#she’s allowed to look at him but no one else

[moonstruckme]

in theory i really want to see bodyguard!james and reader where she gets hurt and he takes care of her… but i literally cannot imagine him letting her get hurt at any point. unless like they both barely escape with their lives, or maybe someone else was on her detail for the day — cutting myself off with an idea: james is set on another task for an event for whatever reason and when danger erupts somehow, he completely abandons it to come protect her even though shes supposed to have another detail, desperate to protect her

Hi! I sort of did a mix of these if that's alright, thanks for requesting!

cw: mention of blood, small head injury, past break-in/attack

bodyguard!James x fem!reader ♡ 1k words

Your heart lurches when the bathroom door handle jiggles, someone using a key, but then James steps inside. 

You choke on a sob you didn’t realize had been building. He rushes to meet you as you stand from the closed toilet, arms coming tight around your waist. It’s a good thing, because your legs don’t seem ready to support you. Your knees are wobbly and insubstantial, your ribs feel sore, and you can only see out of one eye. But James is here, so that’s all alright. 

“Hi, sweetheart.” He sounds teary. You know James to be an emotional creature, but he doesn’t often let them show when he’s working. Though you don’t suppose he is working, since he’d gone home from his shift not long ago. “Fuck, I’m so glad you’re in one piece.” 

“What’re you doing here?” 

“I heard what happened.” He squeezes you tight, then releases you, taking your face in his hands. “Are you okay? What happened here?” He touches near your forehead. 

You take a breath, but despite your best intentions your voice wobbles. “I’m okay.” 

James’ expression melts with understanding. Blood still flows hot over your eye, the sharp pain on your head bleeding but evidently not enough to worry the men on your detail who’d hustled you in here after the guy who’d broken in and tried to attack you was subdued. Enough to make your lungs feel tight and panicky, though. 

James strokes his thumb over your cheek. “You’re okay,” he agrees. 

“I just—I can’t see, James.” 

“I know, let’s see. Let me have a look.” He sits you back down on the toilet, grabbing a few things from the cabinet underneath your sink before squatting in front of you. You swear, he knows where you keep your things better than you do. James pushes your hair away from your face, gentle fingers landing at your hairline. “Oh, it’s only small.” 

“Why is it bleeding so much?” 

“Because head wounds bleed a lot, honey,” he says lightly. You recognize this tone; it’s the one he always uses when he can tell you’re spiraling, extra untroubled to counter you. It used to work better before you knew him so well. “You’ll be alright, I’m just going to clean it for you. Does it hurt much?”

“Not a lot,” you say, wincing as he passes a sterile wipe over the cut. 

James frowns. “They didn’t send someone to look at you?” 

“You look at me all the time. Not sure they need someone else to do it.” 

He snorts. “I mean like a doctor, babe.” 

You knew what he meant. “No.” You try to keep the pique out of your tone, but you suspect he hears it anyway. “They just ran me in here and told me to stay put.” 

“That is protocol,” James allows. “Maybe they’ve just not had time to send someone yet. They’ve brought the assailant into the other wing for questioning.” 

You furrow your brows, and he says quietly “hey,” thumbing at your forehead so you relax it again. 

“Assailant?” 

James hesitates. “I suppose he may not qualify as an assailant. That’s just the term we always use to describe anyone who tries to get to you.” 

Your bottom lip finds its way between your teeth. You gnaw on it pensively. “But you think he was really here to kill me?” 

“We’re your security team,” James says gently. “We have to work off the assumption that anyone attempting to get to you is trying to kill you.” He places a bandage over your cut, looking you in the eye. “But that’s not for you to worry about, okay? That’s our job.” 

You’re silent while he gets a few more sterile wipes, ripping one open. You’re not sure exactly how much blood is on you, but that he starts cleaning underneath your jaw doesn’t feel like a great sign. 

“You’re not on shift,” you say after a minute. “How did you know to come?” 

James thinks for a second. “You know our team uses a private radio channel to communicate, right?” You nod. “Well, the signal doesn’t stretch far, but I sometimes listen to it on my way home until it goes out.” He gives you a half sheepish look. “We’re not supposed to, but it makes me feel better to check up on things.” 

You laugh softly. “Can’t ever stop working, can you?” 

“Hey, just because you’re alright when I leave you doesn’t mean you will be five minutes later.” You can tell it’s meant to be a joke, but James’ tone sobers near the end of his sentence. You’re sure he’s thinking about what happened today, same as you. He says quietly, “I just like to keep up to date on you for as long as I can.” 

He starts cleaning the blood off your eye, and you shut your other one while he does. James’ hands are characteristically gentle, something that had surprised you after first meeting him. Here’s this bodyguard, all broad frame and big, intimidating muscles, and he touches you with all the loving softness of a teddy bear. 

He does one last swipe over your eye, says “there,” and kisses near your eyebrow. 

“Thanks, Jamie.” You fold forward, looping your arms around his neck. He knows what you need, big palm moving up your spine. You press your face into the meat of his shoulder. “I know I’m supposed to say that I like it when you go home and rest,” you mumble, “but I sort of wish you could stay here all of the time.” 

“Maybe we can work out a solution,” he humors you. “I could set up a cot by the end of your bed.” 

“Don't be silly.” You hug him tighter. “I’d at least blow up an air mattress for you. And you could have a whole bathroom drawer to yourself.” 

“That is a very generous offer.” You can hear the smile in James voice. Can feel the affection he’s squeezing into your sore ribs. “I’ll check with the boss and get back to you, okay?”

[crescenthistory]

Hi I really love your fics and was hoping to send in a request! I was thinking a fem!reader who’s also a swan animagus, and partners with any or all of the marauders (minus Pete). She’s a very clumsy person, constantly stubbing her toes and bumbing into corners and walls, so when the boys find out that her animagus form is something so graceful they’re just baffled. That’s all I got really, so with that as you please if you please ❤️

this was such a sweet request darling, thank you so much<3 i made this into a general view of what her animagus process looked like + the boys' reactions to what she became

Words: 3.5k

Warnings: fem!reader, use of y/n, remus' pov, loads of anxiety and fearing for safety of a loved one, post-hogwarts with references to oncoming political turmoil but it is not canon compliant, reader is regulus' best friend, flirty bullying lol, mostly fluff and some hurt/comfort

Note: this is my first official poly!marauders fic, and i absolutely adore writing their dynamic

When you began your animagus journey, Remus was unsure of what to expect.

Back when James, Sirius and Peter did it, none of their animagus figures came as a surprise, the picturesque manifestations of the personalities Remus had come to love. Sirius, the loyal guard dog, looming and intimidating in your periphery or on the battlefield, but playful and loving by the fire in his own home. James, the noble and brave Head Boy turned stag, equal parts beautiful and fierce, able to balance out and maintain the worst and best in the rest of the boys. Peter, the quiet and mousy dry-humoured boy they came to love much in the same way you love your pet rat, slippery and smart, able to wield what he has to his advantage. All of it made sense to Remus, which provided a balm for the anxiety that settled in his chest at the thought of the lengths his friends and partners were willing to go for him.

With you though, nothing seemed to make sense. Never really had, it was just right somehow.

You came in later in the Gryffindor friend group, a year younger than the rest of them and best friends with Regulus. It was seemingly a buy one, get two deal when Regulus was finally able to escape the Black household and join Sirius at Potter Manor at last. He refused to leave you behind, knowing all too well what it felt like. Neither Sirius nor James could argue with that, and Remus quickly found he didn't want them to.

No, because when you were integrated into the friend group, hesitant for a mere second – mostly out of respect for Regulus it seemed – before allowing your full personality to prosper at its natural breadwidth, Remus was infatuated. You weasled your way into his heart, knocking against every surface on the way there, leaving him breathless.

He was beyond relieved to look at his two boys – his two lovely boys – and see the same longing in their eyes.

In a relationship that already housed a half-blood half-breed, a disgraced son of a most ancient and noble house and a blood-traitor himbo-jock, Remus had not fathomed there would be room for one more. Until that one was you in all your clumsy-bodied warm-hearted glory – then suddenly, it was unfathomable not to have you.

Despite his shock, Remus found himself quite pleased when finally sat in your shared flat a year after Hogwarts, with you held securely in his arms while Sirius and James were commuting home together from their apprenticeships as aurors at the Ministry. The picture of domesticity. The life he never dared imagine. With your scent filling his nose and your cheek pressed against the skin of Remus' throat, he was sure there was nothing else he could ask for.

"I did something today," you murmured absentmindedly then, trailing patterns on his arm, careful not to snag him with the edge of your nail that broke a few hours earlier that he had not bothered filing down yet.

"Mhm, and what was that, dove?" he replied in the same tone, only half-paying attention as he drowsed in the warmth of you.

"I applied to become an animagus."

Suddenly, Remus was no longer tired nor warm nor comfortable nor nuzzled into your hair as he jerked back to look at you in shock.

"You did what?" His voice somehow didn't convey his immediate turmoil, but he's sure his eyes did as you bit your lip sheepishly.

"I applied with the Ministry to become an animagus," you restated as if it was the simplest thing in the world. "Dumbledore's suggestion. Though if one person in our household is properly registered, it could be easier to avoid any suspicion should the order need you to utilise it more often."

The rest of the night was spent with you explaining what was surely a sound and reasonable plan, but that still lit Remus' veins alight with fire. As was the next few weeks, awaiting the pending response, spent with you and James – who quickly jumped onboard, eager to support you – reassuring Remus and in part Sirius that the plan was sound and reasonable and you would be fine.

"Honestly, I'm beginning to think you have zero faith in me," you joked one evening when you were all cuddled up on the sofa.

"It's not that I don't trust you, dovey," Remus began despondently.

Sirius preferred to cut to the chase with a deadpan. “We just prefer for our darling girl who has never once gone a day without a single bruise to not be undertaking dangerous magical transformations that largely depend upon precision.”

"I have gone a day," you muttered petulantly at that, to which James began rubbing your arms up and down whispering something in your ear about "pick battles we can win, angel".

Remus smiled a bit hesitantly at the sight of his two loves sat opposite him, while he himself was currently held in Sirius' arms and unable to see his face. He could, however, feel the tension in his grip though, likely at the thought of all that could go wrong.

"I understand why it has to be done," Remus started. "And you know I support you always, dove. I just can't help but worry."

You cooed at what Remus was sure was a slight pout on his face before leaning forward out of James' arms to kiss it off him. At that, a genuine smile spread across his lips and into your kiss, breathing you in as a sign of defeat.

"I may stumble, but I can do difficult things, my love," you whispered, brushing your thumbs over his cheekbones. "And with you here, I'll always be alright, won't I?"

"I suppose," Remus faux grumbled, to which James leaned forward to ruffle his hair.

"You are so cute," James all but exclaimed. "So, so cute."

"Alright Jamie, that's enough of that," Remus tried but James kept on playing with his hair, though with slower movements.

"Look at you caring for our little clutz." You let out an undignified "hey" at that. "With big Moony on watch, we will never have to worry."

"And big Padfoot!" Sirius exclaimed from behind Remus, causing the latter to roll his eyes fondly at the boy's not-so-fake fear of missing out.

James caught it too with a hearty laugh, slipping off the sofa to slide to the floor beside Sirius with a soft "of course, baby" before littering his face with a sickening amount of kisses.

As Remus watched you giggle, he pulled you closer. Sickening indeed he thought as he stared down at you with overwhelming love in his throat.

The cycle of worry and reassurance continued well into the animagus process when your application was approved, which Remus suspected Dumbledore also had a hand in. Though, for these, you often couldn't reassure him as much with your words, with the mandrake leaf and everything, but James was your perfect advocate, speech ready on his lips, and your hand never strayed far from Remus' body, keeping his anxiety at bay.

When you fell down the stairs one day or when you ran into doors, Remus' breath caught in his throat like never before, the implications of your clumsiness far more prominent than ever before. You were always alright, and Remus knew he just had kept telling himself that until it was over.

You're alright, you're alright, you're alright. A mantra, a prayer.

"She will be alright, right Siri?" A broken sob into his lover's chest on nights you were away to complete the process.

"Always, always, always." A murmured response that weighed a tonne in his chest.

He never did tell you about those nights, he knew you didn't deserve the guilt or the fretting that would overtake you at the knowledge, not when you were doing something to support your loves, your family, your cause. He could never tell you that while you, in all your clumsy chaos, was being brave, he was being a coward.

And you never did tell him that you knew, that you saw, but you held him closer the nights following them.

While one the precipice of oncoming political collapse, one is rarely allowed full reprieve from anxiety, but Remus found himself washed with immeasurable relief and calm when the front door opened on the final night and he heard two sets of boots and laughter as you and James walked into your flat.

The lightning storm in the background required for the final night of the process was still raging outside, but your flat might as well be on another planet for all Remus cared because you were inside, you were alright and you were laughing. 

Only James could follow you to it, as you had to go through the very final bit alone and Sirius convinced Remus you should be surrounded with calm and reassurance before you took those last steps alone. He agreed, always wanting what was best for you, but it did not help his roaring fears to not be able to go with you.

Thus, the homebound boys immediately shot up at the sound from where they had been anxiously perched on each their chair in the living room, running towards the front door. The latter placed his hand pacifyingly on Remus' shoulder, a silent I'm here, it's alright, she’s alright.

You were.

You were alright.

You were also being laughed at, they now realised.

Chucking off your boots, drenched to the core with hair plastered to your face, you looked awfully displeased with James who - equally as drenched but thrice as enthusiastic - was bent over against the wall, face scrunched up with delight. Remus supposed some of the water drops trailing down his face were actually tears of laughter.

"It's not that funny, James," you grumbled, but the twitch in your lips gave away that perhaps it was.

Ignoring whatever petty squabble for half a minute, Sirius swept you up in a hug and twirled you around, the squelch of your clothes and your own giggle filling the room. "My love!" he exclaimed with glee. "Oh you did it my darling, you did it."

Remus walked towards your embrace with reverence, laughing a bit wetly with relief. You looked at him with so much love in your eyes he wasn't sure if he could take it – and then you opened your arm to invite him into your hug, and he knew he couldn't.

With a shaky breath, Remus let himself fall into you with a few tears rolling down his face and an immense smile across his lips. He murmured some sweet nothings into your hairline that not even he could quite make out.

Pulling back just enough to see your now-wide grin, he kissed you searingly in the exact way he had dreamed of doing on this day.

Safe in his arms, at last.

At the thought, he could almost hear you whisper back that you always were.

"Thank you," Remus whispers against your lips. "Thank you."

"What for?" you laugh back into him.

He opens his eyes to gaze warmly into yours. "For being okay. For being brave."

A soft cooing sound escaped you as you gave him another lingering kiss that seemed to promise you always will be. He felt Sirius' lips drift between each of your foreheads, an eternal comfort in all of Remus' worry, even when he had his own.

"Is this the part where you lie to me and say you knew I could always do it?" you tease as you look between the two boys pressed up against you.

