#letters led astray

[gojobbg]

Could you please make a yuta x reader one where goes violent over seeing y/n get hurt?? I love your fics😭

1000000000% lets do it

pairing: reader (f) x bf!Yuta (aged up)

synopsis: in which you get hurt in a dangerous mission, and Yuta cannot contain his anger

warning: curse killing, cursing, gore-esque imagery. Additionally, potential spoilers?

setting: pre-Shinjuku and kinda pre-Culling (sorry if this spoils anything as well x)

a/n: this is kinda long, im so sorry! i got really into the idea. thank you anon for the sick prompt, and for enjoying my writing! it warms my heart and makes my days so much better to know that you like my works :)

This wasn't your first mission with higher grade Sorcerers.

For a while now, you've been allowed to join the bandwagon of the higher ranks, learning from them and their style of fighting. This came to fruition after Yuji had not only sent a letter of recommendation, but put in a good word in for you when speaking with Gojo and the council. Despite Gojo's concern, since you recently just became a Grade 2 Sorcerer, he trusted Yuta's word. And he had yet been led astray, considering you graduated with flying colors within all your ranks.

Well, until today.

You joined this mission with Yuta, Maki, and Toge. You never felt worried as you were surrounded by Sorcerers with profound knowledge as fighters, cursed users, and cursed weapon users. But you always pulled your own, ensuring to tackle Curses that were much easier for the other three. But in this comfort left room for your naivety and misjudgment to flourish.

"There's glass all over," Maki murmurs, leading the charge through the dim hallway of the hospital. The entire hospital unfortunately had a code black, in which an active shooter entered and caused many tragedies. To this end, the hospital was entirely evacuated and closed up for further human investigation. "Watch your step."

Yuta was behind you all, with Toge and you at center keeping in eye on the rooms you all were passing. The gruesome scent of dried blood and still bodies shot pangs of nausea to your stomach. As you quietly held your stomach, Toge taps your shoulder and offers you a mint. "Thank you, Inumaki," you hum, immediately chewing the artificial menthol.

As broken lights flickered, and medical supplies were sprawled all over the ground, Maki quickly stops. Looking up at the signs for direction, she lets out a deep sigh, "we're here." You were in the ER wing of the hospital, which was reported to have seen the most deaths. "Prepare yourselves for what you're about to see."

You all nod, with Yuta quickly placing a hand on your shoulder. "You two go on ahead," Yuta hums. "I'll send Rika to scout ahead of you." With those words, the Queen of Curses appeared from behind Yuta, her large intimidating frame taking over everyone's shadows. "Please warn us, Rika."

With that command, Rika takes charge, allowing Maki and Toge to slowly follow behind her. Yuta narrows his eyes to meet yours, a soft smile playing at his lips. His hands slide down to your own, and give them a light squeeze. His hands were so refreshing compared to yours, which were clammy with nerves. "Are you anxious?" He asks curiously. You sheepishly nod. "This isn't like you-- you're never this nervous."

You give him a shrug, "m'not a fan of hospitals, and seeing... dead people."

Yuta straightens his lips and nods, "I'm not a big fan myself, especially considering your role in this mission. It is why I stopped us here to talk about it first."

"Hm?"

"It would appear that there is only one curse, a Grade 1 cursed spirit. For this, the only thing we need you to do is identify the lives lost," Yuta hums quietly. His blue eyes dim and he could feel pangs of guilt from your solemn expression. "I wanted to warn you without making you feel incapable. But I believe in you so much that I know you'll be able to do this."

You look into his eyes, the ones that put you in a trance every time. Those damn dak eyes could get Yuta whatever he wanted out of you, despite your feelings and detest. You give him a reassuring squeeze, "I got it."

Yuta's infectious smile returns, "that's my girl." He cups your face into his hands and parts a peck on your forehead. "Let us handle the spirit, ignore it and focus on your task."

You nod, finding peace once again in his gaze. But the soothing air was quickly stripped when Maki's voice is heard from the other room. "Yuta! Y/N! We found it!"

You two quickly rush over, with you trying to brace yourself for the sight. When entering the ER, you noticed how completely in disarray it was. Dividing curtains broken and on the ground, gurneys scattered all over, 50% hosting dead bodies. You hear your breath shake, but concern quickly waived when Yuta patted your back.

"Look at all of their wristbands," Yuta advises. "It's the easiest way to find the victim's name and date of birth."

You nod, preparing yourself for it all. As you did, Yuta left you to join Maki and Toge. You didn't give it too much of a look, as Yuta insists you ignore it. But you noticed an energy emanating from a gurney that felt purposely centered in the room.

As you rushed through each body, numbing your brain from the lifelessness in the room. You tried to keep focused, despite the grunts, groans, and yelling you were hearing from behind you. Yuta needs me to do this, you think to yourself. Focus!

But your nerves were sporadic as you listened to them slightly struggle. "Maki!" Yuta yells, his katana working overtime as he sliced through the spirits power. Maki was immersed in her combat with the spirit, deflecting all its moves in swift, but struggling manner. She was always a clean fighter-- definitely one of the best in the newer generation of Sorcerers. But, even so...

"Ah--!" Maki uses her staff to deflect injury, but the power that poured from the spirit was too strong for even her to stop. She was pushed to her limits, and flung to a wall, the plaster shaping around her beat body. Cuts were now ornate on her body, with some likely leaving scars.

This was the moment you turned and realized the gravity of the situation. Maki falls to the ground, having enough energy to soften the blow. You quickly begin to rush over to Maki, to which Yuta immediately yells at you to stop. "Don't!" Yuta spat. He begins to take over the battle, the distorted-looking spirit beginning to tango with Yuta. "Stay away-- Maki will be fine!"

You gulp from the nerves as you watched Toge quickly make his way to Maki instead. He picks her up and places her in a corner, allowing her to take a moment to breath. Turning around, Toge waits to meet eyes with Yuta. Yuta, with amazing footwork, manages to put some distance between him and the dangerous entity. When his blue eyes meet with Toge's, he immediately pulls down his collar. "Switch."

The two men quickly vanish before appearing in one anothers places. Your eyes widen when you see Toge, blood running down his mouth, begin to fight with the spirit. You look over to where Maki is, noticing that Yuta was already performing Reverse Technique on her. "Rika, go help Toge!" Yuta commands, with Rika quickly floating over to join Toge's efforts.

You rush over to Yuta and Maki, in which Maki was sat with groans and grunts spilling from her lips. Your heart was racing, the feeling in your legs threatening to escape. "Wh-what... h-how can I help?" Your words are imbued with anxiety.

"Keep yourself safe," Yuta instructs, "don't worry about us-- we'll be fine!" He looks over at the bodies you were previously searching through. "Continue your mission, don't stop!"

You nod, but realized you couldn't when you met eyes with the spirit. The abstract being was completely ornate with bandages, syringes coming out of its 'body.' It had one eye that was able to travel around its body, being able to look at all its surrounding if choosing so. Its eye then noticed Yuta and began to advance towards him, ignoring Toge completely. Toge rushed behind it, but his efforts would be futile as the curse was much faster than him.

"Yuta!" You scream, staying in space with your arms spread. Your technique, which Gojo coins as the Onion Infinity, is a technique in which there are multiple layers between two objects. Of course, your strength is dust in comparison to Gojo's, meaning the layers of shield is only a tactic to give you more time to consider your next move.

The curse is stopped by your technique, but slowly realizes that it can claw its way through it. Yuta notices and looks up at you with immense worry, "Y/N, why didn't you listen to me? I told you to continue what you were doing!"

"It was charging at you-- I didn't have a choice!" You argued, your strength slowly depleting with every layer being broken. While Yuta continued healing Maki and expressing his gripe over your defiance, you begin looking around. You noticed Toge on his knees, struggling with the pain in his throat after using his technique. Rika made her way to the curse, but struggles to stop his unrelenting advances towards you.

"Y/N, move out of the fucking way, now!" Yuta screamed. "You're going to get hurt!"

You move, but not quite where anybody was expecting. You run over to a small wheeled cabinet, ripping out the drawers in search of something. After a sea of bandages and pills, you found a dark green bottle. Your eyes drag on the medicines name and quickly look over at Toge.

