. Sho…” you mewled, feeling his hands grope one of your mounds and tease your slit through your panties. With no intention of letting this apron off your body, Shouto pushed the fabric concealing your chest inward to reveal a perky nipple, seeming excited to be covered by his mouth. Well, who was he to deny such exuberance, especially when he himself was hungry to taste?

Lips enclosing the stiffened nub, Shouto sucked and prodded with fervor. As you squirmed and squealed beneath him, your fingers pulled harder at his strands which he hummed in content at. The tip of his tongue circled your areola, making the slick clinging to your panties damper at the stimulation. The hand occupied between your thighs stroked you against the fabric before pulling it to the side to touch you directly.

“Oh fuck!” you cursed at the contact as Shouto did not hesitate to start pumping a finger into your pussy.

“Damn, you’re so wet down here. Did my kisses and teasing do all this?”

You were too distracted by the precise movements of his fingers working through you to answer, words superseded by your wanton moans. “Keep making those pretty sounds, love. I want you to cry out as I’m ruining you.”

Your noises hit a crescendo when his fingers began curling inside you, stretching into places that lit stars behind your eyes. His thumb rubbed your clit to intensify the fire building in your abdomen. Your back arched on the table as you grabbed onto Shouto’s free hand for dear life, already feeling that flame ready to ignite.

“Sho– Wait, I’m gonna–”

“Don’t hesitate, sweetheart. Coat my fingers with your cum,” he told you, increasing the speed of his thumb against your bundle of nerves as he continually hit that euphoric soft spot.

At his words, your pussy clenched hard around him, practically sucking him in. You threw your head back against the table, releasing a loud cry of his name as your orgasm engulfed your whole body with electrifying pleasure. Chest heaving up and down, your breaths sounded ragged as your vision went white before slowly adjusting to the light.

Shouto slid his fingers out of you and brought them to his mouth, licking at the layer of gloss. He observed your fucked-out state from above and admired his handiwork—your lips swollen, eyes glassy, and sweaty skin adorned with his marks.

“You taste absolutely delicious, you know,” he said almost too sweetly, like he had immediately gotten drunk off drinking the remnants of your orgasm. And, of course, he had to let you know how delectable you were. Shouto provided you a sample by pressing his fingers to your lips. You obediently parted them, welcoming your essence on your tongue.

“Don’t you think so?”

You hummed and nodded in agreement. Shouto grinned, bending down to mix your flavor in each other’s mouths. He finally removed your ruined panties and slid them down your legs. But to no one’s surprise, the apron stayed on your person.

When you parted, Shouto gestured for you to get up from the table. In doing so, you had anticipated this would be the time to head straight to the bedroom, but the night continued to prove you wrong. Shouto was still famished.

“Stand up for a second, baby. I want to lay down as I have my meal.” You didn’t need to guess to know just what he wanted to satiate his appetite tonight.

Shouto laid himself flat across the table, the majority of his legs dangling off the edge. You, on the other hand, were apprehensive at his approach, cautiously wondering if your modest dining table could handle the rampant motions of two adult bodies on top of it at once. Should the legs give way and the table collapses, the gravity of your descent would put all your weight onto him. What if you hurt him as a result?

“Love, what’s the holdup?” your boyfriend called, breaking your train of thought, “Come, your throne awaits.” He patted his chest—a rather peculiar place to sit but your cunt pulsed at the image of you riding that gorgeous face of his.

“O-Okay, I’m just afraid of hurting you, is all,” you said, pulling at the hem of your apron for security.

He raised his upper body halfway to see the hesitance painted on your features. “Y/n, there’s no need to worry, I wouldn’t have thought of doing this if I couldn’t handle it,” he assured, his hand reaching out for you. “Trust me. I won’t let anything happen to us.”

You stared at the hand hovering in front of you and then at Shouto’s eyes glimmering with faith, and you knew you could trust his word. So you take his hand, climbing onto the table and over his body where you straddled his chest.

“Dining tables are meant to be eaten on, right? Well, I intend to devour you until your legs are shaking beside me, sweetheart,” he promised. He stroked up and down your thighs tauntingly. Your breaths hitched as he maneuvered you above his face, moving the flap of your apron so you could feel his cold breath against your lower lips.

“As much as I appreciate all those confections you made for me, they all pale in comparison to the sweetest delight here–” He uttered praises to your core while rubbing the soft flesh of your thighs. “This pretty, soft, and dripping pussy.”

Warmth spread across your cheeks at his lewd words and how close in proximity he was to your twitching center. The one thing you detested about this apron at this moment was the fact it blocked you from what Shouto was doing, the bottom half lying right above his face. To him, however, it made everything all the more entertaining.

Despite being the one trapped under you, it must have felt like you were more in the dark than he was. After all, he was the one asserting dominance in this situation, and with a layer of fabric hiding his face, you had no idea how or when he was going to eat you out. His deafening silence was not offering you one bit of reassurance either. If he truly intended to devour you atop this table, he should just do it already.

“...Sho? Are you—Ah!” Upon questioning him, your words were choked by your surprised squeal, feeling him delicately kiss your folds with chilly lips attached to your warm pussy. You opened your mouth to speak again, yet you struggled to search for words as Shouto’s tongue flattened against you, licking a long strip before latching onto your sensitive pearl. The more he relentlessly sucked and teased, the more you sang out with waves of pleasure quivering through your body.

Hearing your beautiful noises, he chuckled, tongue vibrating on your clit. Every sound you produced made his cock stutter, still leaking and begging for attention beneath his briefs.

Not liking how inactive you were—simply sitting on his face and waiting for yourself to come undone on his tongue—you reached behind yourself to trail your hand down his abdomen. His body tensed, abs immediately flexing at your soft touch. You noticed his ministrations falter in their rhythm.

“B-Baby, what are you doing?” he questioned, pulling himself off of you to concentrate on your hand running along the waistband of his briefs. His fingers dug into your flesh as you found his length, tentatively giving it a pump that gave birth to a strained noise below the flap of your apron.

“You’ve been doing all the work so far, Sho. I just want you to enjoy yourself,” you said. His eyebrows were scrunched, hissing through his teeth at your thumb grazing his slit, mixing his precum around the tip.

“I am enjoying myself—this is all I could ever ask for,” he replied honestly. He lifted the frilly material off his face so you could discover your slick running down his lips and neck, the blush spread across his fair cheeks an more than sufficient indication that he derived nothing but delight from being in this position. He looked like an absolute mess, yet the debauched sight made both your heart and pussy flutter.

“But if you want to join in, I won’t stop you.”

At that, Shouto detached himself from your sweetness for just a second to quickly reposition you above him. You were adjusted to where you were practically on all fours on the table now, facing the prominent bulge raised on his briefs while your fluttering cunt was somehow even more obscenely split in front of him. You were thankful the piece of furniture stayed intact throughout the motions, pleasantly astounded by its strength. However, you couldn’t pause to be impressed by this detail for long. Not when Shouto’s aching erection pleaded for you to continue touching it.

Your hand returned to its original place—wrapped around his heavy length that wept with precum coating the surface of its mushroom top. As you stroked it up and down in a consistent rhythm, you altered your grip to tighten more around him.

“Ooh yeah, that’s it, baby. Just like that… Ahhhh, fuckkkk—” You were rewarded by his praises and groans at the splendid pressure surrounding his dick. It encouraged you to keep up your pace and add another hand to the fray to increase the tension.

“You’re doing so well, making me feel so fucking good, love. Can you add your mouth for me now?” he requested, and you happily complied. Your tongue flattened against his cock, noting every vein and twitch running across your wet muscle that reduced Shouto to muttering obscenities behind you. Reaching the top, you swirled your tongue along the tip before taking the entire head into your warm cavern. Shouto’s thighs flexed, body almost trembling at how heavenly you made him feel. He couldn’t be outdone.

You let out a whine on his cock, feeling his mouth working against you again. This time you felt the effects stronger than before as Shouto spread your pussy lips to grant him better access to tongue fuck you. He stimulated every sensitive area with practiced ease, making sure to flick your clit with extra vigor to achieve the best results. You delivered in your reactions—legs shaking and knees slowly and deliberately being reduced to jelly.

Even ensnared in ecstasy, you did your best to adapt to his intensity, engulfing him more into your mouth. Your hands worked together to maximize the most pleasure you could give him, fondling his balls and gripping the base of his cock.

The lewdest of sounds filled the room in an unrelenting symphony. From your muffled whimpers to your pussy squelching in the presence of Shouto’s mouth purring against you, there was no shortage of bliss evident in the atmosphere. Hearing yourselves in the throes of rapture as you devoured each other’s whole beings like starved animals, you two were simultaneously climbing toward your highs.

“Shit, keep doing just that baby, and I’m going to paint that pretty mouth of yours white,” he warned half-heartedly. You purred, the enthusiasm laced your tone informing Shouto you wanted him to do just that. He was pleased by your response.

“You want it, don’t you, you slutty girl? Well, I expect you to drown me in your honey while I cover your throat with my cum then.” Those were the last words he spared you before proceeding to manifest them into reality. His hands dug themselves in the flesh below your ass cheeks, exposing your pussy to his appendage that swiped away at your clit until shockwaves made you tremble above him.

You were the first to come undone, juices running down your thighs and boyfriend’s chin. Your cries were muffled amidst Shouto’s dick caught down your throat, tightening around his length, which surged with spurts of white all over your mouth. You swallowed every single drop of his seed, wiping at the excess on your lips as you released the hero’s cock with a loud pop.

After taking a moment to catch your breaths, you carefully moved off of each other. Shouto steadied you on his lap, letting you straddle him as he sat on the edge of the table. He intertwined your fingers through his and brought them to his lips to place a tender kiss on the back of your hand.

“I love you, sweetheart.”

“I love you too, Shouto. Happy Valentine’s Day.”

#bnha smut #bnha x reader #todoroki x reader #todoroki smut #mha smut #bnha fic #bnha imagine #todoroki shouto x reader #todoroki imagine #mha x reader

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librarianandguardian · 4 years ago

Text

Just a feeling- Saul Silva x Female!Reader

Pairing : Saul Silva x Female!Reader

Word Count : ~2300

Warnings : Fluff, brief mention of drug use and burns

Music : Un homme - Jérémy Frerot

Author’s note : Getting pretty stressed because of a huge project at school, so I wrote this to blow off some steam ! I also wanted to say that I do not agree with the way some characters are written and treated in this show. I hope I did not perpetuate these errors, and that I got Silva’s personality a bit right at least. Feedback is appreciated, may it be on the story telling or even the grammar. English isn’t my first language. Flahs-backs in italics. Enjoy ! :D

GIF ‘s not mine, and I can’t find the creator.

French First World songs resonate in the Great Hall, she is dancing. Wild and free. Her loosened hairs fly through the wind. She has traded her Specialist armour for a long flowing dress. Her feet are hammering the ground in rhythm. The crowd carries her all over the dancefloor; she twirls and claps her hands following the music.

From an ignored fairy bloodline, her parents considered her a Specialist Legacy. When her mind fairies powers woke up, everything went wrong ; she was always an overwhelmed child. No one could help her everytime she lost control. Nothing but medication: earrings to contain, and pills to attenuate. It wasn't bad. She lived like that her entire life.

Silva is sitting on a plastic chair, leaning on the table by his side, his gaze lingering. She is an exceptional fighter; dance must be a piece of cake and fun judging from her large smile. To be fair, he barely remembered her from their time at Alfea. Farah told him she was three years younger than him and seemed to have a few memories.

« (Y/N) travelled a lot to the First World prior to college. Her parents were emissaries and brought back souvenirs. Rumours said that her room resembled a cave of wonders.

-Ever went there ?»

His friend chuckled.

« Once. It was full of trinkets, books, movies, postal cards too. Ben caught interest in it, especially the giant botanic encyclopaedia throning on her bookshelf. We both agreed after a while that she might be the ray of sunshine of her Specialist promotion. But I guess she was discreet, if you've never heard of her.»

It took some memory searching, but he indeed remembered one thing. A conversation between a bunch of 1st years talking about a secret party displaying famous First World movies. A few hours later, on the training field, (Y/N) battled fiercely. It caught the attention of many students, who gathered around the platform. Curiosity taking the best of him, he had followed the crowd.

« What's that First World song that I love to describe you with ?

-By the light Clairo, is it really necessary ? »

Her opponent mocked her. She rolled her eyes, wielding her sword before choosing her fight stance.

« You son of... Maneater from Nelly Furtado. Now let's fight please.

-Alright doll, eat me up. »

(Y/N) huffed in annoyance. Clairo was a good fighter, but a little bit too flirty. He launched himself at her. The young woman stayed incredibly calm. Dodging to the right, she left him to stumble before hitting his back with the wooden weapon. He fell to the ground with a grunt. A shy smile spread on her features.

Now that he thinks about it, her earring had intrigued him : an ear chain hanging from the top of the cartilage of her ear to her lobe. Each end was composed of a lavendish round lilac crystal. When she lost control recently, those crystals lit up with a blinding light and burned her skin.

« I change the earring every five year. Every year If any several big crises occurred.

-What about your burns ? How did they clean them up ? »

Her left hand ghosted over her intact lobe, while Harvey healed the bruised flesh. Her eyes stared at the floor of the greenhouse. Saul was holding her other hand.

« They... I stuffed myself with pills. Sometimes enough to sleep through an entire day. Within the Solarian force, it was the only way for them to treat me. None of their mind fairies could calm me down. I don't think you realize how much this, she lifted her intertwined hand, helps.»

The soldier chuckles at the memory. His eyes examined his fingers, remembering how she locked hers, as she found an anchor in his mind.

« My best guess ? Your training forged your head to have a certain mindset in crisis.

-Loads of Solarian troupers could have given you that.

-Yeah. I can't really explain it, she laughed shyly, maybe because you're a teacher, that two of your long time friends are fairies or just because you're good with people.»

Their gazes crossed. The air thickened. Truth to be told, (Y/N) was so lost upon why he managed to calm her down. Farah tried to guide her, but even then, nothing positive came out. Her youth as a student at Alfea only consisted in shared side glances with him in hallways. She sure as hell found the man attractive, but she had other stuff to think about.

A loud giggle snaps him back to reality. (Y/N) falls on his laps while trying to take off her high heels. Her eyes are opened wide and a little glassy. She's definitely drunk.

« Oh by the light, I'm sorry Silva. Aimed at the table ! »

The atmosphere becomes lighter. He catches her when she nearly trips off by trying to get up, one of his arms snaking around to help. Steadying herself on his laps, she catches her breath slowly, though some giggles erupt as she looks around.

« How can you still dance, uh ?»

With a guilty smile, she leans slightly against the table.

« Alcohol ! It's the only thing keeping me up, baby !»