At the same time, Sirius gives you a resounding "yes" while Remus shakes his head at you with a laugh.

"It's not a lie," he begins, continuing despite your light scoff. "I always knew you could, you can do anything you set your mind to. I just love you too much not to freak out about the what ifs."

"You absolute sap," Sirius laughs at him, resulting in you slapping his arm lightly in defence of Remus.

"Do you disagree with him?" you question with a raised brow, challenging smile tugging at your lips.

Sirius' humour was washed away to be replaced with soft fondness. "Of course not, doll."

Behind you, James cleared his throat.

The three of you turned around to see your final boy leaning against the wall, admiration written clearly across his face as he took in the picture before him with heart eyes. It didn't escape Remus, though, that you tensed in his arms beside him nor that James had one of his most mischievous smiles across his face.

"Yeah, angel, we are all super duper proud of you now and forever and always." James says it in a way that makes Remus suspicious he has already told you as much a hundred times over while you were out together. "Now can we skip to the fun bit?"

You groan, throwing your head back against Sirius' shoulder – who whispered a petulant ow! – and promptly pulled out of their grasp. Remus tried to focus on whatever bit was about to come from James to ignore the feeling of loss.

"Fine, but I am going to need so much flattery from you after this relentless bullying, Mister." You threatened as you pointed your wand at James, first in replacement of an accusatory finger, and then to vanish the water from his person. You did yourself the same favour, then grabbed Remus' hand to direct your boys to the living room and its wonderful fireplace that Sirius kept alive for you while you were gone.

"You know I will, baby!" James called after you as he grabbed some water bottles from the fridge on the way to follow you, handing one to you unprompted.

"Now? What's so funny?" Sirius asked impatiently as he perched himself on the end of the sofa, directly in front of where you and Remus stood before the fire.

James' grin came back in full force as he looked at you devilishly. "Can I be the one to tell them?" At least he had the decency to ask you.

"You're the one who thinks it's so bloody funny, so you ought to." Remus chuckled at you, pulling you closer into his side, protecting you from James for once.

"So we all know that your lovely, lovely girl here does not have the best track record when it comes to, you know, general spatial awareness?"

Sirius barked a laugh at that and Remus had to pull you back from kicking his shin, resulting in you stumbling slightly. You shot him a half-hearted glare that seemed to scream don't prove his point!

"Yeah," Remus agreed readily, shooting you a smug smile at the betrayal.

"I have yet to meet a table she can outsmart." Sirius nodded solemnly.

This all seemed to excite James even further. "Right! Or a cart she can't run over her foot, or a door handle she can't smash against her hip, or a staircase that won't make her eat-"

"Okay, okay!" You threw your hands up in defeat. "We get your point, Jamie, gods."

James' smile almost turned rueful, but your cute expression was not really helping your case here. Remus couldn't blame him as James reached out to pinch at your chin.

"And we love you all the more for it, angel, really."

"Yeah, yeah," you grumbled, waving his hand away and placing more weight against Remus. "Get to it, Potter."

"Moony, Pads," James said, looking at them with levity, as if he was about to disclose serious news. "Our beautiful little klutz is a swan animagus."

There was silence for two seconds, as Sirius' jaw fell on the floor and Remus' eyes widened. Remus regretted to disclose that he was the first to break it as he snorted a laugh, prompting Sirius to immediately match James' previous hysterics, clapping his hands together.

"No way!" he laughed as you crossed your arms in further petulance.

"A swan?" Remus questioned with mirth to no one in particular.

"A swan!" James confirmed excitedly.

"And what about it?" you grumbled, stepping back so you could more easily glare at all three boyfriends at once. "What's so so funny about it?"

"It's nothing, dove, it's just-" Remus' placating was undercut by him laughing through it "- swans are know to be, like, elegant."

"I can be elegant!" you retorted. Sirius just snorted at you. "I can be!" you continued, nodding your head in that endearing way you do when you try to insist.

"You certainly look elegant," James relented. "But, my absolute love, you are anything but."

"Again, stairs." Sirius said it as if the word "stairs" in and of itself was an argument. Knowing your past, it most certainly was.

"Grace and elegance are often considered opposites of clumsiness and incoordination, dovey," Remus explained.

"I know that," you seethed in response, but the fight was already running out of you.

"It's just a tad bit ironic, isn't it?" James fought to calm his laughter.

Sirius did no such thing. "Understatement of the year, Prongs."

"Maybe the grace my animagus refers to has something to do with my inner grace in handling you lot," you grumbled, to which James cooed – effectively not helping his case. "And they represent wisdom and understanding, not to mention that they bite so you watch yourselves now." Your glare was withering as you couldn't help but laugh a little at your own joke.

With another breath of laughter, Sirius rose from his seat to reach for you in a hug, but you stepped out of the way. "No hugs for rude boys," you said simply.

"Oh, come on dollface, let me appreciate our little swan." You put up little effort as Sirius tucked you under his chin, chest still rumbling with laughter. “I just cannot believe you're a swan, baby."

"I can," Remus said, letting affection take over the humour in his voice once more. "They represent love too, you know."

James' face scrunched up in laughter as he roughly pulled the wolf into his arms, squeezing him tightly. "You're killing me, Moons, you can't say stuff like that."

"Why the hell not?" Remus grumbled all the while holding James tighter, eyes trained on you and Sirius.

"Because I’ll love you too much." At that, Remus laughed, kissing James' cheek softly.

"Regardless of any humour and irony, you did something incredibly difficult, dove. We're so proud of you." This was not just placation, Remus believed it with his whole chest. You could evidently tell as you almost shied into Sirius' chest.

James walked his embrace with Remus towards you and Sirius, so you were all standing close to one another in front of the sparkling fire.

"Is it okay to say I'm really proud of myself too?" you asked then with a slight self-conscious smile.

Sirius shut down any insecurity with the searing kiss he pressed to your forehead. "Of course, baby. It would be a tragedy if you weren't."

Remus could feel James tilt his head in thought. He couldn't help but pry. "What is it, Prongs?"

"Just that," James began. "Because of our animagi, I'm Prongs and Sirius is Padfoot. But you've always called Y/N dove just because – and now she is a bird, so should we all call her that now? It's not the same bird, but close?"

"No," Remus and you said quickly and shared a small smile. "Dove is mine, you lot can find your own bird-name for her," he teased.

James just laughed. "The possessive streak runs deep in this wolf, huh?"

"What nicknames can be derived from a swan then?" Sirius wondered out loud. "White Wing sounds too much like a superhero name."

"We are not calling me White Wing." You laughed, leaning your head on Sirius' shoulder. "I quite like what you've always called me. If we need a codename later we can come up with it then."

Remus was sure his irises could melt from how soft his gaze on you felt. "Sure thing, dovey. Tonight we just do whatever you want to celebrate."

Your smile was relaxed in that domestic, beautiful way that Remus felt the urge to frame. "We're already doing it. Just being with you three."

"Sap," Sirius whispered in your ear, accidentally tickling you, causing you to giggle and twist in his arms.

As Remus' body shook with both his and James' laughter, he knew that you had once again gone and done everything he never expected. If he was lucky, you would do that for the rest of his life – and that is what would make it good."Oh, I have to go tell Regulus!" Sirius exclaimed, running off - with you hot on his heel.

[willowsnook]

Done Waiting

Lando Norris x bsf!reader

She isn’t you

Hi, could I request a salami sandwich with tomato on wheat bread, please, and thank you. Request from @itsnotsophiasworld

—-------------------------------

MF: SOS, can anyone fly to Spain to check on Lando? From what I’ve gathered, he is staying in an Airbnb by himself and very much in his head. I’m caught up in some work stuff, or else I’d make the trip myself. 

Your heart sank reading Max's text to your friend group. Lando had been having a rough season and was constantly getting ripped apart in the media, no matter what he did. All you could do was make sure that he knew you were there for him and try to be around as much as possible, which was easy as you also lived in Monaco. But after the last race before summer break, none of you had heard from him. 

Looking at flights, you quickly replied to the group saying that you could go. One of the many perks of working remotely was that you could pick up your computer and go anywhere, so leaving to help Lando was a no-brainer. There was a flight leaving tonight, so you purchased that and started to pack. 

You wished the world could see him the way that you did. He was a caring, down-to-earth friend who would do anything for the people he loved. It was hard for anyone who knew him not to like him, and it was hard for you not to be in love with him. 

It hadn’t taken you long after meeting him to fall for his charm, but he had been dating someone else then, so you settled for friendship. That was three years ago, and you’d dated guys since, but the feelings still lingered. He could make you feel like you were the only girl in the world, so it was easy to get sucked in. 

Ultimately, you valued your friendship too much to ever act on it, even when you were both single. You’d been through too much together to risk losing him. You had a hunch that he felt the same way about you because of how overly affectionate he was with you compared to everyone else and that you were usually his first call. Still, his life was busy, and you understood that a girlfriend didn’t fit in that picture right now. 

Landing in Spain around 10, you grabbed your luggage before jumping in a cab to the address Max had sent you. The Airbnb was a cute little beach cottage right on the ocean, and you inhaled a deep breath of salty air and instantly felt better. 

The door to the house swung open, and you were greeted by what seemed to be a very irritated Lando. 

“What are you doing here?” He asked, crossing his arms over his chest. 

“Making sure you don’t do something crazy,” you replied, mirroring him with his arms. 

“I want to be alone.”

“I don’t care.” 

You stared at each other for a while, neither one giving in before he finally sighed and moved past you to grab your suitcase, grumbling to himself. The cottage had windows on the backside, allowing a constant view of the ocean, which you could appreciate. Lando put my luggage in the guest room before joining me as you looked at the water. 

“You didn’t have to come; I’m fine,” he muttered. You looked over at him with a sad smile, reaching your hand down to grab his. 

“I wanted to come.” He gave you a small smile, and you took in his exhausted state, noting just how bad it really was. 

“Why don’t we get some rest? Then you’ll be ready for a full day tomorrow,” you suggested, and he looked over at you. 

“I’m here to relax, y/n,” he said, and you smiled mischievously. 

“It will be relaxing, I promise.”

It was not relaxing. 

You dragged Lando out of bed at 7 a.m. to go on a run, and he was not happy with you, but you were just happy he came along. Jogging through the little town, you could tell that his mood was improving as he kept pace with you. 

Out of breath, you were hunched over as you two had climbed to the top of a dune. 

“Are you not relaxed?” Lando teased, and you gave him the finger. “Aren’t you supposed to be working?” 

“Yeah, I need to log on when we get back to the place,” you wheezed, and he handed you his water bottle. “What are your plans for while I work?” 

“Oh, I don’t know, scroll through social media hate, maybe watch all my old races and critique everything I did; the possibilities are endless.” 

Shooting him a look, you sighed, “That would be funny if I didn’t know you’d already been doing that.” 

He looked down at his feet, and you moved over to him, wrapping your arms around his torso. His head found your shoulder, he breathed deeply, and you held on tighter. 

“You’re going to be okay Lan,” you said, looking up at him. 

“I know,” he said sadly. 

Lando spent the rest of the day in the water while you worked, slipping away to get groceries for the night. He hadn’t had time to hide all the takeout bags and boxes he had been surviving on, so you figured a homecooked meal would do him well. 

Having dealt with him being a picky eater for a while, you were finishing up your favorite spaghetti and meatballs recipe when he came back into the house. 

“Smells great,” he commented and you smiled. “Can we eat outside?”

“You read my mind,” you replied, plating the food. 

Eating on the back deck, you felt a sense of serenity as the sound of waves crashing filled your ears. 

“This place is amazing; how did you find it?” You asked, turning to Lando. 

“Honestly, I just opened the app and picked the first place I saw that looked secluded,” he admitted. “I just wanted to be away from everyone.” 

“We are here for you to lean on Lan,” you said softly. “I’m never going to leave you.” 

“I know that, but I just don’t want to disappoint you,” he confessed, and your heart sank. 

“Lando Norris,” you said, forcing him to look at you. “There is nothing you could ever do to disappoint me. I am so insanely proud of everything you’ve accomplished. Please come back to Monaco with me tomorrow.”

“What did I do to deserve you?” He whispered, holding out his arms. You climbed into his lap, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and running your fingers through his hair. 

“You buy me so much shit so I have to be nice to you,” you joked and he giggled. He pulled his head back to look at you, and your breath hitched because of the lack of distance between the two of you. Shifting, you tried to move back but his grip on you tightened so you leaned down to bring your lips to his. As you were a millimeter away his phone started to ring and you rested your head briefly against his, groaning internally. 

Sliding off of him you handed him his phone as it was Max calling. Hearing him tell Max he was coming home the next day made you smile, and you gathered all the dishes to clean up. He joined you a little later, and neither of you brought up the almost kiss; you wrote it off as something that happened in the heat of the moment. 

—------------------------------

Zandvoort was a dream, and you were so glad you made the trip with your friends. The next race you were going to was Singapore and Lando had invited you, Max, and some others to hang out the week before in Portugal. 

Your friend group had rented a big house, and you were ready to soak in the sun and relax after taking the week off work. Pietra and you had flown in together and met up with everyone that night at dinner. 

“Hi, I’m Mary,” a girl you didn’t recognize said to you, holding out her hand. You smiled back warmly, introducing yourself. 

“Mary and I met at a shoot early this year,” Pietra explained, and you nodded. You chatted with her for a while over dinner, glad to have another girl on the trip. 

You were less happy the next day when you watched this girl throw herself at Lando every chance she got. Right now, you were watching as she asked Lando how to show her how to hit the ball off the tee at the golf course where you guys were. 

“Ya know I went golfing with her two weeks ago, and she had a perfect swing,” Pietra muttered and you grimaced, watching Lando wrap his arms around the girl to guide her swing. It seemed like she would find a way to touch him no matter where you went. Up against him at dinner, clinging to him in the pool, leaning on him while you were watching a movie. 

At this point your jealousy was flaring up and you were trying to keep your composure, especially because this girl had been nothing but nice to you. What made it worse was that Lando entertained it, accepting her advances right in front of you. Your mind replayed that almost kiss back in Spain and the way the two of you had gotten closer since that trip. It had seemed to you that something was changing in your relationship, but clearly not. The whole trip you felt like your heart was being ripped apart and you were starting to wonder if you needed to take a break from being around him until you could get over your crush. 

Two nights before you were supposed to leave the group ended up at a club downtown as a pre-celebration for what you predicted would be a Lando win in Singapore. Rounds and rounds of shots were taken and you were dancing with Pietra on the dance floor trying to have a good time. 

You briefly glanced back at the VIP section, and your stomach dropped. Mary was sitting on Lando’s lap, and you watched as she wrapped her arms around his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. Water instantly filled your eyes, and Pietra looked concerned before following your gaze. She looked at you with such sadness that you decided then and there that you were done. 