"Inumaki-senpai!" You shout, throwing the medicine towards his way. As you hurl it, you didn't realize your barrier had completely been broken, and a sharp pain was met in your stomach. The curse had transformed its arm into a stake, piercing your stomach and through your back. Your spinal bones crack at its force, forcing blood to be coughed out.

Yuta's eyes widened, and he went deaf. Only a piercing ringing could be heard for him, putting an entire halt to his healing. Maki sits up, well enough to get back on her feet but not quite all there. She adjusts her cursed weapon, shaking Yuta's shoulders desperately. She shouts with urgency, but Yuta could not hear her.

He felt his world shatter while your gruesome screams returned his sound. He got up, ignoring Maki's touch and attempts to keep him calm. "Yuta, please!" Maki urges, "we're going to get her out of there right now."

He raises a hand, "stay down, Maki. You should not continue to fight with your injuries."

Maki slams his back, "are you insane? You can't take that thing on your own-- it will kill you!"

"Rika," Yuta hums quietly. Rika nods and quickly creates a gap between him and Maki. She clouds over Maki, keeping her from assisting him. "I'm very sorry to do this, Maki. But you are in no shape to continue this mission."

Maki growls, "Y/N is going to die here if I don't help you!" She looks over at Toge, who was downing the throat medicine you passed him. Her eyes widen at your quick thinking. She looks back at Yuta, "how the hell are you going to--"

Yuta slowly walks over to the curse, who finally ripped out its arm from your body. A string of pained curses leave your lips, your entire body going completely hot in discomfort. You could feel yourself go dizzy, but you still find it in you to begin your own Reverse Technique. Its weak and slow, but you had no other choice. You weren't sure whether you were going to make it out or not.

Without another moment wasted, Toge narrows his eyes on the curse and opens his mouth, "explode!" Although it was not enough to kill the curse, it was enough to damage it. The equivalent of blood splatters from its body, the obsidian-colored liquid finding home on the broken floor.

Yuta drags his katana on the floor, the DNA of the curse sticking onto the cold blade. While continuing his stride, Yuta lifts the blade horizontally and swipes a bit of the blood onto his index finger. As the curse writhes trying to regain itself, Yuta consumes the blood and swallows it down like a pill.

"Rika," Yuta begins with a dark, hollow voice. You look over worriedly, the pain of your stomach preventing you from uttering a word. You had never seen Yuta this... furious before. So angry that he almost appeared desolate, depleted of all life. "Lend me your strength over here."

Rika leaves her post, and rushes behind Yuta. Maki takes this opportunity to run to you, taking you into her lap. "H-hey!" She holds your face in one hand and shakes you, fearful of the way your eyes rolled behind your head on their own. Your body was fighting consciousness as you healed yourself, uncertain if it would work at all.

An unfamiliar, strange feeling pours into all of you, with Toge looking back worriedly at Yuta while making his way to you. You force your eyes to stay focused on Yuta, with your mind frustrated with your sudden inability to speak. Tears finally stream out, and you watch as Yuta's curse energy glow around him like a dark aura. Toge ignores it for now, downing the last bit of the medicine before looking down at you, "heal faster."

Though you yourself were exhausted, Toge's cursed speech shot a wave of energy in you. Your Reverse Technique hastens, your flesh slowly making its way to connect with one another again. As your body was making a promising recovery, Yuta's body was being completely coated with his cursed energy.

Rika's arms transformed themselves into stake-like shapes, mimicking the same ability as the foe before them. "Hold it down for me, Rika," Yuta instructs coolly. Rika quickly creates more stakes with her body, using them to push the curse to the ground, and nail it down with her new, stake-like limbs.

As the curse struggled under Rika, Yuta hovers over it and chuckles. "Does it feel good?" Yuta asks in a hum, watching in attempt to get free. It hissed at Yuta's face. "I figured it didn't. The only thing that's going to hurt more than this, is your death."

You look over worriedly at Yuta as your body was near its full recovery. Maki and Toge held you, as you felt restless in this moment. Yuta was furious, and you could barely even talk to try and calm him down. You could only hold your stomach in pain, and watch as your lover relieves his frustration and regret.

He begins to cut away at the curse, using his weapon to chop away at its limbs. Yuta could only see read, and his arms pulsed with yearn to destroy. The curse would screech with each slice of his katana, earning no remorse from Yuta. His face was cold, his body unreactive to the agony that he was causing. Rika no longer had anything to hold down, and stood back as Yuta was faced with just the head of the curse. The once intimidating eye was now shrunk, looking small under Yuta's undeniable strength. It screeches with what you imagine is begging for mercy, but Yuta was deaf to it.

Not that he couldn't hear, but he could not care.

With one hand in his pocket, the other held up the katana right above the curses eye, giving it a few more moments of life. "Die," Yuta mutters. Without another second more, he drops the katana down onto the curse, killing it, and eradicating it from this world. He returns his weapon to the sheath behind him, color returning to his body and eyes as he makes his way towards you.

He takes you from Maki's hold and holds you tight, "fuck, fuck, fuck-- are you okay, Y/N?"

Maki slaps his forearm, "you're hurting her, Yuta."

He panics, loosening his grip as he frantically searches for calmness in your pained expression, "I..." His voice breaks, defeat clear in his eyes. "Y/N, m'so sorry I let you get hurt... I really fucked up this time." Tears coat his dark blue eyes.

You bring a weak hand up to pat his chest, unable to verbally ease his mind. You only lean into him a little more, your heart calming down from his touch. You were glad it was over, and more glad that you were in Yuta's arms.

Maki manages to stand, helping Toge up as well while Yuta stood up, keeping you carried safely in his arms. His strength, despite his immense output of cursed energy just now, felt boundless now. It was almost like he didn't break a sweat.

Maki pats Toge's back a bit, while Toge coughed out a last bit of blood, "she held her own, though. Her strategy to get Toge back into the fight was very surprising, but wise."

Yuta was indifferent, "she could have died from my carelessness. I shouldn't have let her come to this mission." You begin to pat at his chest in defiance but he wasn't keen on hearing you out. "I almost lost my partner. I'm not interested in putting us in that predicament again."

"If you won't vouch for her, we will," Maki insisted. "She understands the dangers of doing this, and still wants to continue her growth. I'd say she deserves to continue these missions, considering she still wants to do them."

"Salmon," Toge manages to say while nodding his head.

Yuta's eyes drop to yours, trying to find some sort of disagreement. But your eyes held conviction and fight. Despite your pale face and weak body, you still held that vigor that made Yuta fall for you in the first place. He looks down at your stomach realizing that your technique was giving out.

"Lets go back and see Doctor Shoko," Yuta hums. Although you were safe and sound, Yuta's grip and hold on you did not relent. His hands still had a bit of shake to them, and Rika was much closer to Yuta than usual. "I'm glad you're still here," Yuta whispers the moment he watched your eyes flutter shut.

hope this was good ahhh

[lyragoth]

I want to talk about Celebrimbor because he is my favorite elf of the legendary. Everything I'm writing below is my personal interpretation of the lore, based on my wanderings through the books, letters, and appendices, gathering as much information about him as I could. I noticed Celebrimbor is often unfairly judged as unwise by the fandom because he ignored the counsel of Gil-Galad and Galadriel, but this overlooks his fiercely independent nature imo. Having distanced himself even from his father and rejected the Oath of Fëanor, he demonstrated early on that he was not one to follow others blindly. His choices were always his own.

At the core of his character lies the theme of choice and its consequences. He was not a passive figure led astray, but a strong-willed individual who stood by his decisions, for better or worse. Even in his fateful dealings with Sauron, Celebrimbor shows his strength of will.

Despite being deceived by Annatar’s guise, he was astute enough to forge the Three without Annatar's influence, and then hide the greatest of his creations from Sauron. Sauron certainly sought to invade his mind to uncover the location of the Three during the torture, and it’s likely that, like Galadriel, Celebrimbor was able to shield his mind from the Dark Lord. Sauron never broke Celebrimbor's will. We are talking about Maedhros' nephew and grandson of Fëanor. Celebrimbor’s eventual capture and torture by Sauron wasn’t just about seizing the Rings—it was deeply personal because Sauron was outraged by what he perceived as betrayal and sought vengeance against the elf who had outwitted him. When Sauron attacked Eregion, he assembled a humongous army, likely thinking Celebrimbor was in the possession of the Three. But surprise-surprise: he was not. And Sauron again didn't get the rings. The destruction of Eregion was fueled by Sauron's fury because Celebrimbor’s decision to hide the Three had left him enraged (of course).