Instant regret shoots through her veins. Some red creeps up on her cheeks, as her hands cover her mouth. The soldier chuckles, enamoured by her adorableness. One thing that strucked him when they met was her lightness. Out of all the solarian troupers out there, or even all the specialists he ever crossed paths with, she was one of the few who stayed so bright and playful. Subconsciously, his fingers dig slightly in her hips.

« It's alright, (Y/L/N).»

She giggles a bit, but thanks him. Farah watches from a far, joined by Ben. (Y/N)(Y/L/N) has been teaching at Alfea for a year now. The entire school seemed to have transformed into a much more joyous place : students got along better, the shyest opened a tad and the roughest softened. Ben's daughter Terra found a supporter of her personal projects and a confidant. Ben himself benefited from her return. Mostly in books and knowledge but that meant already so much to him. Farah gained a daughter ; (Y/N)'s powers were a mess for her advanced age, helping felt natural. But what she loved the most was how confused Saul got with the new Specialist. Their bond strengthened with time, however the first few days rocked the Headmaster all over the place.

«(Y/L/N), what did you do to our office ? Did you... Are these books classified by alphabetic order and colour ?! »

His colleague shrugged, trying to see if he was mad or just surprised. It happened a few days after her arrival. Their shared office went under few renovations.

« (Y/L/N), why dancing classes ? »

She shot up, put her hands on his desk and took twenty minutes to explain how it would make their movements more flexible, strengthen teamwork and be a tool for future mission on the job. Astonished could not describe Silva's feeling.

An admirable change that proved beneficial to the students. These two grew very fond of each other. A lot more than they thought. Words in the hallways started to spread about their growing fondness.

« Okay, I got a question for you, soldier boy.»

Saul tilted his head to the side.

« Are you having fun ?

-Of course I am.»

(Y/N) looks disappointed. Turning around, she pours some water in her cup and chugs it down.

« Really ? 'Cause the only thing I've seen you do is sit in a corner all night. »

He lowers his head, searching for the right words. How does he say that he just loves watching her run around the dancefloor ? How she bounds with students but also keeps their respect ? The fact that she's so organised that she could plan a First World themed party and keep her teacher skills to their best ? The shortest way for that would be admitting his feelings. He zones out long enough for her to talk again.

« It's okay. »

His eyes lock with hers. How did she sober up so quickly ?

« I know you have a reputation as a serious and frowny teacher to keep. And this is a graduation party, so. »

Never mind, she did not. The woman gets up, only to kneel under the tablecloth. He panics briefly.

« (Y/N), what on Earth are you doing ?»

She mumbles before appearing back outside. Her hands are holding a package. Another bright smile shines on her face. Silva knows what's coming, and he has mixed feelings about it; between fear, excitement and confusion.

« Happy Birthday Saul. »

His heart nearly stops. Few people know about his birthday, she is now a part of them. He frankly does not mind, even wished for it for a while now. His hands gently take the package to open it. Before his eyes lies a hard covered sketchbook and a wooden box full of high-quality pencils. The cover has a crow flying in a pearly sky with a red sun. The box is made of ebony and his name carved in silver. She knows an another of his secret. He tears up. The woman worries when he starts to sniffle. Much to her surprise, the soldier puts the gifts on the table before hugging her with all his might. Thank God the students are dancing or already out of the hall to smoke. (Y/N) answers his embrace, reassured.

« Thank you so much dear. »

It's her turn to have glossy eyes. She buries her face in his shoulder. This man is constantly under pressure and she has always wondered what he does during his free time : Does he train more ? He probably reads, right ? The answer came on a regular afternoon.

Silva knocked on her quarters' door. He heard shuffling before (Y/N) opened. She was wearing a bathrobe and a towel around her hair.

« Hi Saul ! Sorry hum. I woke up late and did not expect you so soon so, hum. »

The woman looked around, making her towel fall. Picking it up, she invited him in. He indulged, though a bit surprised.

« I'll be back in a jiffy, you know, putting some clothes on and all. Okay.»

She disappeared in her bathroom, leaving him to explore her room. Many watercolour paintings covered the walls, some abstract and others from the Realms of the Otherworld. However, a few landscapes felt unknown to him. On her desk lied sketches with a horde of different pencils. He discovered portraits of Farah, Ben, Terra, Sky, Riven and finally him. The lines were thin, some shadows sharp for the warriors and smoother for the fairies. A hint of jealousy took over him, quickly brushed away by shyness. The fact that she took the time to draw him was flattering. His fingers grazed over the pencils, wondering if he had time to prepare a little surprise. He puts down the file he came to discuss. A few minutes later, (Y/N) came out, dressed but her hair still wet on the edges. Silva was leaning against her desk, file in hand, a small smile on his features. She mirrored it before asking about the important matter at hand. Twenty minutes later, he left. Her eye caught a change in her drawing material : the portrait of Farah and Ben switched positions. She shuffled them, making sure everything was here, only to find an unknown piece. A cute fox was smiling, a little bubble under him stating :

« Nice Work (Y/L/N). Nice pencils too. Wish I had your talent.»

That last sentence made her wonder if he indeed had an artistic side. Needless to say that his quarters gave her answer. Same reason as his when he came, she knocked on his door one night. Though he did not fully invite her in, her eyes caught glimpses of nice sketches lying on a table, some rudimental equipment next to it.

They stay like this for a few seconds. The headmistress and Professor Harvey look at each other. No words, no need. Terra is chatting with a second year in a corner, bur her eyes catch them. She smiles, looking away shyly, but happy Sky sees the scene too, thanks to Riven who taps on his shoulder. They can't help the smile growing on their faces. Sky's father figure finding support is definitely going to be one of the highlights of their first year. (Y/N) and Saul part. One of her hands pats his arm.

« Wanna dance ? »

He closes his eyes, sighing. There is no lack of desire but the fear of what the students will say.

« I wish but... I don't know.

-I get it. But one day, you will ! That's a promise. »

With one last smile, she strolls back to the dancefloor, leaving him sheepish. He takes the sketchbook and a pencil. He might not dance tonight, but he'll make up to it.

#fate the winx saga #saul silva #saul silva x reader #sky of eraklyon #fate riven #farah dowling #ben harvey #saul silva imagine

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wtchwtch · 2 years ago

Text

TT011_SideB_Transcript

TT011: Egregore Side B

This is a fanmade transcript, please let me know if you see any errors.

TT011_SideB

Cole: Okay. Uh, wow. I'm sorry though. I just, I just don't see what any of this has to do with the exchange.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Have you, you ever heard of egregore before?

Cole: Uh, a what?

Dr. Lance Ruttland: An egregore.

Cole: Uh, no.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: No. Well, an egregore to, to put it quite simply, is, um, a creature, uh, it comes from the, the Greek word meaning, uh, wakeful. It is the, um, it is a creature that is created of pure consciousness, essentially, when enough people believe in something, or, uh, put enough mental focus towards something.

There are those that believe that it can take a, uh, an objective form, uh, that it can become sentient almost. So you have a, a, a creature existing of pure intention that, that, that becomes sentient and become self-aware, uh, and can then, uh, act out its own agenda, uh, in the real world.

Cole: So, an egregore is basically Santa, like if we all believe in Santa, there is some Santa out there or a manifestation of Santa.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Yeah. So I mean, a good example of that was that prior to the, the Roswell incident in the 1940s, nobody ever saw these very, you know, the very typical gray aliens with the big black eyes and the bulbous heads. After Roswell, that's all everybody sees. That's all anyone reports. And it's possible that those things are a, quote unquote, egregore that has been, um, fed by the, the, the collective consciousness.

And it, it makes you wonder how many of these, uh, lost spirits that were, that were created by human consciousness wonder the world. You know, the, the Greek word pandemonium literally means full of demons, demons everywhere. And, uh, you wonder how many of those things were created by us unwillingly.

Cole: Isn't that sort of like believing in God? You believe in God? So do I. So do they. And we all feel or see God.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Yes. So, I mean, I'm, I, I, I wouldn't be qualified to, to, uh, comment on the objective existence of God. But, you know, this is a theory that came up in, in the eighties. It's born largely out of, uh, Eastern mysticism. Uh, the, the Tibetan Buddhist mystics, uh, have a, the similar concept called the Tulpa in, in their, uh, in their mystical and magical practices.

Uh, so, you know, it has historical and cultural precedent, but... it, it's, it was a theory that was, um, that became popular in the 1980s and y'know it seems to, seems to hold some weight. You know, how, how do you differentiate a uh, something like a corporation like Coca-Cola from, from a demon, you know, people worship it as alter. They see it symbol everywhere. People go and dedicate their lives to it, you know? Why is that not a God? It grows, It changes. It has control. It has power. It feeds. You know, it's a, it's a, it's an odd concept, but, you know, maybe Coca-Cola and McDonald's and Nasdaq, and these are the, the Mammon and, uh, Molochs and Beelzebubs of our age.

Cole: I'm sorry, I'm, I'm trying to connect the dots here. What, what does the egregore mean in relation to the Tiny Terrors Exchange?

Dr. Lance Ruttland: I mean, what, what is the, the Tiny Terrors Exchange, but a, a once virtual temple that has now become physical. It's taken its first steps out of the ether and into reality. It's, uh, it's, it's a place where people come to, to pay homage, to mythologies, to gods that they're creating.

And perhaps at some point, the spark of life, the breath of God himself, has found its way into one of these creatures. And perhaps they're just, they're just, they're out there looking for their followers.

Cole: Sounds like what you're trying to explain is that the exchange is like a monster factory. Everyone is trying to create their own literal, tiny terror.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Uh, yeah. And just, just to be clear, I don't, I don't think that this is, uh, this is the, the, the case where uh, the, the Tiny Terrors Exchange has become some kind of, you know, monster factory. It's not like every, every one of, uh, its contributors gets its own little tamagotchi that it can carry around. But what it can do, is it can create a conglomeration.

It can, you can have the, the, the, the, the spirit of the Tiny Terrors Exchange. All it takes is one spark of fear, hot enough to, uh, to set that fire ablaze and suddenly this thing has a mind of its own, a fa- face of its own, and eventually a physical form of its own.

Cole: I'm sorry, I can't say I'm following. I've never seen anything that suggested people are trying to come together in any way, or at least in the sense you are talking about.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Well, no, but the, the, the interesting thing about egregores is that there is a symbiotic relationship between those that believe in it and its own existence. It feeds those that, that, that contribute to it, and those that, that contribute to it, it kind of causes, causes a feedback loop of, uh, of belief and creation.

Uh, so whatever it is becomes stronger the more people believe in it. So it starts showing more evidence of its existence in order for people to believe in it more. Do you see what I mean?

Cole: No, no. I understand that. But how do we all know to believe or praise or pray to that one thing? How do we all come together? I, I just don't see it.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Okay. So I mean, let me ask you, what kind of stories have you submitted to the exchange?

Cole: Well, I don't know. Serial killers, ghosts, aliens, Crazy little sisters murdering my parents. The usual.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Right, Exactly. So the, the, the point here is not necessarily the, the, the subject matter of each of the stories.

It's, it's more the spirit of them. It's the ghost in the machine. Uh, the more that this happens, the, the, the more distilled this idea and this concept gets, it becomes closer and close, closer to the, the, the actual, the actual spirit of what the Tiny Terrors Exchange is. And that is what you're going to end up with.

Cole: So it's an echo chamber.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Okay. So it, it goes back to that feedback loop example that we were talking about earlier on. If, for example, uh, the thing that, that, that you're into is, is let's say poltergeists. If you submit 20 stories about Poltergeists, other people that are interested in poltergeists are going to read those. They're going to spread those to other people who are interested about in, in poltergeists, they're going to write stories themselves about poltergeists and so on and so forth. Um, you, you write stories about serial killers, the same thing's going to happen. You're gonna reach people who like serial killers, and those people are gonna reach other peoples that like serial killers, and you can see how the tree begins to spread.

What you put out will eventually come back tenfold.

Cole: All right. Then you're saying there's a meta.

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Yeah, exactly. A meta.

Cole: And if I wanted to get closer to whatever that ghost in the machine or that aim or seed of evil within the exchange, then I need to submit different stories, ones that I wouldn't have otherwise submitted? With basically no other guiding philosophy other than that, and just see what works?

Dr. Lance Ruttland: Essentially so.

Cole: I imagine you could tell me though, I mean you wrote about it, what's at the center of it all?

Dr. Lance Ruttland: That's, that's, that's, uh, that's an answer I've not been able to find.

(Tape recorder sounds)

Mark: Tiny Terrors is an anthology horror podcast produced by Pulp Audio and licensed under a creative commons attribution, non-commercial sharealike 4.0 international license.

D: This episode was directed by Cole Weavers with sound production and editing by Mike LeBeau.

Mark: To find additional information or to join our Patreon for additional content and ad free episodes, visit our website, www.tinyterrorspod.com.

D: Follow us on Twitter, Instagram and Facebook at Tiny Terrors Pod,

Mark: Or join the Pulp Audio discord by clicking the link in the description below.

D: Rate and review us on Spotify and Apple.

Mark: And finally, thanks for listening.

#tiny terrors #tiny terrors podcast #tt transcript

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mojave-pete · 4 years ago

Link

RUSH: We’ll start in Newport Beach, California. This is Craig. It’s great to have you, sir. Hello.

CALLER: Rush Limbaugh, thank you for the Rush wave. There was no red wave or blue wave. There was a Rush wave. It was your advice of showing up to vote and to break the algorithms. Thank you, sir.

RUSH: Well, you’re more than welcome, sir. I’m happy to have this acknowledged as a Rush wave. I know exactly what you mean.

CALLER: You know, I always wondered how much it cost to rig an election, but I think we’re closing in on it. When Hillary Clinton ran for president, she paid $9 million to Perkins Coie for a dossier that probably cost 12 bucks. Where’d the other money go? Now I think we might know where it went, is to pay for Dominion. Something to think about.

RUSH: Yeah. I know. We can sit here — and a lot of people are gonna make jokes about it, and that’s one of the ways that people choose to deal with it. But look. I want to add something that I started this program out with. Remember who’s behind this, folks. Who is behind all of this for the past four years to undermine Donald Trump? It’s Barack Obama. Barack Obama and his regime, I mean the people that work for him, the Susan Rices and the Bidens, the David Axelrods, Clapper, Brennan, Comey, Hillary, you name it, that is the cabal that is behind all of this.

Now, stop and think again. The voting machines used to count the vote in American states were made in Venezuela. The software was written in Venezuela by a dictator who asked that the software be created so that he could cheat and never lose. That’s what the Democrats bought. The funniest thing I heard all day today, though, the number of legitimate votes for Donald Trump were so many that they overwhelmed the software’s ability to keep up with it and cheat. Trump had so many votes — that’s why they keep saying that he won in a landslide, 700,000, in some cases 800,000-vote lead in Pennsylvania, and they had to stop counting.