Leaving the club you walked back to the Airbnb alone. You weren’t sure if it was your drunkenness or just the emotional exhaustion of the situation but you started to get angry. Time after time, you were there for him and this is what you got back. It would be different if he had made it clear from the start that he wasn’t interested but he didn’t do that. He slept in your bed back in Monaco on nights like these, he spoiled you constantly with gifts, and you knew that he had told other drivers on the grid to back off from you, laying a claim. 

God, you were so fucking over it. 

You gathered all your stuff and threw it in your suitcase, calling for a cab to take you to the airport. You made it down the stairs just as Max was coming in. His face fell as he saw your bag. 

"No y/n don’t go,” he pleaded, and you shook your head, already feeling tears start to fill your eyes. 

“I can’t fucking do this anymore Max,” you said, voice cracking. “I have to protect my heart.” 

“You know he loves you,” he said moving towards you to hold you. “Everyone knows that.” 

“If that’s true, why have I watched him with her this whole weekend? Why did I just watch him sit there when she stuck her tongue down his throat right in front of me,” you yelled and Max stayed silent. “Exactly. I need some space to figure out how things can move forward between us.” 

Max helped you carry your bag outside and the two of you stood silently waiting for the car. Just as it pulled up, Lando walked up to the house, alone. 

“Y/N!” He called out, not seeing your suitcase yet. “Where’d you run off too? I was looking for you.” 

You turned around and his eyes widened seeing your tear stained face, his gaze flickering down to your bag. 

“What’s going on?” He asked hoarsely and you just shook your head turning back to get into the car before you started to sob. 

“Let her go mate,” you heard Max tell him and you looked out the window to see him holding Lando back. The sight made you cry harder as the car finally drove off. 

Lando’s POV

Watching the car disappear down the street, Lando turned to Max, panic and confusion colliding in his mind.

“Why is she leaving, Max? What the hell happened?”

Max let out a sigh, his eyes searching Lando’s face with a mix of frustration and pity. “Mate, she’s in love with you. And honestly, you’re in love with her too, even if you haven’t figured it out yet.”

Lando froze, the weight of Max’s words hitting him harder than he expected. He thought of all the moments he spent with you—the late-night talks, the shared laughter, the comforting silence. He thought about how he’d let Mary get close, but each time she reached for him, a nagging feeling crept up inside him.

She isn’t you.

The thought was so painfully clear now. It didn’t matter how kind or fun Mary was—she wasn’t you. And suddenly, he realized why none of it felt right.

“I need to go,” Lando said suddenly. “I need to go to the airport.” 

He took off down to the main street hailing a cab but when he finally got there, you were gone. 

—--------------------------------------------

You skipped the Singapore GP. You didn’t even watch it on tv so you didn’t know why everyone was wondering why despite winning, Lando looked miserable standing on the podium. 

He had texted you a million times begging you to call him but you declined the call everytime. You were trying to move on. You’d started running again in the mornings, working out of coffee shops,  and hanging out with your girlfriends. Basically you were doing everything in your power to not think of him; and it worked until 10pm each night. Then you were miserable. 

It was two weeks after Singapore when you heard knocking at your door one evening. You weren’t expecting anyone so you were especially surprised to see Oscar standing on the other side of your door. Considering he didn’t live in Monaco, you didn’t really know what to say, just stared at him silently. 

“May I come in?” He asked politely and you nodded, stepping aside to let him through. “Nice apartment.”

“Thanks,” you replied following him into the living room. “What are you doing here?”

He settled down on your couch, motioning for you to join him and you sunk down on the other side. 

“I need you to tell me what happened when you and Lando were in Portugal,” he said slowly and you immediately looked away. 

“It doesn’t matter,” you mumbled, playing with your hands. 

“It does matter,” Oscar insisted. “It’s okay if you finally rejected him but I need to know how to fix him.”

Your head snapped up, “I didn’t reject him Oscar. He basically rejected me.” 

“There’s no way,” Oscar said, shocked and you told him everything that had happened from you flying to Spain for him to him making out with that girl at the club. 

“Trust me when I say that I’m not trying to invalidate your feelings, but I feel like this is a big misunderstanding,” Oscar said and you rolled your eyes. “He is so in love with you y/n. All he does is talk about you.”

“Then why did he never tell me!” You said, voice rising. “I’ve been there the whole time Oscar, and he has never said anything. I want to be with someone who isn’t afraid to love me.” 

Oscar’s heart broke at your words, knowing you were feeling this way. 

“I came here y/n, because he is a mess without you,” he said. “I’ve never seen him like this and it’s starting to affect his racing so I’m begging you to at least think about talking to him.” 

—-------------------------------------

You would have thought that Lando would stop texting after a while but he didn’t. Every morning he texted you “good morning” and gave you updates on his day even though you weren’t responding. His plan seemed to be to slowly chip away at you until you were ready to come back and unfortunately it was working. 

Brazil was the next race that your friend group was attending and you went back and forth on what you should do before finally deciding to book a flight. Max must have told Lando because you immediately were notified that your flight had been upgraded and your hotel had been booked. 

Because of a work event, you weren’t going to be able to get there until Saturday night and probably wouldn’t see Lando until qualifying or after the race. You joined Max and Pietra on the track, bright and early on Sunday morning and you were wondering how Lando would survive with it being this early in the morning. 

Oscar gave you a big hug when he saw you and you could tell he was incredibly relieved that you were there. Qualifying was 20 minutes away and you heading towards the Paddock club when you turned a corner and were immediately wrapped up in two arms. Inhaling his familiar scent, you relaxed into his touch. 

“I missed you so fucking much,” he said into your ear and you hummed in reply. You were still unsure about pretending like nothing ever happened. He pulled back to look at you and his excitement was contagious, pulling a small smile out of you. 

“We’ll talk later okay?” He asked and you nodded. “I have a lot of things I need to say to you.”

He kissed your forehead before running off and you tried to keep your cool. Qualifying was good for him and you were feeling good about the race but a little nervous about the weather conditions. 

Sitting with Max and Pietra in the paddock club the mood was very much anxious. Lando had been doing great until a red flag reset everything. He had fallen down because of pitting and you watched as he went off the track on that first turn, your heart sinking. The rest of the race was a blur and he finished in P6 which you knew would not go over well with him. 

After the race, you felt hesitant heading back to the McLaren hospitality area. You weren’t sure if he’d want to see you, especially in his disappointment. But as you lingered by the entrance, you caught sight of him. Lando was drenched, exhausted, and his usual radiant energy seemed dimmed. Still, he locked eyes with you, a faint smile managing to pull at the corner of his lips.

He walked over slowly, stopping right in front of you. “You waited for me?”

“Of course I did, Lando,” you replied softly, feeling the gravity of the moment settle in. “I always do.”

He nodded, then glanced around at the crowded area. “Can we go somewhere… quieter?”

You followed him through the paddock until you found yourselves outside in a secluded spot overlooking the track. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Finally, Lando took a deep breath.

“I was an idiot,” he began, voice raw with honesty. “You don’t know how many times I replayed that trip to Portugal, thinking about what I could’ve done differently. I didn’t understand how much it would hurt you… I was blind to everything but my own mess.”

You opened your mouth to respond, but he kept going, unable to hold back.

“You’ve been the best part of my life for years, and it took almost losing you to realize how much I’d taken you for granted. I’m sorry, y/n. I thought I was protecting you by not… admitting how I feel. I thought if I never said it out loud, maybe it’d hurt less. But I can’t pretend anymore. I love you.”

Hearing those words, the walls you’d built around yourself began to crack, the anger and disappointment from before softening as you looked into his eyes.

“I’ve loved you for so long,” you whispered and he gave you a soft smile. 

“I know, I’m sorry I didn’t see it before.” 

When he kissed you, it was tender and full of all the unspoken words and missed opportunities between you. As you pulled away, you both smiled, feeling the weight of the past couple of weeks finally lift.

[saintsenara]

Have you done Snape/Sirius for the ship asks yet?

thank you very much for the ask, anon!

and what better occasion than sirius' birthday to give @ashesandhackles something she's been waiting for for well over a year...

so here we are then...

the snack manifesto

besides the ship name, the reason this ship slaps is for the absolutely classic reason that it's smashing a narrative mirror pairing together.

snape and sirius are obviously incredibly similar personality wise - they're both arrogant, theatrical, incredibly clever, creative, capable of great cruelty, stubborn, loyal, possessed of dry senses of humour, from difficult family backgrounds, and so on - and their differences - such as their looks, class, or wealth - are polar rather than divergent.

but they also serve identical narrative purposes. each functions as the guide who leads harry through the character arc which begins in prisoner of azkaban and concludes in deathly hallows, in which he sheds his childish, black-and-white view of his parents and comes to regard them as real, flawed, and complex people.

sirius takes him up to the end of order of the phoenix [and is then immediately killed, his narrative role complete], when harry's realisation that james was a bully stops his earlier hero-worship of his father and allows him to approach him as a whole person.

[which is important, since we then see in half-blood prince that voldemort's inability to do this - and his inability, therefore, to cope with the disappointment of discovering the elaborate fictional version of tom riddle sr. he'd created in his head wasn't what the real one was like - is why the text understands harry as superior to him.]

snape - through the proxies of slughorn, the discipline of potions, his textbook, his patronus, and his memories - takes harry through half-blood prince and deathly hallows, as harry starts to think more deeply about lily [who spends the earlier books secondary in importance to james in his mind] and to eventually learn that she and her sacrifice are the keys to the entire mystery.

snape and sirius are the figures who assist in this arc because each of their lives are defined by their relationship with and love for one half of james and lily as a pairing. their mirrored relationships with harry are similarly driven by their mirrored relationships with his parents.

and, most importantly, so is their relationship with each other. they hate each other on sight because snape blames sirius for james noticing lily [thus drawing her attention away from him] and sirius blames snape for the same thing [thus drawing james' attention away from him] and their constant mutual antagonism is the most interesting snape-versus-one-of-the-marauders dynamic because of the equality this lends. snape likes antagonising sirius - even though he thinks sirius tried to murder him! - whereas he is straightforwardly afraid of lupin and feels inferior to and resentful of james, because he must sense - however subconsciously - that sirius is his emotional equal: someone else struggling against the fact that the person he loves doesn't love him with the same intensity.

the mutual spark this creates is hot enough for an enemies-to-lovers conflagration for the ages even while they're at school. but it gets so much better once we're in the canon timeline, since sirius and snape's adult characterisation is entirely driven by their mirrored approaches to guilt and grief.

both of them indirectly trigger the death of the person they love - snape via reporting the prophecy, sirius via insisting on the secret keeper swap - and neither accepts that his actions were, in fact, indirect.

hollowed out by this feeling, both of them decide to punish themselves in an effort - one which they both clearly consider near-futile - to atone. both of them do this by subjecting themselves to the pain and humiliation of imprisonment and being thought a criminal - sirius by refusing to profess his innocence at any point before 1993; snape by staying at hogwarts and insisting that dumbledore keeps his true motivations concealed, allowing him to be thought of as an unreformed death eater - until they have a shot at the only thing they each think will redeem them in james and lily's eyes - murdering wormtail, for sirius, and murdering voldemort, for snape.

[after all, why does dumbledore say to harry at king's cross that his aim was for snape to control the elder wand if he wasn’t hoping he'd use it to give the dark lord his death blow? it's just a shame the dream-team of draco malfoy and nagini got there first...]

and this mirrored grief provides such a good point of narrative tension between them, which can so easily grow into something romantic.

because you have, at first, the fact that each can use the other's grief to wound - snape can scream at sirius about how stupid the secret keeper plan was; sirius can scream at snape about what a cunt he was to report the prophecy to voldemort - and to soothe - if snape blames sirius for lily's death, he can pretend that reporting the prophecy was less integral to it than it was; if sirius blames snape for james', he can pretend that insisting wormtail was the secret keeper was less integral to it than it was.

but this can then grow into a recognition of both their mutual culpability - the secret keeper swap only happened because of the prophecy; the prophecy could only be acted upon because of the secret keeper swap - and their mutual lack of it - neither actually knew that what they were doing would doom james and lily, and voldemort is the person who is actually to blame for their deaths.

and this can grow into each of them offering the other the forgiveness he craves, but can't give to himself.

and so, they're the best of the series' mirror pairings for writing love which is totally, utterly equal.

for example, harry and voldemort - who are the series' main narrative mirrors - don't have the mutual weight of guilt driving their relationship. writing them as a consensual romantic pairing requires dealing with the concept of forgiveness, absolutely - but harry is the only person who actually needs to do the forgiving; he hasn't done anything to voldemort which is an equivalent to voldemort killing his parents. similarly, while the grief of their orphanhood and the way it shapes them is one of their main mirror traits, this grief doesn't have equal causes - voldemort's mother died in childbirth; his father, and both of harry's parents, died because voldemort murdered them.

with snape and sirius - in contrast - there is none of this imbalance. they interact with each other - whether they're holding their wands to each other's throats or cuddling on the sofa [or, let's be real, both] - as equals [even though sirius attempts to introduce an element of inequality into many of their canon interactions by alluding to their divergent social classes].

which is to say, there's a respect behind the loathing which allows the loathing to be transformed with very little work into love.

[readychilledwine]

Champagne Papí

Summary - Rhys just can't help but celebrate your recent accomplishments in the most extreme ways

Warnings - Alcohol, Mentions of wing clipping, Feyssian, drunk shenanigans, and sexual references/jokes

🎂Birthday Masterlist🎂

✨️Rhysand Masterlist✨️Master Masterlist✨️

All you had wanted to celebrate your new research publication was a quiet night with your mate and the Inner Circle circle, and Heavens knew you deserved it.

Years spent researching from dusk to dawn, countless hours with papers surrounding you with notes crossed out, rewritten, x'd out again, and then circled aggressively. Being a daughter of Day made you meticulous, a perfectionist, and frankly, too smart for anyone else's good. Helion being your uncle only made that worse.

You were practically raised in his lap, reading from a young age, asking him big questions, and only taking a nap once your curiosity had been sated. It had turned you into a scholar, and one the Night Court was desperate for once Helion shared you were near a breakthrough regarding the repair of clipped wings, but you just needed someone with wings to try it on.

Emerie was a shining example of your hard work. She was glowing next to Mor, repaired wings fluttering in delight as they were examined. You had found a surgical procedure that, in combination with healing magic, allowed you to reconnect the tissue and for everything to regrow. You had a small group of females you started with and all of them healed beautifully. Then from there, it was a camp of females, all housed away from their homes for a month while you and your team worked what they all thought was a miracle.

A hand brushed your waist, pulling you close and out of your thoughts. “You deserve all of this,” the soft purr of Rhysand's voice grounded your nerves. “My intelligent, beautiful, selfless mate.”

“The party is a little much.”

He scoffed, drinking his champagne before looking at you. “It isn't enough. What did you expect? A quiet gathering?”