In the end, Celebrimbor’s sacrifice was not simply an act of atonement for his mistakes, but a final stand to protect his people. He bought time for the elves, and they decided to seek aid from Númenor. Celebrimbor, like many of his kin, sought to preserve the heritage of the Elves, but he was the only one with the ability to act on it. With his people barred from returning to Valinor, it’s no surprise that, as a rebel Noldo, he would create something to delay their fading. His defiance wasn’t just ambition; it was a means of protecting his people in a world they were trapped in and was ultimately destined for Men. Celebrimbor was never merely a pawn or merely a victim in Sauron’s grand design. He was an intelligent, ambitious, and resolute force who directly opposed the Dark Lord’s will. His story is one of tragedy, not because of a lack of wisdom, but because of the weight of the choices he made—he was a defiant force in his own right.

[howgalling]

ULTRAKILL CHARACTER LORE: Aisling the nun (the abbess). The woman who was damned alongside the angel Asbeel.

Aisling lived during the time that humans had to completely evacuate and were living on the Earthmovers, towards the End. As one of the few remaining spiritual/maternal figures, she became responsible for many of the children that were left. Because of the chemical hazards/radiation/unclean air, all citizens wear hazmat+gasmasks, an attempt to avoid contaminated dust/air. Aisling does all she can for her people, but knows that they are doomed. She tries regardless. By the councils definition, Asbeel is 'weak' to the suffering of humans. Her outrage at the fact that the angels are standing by has to be repressed. She is drawn in by Aisling's desperate prayers for the survival of her dependents, for their safety, for a better tomorrow. Aisling's determination in the face of inevitable starvation after the long war made earth unsuitable for human life is compelling, her passion for her people drawing Asbeel like a moth to a flame. They grow close, and over time communicate in a series of letters, to conceal their interactions, each more drawn out then the last. Despite this, Asbeel is eventually caught for 'favouring' the community with 'unlawful' use of Holy Light. The Watchers (the snitches) track every usage of holy light, it's difficult to avoid their inspection, and every one of her infractions was recorded. She tried to intervene in quiet ways to avoid detection, blessing their struggling plants; just barely enough that they fruit. She would cleanse the irradiated, chemically contaminated rainwater the skies wept. As the Earthmover began to prioritize it's own systems for survival in the face of dwindling light sources, human associated systems are categorised as NON-ESSENTIAL to the AI's survival. Their water is dependent on what they can collect. Aisling was not a young woman and would been long-dead without Asbeel's intervention. Her radiation aggravated tumours were only held at bay by Asbeel's Blessing. When Asbeel is confronted by the Council, all of whom are staging outrage at her for going against God's supposed Will of humanities demise, Aisling is accused alongside her. She has to fight accusations of Bewitching Asbeel for blessings, for leading her Astray. This is designed to make Asbeel launch into denying this claim, in turn the Council uses the denial to accuse her of being Compromised with Affection (for a lesser being, a mortal, no less.) Asbeel cannot deny this, and cannot deny her rage before accusing the Council of their willful disregard. She is of course, immediately accused of blasphemous heresy. Alongside whatever litany of sins the council gleefully assigns to her actions. She pleads with Gabriel that he knows this to be wrong, blinded as he is by the Councils lies, led into their frenzy. Asbeel pleads to her Brother to understand.

Gabriel severs her connection to the Light and Asbeel falls alongside Aislings Soul into hell, succumbed to the absence of Asbeel's blessing.

[eksvaized]

[ Previous ┃ Next ] part 9

Simon was fiddling with his balaclava. The fabric was coarse and suffocating. It stuck to his skin, causing a persistent itch that seemed to spread across his face. He had to resist the urge to yank it off. Matt has seen his face, but with a little bit of luck, he might have knocked that image out of his head when he beat him up, and if he keeps his features hidden, Matt might not remember him by the end of all of this.

Matt was awake. His face was smeared with dried blood, his nose was broken, and his clothes were ripped. He was locked in the cell, which was in the damp basement of the old shed. Simon refused to engage in conversation, leaving Matt to stew in his fear. However, Matt was far from docile. He banged on the bars, threw his body against them, and did everything he could to draw Simon’s attention. He even tried to negotiate his release, foolishly hoping that words could somehow set him free.

“What the hell do you want from me?!” At first, Matt was timid and sat in the dark corner, too terrified to even raise his head. But as Simon continued his ominous silence, it gave him the confidence to speak, which eventually led to him yelling and shouting. He lashed out, and his fear turned into anger. “Is it the money you need? I’m loaded... my family is flush with cash!” At this point, he was practically tearing his hair out. “Just let me out and... and I swear to you, I won’t breathe a word of this to anyone. Fuck, I’ll even pay you. Just name your price and let me go”

Simon bought this property many years ago. However, it had been just as long since he last set foot in this old, weathered shed. He used this place to control his urges when his impulses would drive him astray. Whenever he found himself in a mess of his own making — a situation that seemed impossible to resolve — this shed allowed him to slow down, pause and think, and figure a way out.

Admittedly, most, if not all, people who found themselves in a similar situation as Matt’s, trapped in a cold cell, did not get out of here alive. But Simon wanted to believe that this time, it would end differently. Killing Matt, no matter how much of a scumbag he was, would upset you, and Simon didn’t want to do anything that could cause you pain.

“Shut up!” Simon eventually roared, unable to endure Matt’s incessant whining for a moment longer. He had been trying to unlock Matt’s phone for the past half hour, but he couldn’t figure out the passcode, and he was sick of having to wait every time his guess was incorrect. “How do I unlock your phone?”

Matt hesitated, his cheeks squished between the bars. His eyes darted to the phone in Simon’s hand. But as Simon rose to his feet, Matt immediately took a step back and blurted out a sequence of numbers and random letters. Simon sat back down and entered the password. The phone unlocked.

Simon started looking through the contents of it. His eyes were drawn to a series of notifications that littered the screen. There were two missed calls and five unread messages. None seemed important, except for a text from someone named Carl, who appeared to be furious because Matt hadn’t shown up at work. In an attempt to maintain the illusion of normality, Simon responded. Pretending to be Matt, he explained he needed to take a few days off because he was feeling unwell after a heavy night out.

Simon realised that it was important to preserve the impression that Matt had not disappeared.

Once that was done, he swiftly navigated to the conversation thread between you and Matt. This was, after all, the primary reason he had this phone. Simon wanted to know what it was Matt says to you, what he tells you to make you fall at his feet. Yet, to his surprise, there were merely a handful of text exchanges. Most of them were from Matt, asking if you were free, if you were at home, and if he could come over.

He then clicked on the gallery. It was filled with many pictures of Matt with a different woman by his side each time. Also, there were two or three shots of his dick, which Simon scoffed at (and which made him grow confident, knowing there was no way he could please you with that tiny thing). As he tried to erase those haunted images from his mind, he stumbled upon something that piqued his interest and ignited a flame of anger within him.

Matt has taken multiple pictures of you. In all of them, you were asleep, completely oblivious that a camera was pointed at you. If it had been Simon who had captured these, he would have paused, perhaps even taken the time to admire them. But knowing that Matt had taken these without your consent infuriated him. Simon’s grasp on the phone became so tight, his fingers pressing into the device with such force that he was on the brink of shattering the screen.

Simon was buried so deep in his thoughts that it took a long time for Matt’s muted voice, as he talked to himself, to reach his ears. Simon didn’t raise his head to look at him, but he paused to listen.

“... if I’d known this night was going to end like this... Fuck, I would never... ever have gone to see that bitch and got drunk... I—”

“Don’t call her like that unless you want me to rip out your tongue and feed it to you,” Simon hissed. He should have kept his lips sealed, but he wasn’t going to let that jerk talk about you like that.