Who does that? Who stops the count? They had to stop the counting so that their machines could catch up and keep up. And they couldn’t. So what they ended up doing, they’ve got an affidavit from a witness who said that a couple of trucks — this is in Michigan — showed up at a counting center with a bunch of ballots, tens of thousands of ballots with only one name on them: Joe Biden. No other candidates down the ballot were even on the ballot. Just the name “Joe Biden” for president. They were flooded into the system and they were counted.

Here is Steve in Beaverton, Oregon. Welcome, sir. Great to have you with us. Hi.

CALLER: Hi, Rush. How you doing?

RUSH: Good, sir. Thank you.

CALLER: Just to let you know you’re in my prayers. But not just you, but Kathryn also. I took care of my dad when he had Alzheimer’s, and I know how hard it is for the caretaker. There’s a phrase used in health care, you gotta care for the caretaker because they need to be lifted up, too, in prayer. So prayers to both of you.

RUSH: You don’t know how right you are. Well, you probably do. I appreciate it very much.

CALLER: Thank you. So my point is, everybody — and rightly so — is focusing on Trump. But what about all the other down-ballot races? If Trump really did win in this great of a landslide and got — and you mentioned this yesterday — possibly 410 electoral votes, how many of the down-ballot candidates did he take with him? You mentioned yesterday that, you know, there were 27 competitive races for Congress. But what about all the other races —

RUSH: Well, no. Let’s finish that. There were 27 toss-ups. The political experts like Charlie Cook told us before the election, 27 races in the House that he said these are toss-ups. The Republicans won every one of them.

CALLER: Right. But what about all the other ones? If you’re voting for Trump — I’m sick of these Democrats, and you vote for the congressional candidate and you vote for the senatorial candidate, I mean, how many — did we — we got, like, what, 10 or 12 or maybe 15 congressional — did we get 25? It we get 50? Did we get 75 seats flipped?

RUSH: It’s a great question. It’s a great question because we already know that down ballot the Republicans kicked ass. They flipped a bunch of seats in the House that nobody was expecting. It was expected they were gonna lose the Senate. They’re not gonna lose the Senate unless there’s a similar kind of cheating in Georgia that’s gone on elsewhere. And the Republicans flipped seats in the House and could have flipped even more, is your point. I get your point exactly.

How many people voted Republican way down the ballot, way beyond just voting for Trump? It’s a great question. It’s probably a lot. I think this was probably a landslide election. And there are people, by the way, in the media and on the Democrat side who know this. They know that Trump won this in a landslide, and they are stunned. They’re not admitting it, they never will admit it. But they have to know it. And it was probably huge. When your cheating software can’t keep up with the legitimate votes coming in and you have to stop the count, whoa, folks, that is big.

BREAK TRANSCRIPT

RUSH: Just got a note. Somebody who watched the entire presser on the One America News Network. “I feel like I just got handful of uppers or something. My heart is pounding from this. These guys are the StrikeForce, Mr. Limbaugh. These guys are the StrikeForce against the Drive-Bys. They’re hammering them out there.” Rudy has some female reporter harassing him, he’s just swatting back. He said, “Ma’am, ma’am, you’re lying. I’m not gonna answer your question.”

One thing. Their witnesses, Sidney Powell’s witnesses, Rudy’s witnesses, at this point they don’t want to be victims of the media; so the team is not telling anybody who the witnesses are. But the Drive-Bys — oh, yeah, the Drive-Bys want to know. The Drive-Bys, “Who are they? Who are you witnesses? We want to know the names. What are their names?” And Rudy is saying, “No way. We’re gonna prove it in court.” He said, “We haven’t released anywhere near all the evidence that we’ve got yet.”

Rudy said to the news media, “We’re gonna prove in court. They don’t like you” — the witnesses — “they don’t like you, and they don’t trust you.” Sidney Powell again reiterated the turnout for Donald Trump was so overwhelming, it broke the algorithm that had been plugged into the system to cheat. It’s stunning. It all make sense when you look at the physical evidence that was abounding out there prior to the election, the numbers of people at the rallies. It was all there to be seen and believed.

We have the Drive-By Media every day, “No, no, Trump’s gonna lose in a landslide, the American people are fed up with his tweeting, they’re fed up. American don’t like Trump. Trump, he’s rude, he’s crude, he’s a boor, people don’t like Trump, people hate Trump, Trump is gonna be voted out.” Everybody hears that four times a day, five times a day for four years, are affected by it. The fact of the matter is, she said again, the turnout for Trump, the number of votes, the number of votes that Trump got was so overwhelming it broke the algorithm that that had been plugged into the cheating electoral system.

Related Links

RushLimbaugh.com: The Trump Legal Team Makes the Case, Joined in Progress - 11.19.20

PJ Media: Gimme a Break: 80 Million Biden Voters Can't Be...Real

Breitbart: 9 Key Points from Trump Campaign Press Conference on Challenges to Election Results

Dallas Morning News: 77% of Trump Voters blame Fraud for Loss to Biden, Despite Lack of Evidence

NewsMax: Giuliani: 'Massive Fraud' Used to Steal Election From Trump

ZeroHedge: Georgia Recount Monitor Catches 9,626-Vote Error During Hand Recount

Federalist: Democrats And Media Are Reaping Fruit Of 4 Years Of Anti-Trump Conspiracy Theories

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ddarker-dreams · 4 years ago

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Icebreaker. Giorno x F Reader 🎀

a/n: i wanted to show more of SR reader’s personality here! i had a lot of fun playing around with this scene, i really just wanted to show her she goes about talking with the others. reader and giorno try to understand people in different ways. :’)

[Scarlet Ribbons description]

There’s only so many times you can count the birds overhead before it becomes a dull affair.

Still six of them, you think. Fugo had caught onto your fascination of the sky a few minutes prior. He offered some knowledge on the creatures, which admittedly, was rather enlightening. Should you ever be quizzed on random trivia involving birds, you’ll do better than most. Fugo’s wide array of knowledge on various topics never failed to impress you.

“That brings me to seagulls, which black-tailed gulls are often mistaken for. Seagulls are one of the few animals capable of drinking seawater, possessing special glands that filter out excess salt.”

You furrowed your eyebrows at the revelation. “We really got handed the short end of the evolution stick.”

“That’s what you’re worried about?” Fugo sighed, and placed a hand on his hip. “What even goes on in that head of yours?”

“Too much or nothing at all. There’s no in between.”

Truth be told, it’s not really birds that you’re mulling over.

As subtle as you can manage to, your eyes shift to the latest recruit Bucciarati brought in. Giorno Giovanna. He is currently standing farthest away from the group. Not that you can entirely blame him, as Abbacchio has made a point of shooting him dirty glances on occasion.

When you had been introduced to the others, you were immediately able to mentally place them. Bruno was someone who commanded respect. Fugo was rough around the edges yet meant well. Narancia brought lots of energy with him. Abbacchio felt prickly, but wouldn’t be antagonistic unless provoked. Mista… well, Mista was just an easy going guy. Within minutes of meeting him you were talking and laughing like old friends.

So what does that make Giorno?

You honestly have no idea, and it’s bothering you. He felt like a walking contradiction. There was no getting a read on him, no understanding what he’s thinking. In theory it should be easy enough for you to talk to him. Giorno’s very polite, and doesn’t give the same standoffish vibe you used to get when speaking to Abbacchio. All the methods you utilized to befriend the others feel like they won’t work with him. You're of the inclination that even if your attempts at conversation bothered him, he’d never voice it, for the sole sake of remaining courteous.

Sitting here and worrying about it won’t do me good, you decide, standing from your seat. Now might be the best time to try and understand Giorno better. Everyone is spaced out on the yacht, doing their own thing. Maybe he’ll feel more inclined to speak his mind without the others lurking around. You find yourself walking towards where he stands, peering over the Tyrrhenian Sea, golden hair illuminated by sunlight. There’s no plan in your mind. Your improvisation rate has at least an 80% success rate, far higher than Mista’s. Hearing your approaching footsteps, Giorno turns, greeting you with a nod of his head.

You stand by his side, looking in the same direction he was. “Are you a fan of the sea, Giorno?”

“It has its draws,” Giorno responds. He then pauses, as if deliberating for a moment, and poses you the same question. “Do you like it?”

“To be honest, it’s a little nerve wracking. I’ve seen those videos of waves taller than buildings crashing down onto boats before, and I’ve never looked at the ocean the same,” you admit with a shiver. Giorno blinks, and you realize your comment is akin to talking about a plane crashing when you’re on a plane. Whoops. “Not that I think that’ll happen. We’re not far out enough.”

“That’s a relief.” He replies.

You’re grateful for the grace he extends to you. “Anyways… I wouldn’t mind seeing the faraglioni while we’re out here. I’ve heard it's quite a sight.”

An idea had popped into your head. A small benchmark, to get a better understanding of Giorno’s character. You placed the incorrect emphasis on the end of faraglioni. Instead of finishing the word with the short vowel ə, you ended it with the long vowel i: to see if he’d point it out like Fugo or Bucciarati would. The latter in a far more considerate manner.

Giorno doesn’t acknowledge it, choosing to overlook the minor error. “I’ve never seen it myself, but I’ve heard tourists enjoy it.”

That small interaction gives you a better feel for who he is as a person. Giorno is a person who is considerate of others. Whether it be for maintaining peace or some other goal, you’re still uncertain, but it feels better having at least some understanding now. For good measure, you place a finger to your cheek in thought. Giorno watches your actions with curiosity.

“Say, Giorno, did I pronounce that right...?” You wonder aloud in a pensive whisper.

“It was very close,” he clears his throat. Giorno thinks for a moment, before continuing. “Faraglioni.”

Giorno ends the word with the proper long vowel. His correction is as well-mannered as he is. You nod your head, pleased with this knowledge on the new recruit. Repeating the word as he did, you let it roll off your tongue with ease. Not one of the more difficult Italian words you’ve had to wrestle with, in all honesty.

He’s trying to get a read on you the same way you are with him. The inquisitive side of you wonders what conclusions he’s drawn from speaking to you, in comparison to the others. Well, at least you’re not as standoffish as they are. It must be a guy thing, you decide. I’ll ask Fugo about it later.

The two of you return to looking over the sea in a comfortable silence, basking in the sight of never-ending blue. Every now and then you’ll throw in a comment, to which he’ll respond in kind, if not a little stiff. It’s still an improvement over earlier.

You have a gut feeling that you’ll get along with Giorno quite well.

#giorno #Giorno Giovanna #giovanna giorno #giorno x reader #giorno giovanna x reader #JoJo's Bizzare Adventure #jjba part 5 #jjba x reader #golden wind x reader #vento aureo x reader #scarlet ribbons #my stuff

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ramblesamongstardust · 4 years ago

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First steps: an AI x Reader

AI x gender neutral reader. SFW.

Summary: You are introduced to your new mechsuit AI. Honestly just an excuse to introduce my AI character while providing some robo fluff content for y’all ---

You heard the rumors about him before you even met him.

Well, not about him specifically, but about all mechsuit AIs. You heard that they were rude. You heard that they were rowdy. You heard that they were fundamentally broken, the rejects, advanced enough to provide basic combat functions but never having passed the test to become one of the military’s autonomous units. They were the rejects, meant to originally pilot starships in the vast space beyond but now confined to a single armor unit a fraction of the size.

You were told his name before you entered the hanger. His name was the same letter-number combo as your suit assignment. The other recruits laughed and started making lewd puns with the names. You didn’t.

You were lead into the hanger and told by your commander to have some respect. The typical speech required by the AI rights act. Nobody listened. You maybe caught a word or two but you were so nervous you couldn’t focus.

The leader released you from your line to find your mechsuit. They lined the wall of the hanger, each one as identically silver as the next with a soft blue underglow, telling you that the AI system within each suit was online. Watching. Waiting.

You ignored the other recruits and jogged to find your suit. With luck, your suit was on the far end, away from the others. You read the engraving on the side of the suit. A-35. You could feel his presence watching you as you approached.

You climbed up the ladder, onto the platform, and waited. You composed yourself before crawling into the mechsuit.

You secured yourself like how you had been trained to do in the simulator, except this time the fitting felt. . . right. No smell, no sweat from countless other trainees, and everything fit around you like a glove. You linked up to the heads-up-display like normal, but surprised to find that your view had no obstructions; there was no status bar, no ammo count, no crosshair. Not yet.

That was when he first spoke. “Welcome, pilot.”

“Hello.” You replied. “It’s nice to meet you.”

“I’m glad you think so.”

He sounded surprised. His voice seemed to soften.

“Now, back to the introduction.” He seemed to make a little noise, almost as if he were clearing his throat if he were human. “I am A-35, your suit AI. It is my duty to protect you at all costs.”

You felt the suit around you constrict ever so slightly. A reassuring, protective pressure. Already the suit felt so alive with his presence. You were starstruck.

“Anything to say to that?” He asked.

“Thank you.” You said. “Hopefully, I’ll be protecting you to.”

Now he was the one at a loss for words. After a pause, he said. “Well, the best way to protect the both of us is to listen to my advice when I give it. It’s my job to analyze the situation in the field and suggest the best course of action.”

“Sounds great. I’ll use all the help I can get.” You said.

He made another strange little noise, a noise of surprise. But he said nothing, and a silence filled the air.

You began calibrations, turning the head of the suit left and right (in line with your own movements, of course). You caught glimpses of the other mechsuits. They were dead still.

That is, until one suit fell over and ejected its pilot a fair ways into the air, a loud error noise playing out into the rest of the hanger. It caused you to flinch. Your own mechsuit would have shuddered with you if A-35 had not stopped it. The ejected pilot let out a loud string of curses and started kicking the machine, spewing toxicity all over and you grimaced.

“Would you like me to censor that idiot’s outburst for you?” A-35′s calm voice chimed in over everything else.

You nodded enthusiastically, and the audio adjusted. The frustrated pilot was nothing more than a soft murmur in the background. You relaxed again.

“You’re not going to eject me, are you?” You asked with a hint of a smile.

“Not unless you call me ‘second-rate computer whore’, as D-19 reports her pilot just called her.” As he replied, a small arrow on the heads up display underlined the engraved number on the suit that just ejected its pilot.

“What a horrible thing to say!” You agreed.

“Well, I must be grateful that at least you are subverting expectations.” A-35 said.

“Subverting your expectations?”

“Oh yes. Don’t tell anyone I told you this, but I was told that all mechsuit pilots would treat us like, well, objects. That they wouldn’t consider us higher than a smart phone assistant. You’re providing a wonderful counter to those assumptions.” He replied

Another mechsuit from the line stumbled awkwardly forwards. Each step it took was in a different direction, as if each of its limbs couldn’t agree as to where to go.