Males and females were dressed to the nines in their finest threads, a lavish dinner was served, you had been forced to give a speech, and now drinks were flowing freely as other scholars and healers looked over the display of your notes and research, as well as looking at the physical evidence of repaired wings in graceful coordinated gowns paid for by the High Lord.

“Do you think they're happy?”A brow raised at you in a silent question. “The females, I mean. Do you think they're happy?”

“I think you've given them something back they thought they would have lost forever.” Rhys grabbed two more glasses of champagne, handing one to you. “The trauma is still there, but you will be able to single handedly create a new legion of warriors, heal little ones who had their birthright stripped from them, and now anti-clipping laws can be pushed harder. You've made it so there is a damage measurement, and therefore consequences other than imprisonment.” You took a sip of the beverage, savoring the flavor and soft bubbles. “I spared no expense. Only your favorites for a night meant to honor you, darling.”

You leaned up, kissing his cheek. “Thank you, Rhys.”

“Yeah, thank you Rhys.” You two turned to see Cassian with long legs thrown over his shoulder, high heels held in his hand as bare feet danced. “Feyre here decided that she needed, how many glasses, baby?”

He turned so you two could see his very flushed mate, her smile huge and eyes glassy. “Only 8.”

Cassian turned again only to glare at Rhys, “She called you her sugar male”

Rhys snorted, all signs of the High Lord gone as his shoulders relaxed and his smile grew. “What does that even mean?”

“You give her all the nice things,” another annoyed voice approached. Azriel was also glaring, Nesta on his back giggling as well. “Ness agreed.”

Rhysand felt his jaw drop, making you laugh, “This was for my mate!”

“Yes, well, Feyre and Ness decided tonight they are also your mates,” Azriel smirked as Nesta bit his ear before moving to kiss his neck. “What is it y/n calls you? Ness couldn't remember.”

“Champagne papí,” you answered while laughing. The nickname was an old joke. One passed along to all the new members of the Inner Circle.

Before Rhysand and you felt that bond snap when he returned home, he had courted you. Rhysand gave you expensive shoes, jewelry, books worth a pretty penny.

All because he wanted you to have the very best. And when he discovered you hated wine, but loved the bubbly, he started buying the most expensive bottles he could find.

Rhysand hated being called daddy, hated when he heard that name used between grown males and their partners.

But papí? Papí you could call him all day long. The way the native language of Day rolled off your tongue made him shiver and it stuck.

Rhysand rolled his eyes, “Papí is reserved for my delightful darling.”

Feyre's feet were still dancing to the music, her hair swaying behind Cassian, “And me!”

You couldn't help but let out a soft laugh as your mate sighed. His brothers both wished you a goodnight, leaving with their intoxicated mates. Rhysand was back to leading you through the party, letting other scholars stop you and ask their questions.

You were exhausted by the time you two collapsed in your shared bed, the soft silks welcoming you like gentle caress. But your mate clearly wasn't.

Rhysand's hands found their way into your hair, fingers digging at your scalp and sending a wave of chills down your spine. “You are the most amazing female I have ever met,” he whispered into your ear. “You so selflessly spent decades solving an issue your court wasn't even involved in. You've given so many females their freedom back. I can never repay you for this.”

“Rhys, it wasn't about repayment-”

“I know, darling. I know,” he continued massaging your scalp, fingers twisting your hair in the natural curl pattern. “Let me at least say that I love you then. That I am beyond proud that I have the honor of being your husband, mate, and High Lord.”

He watched your lips twitched up, “I got you a present. I wanted to wait until we were alone,” his hands left your head, making you whine as he stood and went to the closet you two shared.

Rhysand returned with a small black box, sitting next to you, “Neve out did herself with this, my darling.”

You sat up and took the box from him. The velvet was her signature black importanted from a fabric maker over in Scythia. You opened it slowly, laughing as you saw the stardust cut single champagne diamond centered on a delicate platinum chain. It was exquisite. Possibly one of the clearest diamonds with the clearest cuts you had ever seen.

“A champagne diamond from your champagne papí,” he purred in your ear as he put it around your neck. “And right now, I want to see you in nothing but this.”

He laid you back down, kissing you softly, and the true celebration party began.

General Taglist:

@hnyclover @glitterypirateduck @slytherinindisguise @mischiefmanagers @bloodicka @starsinyourseyes @the-sweet-psycho @mariahoedt @rinalouu @sarawritestories @starryhiraeth @starswholistenanddreamsanswered @cumuluscranium @loneliestluvr @eternallyelvish @azrielsmate3 @daughterofthemoons-stuff @meritxellao @aria-chikage @hungryforbatboys @lilah-asteria @fandomrejects @sleepybesson @tayswhp @itsswritten @milswrites

[mellowwillowy]

Happiest Night for you

You could never beat Jade and Floyd's speed in congratulating each other mainly because they were always together a second before the clock struck twelve. On their 18th birthday, you decided to give them a surprise so that you could congratulate them faster before they could.

Hiding inside Floyd's closet mainly because all his shirts had been thrown onto the bed thus reducing the chance he would open it, you peeked at the clock on your phone and it showed 23:48.

Their bedroom door opened and you couldn't hear Floyd's noisy footsteps at all.

23:49. Azul opened Floyd's closet and you almost shot the confetti popper on his face.

"Azul--?!"

"Woah, what are you doing here?"

23:50. The two of you heard Floyd's noisy footsteps and assumed the two of them came back from the kitchen. You pulled Azul into the closet and closed it.

You could smell Azul's fragrance, it smelled awfully sweet tonight unlike the usual perfume he doused or the bath care he had. The brothers entered their bedroom and Floyd immediately leaped into his bed.

23:51. You and Azul looked at each other while he tried to cast a spell to hide your presence and his. You saw his pen lit up and he gestured to you that it was all okay already.

"I have cast a spell to ensure no one else could hear us."

"What are you doing here, Zuzu?"

Azul took out what seemed to be a confetti popper.

"To give them a heart attack."

23:52. Jade walked toward Floyd's side and you thought your heart was about to fall out when Jade stood near his closet. The two of them chatted about simple things like what they'd like to have for lunch tomorrow.

"Will you feed them yourself, Zuzu?"

"Not a chance, I'm not giving them my arms."

23:54. Jade sat on Floyd's bed and talked about his fascination with mushrooms again. Floyd seemed to be so over it already. Jade changed the topic to his terrarium.

"Aren't you fascinated by how beautiful a maintained terrarium is, Floyd?"

You checked your phone for the time again. 23:55. Azul looked at it and sighed, patiently waiting for another five minutes while the two of you listened to their mindless chattering.

"I would if the thing living inside the terrarium is sis~"

23:56. You giggled at what seemed to be Floyd's innocent remark yet Azul's eyebrows seemed to have twitched unpleasantly.

"Well, maybe we could do it though it wouldn't really be a terrarium anymore since the size had been scaled upward."

"So like a cage now?" You asked Azul. Azul only shrugged.

"Yeah, like a cage!"

23:57. You cocked your head to the side questioningly. Azul sighed and nodded, "Yes, a cage."

"But we have to make sure Sister lives comfortably regarding the limited space we only allow her to live in," Jade answered Floyd's innocent question yet his voice sounded so serious in your ears. It's hard to differentiate people's intentions in their voice but you grew used to it and could learn the difference.

23:58. Jade didn't seem to be joking around and you realized that Floyd might not be as well. You looked up toward Azul with a confused groggy face.

"A bit embarrassed to eavesdrop on their conversation now, Sister?"

"The boys never change huh? They love to treat others as their plaything..."

Suddenly Floyd's voice cut the impending silence and your drumming heartbeat,

"But Sis is not my toy, she's my number one love~"

You didn't even bother to check your phone anymore. Azul's eyes remained glued to your unreadable face. You stayed still for a moment before you decided to open the closet.

23:59.

Jade and Floyd were standing right in front of the closet, towering your bending figure. There were festivities in their face but it wasn't their excitement regarding their birthday party Mostro Lounge would be throwing that evening.

It was still too soon to congratulate them so you didn't pop the confetti popper. Azul remained in the closet and watched from behind.

"Siiis~, why were you hiding in my closet?"

Floyd wanted to hug you but your flinching caused him to stop abruptly. Jade's smile did not reach his eyes but it soon would when the clock struck 00:00.

From the corner of your eyes, you looked at Azul. Azul didn't show any concern despite having the plan soiled already. What plan was he even in? Surprising you or surprising the Leech brothers?

"Were you perhaps trying to surprise us when the clock strikes-"

00:00.

You popped the confetti popper right in their face and dashed toward the door. Unfortunately, the door had been locked and you could only try to catch others' attention. You slammed your fists on the door and yelled atop your lungs in the hope that someone else could hear you.

Jade's hand slowly retracted yours from hurting it any further, "You missed the chance to beat us again this year, Sister."

You couldn't hear anyone approaching their room, was it because they were being ignorant or was there a barrier that separated you from the others?

00:01.

Floyd muffled your choked sobs and pleas with his hand. You heard Azul muttered an apology. You saw Jade's smile finally reach his eyes.

[mrs-pianofandom-98]

Poly coven head-cannons

Agatha:

Would Be in around her mid-thirtys,(35)

she would be a history professor

Was the one to joke about a polycule at frist

She had a one night stand with Jen in her twenties,her and Rio have been on and off for years. She met Lilia at the college she teaches at as Lilia was another professor. She met Alice when Jennifeir brought her over to their apartment.

Made sure their house had enough room for her personal study, Very selfish with her personal items mostly her text.

Is the only one in the relationship to drink black coffee

She can bake..but not cook.(Jen always teases her about it)

Listens to Lilias records as she doesnt like most music Jennifer and Alice listen to. Rios music taste she doesnt like at all.

Will cuddle Senor Scratchy if she is mad at any of the girls and sleep with him in her bed instead of them

Will not get out of bed no earlier then eight o’cloclk.

Rio

A year or so older then agatha (36)

A forensic scientist

Gardening with Jennifer is a hobby they bonded over before the relationship.

Is easily the most energetic in the relationship in a unhinged way.

Leaves all of the girls' favorite flowers randomly around the house.

Is not allowed in the kitchen at all unsupervised

Her music taste is the most similar to Alice’s but with more screamo.

Plays inny minny mo on whos shes going to sleep with in their room that night rarlet sleeps by herself.

Probably the most possessive of the girls as well but Agatha and jennifer are close.

Jennifer

Still an influencer but a degree in business.

Her and Agatha had a situationship in their college years.

Two years younger the Agatha (33)

Is the one who introduced skin care routines to all the girls and made sure they all had at least five steps into theirs.

Rio and Her have a mini garden where she grows most of the stuff for her products.

She's the early riser out of them all starts here day at 6;30 everyday

Plans most of their dates and outings.

Was the first person to Date Alice and introduce her to the others as they met at the mall.

Has a pet cat Alice got her for their first Christmas together it's a fluffy calico named precious she does not get along with Senor Scratchy.

Has a plan and scheduled for every single holiday or vacation trip they plan.

Lilia

The oldest (40)

Her and Agatha became friends with benefits during Agatha's first few years of being a professor.

Was a professor for Occult studies before her Syncope got to bad in which she retired and opened a book shop.

The one to keep track of all the bills and necessities list.

Usually only cooks breakfast and everyone else swaps out for dinner as most of them aren't there for lunch.

Picks some kind of soap opera or musical every time it's her turn to pick for movie night.

Her name is on the house leas as she had the best credit score out of them which she brings up just to tease.

Was the one to Reach out to Rio and get agatha and her to rekindle.(She had them both before any of the others came in)

Made the chore chart (Which Agatha usually somehow manages to “lose” when its her turn to look at it)

The only one whos allowed to keep books in Agatha's study.

Alice

The youngest (29)

She’s a private investigator actually knew Rio only as co-workers before she joined the relationship

Has two pet birds Lilia allows her to keep at her shop only five minutes away from their house named Xeno and Hades.

Is usually the mediator when any of them argue.

Is the best cook in the house apart from lilia.

She rides a motorcycle which usually Rio is the only one who willingly rides it with her.

Is the only one Jen allows to mess with her skin products if Jen isn't there herself.

As made a personal playlist for each of her girlfriends

Has taught both lilia and Agatha how to play games on her console (Agatha loves to play any game escapilly on headset…lilia preferes stuff like stardew valley. )

Knows all of her girlfriends have a sodt spot for her being the youngest..may or may not use it to her advantage during movie nights or cuddle piles.

[sufferu]

Okay, so. This is actually a rather big spoiler for No Refunds, so imma need all of you to hush up about this one when it comes to the current main fic ;)

Anyway — here’s the first draft of a very essential upcoming scene, for all those who wish to see it.

No Refunds Ficlet: March Away From Omelas

____

The five Royal Selection Camps met inside City Hall. Crusch Karsten, flanked by Ferris Argyle and Wilhelm van Astrea. Felt, attended by Rachins, Gaston, Camberley, and the Sword Saint himself. Anastasia Hoshin, with her personal knight and the Captain and Vice Captains of the Iron Fang. Priscilla Barielle, who had elected to witness the ensuing spectacle alone. And of course — Lady Emilia herself, with Beatrice, Otto, Garfiel, and the Oni twins all standing by her side. With a singular exception, nobody else was allowed within the building: they were alone.

That singular exception stood in the middle of the room, of whom a decision now had to be made.

“…I didn’t do anything wrong,” Natsuki Subaru said uncertainly. Why were they all looking at him like that? He wanted to take a step back, but managed to resist the urge just barely. “Priestella is saved now, isn’t it? And— we’ve taken care of five Archbishops of Sin.”

He was objectively correct, about both of those things. As far as the rest of the world was concerned, the Battle of Priestella had ended with zero casualties thanks to his contributions. There had been structural damage to the buildings of the city, sure, and there had been injuries here and there — bruises, gashes, broken bones — but nothing that had been lethal, and likely nothing that was going to be permanent. And of the five Sin Archbishops that had attempted to siege the city — one was dead, and the other four had been successfully captured, awaiting transport to the capital of Lugunica. Nothing like this had ever been accomplished in recorded history. In every sense of the word, Subaru had pulled off a miracle.

But in order to do it, he had—

“How many times?” Julius croaked. Subaru glanced his way, and froze at the look of devastation on his face. “Subaru — how many times was it?”

“I—” Subaru broke off. There was a long, long silence as everyone waited for him to answer. “…Does it matter?” he finally retorted. “I think the results speak for themselves, don’t they? Everyone’s safe, and everyone’s happy! Isn’t that the only thing that really matters, in the end?”

Otto made an indecipherable noise. Nobody looked at him.

“You didn’t answer us,” Wilhelm growled. The raw anger in his voice made Subaru stiffen. “How many times was it?”

When Subaru didn’t answer, everyone knew it was because he didn’t know.

“What a boorish question,” Priscilla scoffed. She was the only one there who looked relaxed, fanning her face gently as she peered at the lot of them from the side of the room. “Subaru saw that there was danger and rose to the challenge. If he bled for it in the meanwhile, what does it matter?”