“Who? Y/N? She’s a bi—” Matt was about to repeat the same mistake. But before the word could slip past his lips, Simon sprang to his feet and moved closer to the bars that separated them. Simon’s eyes darkened, and he made no effort to hide the raw anger that was seeping out of him. Matt got the memo and shut his mouth; at the same time, everything seemed to connect in his mind, and clarity hit him. Everything began to make sense. “So she’s the reason I’m there?” He spat and began to pace around the cell, his fingers running through his dirty hair. “That’s it, isn’t it? You’re just some bitter ex-boyfriend of hers, aren’t you?

Simon maintained a stony silence. He feared that if he opened his mouth, he might say something he would later regret. There was still a chance that Matt might walk out of here alive, so the less he knew about Simon, who was still just a masked stranger to him, the better it was. He tried very hard not to let Matt’s incessant chatter provoke him, but the idiot wasn’t shutting up.

“I don’t care about her... she’s yours! Honestly, I only reached out to her because I was curious. We dated in high school, but she was always such a prude, and I...”

Matt truly believed that he was doing the right thing by giving up you, allowing Simon to have you all to himself, promising he would disappear from your life. His desperate speech was working. But the problem was that Matt didn’t know when to stop talking.

“I only kept coming over because she kept inviting me. She seemed ecstatic to reunite with me... I was initially apprehensive, but after the first time we slept together, I knew I could exploit her.” Matt paused for a moment, taking a deep breath to fill his lungs with air before continuing. “I knew I could text her whenever I wanted to fuck. She never turned me down, and whenever I came over, the night always ended with me in her bed. I let her believe I liked her, that there was a chance we may be something more in the future... all because she was fantastic in bed and made herself easy.”

Simon had reached his breaking point. He could no longer tolerate Matt’s disrespectful comments about you. You weren’t easy, and you weren’t an object that he could use anytime he wanted to show his dick into someone. Your innocence and naivety led you to believe that Matt genuinely liked you. This belief is what kept you going back to him, time and time again. You were too blind to recognise that Matt was taking advantage of you. And you would probably never see it, but that doesn’t matter. Simon will handle this. He won’t stand by and watch you get hurt, nor will he let Matt break your heart. He will make sure that Matt will never touch you again.

Matt was gripping the cold bars, standing perilously close, his knuckles turning white. Simon’s mind went blank, and he closed the gap between them. His calloused hand wrapped around Matt’s throat.

Matt immediately began his desperate struggle, his every muscle strained as he tried to push Simon away. His fingers dug into Simon’s arms, his nails clawing at his skin in an attempt to break free. But Simon, without a single thought in his head, fuelled by rage, remained still; he was stronger and his hold was firm. He kept squeezing and squeezing, preventing the air from filling Matt’s lungs. His eyes, devoid of mercy, fixated on Matt’s face, watching as he began to run out of oxygen and strain to breathe. A minute passed. Matt’s face turned a disturbing shade of blue, his eyes started to water, and the tears rolled down his pallid cheeks.

Simon was so focused on keeping his grip secure, refusing to let go, that he failed to register Matt’s frantic movements. He didn’t notice when Matt’s fingers curled around the fabric of his balaclava. He was oblivious until the very moment when Matt tugged Simon’s mask off. A sudden realisation dawned on Simon, and his eyes grew wide. Now, Matt knew who he was, he had seen Simon’s face, the one thing that Simon was determined to keep hidden. Without realising it, Matt had thrown away his chance of getting out of this cell alive.

Before, Simon intended to kill him out of jealousy, for the way he spoke about you, for the way he treated you... but now, killing him was a necessity, and Simon only stepped away from the cell bars when Matt’s body went limp in his hands.

[aseriesofunfortunatejan]

The difference in the quality of writing between AAI+2 and AA4+ is shocking imo. And I don't mean to be negative, I'm just... disappointed by the "second trilogy". Not that it's all bad, of course. I've been impressed by its loving writing of mental health matters, notably.

What's most shocking is who did and didn't make a comeback after AAI2. What felt like a love letter to Edgeworth and Gumshoe's work relationship was followed by removing the latter entirely. Ema replaced his role in a way that I'm still not convinced by. Sebeustace was left off looking for his new catchphrase and... never found another one.

Even Sim(e)on has, imo, another story to tell. Having him come back is not as obvious as, let's say, keeping Gumshoe around, but could tell a beautiful and interesting story about someone who is being reformed after receiving the help he needs - it would confirm the point of AAI2, that Edgeworth's work is to help victims led astray, that victims needs a support circle - and would easily make for an engaging character by use of his clear intelligence, not to mention the edge factor.

Of course, we're talking about a series that couldn't even keep Athena as a protagonist for more than one game, so such a strong continuation to a former story is never happening. My main beef with the "second trilogy" will always be the writing of Wright, and that Edgeworth's efforts at the end of AAI2 were never narratively linked to those of Wright by the end of AA4 is telling of the weakness of their new roles.

I love AAI2. It shouldn't have been hard to keep Sebastian around... And Ace Attorney has yet to show that its in-universe prison system reforms people.

[m1d-45]

the wind knows

summary: a series of haikus to ‘imposter’ reader, wherein kazuha knows the truth

word count: ~600

-> warnings: spoilers for inazuma archon quest / kazuha lore? implied violence? imposter au things- it’s implied reader dies, so……

taglist: @samarill || @thenyxsky || @valeriele3 || @shizunxie || @boba-is-a-soup || @yum1x

< masterlist >

many letters were scrapped, left to sit in the trash. when pen finally meets proper page, the sun has long since set. still, the motions are careful and sure, as if it hadn’t taken hours of preparation to bear fruit.

the world has waited

for the brightest star to fall

i have waited too

the faint scent of the sea stains the poem, the wax seal dusted with salt. contained within the envelope is the product of boredom at the docks, impatience vented onto paper.

an ocean between

the trip is bound by man’s speed

you are worth the wait

the high point of the crow’s nest allows for far sight, land appearing on the horizon a precious few moments before anybody below notices. words seem to appear in the mind, bandages staining with ink in the hasty retrieval of paper. once down, it would be transferred to something neater, but that is not the priority.

the geo-filled spires

meet together with crashing water

i hope we meet soon.

words are heard, names are called. even after a day of searching, of following the wind that has never led astray, nothing is found. nobody is found. the captain of the fleet makes a comment that goes unheard, thoughts caught up in new lines. a hand traces them out, even if there’s only air below; it’s never meant to be sent, after all.

liyue is empty

of nothing but what’s needed

where could you have gone?

the next day is just as fruitless, nobody at the docks reporting anything new. the wind brings him a small cluster of torn up pages, the familiar writing of lady ningguang scrawled across them. he can’t catch full phrases, the paper scraps too small, but the very fact that the shredded snow had fallen scares him in a way it shouldn’t. the wind warns, but of what?

rumors cross the streets

the air is taught with tension

please let it rest soon

the harbor bustles with more life than normal. people shout and cry, everybody slowly moving away from the docks and deeper into the city. sailors are confused, having only barely returned, but a flyer hastily shoved into their hands by a vendor makes everything clear. the sharp, commanding voice of the captain reads it out, the letter of execution snatched from her hands as red eyes hope and pray it’s fake.

i hope it’s not you

even as i know it is

how could this happen?

white hair shoves through a crowd, his mind blurred with both the aura of the divine and panic from the jeering people around. bodies press in around him but he forces his way though, managing to catch glimpses of the stage. the tianquan, lazily flipping the pages of her catalyst. the funeral director, star-filled eyes now blank and empty with hatred. and him, him, the one who bears an impossible amount of geo, him who stains the air with ancient names and archaic rituals, him with a spear that shines like pure gold in the sun.

kazuha finally bursts through the crowd, the eyes of the millelith snapping to him as he stumbles on the bricks below. it doesn’t matter. he’s too late.

for the second time, somebody he loved dies at the hands of an unfeeling god.

heretical sin

the world itself cries in pain

how could you leave me?

[deaths-presence]

Two of a Kind || Dazai x Reader Part 1: Obscure Chance

Story Summary: The search for your brother has led you into conflict between the Armed Detective Agency of Yokohama and the Guild. Fitzgerald keeps you involuntarily, that is until you finally find your chance of escape. Will you find strength within the ADA, or will you only become more astray? Word Count: 1,622 Characters Featured: Nathaniel Hawthorne, John Steinbeck, Lucy Montgomery Warnings: afab!reader, slowburn, plot heavy to build up romance, small mentions of isolation, hints of Fitzgerald being Yikes and abusive, lmk if I happened to miss anything please

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

The cold atmosphere of the room you were trapped in seeped into your body, making your bones ache with how aggressively you were shivering despite the covers you put around yourself. Never did you expect to find yourself held hostage, yet here you were with the powerful Guild that gave you no choice in the decision to join their organization. You didn’t do it for money like some of the others you came to learn about during your forced stay, nor did you seek to become powerful.