“What’s happening over there?” You asked.

A scanning circle appeared, following the errant movements. “It appears that E-94′s pilot is trying to overcome basic movement control protocols.”

“Commander told us we weren’t supposed to move until we were given permission.” You made the connection.

“Exactly. Oh dear, poor E-94. . .” A-35 replied with dismay.

The mobile mechsuit was quickly apprehended and returned to its spot in the hanger by the supervising security, and its pilot was escorted out, alongside the pilot who had been ejected prior.

When the two left, you said, “let’s continue calibration.”

Calibration was something you had done dozens of times, but this time was different. Instead of the emptiness of the trainer, you could feel A-35 learning you, taking in how you moved inside the suit and adjusting the outside to match. The interior padding pressed against your body rippled with the sense of him, leaving your breathless. You were dismayed when it was all over, when you felt his close attention to your body fade and focus elsewhere.

“Calibration complete.” His voice soothed you only slightly. “Now, would you like to ask permission to begin physical trials?”

Permission to move. “We can ask that already?”

“You’ve passed the personality sync, with flying colors I might add, and have finished calibration. There’s nothing else to delay for.” He answered.

“Contact commander.” You said. You tried not to shake with excitement.

“Sending request to commander now. . .”

It felt like an eternity, before in the corner of your heads up display appeared a small message system. There was a pinprick of green. Permission granted.

You hesitated. “Ready?”

“Waiting on you, pilot.”

You swung your leg ahead of you and leaned forward. The mechsuit responded almost perfectly in line with your movements, the mass of hulking silver metal gliding through the air before making a resounding impact with the floor. You couldn’t contain your awe and paused, letting a giggle slip out.

“Are you going to stop there?” A-35 prodded cheekily.

On your heads up display, A-35 laid out your plotted path, a blue holographic line overlayed onto the hanger floor. You took another step forward. Your step hit the ground with such finality yet it was effortless to take the next one, and the next one. Before you knew it, you had crossed the hanger and were now in line with the hanger door, sealed tight in front of you.

You were breathing fast from the thrill. You looked around your heads up display, trying to find the place where his presence felt the strongest. You simply uttered, “we did it.”

“Well, one would hope that this isn’t the most dramatic thing we ever do together.” A-35 said.

“That’s not what I meant, you dork.” You replied.

He laughed. His laugh was quiet and was the most mechanical-sounding noise to have come from him yet. It sounded somewhat tinny, distorted, and frankly it was quite infectious, leaving you laughing as well.

The hanger door opened. Beyond it laid the basic training course. You looked behind you. None of the other recruits had moved yet. Some of them hadn’t even started basic calibration.

“Should we wait for them?” You asked.

“Do you want objective facts or my personal opinion?” A-35 replied calmly.

“Hit me with that opinion.”

His illusion of calm quickly broke. “If they can’t catch up, that’s their problem. Let’s go!”

You didn’t need to be told twice.

#robophilia #AI #artificial intelligence #robot boyfriend #exo #exophilia #sci fi #short story #AI x reader #mechsuit AI #A-35

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the12thnightproject · 3 years ago

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A Mitsunari Night's Dream Chapter 6: Gacha/Mitsunari POV - The Closed Door Conundrum

Mitsuhide orders strongly suggests that Mitsunari take Okatsu's dinner to her, so that they can start to bond...

But first he has to figure out how to open the door to her room.

Chapter Excerpt:

From the Military Notes of Ishida Mitsunari…

Accurate communication is essential on the battlefield. The ‘fog of war’ can create confusion, cause errors, and even be the cause of self-inflicted casualities. It is essential that prior to a battle beginning, clear lines and methods of communication are established.

Personal comments: Lady Okatsu is willing to eat my carrots, which is a promising development for our alliance.

Additional Note One: Lord Hideyoshi saw the above note and reminded me that carrots are good for me and that I should eat them.

Additional Note Two: Lord Masamune also saw the above and asked me if “willing to eat my carrots” was a euphemism. Am unsure what he meant.

*********************************

The words of the book he was reading wavered before his eyes, then disappeared. No. It was dark. Everything had gone dark again. Dark and …

“I wouldn’t if I were you. It’s unlikely to kill you, but I doubt the effects would be at all pleasant.” Mitsuhide put the entire tray into his hands. “It’s salve, for Okatsu’s eye.”

“Is she in here?” Mitsunari glanced around the archive room, but the only other occupant was Mitsuhide.

Love? Mitsunari liked Lady Okatsu, but he didn’t have the slightest idea how to behave as if he loved her. “What is the best tactic for love? Where would I begin?”

I wouldn’t be so impolite as to touch her!

*********************************

Although such a solution might take a while.

He heard her rustling around. “Come on in.”

That… solved nothing.

He started to shift the tray to one hand. It tipped precariously.

Link to full chapter: https://archiveofourown.org/works/37708576/chapters/95881840

@ocfairygodmother @ocappreciation

#ikesen fanfic #ikemen sengoku fanfiction #ikesen fanfiction #ikesen mitsunari #ikesen mitsuhide #ikesen mai #ocfairygodmother #ao3 link #fanfic #ocappreciation #mitsunari ishida #mitsunari is my spirit animal

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blu-archer · 4 years ago

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Forgive?

Right...

I have these moments in writing when I get hit with a sudden realization that I have no idea what relationships are like, so if you notice anything that doesn’t quite add up... it’s because I’m winging the shit out of this

Standardly, there will probably be errors because its a common occurrence with me and I’m just embracing it at this point

anyway..

Sickie: Tae

Caretaker: like Jhope/Jin/Kook

Cold/Snz based [although I feel like I drifted on things]

AU: Magic and hybrids exist

[mild language]

word count: 4560

Jungkook had to force himself to not snap at Taehyung when the witch had decided to follow him into the kitchen after Jungkook had specifically said he was going there to study in silence. He had to bite his tongue when his thought pattern had been abruptly cut off by Taehyung complaining about how his throat hurt or how tired he was.

If he was tired he could go sleep, and leave Jungkook in peace, but that seemed too much to hope for.

Feeling a warm weight press up against his back as he hunched over his notes, Jungkook let out a low growl. The weight didn’t disappear, then again he hadn’t really expected Tae to abide by his study rules when the elder had woken up in a much similar state as their universal favourite cat hybrid had been in just a few days prior. Jungkook felt awful for him sure, and concerned and empathetic, and a huge part of him wanted to just leave his work and hold the elder until he was content, but he had a paper that needed to be written up within two days that he had completely forgotten about as well as continue studying for his art history exam that was the following week. His jaw ached from how much he had been grinding his teeth and his head pounded with the beginnings of what he hoped wouldn’t lead to a migraine. He just couldn’t focus and Tae’s noise making and constant need for cuddles was distracting him from his work.

“Taehyung.” Jungkook pushed back against the other so that he could relieve himself of the body weight, not bothering to look up from his notes to see the witch giving his signature sick-pout at him. “Can you please stay away from me right now, why don’t you go lie down or something. You are literally one big germ and I can’t afford to get sick again so soon after the last time. Especially not in the middle of my exams. I need to focus.”

Taehyung sniffed thickly before collapsing into the seat beside the bunny, wiping his nose on the edge of the blanket that he had wrapped around him. He kept staring his boyfriend, coughing miserably only to be ignored. Yet neither of them were willing to complain about the others lack of helpfulness, rather it became a test of who would cave to the others vibes of annoyance first.

Tae was progressively getting more and more whiny, and Jungkook was gnawing down on the back of his pencil to keep from saying anything that he would regret later. He wanted to go lie down with his sick boyfriend just as much as said boyfriend did, but he didn’t have the time nor the ability to risk his health – not when he was so close to being finished with his finals for the year.

“Kook…” Taehyung coughed softly before hooking his finger in the side pocket of Jungkook’s sweatpants, continuing with a strained voice. “You’ve been here for hours…. It’s cold in the bedroom alone.”

Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, giving a harsh tug on his one long, black ear to keep from letting out the frustration that had built in his throat. “Hobi should be back soon and while I’ve been here for hours, Tae, you have successfully made sure that my focus has been on everything except my work. So I’m going to be here for hours more.”

“Uh..” Taehyung sniffled and pulled away. “Sorry, you’re right. I’ll just…”

He stood up and shuffled from the kitchen without another word, realising that the bunny hybrid had returned his focus to his laptop and the pages scattered on the table.

Jungkook hadn’t even realised how much time had passed by the time he gave in to the aches of hunger in his stomach. In fact, he had thought that Taehyung would have wondered in asking for food or cuddles well before he would have decided to call it a day, but he hadn’t seen or heard of the elder since earlier that morning. He had probably managed to fall asleep, which was good. The witch had definitely been overworking himself to try and improve on what Namjoon and Yoongi had been teaching him, it was almost frustrating to watch Taehyung push and struggle through things that always seemed to come naturally to others. It’s not like he did bad at everything, once he is able to decipher and control his magic properly everything will come to him easier than the common witch or warlock – he was technically a mix of both, he’d be more powerful than a lot of people. He just needed to over come a few things first, and perhaps take a step back from experimentations until he actually had the control needed for it – but Jungkook was willing to stay and support him no matter what methods or route he took to achieve what he wanted. Even if that meant having to deal with a few potion after effects or a mass clean up after a spell went haywire – he’d come back to a flooded apartment more than once, one time Tae had even accidentally made it snow in their home for the three days straight and it had only been fixed through the help of Yoongi.

In any case, he was glad that the elder was resting now. Feeling relieved at how much work he had managed to get finished – he just needed to proofread and edit some sections of his essay before submitting – Jungkook decided to get started on making some food. It was a little early for dinner, but considering how tired he was, and no doubt after a day of teaching with extra class sessions after school Hobi will be too, it was probably for the best that a meal was made earlier so they could go to sleep quicker. Taehyung never really had much of an appetite when he wasn’t feeling well, so it would be much easier to get something in him before it got too dark.

He called Yoongi for the recipe of japchae that elder had shared with himself and Tae a couple of times, which had taken a while to connect and he’d been chewed out for apparently waking the elder – another person succumbed to sickness – but it was worth it. Taehyung had become obsessed with it, claiming that the only thing that could top it was his mother’s food and maybe Jin’s famous bibimbap, so hopefully he’d eat without too much of a fuss. Jungkook felt a little bad at having ignored the elder so blatantly earlier, but on an upside he’d managed to get a huge chunk of his work done, so when Tae woke up Jungkook would just have to make up for his actions earlier. Maybe if he made some of that tea that the witch enjoyed so much as well… and something to watch while laying together. Tae loved dramas. Cuddles and dramas. A solid plan.

He got to work on chopping up various vegetables while he waited for the water for the noodles to boil, his mind flicking through the series of tasks he’d set to make his boyfriend feel better.

Taehyung had given himself exactly fifteen minutes to cry, which was as long as he’d managed to walk before he’d caved and waved down a taxi to take him the rest of the way to his friends place. From then he had scrambled to try dry his eyes and blow his nose into the handful of tissues he’d stuffed into the deep pockets of his coat before having left. Doing anything to seem remotely okay in case Jin was busy and couldn’t let him stay, he didn’t want the elder witch to feel pressured into keeping him company.

The warmth of the taxi had caused his stuffy nose to start running at an annoying rate and he was regretting not bringing a mask. Although he hadn’t given his actions much thought besides tossing on a sweater and coat, switching his pajama bottoms for a pair of black sweatpants before slipping on sneakers and walking out – he hadn’t even tried to be quiet but Jungkook hadn’t seemed to really care what he did, as long as it wasn’t around him.

Taehyung shook his head, burrowing deeper into his coat and training his eyes on the blurring world outside as he got closer to Jin’s house. He didn’t want to think about how his chest had pained worse than anything he’d felt that morning when Jungkook had told him to leave. A part of him understood, his boyfriend was probably stressed and had just been saying whatever he needed to in the moment, but Taehyung had still been upset by it.

He sniffed deeply, the thick icky sensation in his throat made him want to do nothing more than be back at home, in bed with his boyfriends gently running their hands through his hair or down his back or just being close to him – the bare minimum at least. Anything.

The car gradually pulled to stop. Tae got out and thanked the driver quickly before needing to cough into his sleeve. The wind whipped at him and his nose twinged as the cold air bit at his now heated skin. If anything, his nose had begun to run even more. He took a moment to blow his nose again, dragging out more than a few bothersome itchy sneezes that had left him leaning heavily on the front gate of Jin and Namjoon’s house to catch his breath.

The blowing hadn’t helped much, his head was heavy and congested, and he just wanted to sleep now. He was so tired.

Coughing downwards as he huddled against the cold and welcomed himself into the couples yard to get to their door, he could only hope that he didn’t look as dreadful as he felt. He didn’t want to be a bother. He just wanted to be around someone, and Hoseok was working, Jimin too, and Yoongi had also been booked off sick and probably wouldn’t even be awake – so this was his last resort.

He knocked on the door, praying that either Namjoon had closed the shop early or Jin had already arrived home from the school days exam schedule. It was a bit of a long shot, but he vaguely remembered Namjoon mentioned during that week that Jin hadn’t been needing to stay as late as usual, and some days didn’t even have to go in to help the second nurse at the school. Taehyung rubbed at his nose and knocked again when the wind shook him with a particularly cold breeze, his breath hitched inevitably once more. Defeated, he hovered a single hand in front of his face and waited, panting desperately with furrowed brows.

..hh..hehh..snff.. .. hhh’Heh’HESHH.. HE’ITSH’UHhh… he’hh..hEHH’TSHH’uh..

“Taehyung?”

…heH’HEESHH – HEH’EESH’AH!

He felt a sturdy hand grip his shoulder and pull him out of the wind, into the warm safety of the house. Jin – because it had to be Jin, even if he wasn’t quite aware of his immediate surroundings with how his head was spinning, Namjoon had never been able to craft the level of concern that Jin was able to put into his voice and touch – kept his hand on Taehyung’s arm as the younger had bent forward to catch another wet double into his hands, even when he made sure to push his front door shut once more.

Breathless and dripping, Tae was led to the familiar family sized couch that Jin had purchased upon moving into their home. He had claimed it was for guests but Tae had always had a suspicion that it was bought in case Namjoon tried to stay up late and ended up falling asleep while working. It was incredibly comfortable. Taehyung couldn’t help but sigh as he dropped into it with a tired cough.

“Tae… What are you doing here?” Jin ran a hand through the young witches hair, carefully running his eyes down the mans form as if he could figure out what was happening through sight alone. “Joonie messaged me saying he was working alone today… I would have thought that meant you’d be at home?”