“‘What does it matter?’��� Felt repeated, her quiet voice already glittering with the warning sparks of her growing rage. “Big Bro just — killed himself, again and again, for OUR sakes, and — and ‘What does it matter?’”

“For Subaru, the ultimate sacrifice is a thing that he can make as many times as he wishes, as a means to an end,” Priscilla answered. “He can accomplish great things with his ability. He HAS accomplished great things, even. If I were his liege, I would be rewarding him for his accomplishments, not stifling his potential.”

“‘Stifling his potential’?” Felt repeated, disbelief coloring her voice red. “You’d call him — him DYING, again and again — you’d call it POTENTIAL?”

“Has he not allowed you to witness a miracle, peasant?” Priscilla returned. “Through his efforts, he has brought about a solution that would otherwise never have come to fruition. This is a thing to celebrate, is it not?”

“It is absolutely not!” Mimi cried out. “Mimi didn’t want this! Mimi didn’t want to survive because — because someone did THIS for her sake!”

Felt took a deep breath, clearly trying to maintain her composure. “…Subaru,” she said, directing her words towards the focus of the conversation. “Do you really think that winning the fight today was worth — this?”

Subaru stared back at her like she had grown a second head. “Of COURSE it was,” he scoffed, as if it were the obvious answer. “I’m just one person, and — not even a particularly valuable one at that.” From the corner of the room, Otto stared at him with growing despair. He didn’t even notice. “Sure, it — it sucked a lot, but I did it, and now everyone’s fine! So of course it was worth it.”

Felt swallowed, trying her hardest not to scream. She folded her hands in front of her — a practiced motion, one Reinhard had instilled into her through hours and hours of those stupid etiquette lessons. “And…” she faltered. “And you would do it again, if you felt that it was necessary.”

Subaru visibly flinched at the suggestion, but quickly moved to answer her. “O-Of course I would!” he insisted, his eyes darting around. Nearby, Crusch and Reinhard both stared at something that nobody else could see. “I—I AM still a knight, you know. It’s a knight’s JOB to put others before themselves. And…” He swallowed. “I know I’m not good at it, but if I try hard enough — well. My…circumstances…I mean — I’m in the perfect position to put others before me, right?”

“Because you never have to stop doing it,” Julius realized. “Because even if you die — you don’t have to stop.”

Subaru didn’t realize the surge of devastated nausea that such a realization had inspired in the gut of the Finest of Knights. “Exactly!” he crowed. “That’s exactly right! You see?”

Someone made a horrible strangled sound. Nobody knew who it was, and everyone was too focused on the matter at hand to find out, anyway.

“And if we’re not okay with it?” Felt pressed, trying to ignore the hole that was widening in her gut. “If we don’t want any part of — of an exchange like that?”

“…That’s ridiculous,” Subaru scoffed. “Why would anyone not — want to live? That’s stupid.”

“Why indeed,” Ricardo muttered.

“Maybe it’s not that — that someone doesn’t want to live,” Crusch said, her voice tense. “Maybe it’s that someone doesn’t want their life to be saved through…” She shook her head. “Maybe they consider — other things, to be more important.”

“Like what?” Subaru retorted.

“Honor, maybe,” Crusch said. “Ethics. Dignity. Integrity. Any of the things of which a loss would turn a person into a dog. …You really don’t get it, do you?”

“Valuing the alleviation of momentary suffering over a perfect ending is the way of dogs,” Priscilla replied, her eyes glinting. “If momentary suffering is necessary for a perfect ending, then to undergo it for the sake of fulfilling his duty — that is the sign of a wonderful knight.”

“There are limits,” Felt forced out through gritted teeth. “To what level of ‘momentary suffering’ is acceptable. Not that I’d expect YOU to understand that.”

“Lady Felt—”

“Don’t!” Felt snapped. Reinhard stopped. “Just— don’t. Not now.”

“I’d say it’s a perfectly acceptable level of suffering!” Subaru retorted, raising his voice. “I’m the only one who has to go through it, so I’m the one who gets to decide what’s acceptable, right? That’s how it works!”

“No the FUCK it’s not!” Rachins bellowed, taking a step forward. Reinhard quickly grabbed his wrist, preventing him from marching over to punch Subaru in the face. Rachins didn’t even glance back at him, fixated solely on the object of his rage. “You don’t get it make a choice like THAT when you— when you’re planning something THAT HORRIBLE!” he spat. “Who the fuck would be alright with this?! Just one ultimate sacrifice is hard enough to stomach, but — you can’t even tell us how many times it was! How am I supposed to go forward when I know you— YOU—”

“You might have DIED if I didn’t do anything!” Subaru protested. “If it was you or me— even if I had to choose all of you hundreds of times over, then—”

“How was it your place to make that decision for us?!” Anastasia burst out, uncharacteristically emotional. She hadn’t looked this way even back at the inn. “I didn’t want this!” she cried. “I didn’t consent to this! I never wanted to be complicit in something this awful, and here YOU went and made the choice to — to repeatedly sacrifice yourself for all of us regardless! I didn’t WANT you to do this for me!”

“We weren’t able to do anything,” Ferris managed, white as a sheet. He was gripping his head. “We weren’t able to stop nyew at all. And nyew didn’t stop nyerself, either: the first thing nyew decided to do when the Witch Cult attacked was…” Ferris fixed his gaze on Subaru, glassy with panic and devastation. “So long as nyer a knight, and protecting the country is nyer job— we won’t be able to stop nyew at— at all—”

“Oh like that’s any different than what Reinhard is doing,” Subaru retorted. “What, so him being unstoppable in his role as a Sword Saint is fine, but me using my own ability to act as a knight is crossing a line? How is THAT fair?”

Reinhard flinched violently, taking a step backwards.

“How DARE you make a comparison like that?!” Felt spat, finally snapping and raising her voice to a roar. “HOW DARE YOU?! You wanna know what the difference is, Subaru?! Reinhard being the Sword Saint doesn’t mean we’re all dooming him to fucking KILL HIMSELF for our sakes!”

“I can’t believe you would even SUGGEST such a thing,” Julius snarled, uncharacteristically vicious. “The role of the Sword Saint is a heavy one, yes, but it isn’t in any way the same thing as someone sentencing himself to execution after execution for the rest of —” Could Subaru die a natural death? He didn’t even want to THINK about the concept of an eternity trapped in a fate like this. “— of his natural life! You absolute— how could you even consider—?!”

Reinhard was not allowed to wish for his role as the Sword Saint to be taken away from him. Wishing for for such a thing was as good as poisoning his mind against the kingdom itself. In any case, nobody could ever strip him of his title even if they wanted to: nobody was more suited to the role of the Sword of the Kingdom than Reinhard van Astrea.

But now, he realized with a bolt of absolute clarity— now he was on the outside, looking in. Subaru wasn’t wrong about his curse positioning him in a manner that made him uniquely suited for the role of a knight. But if they allowed him to take that position up once again—

Reinhard thought of himself, and how he was never going to escape his title. He thought of Subaru, who was inches away from thrusting himself into the same position. He thought of an old story about his grandmother and grandfather, and how — just once — a Sword Saint had been set free.

“Subaru—” He tried to say, stepping forward, but Wilhelm held out his arm before anyone else could see what he was doing. Reinhard glanced his way, and saw ice blue eyes glimmering with the conviction of tempered steel.

—Reinhard understood. He stepped back to where he had been a second before.

…He likely wouldn’t have been allowed to be the one to do so anyway. Reinhard van Astrea could not act against the good of the kingdom, no matter who got hurt in the process.

Julius was still speaking. “How do you not understand?!” he shouted, his eyes blazing. “You seem to be thinking of this as— as some sort of— you just don’t get it, do you?! Do you have any idea how—” Horrified. Disgusted. Devastated. Mortified. “—how ANGRY we are with you right now?”

“I mean, I’d probably do it anyway!” Subaru pointed out, folding his arms stubbornly. “Whether I have the title or not, I’m always gonna want to help the people around me, right? You can’t stop me from doing THAT.”

The temperature of the room dropped significantly. Subaru’s eyes widened, his arms springing up to wrap around his chest at the sudden chill. A couple of pairs of eyes flickered to Emilia, who sat motionless in her seat.

“…For nyer own sake,” Ferris hissed, one of those in the room that was utterly unaffected by this cold air. He looked very much like he wanted to murder Subaru on the spot. “I am going to assume that was nyer misguided attempt at cracking a JOKE. But on the off-chance that nyew were being serious, I can assure nyew: we have ways of keeping people alive against their will if nyeed be.” He grinned, his face so sour it looked like it might curdle milk. “Nyew’ve seen me deal with suicidal Witch Cult prisonyers, Subaru-kyun. Do nyew think I’m above treating nyew the way I treated them?”

Subaru took a step back.

“Ignoring the absolutely disgusting moral implications of what you just suggested you planned on doing to yourself for the rest of your life,” Julius said coldly, eyes fixed on Subaru’s face. “You do realize that you just threatened ALL OF US, by saying that you would use time travel to bend reality to your heart’s content regardless of how we feel about it — do you not?” Subaru flinched. “I assumed you were better than that.” Julius rolled his shoulder. “But Ferris is right: if you are NOT better than that, then we can find a way to make sure we don’t have to worry about you deciding to reverse time behind everyone’s backs.”

“The lot of you are being ridiculous,” Priscilla scoffed. “Your wonderful knight saved an entire city almost single-handedly, and you wish to remove him from his post? Sacrifice is a part of life. If you can’t stomach the sacrifice necessary to feed the fire of life, then you are unfit to stand in the light of mine gaze.”

“There’s a fucking limit to the kind of sacrifices a reasonable person should accept!” Felt shot back. “Not like you’d understand a thing about being reasonable, you— you MONSTER. How can you talk about someone ripping himself apart so flippantly?!”

“If ripping oneself apart is what a person wishes to do, then I shall not stand in their way.” She smiled. “Just as there is beauty in war, there is beauty in sacrifice — or in this case, the dance of eternal sacrifice, in service of the greater good.” The Sun Princess frowned down at Felt, who was staring at her with a look of horrified disbelief. “It is not Subaru’s fault if a peasant like you cannot handle how he chooses to live and die,” she said coldly. “If he has made his choice, then he has made it so.”

“That’s vile…” Felt choked out. “Even for you, that is VILE.”

“Personal autonomy has limits,” Crusch said coldly. “If a man’s personal autonomy involves harming others, then he must be stopped. Likewise, if it involves him ripping himself apart, then we have a moral duty to stand in his way. — Especially if he has the gall to declare that it is for OUR sakes.”

“As a knight of Lugunica, I understand the nobility of sacrifice,” Julius said. He did not flinch as Priscilla turned to watch him, nor did he look her in the eye. “But as a knight, I understand the weight of it, as well. Giving up one’s life for a cause is one of the heaviest sacrifices one can make — and it is exactly because of that, that I cannot stand for someone who plans to make that sacrifice so many times in repetition.” He turned to face Subaru, alone in the center of the room, and took a deep breath. “In saving Priestella from the Witch Cult, Natsuki Subaru has fulfilled his duty as a knight once and for all,” Julius declared. “He has made the ultimate sacrifice, and he has done so — many, many times over. Allowing him to continue to do so for the sake of this country would damage the worth of the entire nation, and I refuse to stand for it. That’s all I have to say.”

“I stand by my knight,” Anastasia announced, stepping forward. “We are not animals, and I refuse to live as an animal by depending on someone to harm themselves for me in perpetuity — and I refuse to allow my country to do such a thing, either. And I am no longer willing to wait two years for a decision to be made: Natsuki Subaru will be removed from his role today, or the Anastasia Camp will consider him and all of his allies its enemy.”

“The Iron Fang stands with its employer,” Ricardo added, his voice like steel. “But even without its relationship with the Anastasia Camp, I would never stand for something this disgusting, nor would any organization that I lead. And—” He shook his head, looking very much like he wanted to strangle someone. “And I’d HOPE that if — those who I care about — were thrown into a situation — like THIS — that the people they meet would have the basic decency to refuse the same.”

“Mimi hates this,” the eldest of the Pearlbaton triplets forced out, uncharacteristically enraged. She was scratching at the top of her head, yanking at her orange hair. “Mimi hates everything about this. How dare— how DARE you—”

“We want nothing to do with an arrangement like this,” Hetaro confirmed. “I don’t want to be saved by someone doing — this. It’s sick. I’d rather just die.”

“I don’t want to die,” Tivey muttered. “But if I were to live a life dependent on something like — THIS, I’d be no better than vermin. And I don’t want anyone forcing me into that role, either. We stand with our Lady.”

“The three of us might be vermin,” Rachins growled. “But even WE are above depending on an eternal living corpse for our lives and livelihoods. You can fuck right off with that, Subaru.”

“I wouldn’t call us vermin—” Camberley objected.

“All the more reason, then,” Gaston said firmly. “None of us are gonna accept something this — gross. Ever.”

“I agree with those idiots,” Felt snarled, stepping forward defiantly. “I don’t give a rat’s ass about ‘the greater good’: this is vile, and I would be utter scum if I rolled over and let things continue like this. Thank you for your service, Big Bro: now fuck ALL THE WAY off with this Unsung Hero bullshit.”

“My role as the Sword Saint is a duty granted to me by Od Laguna,” Reinhard managed, both outraged and devastated beyond words by the comparison. “It is a burden that I would not wish upon anyone, but the sole grace of my role is that I have been granted it specifically because my capabilities allow me to fulfill it without — undue sacrifice. For you to try and take something like it upon yourself through the use of a curse this vile…” He shook his head. “I will stand with whatever Lady Felt decides,” the Sword Saint said. “As she is against — everything about this — so am I.”

“Disgusting,” Ferris hissed, bristling. There were tears in his eyes. He shook his head, muttering the same word over and over again. “Disgusting, disgusting, disgusting — Nyatsuki Subaru, I hate nyew so, so much—!”

“To keep Natsuki Subaru as a knight after this would be considered the height of indecency,” Crusch declared. “That is where I stand, as do my Camp and my Estate. Lady Emilia, I must insist that you remove him from his position NOW, or I will render our alliance null and void. That is my ultimatum.”

“This— This really feels like an overreaction!” Subaru stammered, backing away from the sea of anger and devastation. “Didn’t everything work out alright, in the end? Wasn’t it worth it? One life in exchange for all of Priestella—”

“It wasn’t just one life, Subaru,” Ricardo spat. “It was one person, over and over again, who decided all on his own that we were the kinds of ANIMALS that would be absolutely fine resting our lives on — on a fucking monstrosity like that!“

“We didn’t even get a CHOICE in the matter,” Ferris cried. “Nyone of us did. “Nyew just went ahead and decided for nyerself that we’d all prefer this — this utter BULLSHIT.“

“Do you not get what an embarrassment this is?” Julius snapped. “For someone to have stepped in and decided on their own that they’re going to take all the suffering of — of the Royal Selection Camps, of the White Scales of Priestella, of EVERYONE who might have otherwise decided to fight back on their own accord — for them to have stolen that choice away and forced everyone else to accept not just one singular sacrifice, but a string of sacrifices so long that you haven’t even been able to tell us how many deaths make it up! It’s a humiliation of the highest order, because you just forced ALL OF US to be complacent in one of the most monstrous, inhuman scenarios I can imagine.“

“Fuck nyew,” Ferris breathed, looking like he was on the verge of passing out. “Fuck nyew, Subaru. Fuck nyew, fuck nyew, fuck nyew—”

“I really don’t think—!”