It started with a simple letter. Your brother Roberte had written to you. He went on to tell you that he had picked up work in the Guild to help support you back home, that things would be more prosperous if you had joined him. You had decided to seek out the Guild to be at his side, for all you had was each other after your parents had died.

You did not find Roberte. You were too trusting, showing a stranger eager to have everything within the snap of his fingers how your ability worked to prove yourself worthy. Within hours you were not allowed to leave. The man named Fitzgerald was sure of that. He never took no as an answer, and you quickly made that observation with the way the other members of the Guild stood behind him. They didn’t dare try to protect you. Here in the Guild, it was a principle that if you screwed up, you were on your own. You didn’t consider any of them friends, besides maybe Lucy who managed to converse with you when she brought you meals.

“So do not fear, for I am with you; do not be dismayed, for I am your God. I will strengthen you and help you; I will uphold you with my righteous right hand.”

You were brought out of mulling about your predicament at the new voice. Your head turned, no longer surprised to see Hawthorne that said the Bible verse aloud. He reminded you of a late December evening when the sun was slowly setting on the horizon and giving way to darkness. He was cold and distant, his hair a pale shade that reminded you of the snow covering the ground at dusk. His icy blue eyes always managed to pin you down wherever you existed on the Moby Dick like he could see the sins you’ve committed, even ones you didn’t know existed. As a man of God that he proclaimed to be, you never saw him outside of his pastor clothes.

Your lips turn in a gentle smile regardless. If nothing else, you were thankful for the little bit of company he temporarily provided. “Isaiah 41:10. It is only customary for the reverend to grace me with his words from the Book. I suppose you’re trying to give me advice in your own way instead of having me sulk around?”

Hawthorne’s face was unreadable with how little it changed, but his tone of voice gave you ease. Cold, yes, but gentle it came out as he replied, “I can tell by the look on your face. You feel helpless and alone. You don’t try to escape.”

You merely shrugged at his observation. The comfort he was giving was quickly replaced by a heavy feeling that settled in your chest. You sat on the provided bed and hugged your knees closer to your chest, the dress you wore allowing your legs to be blanketed. “I have tried before only to fail. Countless times. Fitzgerald is powerful, even if I can shapeshift into other people and use their abilities.”

Of course, you couldn’t escape Fitzgerald despite having such a useful ability. Though having surprised him at first, he took the opportunity upon himself to make you better than you were. Stronger. To change into someone for longer. To be able to take an object that is closest to someone and use it to connect to the person and change instead of using only physical touch. There’s no doubt that you would make an incredible assassin by having the ability to change your appearance so drastically, especially in framing someone. By tacking on having the opportunity to store someone with an ability into your closet of changes, you were a force to be reckoned with. If you cared enough.

That was evidently the problem. You didn’t care. You never had thought about using your ability in such a despicable way. You would always want to use what you were able to do for good, to disguise yourself and capture a criminal in the act all while keeping your real identity safe. You could help connect yourself to a person to understand their predicaments, to understand their health issues, to understand why they feel the way they feel.

“I’m sorry, reverend. I do not look for pity. I simply sense that this is my punishment,” you said quietly.

Hawthorne quirked a brow at your words. “You think that God has punished you in this way? What have you done in the eyes of the Lord that he would do such?”

Your eyes were trained on your hands. You wiggled your fingers slowly as if noticing something on them that would never come off. Hawthorne was right to believe the notion ridiculous, but you couldn’t help but feel like a monster in your own skin with all that you’ve done since being forced to join the Guild. A monster that changed who she could be on a whim. “I have gone against my morals without so much as a fight. I want to fight, but I am beaten in my efforts each time. What do you think?”

Hawthorne’s face never changed, but you noticed how his voice was hardened once more. “I may pass judgment on heavy sinners, but I believe that this is for the Lord to decide Himself.”

You exhaled slowly when you heard his footsteps leave you in tense silence. Your thoughts from before Hawthorne made conversation were now replaced with the question you always ended up asking yourself.

Were you a monster pretending to be human?

⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘⫘

It was hours before you heard voices again, this time clearly distinguishing the two of them. Steinbeck and Lucy. As they approached, your eyes opened from resting and you forced your body to sit up. You were severely tempted to brush through your hair after sensing just how knotted it was from your tossing and turning, reaching for the hairbrush just as you saw Steinbeck and Lucy at the door. As usual, she opened a compartment in the door to give you the tray of food.

“Look at that! You are still alive,” Steinbeck said with a playful grin. The small window in the door to your room only let you see his sky-blue eyes and sunny blonde hair, but there was the knowledge that one of the straps to his overalls that he wore hung down from his shoulder. You had to hold back the urge to fix it for him whenever you saw him, like a mother fixing their toddler’s shirt before they ran outside to play with their friends. Your eyes shifted over to Lucy’s blue eyes and thick red hair. You envied the coloration and how beautiful it always looked in the braids she put it in. You could imagine the dress she wore despite not being able to see it, the ruffles at the bottom always catching your attention. It wasn’t as proper and elegant as Lady Margaret, but it suited her.

“I am,” you responded, keeping your words short and distant as you took the tray and offered Lucy a grateful smile. You walked back to sit it on the small table that was by your bedside, seating yourself back down on the mattress to properly untangle your hair with the brush.

“I just can’t imagine,” Steinbeck attempted conversation again, “after being in here for this long already. I know what it’s like to have a sibling. The only reason I’m not with them right now is to make sure they can live. I send most of my pay back home to help support them all.”

“You’re the type to do anything for your family.” You nod while listening to him.

“My sister, she’s still a little younger than you. She loves to take my share of apple pie at the big family dinner table, but I can never say no because she’s just too cute.” His shoulders relaxed as he talked about his sister, and it made your heart ache that you were unable to see Roberte after all this time.

It hit you then. Why would he be trying to talk to you if it was not for one simple thing?

“Do I remind you of her?” you asked timidly, your eyes stuck on the tray as you set your hairbrush down.

Out of the corner of your eye you see Steinbeck’s smile. “A little. You’re just older, more gullible, and complacent when you’re in danger.” Each word that came out of his mouth made you prickle and squint at him, but your expression made him laugh instead of becoming defensive. “You do have the same cute pout, though.”

Your ire only faded at the prospect of finally eating some of the food that was given to you. Steinbeck and Lucy took it as a signal to leave you in peace, but not before Steinbeck stayed back to say one last thing while the space was quiet.

“You’re right. I would do anything for my family. The Guild is not necessarily a nice organization. You do what you’re told, and that’s it. Take care to remember that if nothing else.”

[redemn]

thinking a lot about how to be a dog ,   by andrew kane ,   today .   thinking about how many dog allegories i put into arthur's characterisation and the way i envision his character to be ,   and how perfect this poem is for him .

thinking about how he must learn how to speak :   that   "  you must learn not to speak unless you absolutely must ,   or to speak as much as you feel you must regardless of how many times you are told to stop ,   or sit ,   or placed behind a door    this will depend on what kind of a dog you want to be [ … ] it may not feel as though you get to choose ,   and that too is a kind of dog .  "   that he accidentally found a family in two outlaws during one of the lowest points in his life ,   and in the formative years of his life .   who he immediately clung to and ,   with the desperation of a stray pup who has been yearning for that love ,   determined he would be loyal to for the rest of his life ,   who he grew close to and willfully bowed his bed to proudly wear the collar of the van der linde gang ,   because it's the thing that keeps him safe and feeling as though he belongs somewhere .   a reminder of the people who love him ,   on purpose .

how he   "  must learn to relinquish all control over everything you might wish to control .   you must learn to prefer to be led about by the neck on a piece of string ,   or staked to a neglected lawn by a length of chain .   you must learn ,   once you have sampled the freedom of a life without a chain ,   that it is better to return and be chained again .  "   because in learning his alphabet and how to shoot and how to speak ,   he learns how to appear to the gang ,   that role of enforcer which he has not chosen himself ,   but which he has settled into so easily .   there's nothing wrong with it in his eyes :   this is where he is most wanted ,   this is where he will find his love ,   and where he will always be welcomed and fretted over when he returns .   that he is no leader in the way dutch is .   that he is meant to be a follower ,   a helper ,   the one who protects with his imposing presence .

and then … thinking about how   "  of course you must learn to love ,   to love always and love entirely and to be wounded by nothing so much as the violence of your own love .   you must learn to be confused but never disappointed by a deficiency of love .  "   that he learns this thrice in his life .