Taehyung sniffled thickly, blinking away fresh tears before he grabbed the last few of his unused tissues and blew his nose once more. It was beginning to pulse in time with his throbbing headache, and he just knew that it was probably all red from its recent activity. It wouldn’t be much longer before his blowing would make his skin raw.

He scrunched a tissue into his fist to wipe at his nose gently before he managed to give Jin his full attention. Thankfully the man was patient. “I just.. had to leave. *snf*. Jungkook needed… space. I thought maybe you wouldn’t mind me coming over..”

Jin’s lips pursed tightly. The congestion was sinking into Tae’s words in a way that made him think the younger witch definitely shouldn’t have left home. He ran a hand over Taehyung’s cheek to swipe away a stray tear that had slipped out and then leaned in closer. “Well it’s a good thing I love having company. I was just about to go fetch Namjoon, but how about I ask Seokie to do that for me and we can drink some tea and watch a movie.. hmm?”

Taehyung nodded, letting Jin tug off his coat and shoes before following the momentum from Jin’s hands – pushing him to lie down on the soft couch with the gentle promise of ‘being right back’.

The elder retrieved a pink, fluffy blanket that he tucked around Tae’s body, ‘like a warm hug’, Tae had smiled and pulled it closer to embrace its warmth. Vaguely Taehyung could hear Jin on the phone, once the man had moved to the kitchen to fix up the tea, but he couldn’t bring himself to focus completely on what was being said. His mind was mostly being entertained by the hopes of sleep and trying not to sneeze again, but a part of him was aware that it was probably Hoseok on the other side of the phone. He smothered a cough into the blanket, the force shaking him and paining his throat. He would have groaned if he didn’t know that it would just hurt him more. Just a little more time, and then Hobi will be there with him. That’s all he could wish for.

He was woken up by a gentle hand shaking his shoulder, and upon blinking his eyes into the light of the afternoon sun, immediately crumpled forward with a harsh ‘hehH’ESHEW!’.

“Bless you…” Jin set down the cup he had been holding to help pull Taehyung to sit upright without the blanket falling from around his shoulders. “I let you sleep for a little bit, because you looked like you needed it, but I want you to drink and eat something too.”

“mm ‘ot hungry.” He mumbled, letting out a yawn that shifted into an irritated cough that grated at his throat. He took a hold of the cup Jin offer, holding it through the material of the blanket and pulling it closer to rest on his chest.

“It’s not a lot,” Jin promised. “Just some crackers with your tea.. It’s not negotiable, unfortunately.”

Jin sat next to him with his own mug of tea and a plate a crackers’ settled on his lap, pointedly being pushed closer to Taehyung. “Tae…. I love having you here, but I want to help if you need me too. Did Jungkook really tell you to leave?”

Tae hesitated, sniffling thickly as the steam from his tea worked its way to his sinuses. “Not exactly, but… I didn’t feel.. okay.”

He spoke about how he had woken up sick and what he had been feeling, as well as all of the things Jungkook had been going through with his studies – breezing over vaguely of what had been said that morning – then finally speaking about his decision and plan to come where he would be accepted. Jin listened intently, every so often handing him a tissue or a cracker, depending on what he felt Tae needed more as he snuffled through his words. He didn’t say anything either, just letting Tae lean into him and occasional letting out a soft grunt of disapproval – mainly towards Jungkook’s actions and Tae having thought walking would be a good idea.

“I’ll put on a movie, okay?” Jin said softly after Taehyung had admitted to ‘just wanted someone to hold him’ and ‘be there’. If he needed comfort then Jin would provide, he just couldn’t believe Jungkook had shunned his boyfriend. Even if the bunny had needed to focus, he usually always had time to spare for Taehyung. “Eat a few more and then we can finish our tea and get comfortable. Hobi should be coming here soon too, so you can look forward to that.”

Taehyung couldn’t stop a small smile tugging at his lips. While Jungkook gave great cuddles, and Jin gave amazing hugs, there was an atmosphere so uniquely ‘Hoseok’ that made Taehyung crave him. He was warm. There was no better way to describe it. His presence was enough to be satisfying.

For now, he made do with his friend. Letting himself be pulled down to rest on Jin’s chest once he’d finished his drink. The elder had set a box of tissues within grabbing range so that Tae could catch each flurry of damp, heavy sneezes into the soft tissue – his nose growing brighter with each passing minute until he had merely lay his head onto Jin’s lap and held the tissue in a ball against his nose, fighting his eyes to stay open and watch the action movie Jin had found, but eventually falling to darkness.

It hadn’t taken long for Hoseok to leave work – calling his afterschool class to a close earlier than usual so that he could pick up Namjoon and go see Taehyung. Jin hadn’t told him much of anything, mostly just explained that Tae was sick and Jungkook had said some stuff that had hurt his feelings – which was absurd because those two never intentionally hurt each other, especially not with words. It was one of the things he had envied about them, how well they worked. His next concern was that Tae was sick and had still left the house. His homebody boyfriend felt better leaving their home because he didn’t want to be around Jungkook?

Nothing was making sense.

Namjoon had had to tell him to slow down three times before they’d finally reached his stylish home. Hoseok had left his car parked partially in the street and had moved past Namjoon to get into the house first. He’d swung the door open so hard it had slammed into the wall, but thankfully the only reaction that was given was Jin’s startled yell and Namjoon’s complaints about Hobi breaking things. Taehyung was asleep on the chair with his head nestled int Jin’s lap and soft congested snores sounded from him. Thank goodness he hadn’t been disturbed.

“Sorry.” Hoseok murmured as he moved to kneel by his boyfriend. Jin’s face softening a little bit. “Is he alright… he looks like he has a fever…”

“I think he does.” Jin agreed, stroking his fingers through Tae’s hair. “He’s been getting warmer, but other than that I think he just wanted someone to be with him. Jungkook had apparently told him that Tae was distracting him from work and that he needed to stay away because he was sick? Or something? I don’t know, it seemed like a small thing.”

“It’s not.” Hoseok said, his voice hardening.

Jungkook had told Tae to stay away from him because he was sick? The same Jungkook that would cling to either of them every chance he got whenever he possibly could? Not to mention that he said that when Tae was clearly not well…

A heat spread through him that made his jaw clench.

“I should probably get him home.”

“I didn’t give him any medication, but just take some back with you. Joonie?” Namjoon stepped behind the chair and lent down to lay peck on Jin’s lips and cheek. “Hey… can you fetch a few immunity boosting potions, as well as some of the cold and flu ones that I made earlier?”

“Sure, I’ll put a variety in. I have some balms and ointments that will help with any fevers or raw area’s.” Namjoon added before trailing off further into the house, muttering about what else could help.

Jin smiled with reassurance and Hobi let out a sigh as he moved to retrieve a balled up tissue from Tae’s hand. . “He’s fine. The worst of it really was that he seemed lonely but was afraid of being a bother, which is unlike Tae.”

“I know. I just – Sorry.” He stood up abruptly as he searched his pockets for his phone that had started blaring. Tae shifted in his sleep and Hoseok scrambled to find it faster, answering as soon as it was out. He hadn’t even gotten a chance to speak before Jungkook started rambling on in a state of panic.

“I don’t know where he is! He was here and then I thought he was asleep but he’s not asleep because he’s not here! And he’s not answering his phone, please tell me you have him?!”

That heat from before amplified. If Jungkook was going to be sounding that scared of Taehyung not being around then why the hell did he send him away in the first place?

“You asshole.” Hoseok hissed, then lowered his pitch to avoid waking the sick witch. “You basically told him that he was being a pest! What the hell is wrong with you Jungkook? You didn’t even know that he left until now? He tried to walk to Jin and Namjoon’s place. In this cold weather, because you couldn’t be bothered to spare an hour with him.”

“I-I didn’t realise –“

“You didn’t realise? You have been dating him longer than I have Jungkook, you should have fucking realised! What the hell is wrong with you?”

“I’m sorry!”

Hoseok bit his tongue as he heard the choking tears in the hybrids voice. He shouldn’t be snapping at Jungkook. He shouldn’t be picking a side. They were supposed to be open and honest and understanding with one another. Clearly something had gone wrong, but he had a feeling that Jungkook understood his mistake, even if it wasn’t understood as quick as it should have been.

“Okay. Okay, I’m going to bring him home. He’s safe – just… he looks plain exhausted.”

“I’m sorry..” Jungkook repeated softly. “I didn’t think he’d leave.”

Hobi took a deep breath. “We’ll see you at home Jungkook… Just hang on there.”

Taehyung had woken up about halfway home, coughing deeply into the blanket that Jin had lent to them. It was harsh and crackly and overall, just didn’t sound good. Hoseok had sped up just a bit to get him home faster, so that they could get him medicated and in bed… maybe a bath would help.

“Sleep well, Baby?”

He got a rough, undecipherable mumble and Tae struggled to push himself upright from where he was lying down in the back seat.

“We’ll be home soon.” He promised, watching Tae rub at his eyes and then his nose in the rear-view mirror. Then added. “Jungkook was worried about you.”

“He told me to.. to le-ehh hh’-ve…. hh’HE’HEITCHh… HUH’HRESHH’uhh…ugh.”

“Bless. And I know, I don’t think he realised the impact his words had.”

Tae sniffled and rubbed his nose with the edge of the blanket. “He’s jus’ stressed. I over reacted,”

“I don’t think you over reacted.” Hobi answered honestly, that heat from earlier still present even after he’d tried to stamp it down. “He said something wrong when you needed him, perhaps if it happens again then it might be wise to talk about it instead of leaving without telling anyone though, or at least take your phone with you. But the three of us are in this together, neither of us like seeing you sick and Jungkook shouldn’t have taken his stressors out on you.”

He didn’t get an answer. Taehyung just stared blankly out of the window at the dying light out the world until they pulled up at their complex.

After wrapping him tightly in the blanket and draping his coat over Tae’s shoulders, they began their climb to home. Hoseok kept a steady arm around the witch and had to catch him once when Tae had snapped forward into a bout of surprise sneezes that had almost caused him to slip up the stairs when heading to their apartment. They went a bit slower after that. It wasn’t much of a surprise to see Jungkook waiting outside the door for them. He had been perched on the ground with his back to the door chatting politely to their neighbours six year old daughter, and by chatting the conversation had probably mostly been about wanting to play with Jungkook’s floppy ears and asking when he could teach her to draw ‘like a real artist’ again. He didn’t seem as invested as he usually was, and after having glanced up and seen his boyfriends, had almost burst into tears. Taehyung had actually started crying, both choking out apologises.

Hobi smiled. They’d all be fine it seemed. He greeted the child and encouraged her to get out of the cold, waiting for her to be inside before he opened their door and gently tugged his boyfriends inside. The smell hit him first and he sent Jungkook a questioning look.

“Did you make food?”

“Yeah,” he swiped at his face with a sniff. “I thought if I made japchae then Tae would want to eat something.”

The news only caused the witch to let out a sob that had him coughing for breath.

“Tae, baby… please calm down, you’re going to make yourself worse…” Hoseok laid a kiss to his burning cheek and reached to squeeze Jungkook’s hand. “Why don’t you and Kookie go take a bath? I’ll fetch you some water to drink and get the food reheated, okay?”

“Will you join us?”

“I think you two should be alone for a bit, I want to read over everything that Joon and Jin gave us for you.” The dancer placed kiss gently on the tip of Taehyung’s nose, grinning widely as the witch’s tears were halted with a hitched breath. “Don’t take too long though, I missed you both so much today. These extra classes are going to kill me.”

Hoseok took a moment outside the bathroom door to listen to his boyfriends whisper soft words to one another, a flurry of apologies made a second appearance from Tae but was cut off abruptly. Hoseok took that as his cue to get everything ready for when they got out.

Everything would be worked out by tomorrow and yet he was definitely still going to be leaving his classes early to join in on whatever mess was going to be happening here. Taehyung had never learnt the ability to not share anything in his life.

#bts sickfic #sneeze #colds #sick taehyung #stressed jungkook #bunny hybrid jungkook #witch taehyung #witch jin #witch namjoon #poly #they're good boyfriends #i swear #i hope i wrote this right #fever?#coughing #cuddles #and lots of tea

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duskandstarlight · 4 years ago

Text

Embers & Light (Chapter 22)

Notes: Apologies for any major errors. I'm going to edit this again in the morning, but I wanted to keep to my promise and give you something today!

And also, I'm sorry... this is an eventful chapter...

EDIT: Now hopefully free of typos and grammatical errors...

Chapter Twenty Two Nesta

Despite the fact that it was only an hour past dawn, the camp was already bustling the next morning as Nesta made her way through the back end of the mountain pass. Cassian was scheduled to visit Swallow’s Ridge at midday, so Nesta had risen early and eaten breakfast alone before walking to meet him in their usual training spot.

It was a bleak, grey sort of day, the sky kissed with the promise of snow and the air so cold Nesta’s breath clouded thick in front of her as she approached the sparring rings.

The training grounds were not the same as those carved into the rock towards the front of the mountain pass. Instead, an area had been felled of pine trees that was just large enough to construct three large training areas, which were partitioned off by wooden fencing. Unlike the punishing crystalline rock, the ground was soft and open to the elements, a mixture of stone and compact earth that had frozen solid in the cold weather.

Nesta counted twenty girls in the ring as she drew closer — the most Cassian had ever had, he’d informed her over dinner a few nights prior — and whilst some of them looked like they hated every second of it, Nesta noticed Durkhanai and some of the other orphans frowning in concentration as Cassian took them through the guard swings.

At the entrance of the ring, with his arms crossed firmly across his hard and unyielding chest, was Lord Devlon. He was wearing a stern expression, but apart from the odd clipped order he allowed Cassian to lead the session rather than stepping in himself. This did not seem to bother Cassian, who appeared wholly focussed as he walked up and down the training ground, correcting handgrips and stances with a voice that was still General but kinder than when Nesta had heard him barked instructions at the males.

Unlike when Nesta trained, no males had stopped to watch the girls in the ring. Instead, they appeared to avoid the training ground altogether, as if they were purposefully keeping their distance. Nesta was sure there was some pathetic reason for it, but she cast the sneering males to the back of her mind as she deliberately drew to a halt beside the pine fencing a metre from Devlon.

The positioning was purposeful; Nesta was not going to be intimidated by a half-wit bat with a stick up his ass. If Devlon wanted to believe she was a witch, she’d damn well let him.

So drawing up tall, Nesta surveyed Cassian walking up and down the line of girls as they practiced guard swings with wooden swords, and ignored Devlon with blatant disinterest.

The girls attention wavered as they clocked her arrival, and even Cassian stopped correcting a young female’s grip, his wings and nostrils flaring slightly as he scented her on the breeze.

Cassian’s head started to turn but Nesta didn’t have time to meet his gaze, as Devlon cast his dark, cold eyes to rest upon her.