“How would you have felt,” Felt interrupted. “If Big Sis had done all of this on your behalf?” Subaru froze. She grinned at him, all teeth and no joy behind her smile. “You’d fucking hate it, right?” she asked cheerfully. “You’d scream, and you’d probably cry. You might even throw up, you’d feel so awful. And if she turned to you and said ‘But I gave you a miracle, aren’t you proud of me?’ I’ll bet you’d want to scream at her for it, too.” She leaned forward. “How DARE you do that to us.” Felt hissed. “How fucking dare you.”

“And to think!” Anastasia laughed. It was a venomous, bitter sound that made Subaru want to recoil. “To think, I actually was starting to believe the others’ insistence that you could be trusted to man your post responsibly!” She stared at him, eyes hard. “I was right about this whole situation from the start. Keeping you as a knight was a ridiculous notion, because — THIS — was always going to be the outcome, one way or another.”

Subaru was speechless. Slowly, with jerky movements, he twisted around to the one camp that had yet to make its final assertion.

“G-Guys…?” he managed.

“Cap—” Garfiel hesitated, and then shook his head. Subaru visibly wilted. “Natsuki Subaru can’t be a knight anymore,” he declared. “This is horrible. I didn’t want this. I never wanted anything like this. If I let him do this for — for MY sake, how could I ever look myself in the mirror again? …And I don’t think he’s ever gonna stop unless we force him away from the edge.”

“This is the absolute worst thing you could have done to me, Subaru,” Ram snapped. “I don’t know how you don’t understand that. I don’t WANT to persist via your acts of self-harm: I’m perfectly happy to live to the best of my ability and accept my death when my time has come to an end. A life of dignity is one that I desire most of all. —And here you are, planning to force me to rely on your trail of self-destruction for the rest of my natural life? That’s a vulgarity beyond words.”

“I really thought you had learned,” Otto muttered. His face was buried in his hands. “I really, really thought you had learned, Subaru.”

Despair slowly dawned across the face of the self-proclaimed knight.

“The old me might have allowed for this,” Rem admitted. Her voice was quiet and broken. “I am not that woman anymore. I won’t let you do this to yourself.”

“Betty doesn’t want her contractor to become a living corpse, I suppose,” Beatrice said quietly. “Betty wants you to be happy, but that also means that she doesn’t want you to destroy yourself. You can hate me for this if you want, Subaru. But I can’t let you — I can’t let you do this.”

Subaru stared at all of them, his upper lip wobbling, and then his eyes flitted to the last person in the room, the one who had not said a single thing since they had entered the building.

Emilia could not bring herself to voice the words, but her silence spoke a thousand in its stead. Subaru made a horrible croaking noise, wide-eyed and devastated.

Wilhelm had to force himself to speak, but when he did, his voice came out loud and clear and true.

“Natsuki Subaru.”

Subaru could no longer be a knight. For him to continue being a knight would be for him to continue to sacrifice himself for the sakes of those around him, over and over again, without regard for whether they wanted him to do so or not. For him to remain a knight would be for the kingdom to approve this cycle of endless self-destruction, so that it could profit off of his pain until the day it finally sucked him dry. —And this could no longer be a decision that waited a year, a month, a day, but rather a move that had to be made as quickly and decisively as possible.

Lady Emilia had already realized what Wilhelm was about to do. Her eyes were glassy and dull, but she bowed her head in assent when he briefly caught her gaze. Do what you must.

For his own good, Subaru could no longer be a knight. However, Emilia firing him after just a year of service would leave a black mark on his record that could last until the end of his life. And with him having saved the Watergate City nearly single-handedly, for him to willingly abandon his duty now would paint him as a fickle, untrustworthy coward for the rest of his life. Titles brought with them expectations and responsibilities, and great deeds even more so. Subaru had somehow entangled him in a web of both that threatened to trap him as the nation’s self-replenishing sacrifice for — in a worst-case scenario, perhaps for the rest of eternity.

“W-Wilhelm?” Subaru whimpered, his voice high-pitched and uncertain.

But there was a way to retire him that would not impact his reputation, or hamper him from pursuing any other future career path he may choose, or even leave him with the majority of the blame. It was the same way that, many years ago, a young man on a mission had set free the woman who would become his wife.

Subaru would hate him for this until the old man’s dying day, and perhaps even beyond that. But Wilhelm loved him, and that meant he valued the quality of the boy’s life more than he ever could his personal reputation in his eyes.

Priscilla realized what the Sword Demon was about to do moments before he opened his mouth again. She sighed, snapping her ruby red fan shut. The sound echoed through the room like a thunderclap.

“Natsuki Subaru,” Wilhelm Van Astrea declared. “Due to finding you unworthy to serve our nation as a knight of the Kingdom, I challenge you to a duel.”

*

Wilhelm had challenged Subaru to a duel over his position as a knight of the Kingdom. Subaru’s liege, Lady Emilia, had consented to such terms. If Subaru were to win, he would be allowed to remain where he was. If Wilhelm were to win, then Subaru would be forced to retire from his post — and in the eyes of the public, all the blame for his removal would rest squarely on Wilhelm’s shoulders.

Subaru, Wilhelm, and everyone witnessing the event knew what the outcome was going to be.

“What are you doing?!” an old lady cried from the stands. “What are you DOING?! He saved us — he saved all of our lives! Stop, STOP—!!”

“Natsuki Subaru-dono is a hero!” shouted a young man, hands clenching the rails. “Why are you doing this?! What did he do wrong?! He didn’t do ANYTHING, just LET HIM—!!”

“Wilhelm—” Subaru tried to plead, one last time.

Wilhelm met his gaze with one fierce enough to burn. “This is for your own good.”

Subaru swallowed, and raised his whip.

It only took three hits. The first smacked the handle of Subaru’s weapon with the flat of the blade, knocking it out of his hands and into the air, where it spiraled in an arc. The second whacked Subaru on the top of his head, stunning him hard enough to make him lose his balance. The third took advantage of this wrong-footedness by slamming into his chest, knocking him down on his back. Then the weight of the man’s knee settled against his chest, pinning him to the ground, with the edge of the blade grazing against his throat. And that was that.

“The winner,” Ferris announced, his voice muffled in Subaru’s ears. “Is Wilhelm van Astrea.”

It had not even lasted a full ten seconds. Those who watched would later describe it as Wilhelm scruffing him, much like one would a misbehaving puppy. Even the way he had pinned him to the ground had been careful, less like an actual fight and more like a sparring session between parent and child.

It was a duel far gentler and kinder than his previous with Julius. But the results were far graver in his eyes, for he had been successfully stripped of his title as a knight and reduced to simply being Natsuki Subaru.

[mc-lukanette]

Luka was still a child, far too young to worry about much of anything, yet he worried anyway because Marinette seemed worried. While she still engaged with him during their usual playtime and listened eagerly when he showed her the new toy he'd gotten, she felt distant and was more quiet than usual. It was a problem, not only because she was his friend and he cared, but he liked hearing her talk and ramble to him.

She wasn't doing any of that while she was so distracted.

He didn't ask about it - Juleka had told him once that girls were allowed to have their secrets, and he didn't know if this might be one of them - so he tried to find other things for them to do, hoping it might interest her more. They took a break to eat, went for a walk around the Liberty to see if the flowers needed watering, then searched for something to watch together.

He was starting to lose hope that he could cheer her up when she suddenly spoke partway through their movie search.

"Magic's not real."

He looked, seeing her hunched over with a movie in her hands. Not knowing why she'd say such a thing, he asked in reply, "Why?"

She pouted, fidgeting with the movie as she explained, "I had to write stuff for school about the story of someone we look up to. I was gonna do the tooth fairy, because Santa has a hard job too but the tooth fairy's tiny and works all year."

He nodded along silently to her story, agreeing with the logic. "Then what?"

"I wanted to know where they got all the money for kids' teeth, like a job, so I sneaked onto the computer when no one was around and..." She let out a groan, slumping and falling back onto the floor. "They're not real."

It was a shock to him too, though Marinette had been through it first without any support, so he can't imagine how it was for her. "But magic can still be real, right? Just not the tooth fairy."

"Santa's not real either!" she shouted to the empty space in the room.

Luka slowly realized how much she'd kept inside the whole time.

"I just wanted to give him the cookies I made last Christmas," she said, rubbing her face tiredly, "but then I caught Papa dressed up like Santa!"

"How'd you know it was him?" he asked with a tilt of his head.

"It's Papa! No one else looks like him."

That was fair.

"I thought maybe Santa was sick from the North Pole cold and sent Papa clothes so no one knew, but... the clothes were so cheap!" She threw her hands up, nearly sending the movie across the room in the process. "They just did it to trick me if I tried to meet 'Santa'!"

Marinette knew her fashion, so he believed her. He imagined that she'd let the Santa clothes go for all that time and it was only after yet another disappointment with the tooth fairy that she gave in.

For his own part, Luka had believed in Santa, but not that he was the one delivering gifts. According to his mom, Santa abandoned his wife, leaving her to do all the gifting, and she'd "throw him overboard" if he ever came back. He'd always wondered why the other kids told different versions, but if it was just a story, then it made sense.

A sympathetic, "Oh," was all he could say. It wasn't easy for him to grasp that magic wasn't real as, while he'd never seen people fly or cast spells, he always thought it was pretty magical that he and Marinette met and became best friends.

"And if magic's not real, fairytales aren't too," Marinette concluded, gently tossing the movie aside.

It landed in front of Luka and he finally got to see what she'd been holding that started all this: a typical princess movie with a prince, a fairy godmother, and a witch-y villainess. He frowned, picking it up and turning it around to look at the back as well.

He trusted Marinette, so it must've been true that magic and fairytales weren't real. He was torn, because while it was sad that he wouldn't be seeing "real" magic in his life, it was weirdly comforting that life didn't work out the way it did in fairytales.

He'd always thought that Marinette was cute enough to be a princess, or at least the girls in the movies who became princesses. At the same time, the only boys the princesses and those girls tended to be around were princes, and Luka wasn't a prince; he wasn't even close. He wasn't rich, he wasn't royalty, he couldn't do a ballroom dance, and he hadn't defeated any evil dragons.

But if fairytales weren't real, then he could stay with her. That was one good thing.

Marinette sat up, defeated, but not enough to ignore fixing her bangs and checking the tightness of the hairties holding her pigtails in place. Luka blinked, briefly distracted by the trail of freckles underneath her sad, half-lidded eyes.

He was sure they hadn't done any art or crafts that day, but she must've before she'd gotten there, as her freckles were sparkling like they'd gotten glitter onto them. His nose scrunched in thought, wondering how he could've missed that when she'd gotten there.

"I wanted to be the knitting fairy when I grew up. I wanted to make clothes for everyone that was super comfy and didn't go out of style," she mumbled, her hands tightened into fists against her chest. "A-and make it so bullies would have clothes that never fit and were always really itchy!"

Her eyes flashed with frustration, looking more blue than usual. Luka went closer to sit down next to her, wanting to comfort her but not sure how.

"You can still make clothes," he pointed out. "You'll be good at it."

"But—!" she began to protest, turning fully to him. "I had other stuff I wanted to do with my magic! Like—ah... nnn..."

"Marinette?" he called, alarmed as she started to shake. He knew intuitively that it wasn't from rage.

She shut her eyes tight like she had a headache, squeezing herself in a hug. She opened her mouth to respond to him—

Only to disappear spontaneously in a cloud of thick, pink mist. Luka recoiled, staring at what looked almost looked like cotton candy in cloud form that Marinette had been lost in.

Without a thought as to if it might hurt him or not, he thrust his hand inside desperately, hoping to pull her out. He tried to grasp at where her shoulder had been before, but couldn't feel anything except for the bizarre, almost fuzzy feeling mist. Still, he noticed that the movement had cleared some of it, so he waved his arm about rapidly to try and clear as much of it as he could.

A very Marinette-like cough sounded from below, her voice filling him with relief as she called out, "L-Luka?"

His arm pulled back, the mist separating and fading away into nothingness. He looked down towards the source of her voice, thinking that she might have collapsed despite him having not heard it, but that's not at all what he ended up seeing.

Sitting on the floor just as she'd been before was a wide-eyed Marinette, but small; small enough for him to carry around in both hands. Her pigtails had rounded and gained little hair accessories that reminded him of tiny pincushions, while her outfit had changed to a pink, fluffy minidress.

Most notable, however, were the glowing white fairy wings that were coming out of her back. He covered his mouth with both hands in shock.

"You're magic," he said, though it was muffled behind his palms. Even if Santa and the tooth fairy weren't real, at least his inclinations about their magical meeting still made sense.

"W-what?!"

She jumped to her feet, noticing how little she rose up, then turned and twisted every way possible to look at herself, which was when he noticed that she also had pointed ears. Even as tiny as she was, Luka was observant enough to catch the tidal waves of emotion passing over her face one after another. She was surprised by the change, but the wings and new clothes made her giddy, then she swapped to being horrified.

"Ah, but—but there's no tooth fairy!" She put her hands to her cheeks in distress, so fast that they made a slapping sound. "If I was gonna be a fairy, I wanted someone to teach me! Does that—" She gasped. "—Does that mean I'm the only real tooth fairy? All by myself?! I don't have any money to give to other kids!"

Luka fretted as she paced in a tiny circle on the floor, two children entirely lost without direction.

"Or do I have to be a fairy godmother? Do I have to go find a girl to godmother to? What if I pick the wrong girl?!" She whined, the pacing picking up as she threw her arms about. "And I don't know anything about being a god, or a mother!"

He didn't know anything about what was going on, but he didn't want her to worry so much. Perhaps impulsively, he put a hand out to block the path she'd been pacing.

Marinette nearly bumped into it, but stopped just in time. She stared up at him with her wide eyes pleading and confused.

"Maybe you don't have to be anything?" He shrugged helplessly with one arm, hoping for the same as her. "Did it come with rules? Like a board game or a toy you build?"

She perked, realizing that he meant an instruction manual, and immediately started patting herself down. There weren't many places for a guide to be put on her, though he noticed that pockets seemed to magically form when Marinette tried to search for some.

"...No," she concluded when she'd run out of spots to check. "I-I don't think so?"