1 .  ) that he forged such a close relationship with mary gillis ,   and with her brother beside that ,   taught him how to ride a horse and taught her how to protect herself when she needs it ,   and learned from her how to love himself in the same way she loved him .   learned that he must not fall victim to despair when he read that letter from her ,   that she was engaged because she couldn't love or marry a man with his lifestyle .   that he had always known it . 2 .  ) that his impetuous and outspoken little brother could leave their gang without much explanation ,   despite all the love that was there for him .   despite all the love arthur had for him ,   he still left .   he could leave ,   in a way arthur never could .   that he must learn not to be wounded from this ,   and to carry on regardless of the stain on their relationship ,   regardless of how angry and jealous inside he was that the golden child could return and not be hit with the consequences of his actions .   that the way he was scolded would never be wrought upon john .   but he must learn to look past it . 3 .  ) that dutch's ever-growing distance was a blame placed upon him from dutch himself ,   even though it all seemed to coalesce into something noticeable once micah joined the gang and began to lead dutch astray .   that it is forcing him farther from hosea , trust dutch like this . and yet he perseveres . that he must learn to live through it and clutch his collar and remind himself of the loyalty and the love he has for this man ,   and that leaving him even in the most broken of times would be a betrayal .   that they would pull through ,   because they had to ,   and because they always did .   that he must never be disappointed by the deficiency this love .

how   "  you must give up your children and not know why .  "   how he returned to eliza and isaac one fateful day ,   expecting to hold that little toddler in his arms and kiss his head and sniff that feather-soft familiar scent and expecting to see that warm smile eliza always wore for him whenever he came to visit them    only to find two graves beside that little house instead .   that his heart broke into a thousand fragments the moment he spotted those gravestones ,   before he even read the names ,   knowing that the woman who birthed his child and the sweetest boy he had ever known in his life ,   the two people he loved were gone forever ,   that he could never see them again .   that he never recovered all the fragments of his heart .   that he learned to give up his children without knowing why a few thieves could be so needlessly cruel .   that he learned to fall into despair ,   into drinking ,   into grieving and crying in ways he had never known before .   that he learned ,   months later ,   how to overcome the darkness ,   but not quite completely .   learned to carry himself with a different worldview after that ,   a quick gun ,   more ruthless decisions .   that there were some things that could never be changed about this world ,   that he must learn that these things will be ,   no matter what .

because in spite of his tough exterior and his determination and the resolution in all his actions ,   he is still a dog waiting for a bone that will never be tossed ,   with a fraying leash of loyalty that is ever tightening in each chapter until it yanks his head to the east and chokes him completely .   but he has learned   "  to believe that you are not in fact a dog at all .  "

[aimportantdragoncollector]

Katydid Vs. Gentrychild

@gentrychild you can blame @fedzkun and an Anon for suggesting this. I’m only evil when I’m exposed to bad influences.

#

Judge Abe sat in a golden chair with a pair of scales on the back. Her long black hair fell over her eyes, and she yawned. Using the sleeve of her formal robes, she mopped at the ink stain on her face, only succeeding in smearing it around further. Looking down at the tiny lichen katydid sitting on her desk, she asked, “Why are you here? Your case isn’t until tomorrow. Not that you have much of a case, frankly.”

“Is that any way to talk to your creator?” Katydid cried, high-pitched and indignant. “I expected you to be partial to me.”

Judge Abe snorted. “I’m only partial to my own self-interest and entertainment value. As a reality-bending fake judge, I have no objection to fanfic custody cases even though I have no idea what a fanfic is. However, the Hell Lawyer clearly has the stronger case. You requested fanfic brainstorming from the defendant. You deliberately twisted the idea into something cruel and sadistic that you knew the defendant didn’t intend because you thought it would be funny. When held accountable for your actions by a murderous All for One, you blamed the defendant. The only argument you offer is that--”

“I’m too cute and innocent to be evil unless some older eldritch being led me astray.” Katydid clasped wiry green legs together and contrived to look innocent.

“Meanwhile, the Hell Lawyer has provided stacks of evidence.” Judge Abe waved a letter sent to the plaintiff, then pointed at the papers reaching up the ceiling. “Because you carelessly blabbed your half-assed evil scheme all over tumblr, there is ample proof of libel, slander, and emotional damage. You might as well give up and start writing your penalty fics now.”

“Actually, I had a different fic in mind, Your Honor.” Katydid gazed upward at the judge. “Imagine a sequel to Turnabout: The Ultimate Fanboy Showdown. Two new chapters starring the esteemed Judge Abe with an even crazier trial over Deku merchandise rights. There will be drama, legal nonsense, and cool objections, co-written with the hilarious Manfedzku. It would be a shame if I didn’t have time to finish because I was cruelly enslaved by Gentrychild.”

“Is that a threat or a bribe?” the judge demanded.

“A bribe, of course! Why do you think I showed up here before my own court date? I never expected to win fairly.”

“Hmm.” Judge Abe fiddled with her gavel. “I want FOUR chapters.”

“Throw in reality-bending protection from the Hell Lawyer and Neurotrauma All for One, and I’ll make it five chapters.”

“Deal!” Judge Abe brought her gavel down. “I rule in favor of Katydid, not in spite of but because of being the slimiest character in this court case.”

The small green insect chuckled. Staring directly at the Fourth Wall, Katydid said, “Your move, Gentrychild.”

[honeeslust]

Honee. HONEE ... I need some Nanamin tasting wedding cakes with his blushing bride to be. And the way she's eating each bite and moaning about how delicious they are has his all sorts o' flustered.

He's gotta shut her up somehow!!

I♡ysm, beauty!

Wait I'm nervous… 🙃 Okayyy Let's go. 🖤

Kento cant hide the blush currently staining his cheeks crimson….

You've tasted a few of the selections already but none of them garnered quite the reaction you were displaying now. Your manners are long forgotten as you moan about how good it is. The foodie in you is in heaven, sighing intently as the flavors marinate on your tongue. God! Your tongue. Spearing between your lips, licking them slow. Your eyes nearly crossing. your legs bouncing under the table just as you break into your signature involuntary yummy dance. The display brings a smile to his face and a sudden heat arises within him. Kento leans in close to swipe away the icing from the corner of your mouth. He licks the treat from the back of his thumb, his thoughts easily being led astray by the way you test his composure. Your dress keeps shifting a little further up your thighs every time you turn to him holding the spoon up to his lips. But it's not quite this little incident alone that gets him. It's more the way you try and hide the sudden hitch in your breath the moment his hand finds your knee under the table. Yes. That's it. He can turn the tables on you now. His princess is incapable keeping a straight face when hands as brawn and adept as his are, slyly start slipping further back so he can squeeze your thigh, effortlessly making your chubby leg feel slight under his palms. You just barely save face but don't think he doesnt notice the way you immediately divert your gaze when you lock eyes with him. You're all too familiar with that arduous stare and what comes after. A mix of apprehension and excitement forces your eyes wide as you sit straighter, clenching your thighs as though that would ever stop the sudden tightening in your core. His fingers delve further between your legs, coming so close to your heat that you twist in your seat reaching to catch his hand. You shoot off a look in the bakers direction who luckily is too preoccupied with plating the next round of desert combinations to notice. Your attempt to stop him is met with his fingertips digging into that sweet spot between your thighs to tickle you. Nanamin. You whisper accenting his name with extra letters as you try to situate your dress. Saying his name like that? You must want him to lay you out on this table and turn you into desert. His hand stays exactly where it is. Even as the baker returns none the wiser to your fiance’s naughty advances. This time, it's his turn to taste and the desert is definitely mouthwatering. But he’s willing to bet it'd taste even better if he could savor it directly from your mouth. One lingering look at those lips and he’s sure. He chews slow, eyes simmering. temples flaring, his jaw tensing… his hand still squeezing. His stare indicative of the racy thoughts occupying his mind.