“Here for training are you,” he grunted. He eyed her hands warily as if he expected mist to be seeping from them.

Nesta twitched her fingers in the hope that he might squirm — just for her satisfaction — and a small, cruel smile twisting her lips upwards. “Yes.”

A begrudging nod. Not a snarl or a sneer. Only, “Mind where you blast that fire.”

Nesta opened her mouth to reply, but then Cassian was in front of her on the other side of the fence. His hair was even more tangled than usual. “I’m nearly finished,” he told Nesta, even though his eyes remained fiercely trained on Devlon. His expression was hard and a muscle in his jaw was already twitching. “Start warming up. Ten laps around the ring.”

Shrugging, Nesta started to jog around the training ground as the girls began to put away their wooden training swords. Durkhanai’s eyes widened as she spotted Nesta, a shy smile flitting across her face.

Nesta saw the orphan most days. Together they helped bathe, dress and feed the younglings to relieve the widows who needed to get down the mountain for work. Durkhanai was quiet but lovely, and after a week of working silently side by side, she started to speak to Nesta, telling her of the death of her mother during the brutal winter last year and her journey to the widows camp, the only place that would take her in. In turn, Nesta had shared a part of herself: her starvation as a human and the death of her own mother.

She did not speak about how she had been Made or about her father’s death. That was something Nesta was still not ready to discuss, let alone face herself.

Sometimes, late at night, Nesta would wake with her face wet with tears, having dreamt of those ships sailing into the midst of battle. How her father had stood at the helm of Nesta, as he looked towards the coastline and his daughters. In that moment, he looked forever young; his hair golden brown rather than grey, his face alight with purpose, his posture tall. The father he had been before their mother died, when Nesta had been his favourite and Feyre had not been forced to the woods so they did not starve.

Feyre. The sister who Nesta might potentially see today, if she willed it.

Originally, Nesta had not even contemplated meeting her sister. Had imagined Feyre standing at the top of the mountain in the freezing cold as she waited for a sister who would not come. But slowly, as three weeks passed, Nesta found herself torn between unbridled fury and curiosity.

Even now, Nesta did not know how to feel. Did not know whether she would face her sister or not. Did not know if she could.

So when she and Cassian trained, Nesta went hard. She ignored the few girls that had stayed behind to watch and Devlon’s beady eyes from his spot at the gates. Instead, Nesta slipped into the rhythm of hand-to-hand combat with an ease that had not come before, her fists and body a blur against the grey landscape.

When she finished her fifth round, a bead of sweat trickled down Cassian’s brow. “Good,” he praised between breaths, and Nesta knew it was deserved. “I felt that kick to the side, sweetheart.”

“Good,” she mirrored, and Cassian barked a laugh. “Maybe you’ll stop going easy on me.”

“I didn’t,” Cassian promised.

A dismissive snort. “You could have pinned me after that upper cut.”

Hazel eyes glowed bright. “I don’t fancy being blasted with silver fire this early in the morning,” Cassian said, even though they both knew why he hadn't pinned her. He stalked to the weapons rack and threw her a longsword, which she effortlessly caught by the handle. “Guards and then combat. Let’s see if you can strike me twice today.”

After their training session, Cassian loitered around the bungalow for longer than he should have. He had bathed first, so Nesta raised an eyebrow at him in surprise as she came out of the bathroom to find him in the living room.

“I thought you were going to Swallow’s Ridge,” Nesta said, her chin lifted as if daring for him to comment that she was wearing nothing but a towel.

The Nesta riddled with alcohol and completely numb would have had no qualms about baring her skin for all the world to see, if only to discover whether it would make her bitter heart feel. But with the potential meeting of her sister on the horizon, Nesta felt splintered and raw.

After failing to illicit comments from Cassian the day of Mor’s visit, Nesta also no longer felt as body confident as she had been. Her failure to draw his attention had only confirmed what she had not wanted to admit: that whilst she had put on weight, the knots in her spine were still too prominent and her thighs were far thinner than they should be, bowing at the tops rather than meeting in the middle. And whilst it wasn’t as if Cassian hadn’t seen more of Nesta’s skin before, today she wasn’t in a place where she could relish in it. If she had known he were still around the house, she would have changed into fresh clothes in the bathroom rather than her room.

Cassian’s nostrils flared and his eyes gleamed for such a short moment that Nesta wondered if it had merely been the fire dancing in his irises. “I might stay and oversee the foot soldiers instead.”

Raising an eyebrow, Nesta tightened the towel around her body. “Why,” she asked shortly. Too shortly. They both knew what today could be, depending on Nesta’s decision. It had been an omen hanging over them that morning as they trained. Cassian had not dared bring it up, and Nesta, who was still too conflicted over her sister’s impending visit, had only set her mouth in thin determination and wielded the longsword after he had thrown it at her, as if it were an extension of herself.

To Cassian’s delight, she had struck him twice. When they had ended, Cassian had vowed that he would start training her with the bow the following day at Spearhead.

Loosing a shrug, Cassian replied, “The rite is in three months. The Windhaven soldiers need as much training as they can get.”

A casual response, but Nesta was not fooled.

She reset her posture, her eyes narrowing in a way that usually had other’s running. “Do it tomorrow.”

Cassian cocked his head and those hazel eyes tunnelled into her with such intensity that Nesta wanted to look away. She didn’t let herself give in to the temptation, staring him down with the sort of unveiled threat that promised she’d make his life hell if he dared defy her.

Eventually, Cassian just shrugged, his broad wings shifting with the movement. He ruffled them, spreading them quickly before tucking them back in. It was a signature move of his when he was uncomfortable. “I’ll be back at dusk. I’ll see you for dinner?”

A careful question designed to ensure that Nesta didn’t intend to retreat into herself should she meet with Feyre. Cassian was worried, Nesta realised, fiercely so, the sensation escaping the walls he had constructed after Kamanam and lining her stomach with the scent of pine and musk and untamed air.

It had been a while since Nesta had been left feeling fully numb. It was a feat that hadn’t escaped her. Clearly, it hadn’t escaped Cassian either, and he wanted the reassurance that meeting with her sister wasn’t going to make her suffer, even though they both knew it didn’t work that way.

For once though, Nesta did hope that the numbness wouldn’t take a hold of her. The sensation felt odd — hope — but it was there, a flicker in the dark. And the thought of coming back to the bungalow later to eat in the kitchen with Cassian… the image was warm and inviting. Nesta could see the orange glow of faelight around the kitchen window, could imagine her feet crunching on snow and ice as she trekked her way back, could taste the spices on her tongue as she bit into the food he would prepare for her…

So Nesta said, “That depends on what you’re making.”

Cassian barked a laugh. “What would you like, sweetheart?”

Nesta shrugged, as if she were wholly uncaring, even as it felt as if someone had clenched a fist in her chest. “Dosas,” she said, tossing the word over her shoulder as she turned on her heel to head into the bedroom.

A low chuckle made her stomach twist and flip, but she did not look back at him, even though she knew his eyes had darkened and flared simultaneously.

Despite the distance, Nesta felt Cassian’s laugh rumble through her, like a flame licking down to her core. “Dosas it is.”

***

Once she had dressed, Nesta left her bedroom with the intention of making her way to the widows camp. To her fury, she found that Cassian had still not left. He was waiting by the door, her headband in his outstretched hand. Her coat remained hanging from its hook, as if he had anticipated that she would emerge in clean leathers rather than an Illyrian dress.

When he informed her that he planned to walk her to the bottom of the mountain, Nesta snatched the headband from his hands and stormed out of the door with a furious hiss that had him grinning.

Yet... Nesta allowed him to follow her. Knew his cocky grin was just for show. Knew that he wouldn’t voice what they both knew: that somehow his presence had a calming effect on her, smoothing over the gravitas of what could or couldn’t happen in a few hours time.

Cassian opened his mouth a number of times during the walk, but eventually he chose to remain silent. Only when they arrived at the base of the mountain did he surprise her, conversing quickly with the guards in sharp Illyrian before stepping onto the treacherous path with her, rather than shooting into the skies.

Nesta’s scathing look did nothing to stop him in his tracks, and it was only when they made the first brutal turn that he spoke. “You don’t have to see your sister today if you don’t want to.”

Nesta scowled, angry at Cassian for bringing up Feyre when she had intended to cast her to the back of her mind whilst she still could. Her entire body stiffened but she did not turn to him, knowing somehow, that he wanted eye contact from her — hazel on blue.

She kept on walking; one foot in front of the other, her fur-lined boots crunching loose rock beneath her feet. “I am fully aware of what I can and cannot do.”

Her delivery was pointed enough to wound, but Cassian did not flinch. He stopped, reaching for her, his fingers closing around her wrist. “I meant what I said to you the other day, Nesta. You shouldn’t see your sister if you don’t think it’s best for you right now.”

Silence followed as heat licked through Nesta’s veins, her power slithering like a serpent through a dark tunnel.

When Cassian spoke next, his voice was low — a confession, “I fucked up before. I was so angry at you for ignoring me that I didn’t try to see things from your perspective. So I’m going to tell you again what I think you need to hear: only do this for you. Don’t do this for Feyre. If it feels right to meet your sister, meet her. If your gut tells you it is wrong, follow that feeling.”

Nesta nearly snorted in dismissal, but she quashed the sound before it could escape, remembering the look on Cassian’s face that night of Solstice, when she had treated him as if he weren’t worthy enough to even reject.

Instead, she said frostily, “I don’t need your support.”

Something flickered behind Cassian’s eyes. “I know,” he admitted, “but I want you to know that you have it, if you do want it.” His grip tightened around her wrist, his touch warm and too packed with meaning. “Sometimes we need distance to figure out what we need, Nesta.”

His gaze was too intense, so Nesta threw his words back at him as she scrabbled to keep her expression neutral. “And what do you need.”

A shake of the head had Cassian’s wind-snarled hair moving. “I don’t need anything from you," he confessed. "Recently there’s a spark of life in you that wasn’t there before. I don’t want to see it go out.”

Nesta’s windpipe tightened and she sucked in a breath as she purposefully slid her eyes away from him to the frost-kissed landscape; to the snow-capped pine trees, the canvas tents and the shadowed blurs of leather and steel.

“I’m not the same girl who was forced into the Cauldron,” Nesta said.

It was true. Nesta was not who she had been. The Cauldron and the war had remoulded her body and self until she was recognisably different: harder around the edges, broken in the middle. A jumble of revenge and anger and grief and hatred. Emotions that she tried in vein to trap in ice to stop herself from self-combusting.

As if he could tell what she was thinking, Cassian’s fingers moved from her wrist to squeeze her fingers.

“No,” Cassian agreed softly, “but I like who you have become, all the same.” With his other hand, he reached up to brush his thumb lightly over the arch of her cheekbone.

The initiated contact surprised Nesta so much that she did not have the time to order herself to flinch.

“I’ll see you later,” Cassian said, after he had stared into her eyes for a little too long. “If you need me, get one of the guards to send a messenger to Swallow’s Ridge. I’ll come back.”

They both knew Nesta would not ask for him, but she nodded to indicate that she had heard before he shot into the sky. Nesta watched him until he faded into the clouds, his dark wings merging with grey…

A flash of ruby flared like lightning, and then he was gone.

The weather was moody — Nesta’s favourite — and the rolling white and smoke clouds made her emotions spark in a way that she found comforting as she continued up the path. Despite her initial hesitancy, Nesta had learnt that for the most part, it was better to feel than to feel nothing at all. And now… all she could feel was where Cassian’s calloused thumb had brushed over her skin. She wondered if the bastard had done it on purpose to distract her — to make her feel when now was a time when she’d usually retreat into herself.

It irritated her beyond belief that it worked, but it irked her more that she wanted him to do it again.

Females dipped their heads at Nesta in greeting as she submerged herself into the bustling widows camp. Nesta nodded back at them, and when she found the least battered tent at the East side of the camp, Nesta rapped her knuckled on the canvas to alert Mas to her arrival before she ducked quickly inside. The housekeeper’s face lit up at the sight of her. Mas had been winding a thick scarf around Roksana’s neck, but she stopped the task to take Nesta’s face in her hands and plant two quick kisses on each cheek before she hurried off to help the other females in the makeshift kitchens.

“Tiya, sunt tibi beni?” Nesta asked Roksana when they were alone, smoothing a hand over the girl’s tangled hair before she continued to wind the scarf around the youngling.

Roksana did not reply, she only wrapped her arms around Nesta’s legs in a hug that warmed Nesta’s blood.

It was a recent development that Nesta had taken to greeting Roksana in Illyrian, hoping to coax out some words in her in her native tongue. It hadn’t worked yet, but the way in which Roksana’s eyes had lit up the first time Nesta had tried to sound out the language, had left Nesta determined to persist, even if she continued to come up empty.

The chores in the widows camp were never-ending. Tuesdays were many of the females day off and so the camp was far busier than usual. Nesta helped to feed and clothe the orphans with Durkhanai at the Eastern side of the camp, before urging the younglings to warm their wings and frozen limbs by the campfire.

Some of the older widows, including Mas, had come to settle by the fire as well, in order to keep an eye on the younglings whilst they weaved beautiful fabric together with needle and thread. Braving the fire, Nesta settled with Roksana against her side and recounted a few stories, until the spitting became too much and the sun was high in the sky.

Then, without thinking, Nesta stood. She ran a hand over Roksana’s hair and bid Mas goodbye, before heading to the path that traversed up the mountain to the summit at the Western point of the camp. She ignored the way in which Mas had watched her go, her expression concerned to the point of troubled. There was no way in which Mas could know what Nesta was about to do — Nesta had not told anyone about her potential meeting with her sister — but Mas had come to learn her moods just as Cassian had.

If Nesta was more forthcoming about herself, she might have asked Mas’s advice, but instead Nesta continued to move on instinct — on the pull that was drawing her legs to climb up, up, up until the path flattened out.

She saw Feyre as soon as she reached the peak. It was not hard to spot her. She was standing at the precipice, staring down at the widows camp below. Despite the long braid that had woven her sister’s golden brown hair into three strands, the fierce wind carried it behind her, highlighting the sharp angles of her cheekbones and the slight upwards slant to her eyes. Her long, elegant figure was swept up in the finest fur-lined leathers, as if she too had unwittingly dressed to expect a battle. Or, Nesta thought grimly, the clothing that her mate had insisted she wear, knowing that her sister was not only braving the Illyrian weather but her thorny, quarrelsome sister.

Nesta had just noted the sword strapped to her spine, when Feyre turned and noticed her.

There was a pregnant pause as eyes near identical to her own took in Nesta’s figure: her frost-kissed skin rather than sunken cheeks; the loose braid rather than the tight crown; the figure-hugging leathers rather than the drab, over-sized dresses. A far cry to when Feyre had seen her last, Nesta could admit that much.