"Then it's gotta be okay," he said; more decided, really. He might not have fought off dragons, but he would hide and defend her if any sort of fairy police came to scold her for rules they didn't know about. His mom had always been a rule breaker and encouraged him to break them in cases like these.

Well, she didn't describe a situation like his best friend transforming into a fairy, but it fell within the category, he was sure.

As Luka tilted his head to fully take in Marinette, he saw her glancing over her shoulder at her wings. She arched her back, shoulders tensing as she closed her eyes, but the wings only fluttered briefly before she gave up.

"You wanna fly?" he wondered aloud.

"Yeah? No—yeah?" She blushed, getting up on her tip toes to try and make herself seem taller. "You'll hurt your neck if you keep looking down."

He unconsciously touched the back of his neck, having not given an ounce of thought to that. She was the one who suddenly changed, so why was she thinking about him? He looked around, trying to get a gauge on how the room must've looked to her, then suggested, "I can pick you up?"

"Mm?" She hadn't considered the possibility.

He laid his hands on the floor, palms facing up, and raised a brow as if to ask, 'is this okay?' Marinette stared at his hands, taking a few steps closer and looking them over like they were a puzzle, then slowly raised a leg and started to get on. He kept perfectly still, not wanting to jostle her, though she still fell forward due to his hands being a more uneven surface than the floor.

He would've helped had his hands not been preoccupied for obvious reasons. He was vaguely upset at them for being uneven in the first place, as if he'd had any control over that.

He waited for her to sit up and get her bearings, then started to stand up. He kept his eyes on her all the way to the coffee table, walking carefully so as to not trip or bump into anything. When they did reach it, he lowered his hands and she jumped off a couple inches away from the table, falling down slowly like a feather to both of their surprise.

"Oh." Marinette glanced at her wings again, as if she could belatedly check if they had fluttered automatically during the fall. Luka had been watching, so he knew it was just how her new body worked.

He sat himself down on the floor, his arms on the table for support so he could lean towards her. "Do you wanna change back?"

She pursed her lips at him, rubbing her chin, then cheek, and finally the back of her neck. "...I dunno? How?"

He racked his brain, tilting his head from side to side like it might help the thoughts move around more quickly. He recalled their conversation and tried to piece together any connection to her changing. "You were thinking about being a fairy? And magic?"

He didn't know how saying that helped, but she picked it up from there. "So... I have to think about being a not fairy? A not fairy without magic?"

He shrugged.

Since they didn't have any other alternatives, she went with it. Putting her teeny tiny hands on her teeny tiny hips, she shut her eyes and tried to focus. It did feel like a shame to try and change her back when she'd just turned into a fairy, but it was just as important to know what she could and couldn't do.

Nothing was happening though. Her brow twitched, her feet shifting in place impatiently. She swayed from side to side, not unlike he'd done earlier while thinking, then she opened her eyes to look up at him. Letting out a whine from her throat, she turned her back to him and tried again. He didn't know how that was supposed to make it easier on her.

Nothing again. She was still a fairy, still just as tiny, and she turned back to him with the same gleaming blue eyes, pointy ears, and glittery freckles.

"I can't," she said. "Not yet."

Yet? "What's wrong?"

"I'm still thinking about magic." She hesitated, then stepped closer and reached both of her hands up. "Come down."

The words alone were a demand, but the tone made it a shy request. He obeyed, bending over and letting his chin rest on his forearms.

Going close enough to his face that he had to cross his eyes to watch her, she stepped off to the side next to his head, putting a knee on his forearm as she leaned forward. While he couldn't see where she was reaching, he felt her fingertips against his cheek, at the hair in front of his ear.

"If I just have to think about it hard..." she murmured to herself.

He was really curious, but resisted asking in case it broke her focus. Was she performing magic on him? Was that why it felt so warm where she touched?

"Ah!" she yelped, startled, but what came out as shock quickly turned to delight. "It...it works! It works!"

"Marinette," he protested with a whine of his own, unable to stand the suspense.

"Sorry! Here, here..."

She was excited now, a far cry from the anxiety she'd shown when she first transformed. She moved back to where he could see her better, and this time he could watch as she slipped her fingertips through his bangs.

Like, well, magic, his hair changed from black to blue where she touched. He sucked in a breath, watching it spread further until she was satisfied, then she moved onto another lock of his hair. He had to grip his arms, forcing herself to stay still and not spring upwards from her contagious excitement.

She continued until his hair was dyed blue at the tips all along the front, then stepped back and jumped, limps spread in joy as she fell slowly back down. "Ta-dah! I'll do the back later too!"

He popped back up immediately, running his hand through his bangs to feel her work. Mesmerized by how simple the process had been and how perfect the magic dye job was, he let out a long, quiet, "ohhh."

She bounced up and down, then pointed at one of his hands. "Those next, those next!"

He followed the pointing to stare at it, not sure what she meant, but he wanted to know with action, not words. He leaned over once more to watch as close as he could, resting his hand flat on the table.

Marinette knelt down in front of it, placing her hands under his. With a small, "huph," she pulled it atop her lap as much as she could, then reached out towards his fingertips.

He realized what was happening before she'd started, based on where she'd touched: one of his black fingernails. She traced her hand around the outline of his nail, fixing the tiny mistakes and spreading the nail polish further in places he'd missed when he'd done it himself.

She tried to move over to reach the next fingernail when she was done with the first, but he moved his hand for her, offering her each finger at a time and then his thumb. She was elated, which he could understand for the sheer coolness factor of it all, but something in the back of his mind reminded him of everything she'd been saying, as well as what she was cut off from saying due to the transformation.

When she was done with his hand, he swapped it out for the other and asked, "What was it?"

"Mmm~?" she hummed, half of her attention on his nail polish.

"The other stuff? The magic that wasn't for the clothes," he clarified.

She stopped tending to his nails for a moment, beaming at him and answering with her full chest, "Stuff for you!" She waved her whole arm to gesture at his hand, then up at his bangs. "You kept talking about dyeing your hair, and how long it took to do your nails. I knew if I had magic, then I could do it for you!"

And that's exactly what she was doing: she couldn't have even thought about being human again until she knew that she could use magic to cure him of what was essentially a mild inconvenience. He could only stare at her, speechless, at how a big part of her wanting to be a fairy involved him.

She was amazing. The best possible friend he could've asked for. Human or fairy, she was just as magical.

"Done!" she declared as she finished the nails on his other hand, standing up to look it over one more time. "And it'll be our little secret!"

She didn't even want credit for it, another shock to his system.

"Thanks," he managed, finding his voice again. He admired his nails and bangs one last time, reminding himself to look in a mirror later to see the latter in full. "It's so cool. Really cool."

Her smile would put the sun to shame; him being happy never failed to make her happy too, which only heightened the effect this was having on him.

It occurred to him then that, if magic being real meant that fairytales might still be real too, he didn't have to worry anymore. Marinette was a fairy, not a princess, so the rules he'd imagined didn't apply to them, and she'd made it clear that he was important to her.

He might not've been a prince, but he felt like a king.

[rey-jake-therapist]

I want to start off by saying I love your page and I’m dying to know your thoughts on this. It’s a little long so bear with me please. :)

We know that at this point in TROP the door between Galadriel and Sauron’s mind is still open. That her saying “The door is shut” could’ve been for dramatic effect with that kick.

But it got me thinking, why didn’t Sauron block that kick then? He’s demonstrated before how easily he was able to counter her attacks with minimal effort. So why was it different this time? Then she was able to slice his cheek and it clicked for me.

When looking back on their whole fight, I don’t think Galadriel really had a plan. She knows she can’t kill him, disarming him won’t be enough, and trying to distract him from the rings would be ridiculous because she has them! I think she is just so pissed that she doesn’t care about anything else and only wants to show him the anger she has towards herself and at him for even having been in her life.

When they have that brief moment before continuing the fight, it felt to me that Galadriel arrived to a new found realization after hearing his next words.

“I know your mind. The door is still open,” He said to her.

I believe she was reminded of her own words from before,

“He knows my mind….And I know his. Which is why I must face him. Why I alone can slay him”

Therefore when she declares “The door is shut.” I believe it is actually in reference to something that we wouldn’t initially think of.

In truth I believe she shut the door that had allowed him to enter her heart and locked it up tight so he could never see her deepest hopes and desires again. Effectively blocking him from her vulnerability, not her conscious mind.

(Then we get to the moment where she kicks him in the face which was so satisfying tbh. I’m hoping that in season 3 that we will be given a clearer understanding of this ‘Mind Palace’ that they share.)

That statement marks a definitive shift in their fight. She’s much more precise and has a purpose for each attack. I believe this might be why Sauron didn’t block that kick to the face, he not only didn’t expect her to do that, he wasn’t even able to anticipate her attacks now because he was still “play” fighting. When she slices his cheek that’s when he stops playing around and we see how quickly he “ended” their fight.

I think this theory is further supported by the fact that we literally saw how Sauron was telepathically talking to her (was literally in her mind!) and still didn’t see a thought or intention to fall off the cliff cross her mind.

He no longer has access to her vulnerability and heart, because she closed that chapter on their story from before to allow a new one to begin. One where she is the Lady of Light, he the Dark Lord and how they will always be connected.

Thank you so much for your nice words !

I think it's a great analysis of the fight scene. I think I realized that before but had never put it into words before, even in my mind, but you're probably right about the meaning that Galadrel gave to these words ! I think the fandom at large takes this claim "the door is shut" way too seriously, because it was said in the heat of the moment, when she was angry and determined to cut him off her life (and indeed, her heart) for good. She had no idea what would happen next. Sauron hadn't stabbed her with Morgoth's crown and gained a direct line to her mind yet. He had never telepathically talked to her or anyone else before, so there has to be a connection imho.

I may have a slight disagreement about your conclusion regarding Galadriel's fall, though. I'm actually very much convinced that Galadriel didn't pretend that she was going to give Sauron Nenya, precisely because since he had access to her mind, she shouldn't have been able to do that. I think he really had a hold on her for a few minutes, thanks to the bond he had just created.

And it's exactly why, imho, he didn't anticipate what she would do : because he was sure that the connection worked, and that he had her. It's not the first time that Sauron was too sure of himself, and it won't be the last. She very suddenly found the will in her to snap out of it, and there was not enough time between the moment he realized what was happening, and the moment Galadriel let her fall off the cliff, for him to react fast enough to grab her hand.

She managed to catch him by surprise because he was, indeed, not expecting it all. I think it could also be related to the probable fact that the notion of "self-sacrifice" is completely alien to Sauron : he would never do that, so he can't fathom the idea that anyone would. Basically, his lack of empathy could be what caused him to lose control of the situation, and to let her fall.

[xenascribbles]

The Vampire and The Devilspawn

Hello!! I won’t do intros/notes in the beginning like this every time, but for the first time, I have a few things to say! First off, thank you to everyone that reads this story and takes this fun journey with me <3 thank you and i appreciate and cherish you all :) Secondly, I hope you can have a bit of patience with me as this progresses and I figure things out. As of posting this, I am 16 chapters in at roughly 50k. I am a proudly proclaimed pantser, so while I have a general direction for this story to take, most of it forms along the way. We're just having fun here, anyway! Third, this is, of course, a vampire story with some romance, and will come with the usual content warnings: blood, violence, biting, angst. All the fun stuff :) It follows both Magdalena and Anzurin's third person POVs.

Alright, enough of me. Here we go :)

4,889 words

Chapter 1 - Magdalena

She sits on her knees, slouching and weak, held up only by the fist gripping the back of her shirt, with only two thoughts tumbling around in her broken head. 

The first being her name. Magdalena Pierce. She knows that. There isn’t much else that she knows, but she knows that much, at least. 

The second is that she’s hungry beyond comprehension. The ache screams alive in her stomach, an empty hole unable to be filled, even though she’s tried. Blood still coats the front of her, having run in waves down her chin and throat and chest as she fed, and she thinks that she might have spilled more than she drank. 

They didn’t allow her to clean up before they attacked her, chained her wrists and ankles behind her back like she’s some type of animal. And Maggie just really doesn’t understand. The black-eyed woman told her to feed, so she did. She fed, and fed, and fed, and she’s still hungry. Starving. 

She tries to tell that to the man holding her, only getting out, “So hun-” before he slaps the back of her head with vicious force. Her teeth snap together, her fangs poking into her lip and drawing a bead of blood that she quickly licks up, then she looks up at the man that slapped her and gives him a throaty growl, baring her blood-coated teeth at him. 

“Should be stuffed, the way you fed. Now keep your mouth shut,” he snaps at her. Something about his empty black eyes and ruby red skin make her want to rip his sharp horns off of his skull. 

Maybe he’s right and she should be full, but the hunger gnaws at her stomach, an empty pit that cannot be satiated. Her fangs ache in her gums. Her eyes burn with frustrated tears. 

“Is he coming or what?” the same man barks at the two others standing across the room. 

They’re smart to keep their distance. Their sweat smells so tempting, even from this far. The blood from these black-eyed devilspawn tastes so delicious, and she yearns to taste it again. It was so sweet on her tongue with a hint of smoke. It settled in her stomach so nicely, and she wants more. 

“Anzurin should be here any minute,” one of the two answers. 

Magdalena peers at the man holding the back of her shirt. His corrupted heart beats heavily in his chest, a nervous thrum behind his ribs, which would be so easy to break. She got through the last one’s ribs with ease – but that’s also what has landed her here. 

She’s not really sure where here is. Where the lost causes go to get one more chance before they’re put down, the man holding her had said while they were transporting her, and she figured that sounds right. She did just drain a woman of all of her blood, and attack a few others that tried to stop her. Herra was the woman’s name, and Maggie only knows that because they wouldn’t stop yelling it at her. 

Why’d you kill Herra?

She’d like to kill them, too. She’d like to drink their blood until they’re empty, carve through their red flesh with her teeth. 

“Stop looking at me like that,” the man holding her barks, and the venom in his tone sets Magdalena on edge. It’s not her fault she’s hungry. It’s not her fault she’s like this. 

She’s not sure whose fault it is, but she is almost certain it’s not hers. 

Maybe it’s his. 

Magdalena lunges for him, fangs bared as she lurches for his leg. He yanks back just fast enough that all she gets is a mouthful of denim. She releases a growl from between her clenched teeth, a vicious one that comes from deep in her chest, but it’s quickly cut off by a kick to her ribs. 

A cry of pain falls from her as she tumbles to the floor, hands and feet still bound so that she can’t brace herself. Her shoulders and hips protest when she tries to curl in on herself, pain throbbing through her ribs. 

“You little shit!” the devilspawn shouts, giving her another kick. His leather boot slams into her hard enough to send her sliding backwards a few inches, only stopped by the wall behind her, and it feels like the second kick to her ribs cracks something. “Anzurin had better get here, now, and take this worthless leech off of my hands. I’m not -” 

He’s cut off by the door opening, somewhere near Magdalena’s feet as it shoves into them. “Hells below, Velur, have some patience,” a new voice drones. “I do have an entire coven to run, you see.”