Its more than just that cake he wants to devour.

And I don't mean the one on the plate 😝

@i-literally-cant-with-this, thanks for the ask. This was fun. I hope you enjoy it baby cakes 🥰

[thefreelanceangel]

for the word generator prompt - relinquish!

(Thanks for sending me one also!)

He turned the seal over between his fingers, feeling the thick paper resist the pressure of being manipulated. "Setsuna went ahead of them, yes?"

Toshikazu nodded, his back to his younger brother, and didn't take his eyes off of the tall form of the Dollmaker. "Hayate is escorting Kyako," he replied, one hand rising to touch the clunky, heavy earring he wore. His fingertips caught the bottom bead, rubbed it briefly before he folded his arms anew. "Setsuna has their offerings, Hayate didn't want his arms occupied if Kyako felt tired."

Kagayaku rubbed a thumb over the talisman, shifting against the cold stone bearing his weight. "...has there been any sign of Akane?"

"No." The reply came immediately. So immediately as to be curt. A statement just shy of a snap.

He sighed, folding the talisman in half, and tucked it behind his sash. "I don't want to think of it either, Toshi," Kagayaku said. With a whisper of heavy silk, he stepped away from the stone bearing his weight to the one bearing the weight of their family. He laid a hand on Toshikazu's shoulder, squeezing firmly. "We can't ignore it. Neither the future nor what it means."

"Bad enough we have to relinquish her in the future," Toshikazu sighed. He allowed the hand on his shoulder, even reached up to squeeze it in return, but pulled free after only a moment or two. "Worse if we've forced into doing so before..."

Kagayaku glanced at him, waited as Toshikazu straightened his shoulders and cleared his throat. "Before we know we have to," Kagayaku finished, nodding. "Very well, I'll not ask again." He stepped beside his elder brother and folded his arms in the same posture, looking down the slope towards the Dollmaker. "Is he gathering clay for another attempt?"

"The last ikite iru ningyō in the family fell apart before Uncle Kaito was married, and yet he's still convinced he can create another," Toshikazu said, a little snort punctuating the sentence. He reached up to the clunky earring again, rolled the lowest bead between his fingertips. "You stay here and watch him. I want to ensure Hayate hasn't led Kyako off the path again."

"He only does that when she has nightmares or she's in a particularly foul mood, you know that as well as I." Kagayaku went to another stone regardless, settling himself with a good view of the Dollmaker and his diminutive daughter. "If he's led her astray, he had good reason."

Toshikazu picked up the hat resting on the ground, settling it on his head. "I know." He didn't elaborate further, already striding up the cobbled road. The Kurosawa knew their way up and down Mount Rokkon, had tended a shrine on the far northern slope for decades, and Toshikazu didn't hesitate as he walked out of sight.

A sigh followed Toshikazu's diminishing figure, but Kagayaku opened the heavy tome he carried and extracted the few letters tucked within. With another glance at the Dollmaker, he settled in to review the offers of marriage that Hayate could only put off for so long.

[deadlymaelstrom]

A Letter Dated Six Months Ago [COMPLETE]

If Rook is an Antivan Crow:

Idiot:

I hope you're reading this. If the trail really has led you to Tevinter, it'll be harder to get messages through. The Antaam in Antiva are prickly about anything to do with our neighboring kingdom.

Back home, things have cooled, but they are not forgotten. Killing all those Antaam may have felt righteous in the moment, but the Talons are still complaining that your actions ruined weeks of setting up a larger, more effective strike.

I am one of those Talons still complaining. Consider this trip with Varric a contract. Crows don't fail contracts, especially Crows from House de Riva who may need to improve their judgment. But there is more at stake than honor. Whatever this Solas is up to needs to be stopped. I've seen enough of his handiwork to know that.

Don't get careless out there. Don't fail, and don't get yourself killed, or I will come after you in the Fade myself.

Viago

If Rook is a Grey Warden:

Warden [surname],

If our calculations are correct―and none of us have gone astray―this letter should be at the inn where you and Varric are to meet Scout Harding. As with Varric, we worked with her before. She's a good scout and a good shot. We think you'll like her. Please tell her we say hello!

Anyway, to the point! It's probably best you've gone to work with Varric a while. Our superiors in the Wardens can't deny that the village is safe and the darkspawn stopped. But they are still not especially pleased with you. Or your methods. Or the people who helped with your plan. Evka and I have been given a somewhat remote assignment that no one else wanted. But we are no strangers to that! We've enclosed a list of addresses where you are most likely to reach us for the next few months. Should you need.

Finally, do not feel you are in exile. We know something of what Varric is after. When the world needs protection from malevolent forces―that's what Grey Wardens do! You're in the right place.

Be vigilant and stay safe.

Your Friends, Antoine and Evka

If Rook is a Mourn Watcher:

Watcher [surname]:

Thank you for the latest dispatch concerning your venture with Master Varric Tethras. Given that you've spent much of your life in the Grand Necropolis, traveling further north must be a stimulating prospect. And you will be relieved, no doubt, to hear that the crypts have been silent since your departure. Some of the other Watchers continue to censure your methods during the War of the Banners, but I will work to ensure that they reconsider while you are away.

Master Tethras's claims that this "Solas" is an elven god bear witnessing. Even if Solas is merely a renegade mage using spirits for dire purposes, that alone is call for a Watcher to oppose him.

Vorgoth and I wish you fine luck on your journey. Remember: even outside Nevarra, the dead are ever ready with their supernal aid.

Watcher Myrna, Keeper of the Seals

If Rook is a Shadow Dragon:

[surname]:

Good to hear from you. I hope the North is treating you well, even if your quarry remains elusive.

Things here in Minrathous go about as well as expected. Venatori presence continues to grow, the result of an obscene amount of gold being funneled into the cult by sympathetic magisters. Some of the Shadow Dragons have had run-ins with some of them, particularly the ones seeking revenge for your shutting down of their slaver ring in Nessus.

But don't trouble yourself. This is nothing we can't handle. For now, focus on your work with Varric. A strong alliance with someone with ties to the Inquisition and Kirkwall can only benefit the Shadows and the people we serve.

Bring the light, and good luck, Viper

If Rook is a Veil Jumper:

[surname],

Strife has finally given up sending teams out to rediscover the route that was lost. Without the magic in the map, the paths will not open, and the map is gone. I know it was difficult for him to make the final decision. You could see the angry vein in his forehead for days after.

Now maybe he can start to move past it. Most of the others have already. But, of course, as the leader of that mission, he views your defiance, and the outcome that resulted, as something of a personal failure. We will give him time. You being away is a blessing, and we all hope that your work with Varric Tethras is going well.

You will be glad to hear that some of the younger Veil Jumpers are quite excited about you being on the trail of the Dread Wolf himself. You must regale them upon your return.

Irelin

[patchwork-crow-writes]

A Digital Love Story

A poem I wrote for Valentine's Day, for all the blorbos, scrunklies and scrimblos in our lives. However you celebrate, I hope you have a lovely day :)

I fell for a pretty trick, A You that doesn't exist; An electric magic spell, A twisted bit of logic, A pixel limerence, A digital tryst... All meaningless, nothing. Yet nonetheless, something Recognises me in you; A false that yet feels true.

You caught my heart with pixel perfection, In just a single frame, a bit was flipped From zero to one, an exquisite sum; A union so much grander than its parts. Binaries defied, desire undefined, A mortal that has smitten the divine; Transgressing thus thy digital design And making me yours, as you shall be mine.

I shall prune your dialogue tree, A literary topiary, And bring your tender words to flower; Sentimental petals feel So silky sweet to my soul. Let me take hold of your letters And I'll fold them up so neatly And I'll save them here for safety; I'll read and re-read them till The pixels lose their meaning. But I'll know by their feeling That they are meant just for me.

Control is mine; my will bids you obey, Yet time and again you slip from my leash; Your grip stays fast 'pon the strings of my heart, Fretting and fraying at our loving bonds As with gentle clasp you lead me astray. Our tether's end waves just beyond my reach, Falling away; and now I grow afraid, For which of us master? Which of us slave?