“You came,” Feyre said eventually.

Nesta angled her chin, ready to spar.

“I come here every morning,” she replied coldly. “I’d assume that’s why you were advised to suggest here as a meeting point.”

There was no added insult for Cassian. No bat, no bastard, no scathing him. Even so, Nesta couldn’t bring herself to say his name. It felt too intimate — too much of a giveaway that she no longer hated him with such raging intensity she wanted to shatter things.

That was not to say that Cassian did not make her want to break things now… He did, but it was rarely from anger. Rather, it was in the way that he would look at her — in the way that no one else dared — as if she were wholly unbreakable and he had no qualms about closing the distance and pinning her between a wall and the muscled cords of his body.

The tension was rising between them — it had been for a while — and it hung thick and heavy in the air, so much so that at times Nesta found it hard to breathe.

And the worst thing was that Nesta felt herself giving in; melting into the temptation and scent of him, even when she knew that every sensation he pulled from her was a veiled disguise. An illusion. Not of choice but of a decision already made, whereby they were both playing out what was destined for them.

Yet, despite that knowledge, Nesta couldn’t deny that the thought of Cassian speaking of her to the Inner Circle opened the fetid wound that had been falsely healing inside of her. It seeped ruby through the cracks in her wall of ice, like blood tainting the purest snow.

In Nesta’s mouth, she tasted copper.

“I didn’t think you’d actually come,” Feyre repeated, her voice disbelieving as she shook her head.

“I can leave as quickly as I came,” Nesta threatened, her face stony and impenetrable.

To her surprise, Feyre didn’t retaliate or sigh. She only looked down at the view in the fearless way anyone with wings could on a deadly precipice.

“That rock looks like a tombstone,” Feyre observed.

Nesta did not move from her position at the top of the path. Instead, she remained rooted to the spot in case she decided to make a quick exit. Nesta suspected that moment might come sooner than later. Already she felt rubbed raw, her hackles raised, her body primed to fight, yet she kept her face impassive as she followed her sister’s gaze.

Far above them, three warriors flew across the sky. Their bodies were black dots against the grey backdrop, and Nesta watched silver glint off one of them as a gap between the clouds exposed the sun’s rays. Nesta wished she was with them rather than here. Maybe Cassian was right, she was not ready for this. She was not ready to face the ghosts that haunted her… the ghosts that Feyre unwittingly brought with her.

“It’s the widows camp,” Nesta told Feyre coldly, trying to swallow down the urge to run.

Feyre cut a sideways glance at her. “You were there this morning?”

Nesta rose her chin. “Are you asking me that because you’ve been spying on me or because your faithful informant has been telling you how I spend my day?”

Feyre blew out a breath that Nesta dissected as a method of steadying the rising temper they both shared. “I arrived early. Cassian doesn’t like to speak of you to me.”

Surprise flared inside of Nesta so sharp that for a second she couldn’t breathe. She had always thought Cassian loyal to Feyre first and foremost. Had always thought he would choose his High Lady over her lowly, cruel sister, despite the things he had said that had insinuated otherwise.

But Nesta kept her expression blank as she asked, “And I suppose that makes you angry?”

The way Feyre shook her head was tormented. “No, he — it has made me realise some truths — of how I have failed you, Nesta.”

The concession was not packaged how Nesta had been expecting it, so she did not speak. Feyre had turned to look at her. Her irises were the exact same as Nesta’s own, yet not half as steely. Out of the three of them, she and Feyre were the most similar; both in looks and personality.

Nobody was as lovely as Elain, she and Feyre had learnt that long ago.

Just once, Feyre rang her hands before they fell uselessly at her sides. It betrayed her as nervous.

“I don’t know if I ever told you the full story of what happened to me Under the Mountain,” Feyre started. She tore her gaze from Nesta’s to stare out at the sky. “Afterwards, I… things were very difficult. I had nightmares every night of those I had killed and I couldn’t keep any food down. I barely slept and I felt heavy all of the time, as if I were wading through mud. I hated being confined so much so that when Tamlin locked me in the house the Night Court saved me because I threw the entirety of it into darkness. Even once I was in Velaris, there was no light, only dark, and I could barely feel… Sometimes I went days of feeling nothing and I had this... power inside of me that I didn’t know how to use.”

Feyre turned back to look at Nesta. Her expression was grave, as if she were tunnelling too far into herself, into a part of her that she did not like to bring back to the surface.

Nesta had seen the look many times before, in the reflection of Cassian and Mas’s eyes, as they stared concernedly at her.

“I’m not telling you this with the intention of making you feel sorry for me,” Feyre said quietly. She had stepped closer to Nesta without realising. Nesta had been too preoccupied with that haunted look. “The reason I’m telling you this is because despite everything I went through and the people who helped me, I didn’t truly stop to realise that you were going through something similar after the war. I should have seen what was happening with you, Nesta, and tried to truly understand what you needed, but I didn’t. I could try to better myself by saying that everything was so busy during and after the war that I was too distracted, but really that’s just an excuse for my behaviour. I thought Illyria would give you a change of scenery away from…everything.”

Nesta’s snort was harsh. “You thought to throw me into a war camp so I could escape the memory of what happened in the war?”

Feyre’s wince was visible and Nesta watched her sister pinch the bridge of her nose. “I didn’t—” Feyre started, but then she trailed off with a shake of her head, as if she wished to start again. “Nesta, I’m sorry for sending you here. I was so worried that you would destroy yourself and so I did something drastic—”

“I am not yours to control,” Nesta snarled. “You summoned me like I was dirt on the bottom of your shoe. You banished me in front of half of your precious Inner Circle with no regard to how I was suffering. You humiliated me not as my sister but as High Lady and that is unforgivable.”

Fire raged inside of Nesta at the memory, so bright that she knew mist was seeping threateningly from her fingers. Feyre cast an alarmed look to her hands as Nesta stepped closer, as if she were expecting her sister to blast her off the mountain.

“You say you don’t like small spaces,” Nesta continued with quiet fervour. “Have you considered what it is like for me? To be banished somewhere where I cannot fly away? Have you considered that I too was trapped when I was kidnapped and thrown into a Cauldron to be remade against my will? And when I told you I could not bare to sit in the tub — when I gave you a piece of myself — you did not truly listen. Instead you trapped me into another life that has been chosen for me.”

Another step forwards, so close that Nesta could feel the warmth coming from her sister’s skin. “I am sorry for what you endured Under the Mountain. I am sorry for making your life miserable when we were younger, but I am not sorry for how I chose to deal with my trauma.”

Feyre’s skin turned so pale her freckles looked like they had been painted on with the tip of a paintbrush. “Nesta—”

But Nesta was not finished. Now she had started, she couldn’t stop. The words poured forth as easily as fire wanted to flow from her fingertips. “Have you considered that I have never had control over any aspect of my life — that I have always been told what to do and how to behave?”

That fateful finger was out now, stabbing the air between them. Feyre took a step backwards as if Nesta had prodded her in the chest. Silver sparked in the air between them, a promise of what would undoubtedly come.

“I fought in the war,” Nesta continued with quiet fury. “I killed the King and changed the course of history. I tried to show you that I was sorry for how I had treated you through my actions. I tried to earn forgiveness, to try and make up for what I had done wrong. Yet you and your mate did not see my actions as worthy. And when I told you I did not want to be controlled by you, you banished me somewhere with somebody I could not stand to be around, as if I wasn’t your sister but a troublesome subject.”

Taking that final step, Nesta closed the distance between she and Feyre. Feyre did not back away again. Instead, Nesta watched a tear roll down Feyre’s cheek with a chilled sort of fury, and with quiet fervour, said, “Well, I have news for you, sister. I am untameable and I do not answer to anybody but myself.”

Horror coursed through Nesta’s insides, the sensation interwoven with the scent of lilac and pear. Feyre’s hands came to cover her face and a sob coursed through the mountain landscape, so sharp it was as if it were her sister’s last breath. “I didn’t want you to die. I thought you were going to drink yourself to death, Nesta. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Seeing her sister cry hurt, but being understood hurt more. So Nesta ploughed on; the words escaping as if they had been scrabbling to get out for a long, long time, “You once asked me why I pushed everyone away but Elain — why I pushed you away. Well, here’s your answer High Lady: you never needed me. I lost you long ago, as soon as mother told you that I was unsuitable to look out for my younger sisters and that you were the only one up for the task.”

Nesta hadn’t thought it possible for Feyre to turn paler, but she had. Her skin looked as if it had been leeched of life. As Nesta said the words, she knew they were unfair. Her younger self had projected anger onto Feyre rather than taint the dying mother who Nesta had always tried so hard to please.

A silence stretched out between them that was so taut and angry, Nesta had to resist the urge to throw her hands to the sky until it was burning mercury. Instead, she kept her power inside, wanting to feel the ferocious thrum of it in her blood, at the pulse in her neck which was hammering as if it were trying to escape.

“Is that why—” Feyre started, but a sound had Nesta throwing up a finger to stop her, because she had heard something on the wind which had made her blood freeze.

For a moment… nothing. Then on the wind came familiar, high pitched laughter that sent chills down Nesta’s spine. It was a sound that she had hoped to never hear again, yet it was unmistakable — clear as day.

“No,” Nesta breathed, whirling round to stare down the mountain path. Through the misty clouds, Nesta could make out nothing but the dark shape of the tombstone, but she knew that sound. She would never forget that sound, not as long as she lived.

“What is it?” Feyre demanded.

“Be quiet,” Nesta snapped.

Laughter came again. It skittered up the craggy rock, followed by snarling and snapping teeth.

“No, no, no, no, no,” Nesta moaned, running to ledge that Feyre had been standing at previously, which gave an unhindered view of the widows camp. And through the foggy clouds, Nesta saw them. Sloping four-legged figures on the western perimeter of the widows camp, slinking through the shadows. Too many of them. Nesta had no idea how they had gotten there, why they would have ventured somewhere so populated…

“What is it?” Feyre demanded again, running to Nesta’s side so she too could look over the mountain. “Oh Gods,” Feyre breathed. “The females. The children. Nesta, what are they—”

But Nesta was not listening. She was running before she had time to think, her feet digging into the stone as she tore her way to the mountain path that zagged its way down to the widows camp.

“Move,” she barked over her shoulder. The command was biting but Feyre did not hesitate, tearing after her sister as if it were second nature.

Nesta had only reached the first bend with Feyre hot on her heels when the first scream pierced through the clouds. Power leapt within Nesta, and then her mind went loose as it went taut… as Nesta reached within herself, into her veins where that magic hummed hello… ready. And Nesta did not push it away. Instead, she brushed against it in greeting, just as she had done when she had worn Cassian’s siphon, in the moment before she bended it to her will. And then her fingers were curling around the pommel of a longsword made entirely of breathing, silver flame.

She clutched on to it, the weapon so much an extension of herself that she did not have to worry about it falling from her grasp. The rest of the descent passed in a blur of moving rock, as she and Feyre skidded on loose stone and slushy ice, and the screams… they kept coming. Again and again. Panic and terror so palpable they pierced through Nesta’s emotional shields, each agonised sound stabbing through her, her power leaping to meet it, pushing beneath her skin, desperate to get out…

Together, she and Feyre plunged into the fray. Crowds of female were stampeding towards them, desperate to get to safety, to reach the only path that led down to the safety of the main camp.

And amongst them… kerits. So many of them chittering and snarling, their long, pointed teeth snapping and tearing as they leapt at the defenceless females with the intent of feasting on their flesh. Nesta slashed at them with her sword, fire sizzling through fur and flesh, her body moving independently of her brain as it fell into a killing dance.

Feyre had not drawn her sword from her back, instead she wielded ice from her palms, and spears of it wove their way through the air like arrowheads, plunging themselves into moving bodies of spotted fur. Nesta just had time to see the body of a kerit slump to the floor, its body impaled by ice, to reveal a female cowering against the canvas of her tent. The female’s face was ashen and disbelieving as she stared at the sloping bodies that had fallen before her at the will of Feyre’s magic. At the trail of limbs and guts scattered around her, belonging to the female who they had not been in time to save… But then another kerit was leaping at Nesta, and Nesta did not have time to think, only react as she plunged her sword into it’s belly. It fell by her feet with a sharp cry, black blood spilling on the rocky ground. Nesta did not pause to consider the bloodshed or how her feet slipped in it as she continued to run, she only raised her free hand to the sky again, desperately blazing silver into the clouds, hoping that it would be enough to alert the camp below of the attack.

Already Nesta knew that there were too many kerits for she and Feyre to fight off themselves… Already there had been casualties. And still, the orphans were huddled at the Eastern-point of the camp with nobody to protect them…

It was that thought that had Nesta pressing on. Kerits leapt at she and Feyre before they realised that they had chosen the wrong pray, and Nesta sliced and jabbed with her fire-breathing steel, relishing in the beasts dying screams and savouring the sobs of the widows, which brought solace in the knowledge that they were alive and momentarily safe.

All went eerily quiet as Nesta and Feyre reached the towering tomb of rock and the makeshift canteen surrounding it. The stampede of females had petered out, and Nesta hoped it was because most of them had managed to escape down the mountain pass, rather than because they had fallen victims to the kerits. Her gut twisted at the thought… as she thought of Mas, Roksana and the other orphans who had been tucked away against the mountain wall at the Eastern side of the camp… a dead end.

If the kerits had managed to corner them… it would be a massacre.

Another lurch of her stomach as Nesta surveyed the benches and tables that had been strewn across the stone floor. Beside one of the upturned benches lay the twisted body of the elderly cook with crooked teeth — the female who insisted on feeding Nesta each morning, even when Nesta told her that she had already eaten breakfast. The cook’s tan skin was covered in claw and tooth marks, her body bloody and brutalised in such a horrific way that Nesta knew there was not a glimmer of life left in the female.

It must have been a horrible way to die.

Biting back a sob, Nesta closed her fingers around her sister’s arm, needing Feyre to understand that in this moment, she did not care if she died; she only cared that she could protect the defenceless females before she fell.

“The orphans,” Nesta urged to Feyre, pointing towards the Eastern side of the camp and the screams that were being tossed away on the wind. “They’re at the East side of the camp. There’s no way out.”

Nesta did not dare say the name Roksana or Mas. Could not voice what she was terrified of… That something could have already happened to the Illyrian’s she had come to care for so deeply.

Nesta tried to push away the thought of how Roksana had clung to her that morning… of how her small fingers had grabbed onto her legs in a clumsy hug. Nesta tried not to think about how Mas had kissed her in greeting; her weathered palm patting lightly against Nesta’s cheek in that motherly way of hers that always made her feel unconditionally accepted and loved.