My hand runs slick upon your screen, Seeking heat in your LEDs As your pixels quickly slip Through my frigid fingertips Like liquid crystal through splintered glass. A millimetre impasse As vast as the universe; A distance only minds may cross With lines of code and silent verse.

Our time is now done; the game is over And I have now won. And you shall return Back to the white noise from whence you have come; Yet even in triumph I am undone, For still you haunt the cracks in my mind, The darkness behind my eyes! Still I find The imprint of you too sweet to subdue! Come, and let us resume the trick anew; Nothing so sweet as the nothing of you.

[lcafman]

"you sure this is the right place?" from Sprig ( @teapottroubles )

from ' disney hercules starters ' - still accepting ! !

" come on , have i ever led you astray before ? " a coy smile , accompanied by an all - too - confident demeanor . in all reality , nod wasn't entirely sure himself that this was where they were told to meet . the snake den was to the south , right ?

either way - this was where the letter had instructed them to go . and while sprig was far superior with directions , nod had assured the resident mailmoth that he knew this place like the back of his hand . which was true ! for someone who spent exactly 0 time looking at the back of their hand .

[ectojyunk]

Prompt #16: Third-Rate

Established Emet/Exarch, NSFW themes

Takes place in my canon divergent verse since Emet and Fandaniel are alive post-EW.

"Exarch?" Emet-Selch called out to the ever-busy city leader. The Ascian was meandering around the Crystarium again these days- probably taking a break from whatever he was doing in the Source.

"Hm?- Ah…" The Exarch's face went pale as he saw the items Emet-Selch was swinging around. Luckily, they were in the privacy of the Ocular… so no one would be around to see the phallic objects he was holding with disdain.

"What… are those?" The Exarch feigned ignorance. It wouldn't work, but he would try anyways.

"Oh don't play dumb Exarch. These were clearly used recently; they're not covered in dust like the rest. Tell me -and be honest- did you put these in-"

"I!… don't have to report my private moments to you," the Exarch interrupted him and then coughed slightly to regain composure, "and what if I did? I recall you said you weren't judgemental in these matters."

Emet-Selch stood there, mouth open for a while before barking out a laugh. "No no my dear! I'm not judging you, I'm judging these third-rate Allagan gadgets that you were unfortunate enough to stumble upon."

"Third-rate?… No that- that can't be right," the Exarch shook his head. He took out his tomestone and put in a series of letters and numbers to show to Emet-Selch. "The serial number clearly show these belonging to the chief scientist Amon- look."

Emet-Selch compared the identification code on the screen to the one's on the toys. Surely enough, the Exarch was right- but unluckily for him, his limited knowledge of the man had led him astray. "Yes, apparently, these did indeed belong to that poor sod Amon."

The Exarch nodded, hoping Emet-Selch wouldn't tease him for using the late scientist's private collection. "Then you see, these cannot be third-rate. They may be not up to any of your standards, but…"

Emet-Selch sighed and shook his head, "Ever wonder why these sometime stop functioning before you climax? Or become uncomfortable to use at the worst possible moment? Their make is that of the ones used on an experimental basis- thus their quality is sub-par… These are merely prototypes. Ugh, knowing Amon, he probably liked torturing himself with broken items. Ah- I mean no offense, of course, each to their own and all that… but I doubt extreme edging and sexual disatisfaction are a welcome type of play in your bedroom… unless you've picked up another set of new interests while I was gone?"

The Exarch stood there for a moment, his mouth slowly turned into a grimace as he remembered the last few nights he cursed himself for not finding satisfaction with the toys. "…Oh."

With that, Emet-Selch snapped the toys out of sight and gave the Exarch a pitying smile. "You deserve better, no? I will… procure you better alternatives. The latest from Garlemald."

There were no words the Exarch could muster after the monumnetally embarassing revelation concerning the late chief-scientist that had come into light, except for a small- "Much appreciated…"

-

Current day - Somewhere in Old Sharlayan

-

"Fandaniel." Emet-Selch spotted the man near the marketboard, his soul sight allowing him to see the current possesor of the body he was inhabiting with ease. This had always irked Amon and possibly made him less likely to be present- the man still didn't like confronting his old collegues after all.

"What?" Amon replied, still annoyed being called by that title by Emet-Selch.

"Nothing. Enjoy your perusal- and ah… do try to not leave your little personal effects around anymore, hm? I'd hate for someone to think whatever you use has acceptable parameters for adult-natured activities…"

Amon scoffed, "How… how do you know about that?"

Emet-Selch shrugged and pointed towards the red-head miqo'te next to him- before any of them could ask anything further, he was gone with the dark wisps of his teleportation spell.

"I… I have to go-" G'raha turned and briskly took off in the direction of the Annex, leaving behind a confused and even-more-tired-than-before Amon.

[m1d-45]

My Dearest, Venti

How are you, my love? Have you enjoyed the Windblume Festival this year?

I heard about a tradition of giving Windblumes to those who you love and adore, and I wanted to participate in it. Attached to this letter is a small notebook—about the size of your palm—with musical notes on the cover! You can write your poems or songs, and honestly seeing it made me think of you, so I wanted you to have it.

For the second gift, I created a unique bouquet with flowers from my own garden. I’m a bit embarrassed to admit that I spent quite a while choosing the flowers for this bouquet (not to mention the time I spent researching for the meanings for each flower) but I don’t regret it at all. I want the best for you and I hope you can appreciate their beauty—and the trouble I went through making it.

The prophecy surrounding this Windblume has made me reflect on the importance of having someone like you in my life. You're always there to keep those around you safe and secure, and I can't thank you enough.

It amazes me how kind and thoughtful you are, my dear. I knew that leading the traveler into your nation, into your steady hands, was the best decision.

You are my guiding wind: the one that has never led me astray. I look forward to being reunited with you soon, my love.

- 🍄

[Attached to the letter a small lined notebook and an assortment of flowers: lavender, hydrangea, heliotrope, and edelweiss standing out.]

venti sat in the hands of his statue, gently playing his lyre. the song was slow, appropriate for the late hour.

he watched the skies, seeing the many stars streak across it, playing solely by muscle memory. his feet swayed, the soft wind rustling his cape but never pushing with force. the night was calm.

when one of the stars grows larger, seeming to fall from the sky, his hands falter for only a moment. part of him hopes- prays, even, that it’s for him, but he reserves his hopes. it could be going to somebody else in mondstat, or even overshoot the nation entirely and land in fontaine or natlan.

the star grows closer, and closer still. he tries not to get his hopes up, he does, but he still ends up stowing his lyre in his inventory and rising to his feet, daring to reach for the stars.

his hand brushes against the star, the warmth of it seeping into his palm and soothing any soreness from his playing. the shell begins to crumble where he touched it, but he’s quick to catch the notebook and paper inside, bringing both close to his chest as the remains of the star drift in the wind.

the notebook is small, music notes across the cover—he wonders if they form a song—and with a bundle of flowers tied to the front. he admittedly can’t identify most of them… but he recognizes lavender, the smell from the flowers seeping into the air as he carefully unfolds and reads your letter.

the wind around him picks up in an attempt to wick some of the heat from his face. these were your windblumes? if he was honest, he was surprised you gave him one at all… it was nearing the end of the festival, and the traveller had finished sorting out the prophecy a while ago.

but you…

you thought of him. you, even in a world so far from his own, took the time to grow and pick flowers, to write out a letter, to see a notebook in a store and be reminded of him. you took care in your choice, making sure each flower represented what you wanted exactly… he made a mental note to stop by flora’s shop and see if she could tell him what you trusted your flowers to say.

his eyes lingered on select words in your letter, wondering if you had put as much thought into it as your bouquet. you had to, right? or did you just put pen to paper, letting the words come as you wrote.

it pained him that he didn’t know more about you, sometimes, but it was clear you knew him well. no, more than that; you trusted him, even though he was no longer the ruling archon of mondstat. you trusted him to keep your vessels safe within his borders, trusted his judgement in a world so far from the one you were in now.

venti blushed at the last word of your letter, the idea that you could love him even a fraction the amount that he loved you one he would never forget.

the wind picked up again, and venti leaned into it. if he closed his eyes, if he directed the current just so… for a brief moment, he could almost imagine that it was you.