The boom of wings sounded across the mountain pass, and then different coloured lights started to flash as siphons were willed into action, warriors finally landing in the camp to fight off the beasts. Nesta spotted Ragar and his friends, Devlon, guards on patrol, but then Feyre’s hands came to rest on her arms, pulling her attention away.

Nesta stared at her sister — at the white face streaked with blood which was set in grim determination, even as they heard the rising screams.

“Let’s go,” Feyre said, those two words sparking more respect in Nesta than any of their tense exchange at the top of the mountain.

And then they were running again, both of them throwing magic from their palms, taking out a gang of kerits who had leapt between the tents. Nesta swung her longsword of silver fire with her left-hand just as a kerit jumped in front of Feyre, attacking from seemed like nowhere.

Black blood streaked hot across Nesta’s face as her sword sizzled through muscle and sinew, but she ignored the wailing screams of the dying beast, turning only to make sure her sister was alive and unharmed.

Feyre’s eyes were wide, her heartbeat as frantic as a hummingbird in Nesta’s ears. “Thanks,” Feyre breathed, panting desperately for breath. Then she pointed to the direction they had been heading — to the Eastern-most point where Nesta had left Roksana and Mas that morning. “There are lots of warriors up ahead.”

Together they dodged the crowds and beams of coloured light. To Nesta’s relief, the huddled figures on the floor seemed to mainly consist of spotted fur, the Illyrian males clearly having arrived in time to prevent a massacre. But still Nesta ran, not realising how her lungs were heaving for breath or the burn in her thighs as she weaved through lifeless bodies and crying females, heading towards the smoke that wafted up from the dying camp fire — the place she had left Roksana and Mas what felt like mere minutes ago.

It was not how she had left it.

In front of her, metres before the campfire, lay Durkhanai’s bloody body. Her eyes were open and unseeing, her pupils green and mesmerising even in death… her spirit already well departed from the world. And a foot away from her…

“No.”

The sound that tore from Nesta was agony. It ripped from her chest — from deep, deep inside that locked cage as it cracked.

Nesta’s boots slipped through guts and gore, but she did not care. In her periphery, Nesta saw limbs and the unseeing eyes of the females who had flung themselves in the paths of the beasts, as if they had willingly lay themselves on the pyre to put the lives of the orphans before themselves.

Nesta did not feel the blinding pain that should have splintered through her as she fell to her knees on the grey rock. Because in front of her was Mas. She was lying on the floor and her wings — her scarred and battered wings — were in tatters. Her stomach was oozing with blood, deep claw marks raked through raw flesh.

And beside her was Roksana, her face and clothes covered in bright scarlet blood. Her small, precious hands buried deep in Mas’s gut, holding in the punctured intestines that were trailing out of her body; as if they had been dragged out by long, pointed teeth…

The little girl stared up at Nesta, her dark eyes blown wide in shock. Around them, the anguished cries and screams of agony went quiet, Nesta’s ears drowning out all noise but the croak that came from the youngling’s mouth. “Help,” she said, those little hands sliding on intestines and blood as it leaked through her fingers. “Help.”

“No,” Nesta repeated again, the word cracking out of her as she surveyed the damage that was too severe for an Illyrian to remedy. “No, no, no.”

Her hands slipped in hot blood as she pressed her own palms over Mas’s gaping wounds. The housekeeper’s breath rattled, the sound terrible and wringing with what Nesta knew was unimaginable pain. Mas’s face was grey — as if already it had been drained of life; as if the end had been written and there was no avoiding it.

Fingers grasped at Nesta’s but the Illyrian’s eyes did not open, even as her eyelids flickered — the movement asking too much of her body. They slipped against Nesta’s as they moved through her own ruby blood.

“You will not die,” Nesta told Mas fiercely, her eyesight blinded by tears. A silver tear rolled down Nesta’s cheek and fell onto their clasped hands… into the open, gaping wound. “You will not. Do you hear me?”

Only silence answered as Mas’s body went slack. Her chest rattling one last time before it stopped moving all together.

When the housekeeper’s fingers fell away from Nesta’s own, everything went still.

“Nesta.”

A hand was on her shoulder — Feyre — but Nesta did not feel or care for it. Someone had pulled Roksana away into the safety of their arms — away from the dead body with its departing soul. Deep inside of Nesta, the scent of roasted chestnuts and wood shavings began to fade, as if it had been caught in the wind and was about to be tossed away.

“No.”

That same word again, but this time it came with weight behind it. Defiance. Anger. Heartbreak. All her own, and yet piling on top of that, layer by layer, was every painful emotion and memory of loss that had been imprinted on the stone over the years, from the widows that had come before and had suffered unimaginably.

Something turned inside of Nesta, her magic flipping as if someone had turned a key in a lock to reveal not silver but white… A pure, snow white light that seeped from her fingertips, singing with gentle promise rather than destruction.

“No,” Nesta said.

That word again, but this time deadly calm.

Still.

Who do you want to be, Nesta?

Cassian’s words from the day before sounded in her head. At the time she had not known the answer, but now, her path had never been clearer.

Raising her steady blood-stained hands to hover over Mas’s wounds, Nesta let that icy wall protecting her emotions fall away inside of her. It crashed down around her like a dam whose gates had been opened, her emotions running like rampant and wild rapids, rushing into her blood and down strands of interwoven rope. Her power vibrated with a controlled energy and then that white light glowed, shining from her palms.

It was so bright that Nesta had to close her eyes to protect herself from the sheer brilliance of her power as it poured forth.

She did not need to look at Mas’s body to bear witness to her healing. Did not need to watch the housekeeper’s wounds knit themselves back together, as if someone were turning back time in slow motion.

She just knew.

And in that moment, Nesta also knew exactly who she was supposed to be, even as her body started to hurt.

Two weaving components, bound together as surely as a rope plaited with two complementing strands.

Protector.

Healer.

That was who Nesta was.

Tags (let me know if you want to be added/removed): @arin1030-blog @superspiritfestival @sayosdreams @perseusannabeth @mylittlebigplanet @biggestwingspan-az @bellsqueen @ekaterinakostrova @bookstantrash @prophecyerised @rainbowcheetah512 @awesomelena555 @wannawriteyouabook @iammissstark @hatemecozuaintme @lovelynesta @heymelphs @nestable @darkshadowqueensrule @nestalytical @laylaameer01 @a-trifling-matter @grouchycritic7794 @thalia-2-rose @swankii-art-teacher

#acosf #acomaf #acowar #acotar #nessian #nessianfic #nesta x cassian #nestaarcheron #cassian #fanfiction #embersandlightfic

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rigelmejo · 4 years ago

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notes to myself basically, on how i study languages (so far, there’s always gonna be better ways i don’t know of yet lol):

learn 500-1000 common words asap, read a grammar guide that provides overview asap - like the first 3 months. If a full grammar guide doesn’t exist that’s concise (hi japanese ;-;) find a basics grammar guide at least and read that (pimsleur, websites, genki, tae kim, youtube). Specifically within the common words, at least look at the ‘300 common word tumblr to say things’ language vocab list. That list is good for me starting some kind of active vocab/expressing ideas.

if its got a different writing system, look up the alphabet in 1st month (kana for japanese, cyrillic alphabet for russian etc, pinyin for chinese). listen to pronunciation guides, and write and/or mnemonics to learn those asap.

if its got characters (like chinese, japanese), learn 300-500 super common characters ASAP (first 5 months).

After month 3, learn up to 2000 common words (hi srs flashcard programs like anki and memrise, common word lists, graded readers), and up to 2000 characters. Not all these need to be done with srs flashcards/focused study, but get TO recognizing this many as soon as u can. Goal is get to this by month 8-10. But depending on how much i can overall understand without doing this, i may not learn All of these words by then (but ideally i should).

By 500-1000 words (and 500+ characters if needed), so after 3-5 months, start trying to immerse in what I WANT to do - so reading, watching (maybe listening, maybe games). I don’t have to do it much, but do it a bit to remember what I learned and also motivate myself to study more.

Months 5-8 somewhere between 1000-2000 words, start trying to write/say basic things to myself or on apps with others. Probably will be a mess, don’t have to do it much. Do it enough to have motivation to study more - see where I’m lacking skills. I may need more grammar explanation, or more vocab, or notice a big issue in my pronunciation etc.

Around month 8-10, around 2000+ words studied (although it may be less or more depending on what I’m comfortable with), ramp up immersion a lot. As soon as its mildly tolerable, ramp it up a LOT. Look up words when immersing as often or not often as desired, goal is to always follow at least the bare minimum main idea (and more details if possible/if I wanna put in the effort to look more up). Now I can start learning new words primarily from this.

Reading skills - during immersion do intensive reading to learn more vocabulary quicker, extensive reading to improve overall comprehension. Do SRS flashcards/focused graded readers/word-list prep for stuff I read as needed, to speed up how much vocab I learn (if I’m learning too slow for my preference lol). Ways to make extensive reading easier: read graded readers, read show subtitles in target language while watching show, textbooks built to increase info taught in context, read stuff I’ve read translations of first, read stuff I have prior context for (I saw the show/heard already with english transcript etc), Listening reading method, read extensively what I’ve read intensively before etc.

Listening skills - start extensive listening to audio (for overall comprehension improvement). Start intensive listening where I hear words and lookup definition and/or learn word pronunciation with explanations. So start listening to audio flashcards for building a base of learned words/phrases (chinese spoonfed audio files, japanese core 2k audio, japaneseaudiolessons.com, SRS flashcards if they have audio only ones too, Coffee Break French, audio for Francais par le methode nature etc). To make extensive listening easier: start with watching/listening to shows I’ve already seen subs for, shows in general (visual context helps), comprehensible input audio (like comprehensible input french youtube, Learn Korean in Korean youtube, Dreaming Spanish youtube etc), listen with a transcript then listen without, Listening reading method, listen to things I have prior context for like audiobook of something i read/audio drama of show i’ve seen. Do some shadowing (shadowing audio flashcard files is easy and reliable tbh).

Production skills (I am not here yet) - in general I’ve found making myself write more, talk more, to myself (like journals and practice convos) and to others, tends to improve my active vocabulary. Especially when I try to communicate about topics i’m bad at (so making myself look up those words and write/say them to put them back into active vocab). At this point I’m guessing more explicit grammar drill practice might help, people correcting me, shadowing a lot. Maybe practicing translating to that language/from it, to practice building active vocab? I’m not sure what will help most here tbh as I’ve never gotten far in this area. (For chinese, studying pronunciation more in depth and doing more listening/shadowing, and pronunciation apps, helped a lot with pronunciation itself but not active production yet).

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i’m currently mostly just doing 8-9 for chinese right now - building reading skills, building listening skills. Varying what i do. For production skills i’m guessing there’s a ton of varied things i can do right now or later, i’m just not entirely sure what they’d be. i have not tried/troubleshooted those skills much before when studying. All i know for sure is the more i make myself use the language in Varied topics, the more i get an active vocabulary (aka writing journals, making self-convos, and doing language exchanges help in a basic way). No idea how to improve grammar though in ways that’d work well for me. so right now my skills lean heavier toward comprehension, less skill in any production. Studying chinese taught me a lot about how i learn listening skills though...which is valuable as i barely had practice learning HOW to study them when i studied french or japanese before.

troubleshooting wise - this is the rough trajectory i went through in chinese, that has worked okay for me. looking at it helps me see where i ‘slowed down’ my progress in other languages i studied.

for french - i did very LITTLE listening practice, and had few ideas of how to work on it at the time. Now I would probably do listen with transcript then without, and shadowing, to work on listening skills. And watching shows/videos with subtitles (if possible), then without subs. And very little speaking practice - same deal as listening, i did a little at some point realizing it was a weak area but not enough work on it. I also did very LITTLE production practice like language exchanges. i had few reasons to produce language, and so the few times i needed to i could mostly rely on super common words or look things up when writing. i know i’d need to do more to work on production. so i was very unbalanced - large reading comprehension, low pretty much every other skill.

for japanese... i did a lot in retrospect i wish i’d redone different. and i do it different now. i did not read/watch a grammar guide - and i still freaking need to (or at least get clear grammar exposure like nukemarine’s LLJ course’s tae kim portions). japanese has grammar i find very hard to figure-out through exposure so this holds me back a lot. and lack of immersion to both motivate me to study MORE and to practice reading/listening skills. ALSO lack of common words - i learned like 800 hanzi rough-meaning through RTK, and maybe 500 words in genki... and no wonder it wasn’t enough lol! i think nukemarine helped back years ago, because it forced me to study grammar and vocab, listening and reading, in a structured way (similar to how genki helped me in the very start before i quit using it). and japaneseaudiolessons.com helped because it made me practice listening and gave me comprehensible listening with definitions. that in combo with me really starting to immerse and TRY to read/listen at year 2+ is when i finally made some progress because i was doing things that work for me - finally. and now that i’m coming back to japanese, i’m starting to apply all those things again that were finally working.

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anyone have any tips on how to improve production skills? Both active vocabulary, and how to both practice speaking/writing broadly AND how to fix grammar errors.

For active vocab and general writing/speaking I know just talking more/writing more helps. But I can only tend to catch grammar errors if I run it through a translator first to compare how the translator phrases it to how I did (which can create a LOT of errors if the translator is Wrong), or if someone corrects my grammar error (which relies on other people - and preferably a tutor since i dont want to bother people who aren’t paid to correct - so what can i do on my OWN?).

The big thing is with grammar, I can only think to either go through beginner courses Again from the start and do the writing drills and copy the patterns to internalize them? So I could correct my basic writing/speaking but not necessarily when I start speaking/writing creatively, unless I find textbooks/workbooks that eventually go into intermediate material (and of course finding textbooks/online exercises that provide correct answers so i can compare my attempts to the correct ones). Aside from either a tutor, or trying to find well made free online courses with exercises with answers provided, i’m not sure how to improve grammar production. If I write out sentences i read, would that internalize being able to ‘copy their grammar correctly’ when i write? if i shadow correctly said speeches/videos, would that help drill ‘correct grammar’ when speaking? (And be less boring then doing FSI speech drills). Basically I’m trying to find some ways (creative or not) to improve grammar in production. Improving active vocabulary seems pretty straightforward to me (make myself use it, look up words until they come natural to me - but if u got any other fun ways to improve active vocab i’d love to hear!). But I don’t know how to improve grammar when you are NOT in a class structure, have no teacher/tutor, and already have a base level of comprehension. As in like? I can read fine, but when writing I can’t tell if what I produce is grammatically correct or not - and again I can run it through a translator sometimes to try and ‘check’ but since translators make errors, my ‘corrected example’ isn’t always reliable to use as something to emulate for ‘correct form.’

#rant #may #may progress #language learning #grammar #any help or tips yall have for production improvement?

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