Magdalena tries to move out of the way, scooting as much as she can but still crying through the pain in her ribs when the man kicks her again, not as hard this time but enough to move her out of the way of the door. She tries to bite the man’s leg even though she gets nowhere close. 

The newcomer laughs. “Well, what’s going on here?” 

“Fucking fledgling pain in my ass! She just tried to fucking bite me, and she’s already killed another devilspawn. Herra. Thought maybe you should knock some sense into her, but now I’m thinking that we ought to just put her down.” 

Another chuckle, and then he clicks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “Covered in blood, the poor thing. Hers or someone else's? She looks positively hungry.”

The man scoffs, and a wet glob of spit lands on Maggie’s forehead. “Some of it’s hers. Most of its Herra’s, her mentors. Drained her dead. If the bitch is still hungry after that, then something’s wrong with her.” 

Magdalena bucks at the insult, trying to break the chains around her wrists. If she could just use her hands again, she could sink her teeth into the black-eyed bastard’s neck before he could stop her. She snaps and snarls, throwing out hissed threats. 

He stares at her with those wide and empty eyes, mouth hanging open in shock before his entire face twists up in rage. His leg rears back, and Maggie welcomes it, knowing that if he really goes for it, she might actually be able to get a bite in if he gets close enough. 

But he doesn’t have the chance to send the kick when a voice cuts through the room. “Kick her, Velur, and you’ll be seen to.” It’s said so calmly, so casually that it doesn’t even sound like the threat it is. 

The one named Velur sneers down at Maggie, spits on her once more, and snaps, “She’s your problem now,” before storming out of the room. 

She tries to get him as he walks by, kicking his own legs out to trip him up, but it only yanks on her wrists. He gets away without a scratch, much to her dismay. Something about that man makes her just want to tear into his flesh, more than anyone else’s. 

When Maggie looks around, the two horned men are still standing across the room, but the new one stands much closer, arms crossed over his chest as he stares down at her. He’s much like the others – red-toned skin and horns sharper than her fangs – only his eyes are slightly different. The rest of them just have empty black eyes, and his are mostly the same, but he also has glowing red irises that gaze at her, giving his eyes more life. 

“Oh, dear, what are we to do with her?” the man murmurs to the two others.

“I don’t know, sir. She seems quite wild, yes? Maybe Velur was right and she’s just not made for the fledgling life. Perhaps death is the only thing that will fix her.” 

The man moves in a flash over to the one that just spoke, and Maggie giggles softly when he reaches out and smacks the back of the man’s head. “Look at her. She’s just hungry. Shall I kill you the next time you get hungry, Brem? Go take her chains off.” 

“You’re kidding. She just tried to bite Velur - more than once.” 

“Are you frightened by a little fledgling, Brem? Take those chains off of her. I won’t ask a third time.” 

Magdalena snarls at Brem as he dares closer, feeding off of the fear in his eyes and the shake in his hands. “Hells, please don’t attack me,” he whispers once he’s within reach. He grabs the chains around her ankles and moves her across the floor so he can reach the restraints behind her. 

She jerks away from his touch. She wants to be unbound, but she also wants to rip into the next person that touches her. She tries to kick at him, spit flying as she growls and snarls and gnashes her teeth at him.

But that red-eyed man flashes across the room again, and in an instant, he’s kneeling over her, a hand at the base of her throat to pin her to the ground. “Knock it off,” he commands sternly. His striking eyes bounce back and forth between her own, black eyebrows bunched together as he studies her face, but her gaze is only on his neck, the pulsing veins under his garnet flesh. 

She’s so, so, so hungry. 

“We’re going to take the restraints off of you, but you have to behave yourself fledgling. Can you do that?” 

Breathing heavily, Magdalena shakes her head. She truly doesn’t feel like she can control herself, not even a little bit. She doesn’t want to. 

“Oh, I think you can. Brem, let’s go,” he says to the other red-skinned creature, and then instructs the third in the room to, “Catch Velur before he leaves and get him back in here. I have questions.” He hasn’t taken his eyes from Maggie, nor has she taken her stare from his throat. “My name is Anzurin, and we’re going to make sure you’re taken care of here. What’s your name?” 

She doesn’t answer him, even though it’s probably the only time she will know the answer to anything. She grits her teeth together and runs her tongue over her fangs. They feel out of place in her mouth, new, even though she can’t remember a time without them. She can’t remember… much of anything.

All she knows is her name and her hunger, that she has fangs in her mouth and a need for blood. A hunger for red flesh. Thinking about sinking her fangs into the man above her sets her to wriggling again. 

Still pinning her to the ground, he smooths his hand over her blood-caked hair, brushing it out of her face. When she snaps for his wrist, he chuckles softly and holds his arm out of the reach of her teeth. “You’re just starved, aren’t you?” 

Once her chains are off, she’s going to bite him. She will. He smells so sweet, so tempting, she won’t be able to stop herself. 

The man rolls her on her side so that the other – Brem – can undo the chains behind her. He doesn’t yet release her wrists or ankles, but at least detaches them from each other so she can stretch out. 

“I’m going to sit you up, but you’re going to behave,” Anzurin says softly, but it’s not a question. It’s not a request. 

Not promising anything, Maggie pushes against his hand on her shoulder, sitting herself up, and she sighs in relief when she can put her legs out in front of her. The jeans she’s wearing are covered in blood, especially at the knees, as if she’d knelt in it, and maybe she did. She can’t really remember anything more than the feeling of her fangs in flesh. 

She tries to reach for the chains around her ankles without thinking about it, only to yank at the chains around her wrists still behind her back, her shoulders jerking painfully. An angry growl rips from her throat, wishing that she could rip the chains with her teeth like she so easily ripped through skin. She yanks on them again, this time on purpose, thinking just maybe she might be strong enough to break them. 

But they don’t budge. 

Brem kneels in front of her feet, eyeing her cautiously as he removes the chains from around her ankles. Her hungry gaze follows his every move, watching his wrists, his neck, salivating to think about the blood underneath. She bristles excitedly once her ankles are free and holds her wrists out to him, beyond ready to have use of her hands again. Saliva pools in her mouth as he slowly inches towards her side, nervousness radiating off of him. His black eyes shift to Anzurin. 

“I’ve never seen one like this,” Brem murmurs. “What’s wrong with her?” 

Anzurin grasps Magdalena’s chin, forcing her attention away from Brem. He searches her face for something – Maggie doesn’t really care what, because she’s stuck on his throat, unable to look away from it, unable to think about anything else except for how good it felt to flood her throat with that devilspawn’s blood. She bets his would taste just as good. 

“Nothing’s wrong with you, is there, fledgling? You’re just hungrier than normal,” Anzurin coos to her. He lifts her chin, trying to get her to look at him, but she doesn’t. She can’t. 

“So hungry,” she rasps. It’s a never ending hole inside of her, begging for more and more and more, a thirst unable to be quenched. 

“I thought as much. Come on, we’ll get you fed.” 

He hauls her to her feet, keeping a secure hold on her, but he makes no move against her, even when she tries to reach for his wrist, even when she bares her fangs at him. He only chuckles and guides her to the plush sofa against the opposite wall. Anzurin sits down first, then pulls her to sit at his side. He doesn’t have to guide her too much, as she easily follows his neck and wrists wherever they lead her. 

Once she’s settled next to him, pressed close against his side, he wraps his arm around her shoulders and places his wrist just in front of her mouth. Instinct tells her to chomp her teeth into his skin, gnaw until she’s full and his wrist is nothing but bone, but she gets distracted by the heavy pounding in her left ear. 

The noise comes from his throat, just inches from her face when she turns towards it. Wrists are dainty. So little would come out of it, compared to what would flow from his neck. She begins to lean in, but he jerks back and grabs the hair at the back of her head to keep her teeth off of his neck. “The wrist, fledgling, or nothing.”

He places it in front of her mouth once more and she can’t deny it a second time. She sinks her teeth into his rose-colored wrist with a starved fervor, fangs piercing him easily. Her mouth pools with delicious blood that tastes even better than Herra’s did. She was too sweet, almost like having dessert before dinner, but this… Anzurin… He’s a hearty meal. Savory and delicious. 

She digs in further, ripping through his flesh with her sharp, sharp fangs, biting down as hard as she can. She drinks from him with greed, unable to take a lot at a time but taking as much as he will give her. She’s so entranced by his blood that she doesn’t even open her eyes when the door opens once more and someone says, “I have Velur.” 

“Bring him in,” Anzurin drones. Maggie expects him to take his arm away any moment now, but he lets her keep feeding from him. 

“Stupid to let her loose,” Velur snaps, “and even more stupid to let her bite you. Don’t close that door, Brem – we’re going to want an escape when she’s down gnawing his arm.” 

“So dramatic.” Anzurin hums and brushes Maggie’s dirty hair off of her forehead with his free hand. “Sure, she’s a little rough with the teeth, but she’s starving. Insatiable, this one. Tell me about her.” 

“She can tell you whatever you wanna know if she doesn’t kill you.” 

“I think she’s a bit too distracted to answer any questions. I tried to ask her name, but she wouldn’t say.” 

“Weird, since it was the only thing she’d say earlier,” Velur scoffs. “Magdalena Pierce.” 

The hatred in his voice when he spits her name gets Maggie to open her eyes. Every time he speaks, she just wants to tear him into little pieces, so she tries. She shoves Anzurin’s arm away and lunges for Velur. She makes it off of the couch and across the small table, sending papers and items clattering to the floor. She reaches out for Velur, trying to grab him, scratch him, rip him apart with her teeth, anything she can do to hurt him like he’s hurt her. He’s the one that chained her up after she fed, and he smacked her and kicked her many times. She’s sure that his blood would be bitter, but she wants to taste it anyway. 

But she doesn’t get to, ripped away by Anzurin’s arms closing around her waist at the last second, yanking her back against himself. He puts his wrist back to her mouth, saying, “Right here – feed,” but she pays it no mind, too wrapped up in her seething anger directed at Velur. She fights and kicks and scratches and bites to no avail. 

“See what I mean?” Velur snaps. “She’s fucked! Just do us all a favor and put her down, Anzurin, before she kills another.” 

Anzurin struggles to keep Maggie restrained, but manages to sit back down on the sofa with her. “I’ll be honest, Velur, I’m not sure she’s the problem here. I think you are.” He smears his blood across her lips, going as far as to grip her chin to force her mouth open to drip blood on her tongue, but she continues to fight against his hold to get to Velur. “Doesn’t even care. I think she just wants you dead.” 

Velur scoffs. “Or you just don’t taste as good as you think you do, big shot.” 

“So, what’d you do to her?” Anzurin asks and then brings his lips to Maggie’s ear to whisper, “I know you’re still hungry. Drink.”

And she is very, very hungry, so she gives up her fight - for now- and sinks her teeth into his arm once more, marking more of a mess of the already mangled flesh. 

“Gentler,” he hisses through his teeth, and she hisses right back at him. If he were as hungry as she is, he wouldn’t want to be gentle either. She wants to rip and tear and gorge herself on both flesh and blood. 

“She killed Herra,” Velur says incredulously. “It took multiple men to drag her off of Herra’s corpse, and a few of them even got bit in the process!” 

Anzurin strokes her hair as she quits fighting and settles once more. “And?” 

“Wh - And?! She killed one of our own! Do you not care?” 

“Not so much,” he says with a shrug. “That’s the risk we take. She’s a fledgling, Velur. It’s her very nature to feed. To kill. Why would you punish her for it? Every part of her screams for blood and she shouldn’t be denied; she just needs to learn a little control, that’s all. How long ago was she changed?” 

“Hells, I don’t know! Didn’t even know the bitch existed until she had to be ripped off of Herra’s neck today.” 

At the insult that leaves his lips, Maggie lets out a growl and cuts a glare at him, but she doesn’t lift her mouth from Anzurin’s wrist. Her hunger never ends. 

Anzurin laughs heartily. “Oh, she definitely just hates you. When’d she come into the coven?” 

“I don’t know,” he says again. “I don’t usually handle the fledglings.” 

“Find who does and bring them to me. I want to know where she came from.” He trails his touch down the side of Maggie’s face. He’s not even holding onto her anymore; she’s just happily drinking from him and not even trying to get away anymore. Her hunger is outweighing her instinct to fight, but only by a fraction. “She acts as though she’s gone weeks without feeding. And if that’s the case, I’m not at all surprised that she drained Herra. And she’s still going.” 

“She -” 

“I said to find who knows where she came from. Now. Not later.” 

Velur grumbles angrily, but jumps at the chance to leave the room. 

Once the door shuts behind him, a moment passes in which the only sound is Maggie drinking greedily and desperately from Anzurin’s wrist, but he soon says, “That’s enough for now.” 

She doesn’t listen. Magdalena holds onto his arm tighter, taking bigger gulps. Her nails dig into his skin just as her teeth do, drawing even more blood. She just wants more, more, more, and it’s still not enough. 

But then Anzurin fists the hair at the back of her skull and yanks. Her teeth rip from his arm, tearing flesh as he jerks her head back. 

Magdalena snarls and tries to twist and bite the hand grabbing her, but Anzurin keeps his grip and stares down at her. Gently, but sternly, he says, “That’s enough, Magdalena. We need to go get you cleaned up and looked over so we know what we’re dealing with here. You have to control yourself.” 

She whines, low in her throat. “But I’m so –” 

“Hungry, I know,” he coos. He looks to Brem across the room. “Get me three bags from the fridge, please. Open one of them.” 

Brem does as told, and all Magdalena can do is watch with Anzurin’s grip still in her hair, her head angled backwards. Brem goes over to a small black fridge in the corner, opening to the door to reveal two shelves stuffed full of bags of blood, but Magdalena hardly cares about that when the fresh taste of Anzurin’s blood is still stuck to her teeth. He grabs three of them as asked and brings them to Anzurin, who stuffs the first two in the pockets of his black coat while Brem opens the plastic spout of the third. 

A small bubble of blood pools out of the top as the pressure is released, spilling onto Brem’s finger, and he freezes in place while his fearful black eyes flick to Magdalena. 

“You know,” Anzurin murmurs as he takes the open bag, “she probably loves that you’re so scared right now. You know they don’t just feed on blood, Brem.” He waves the packaged blood under Magdalena’s nose, but the cold scent of it nearly makes her gag. She wants the fresh stuff, and tries to look for Anzurin’s bitten arm. 

He jerks her hair. “No, drink this.”

The stinging in the back of her head is what makes her snap. Magdalena yanks her head out of his grip, leaving chunks of hair between his fingers. She claws his face and her fangs go straight for his neck. He tries to grab her hair again, but she’s faster, and slams it to the wall above his head. 

On her feet, crouching next to him on the sofa, she uses her foot to pin his other hand to the sofa cushion, and that leaves a hand free to hold his head to the side so she can sink her teeth into his neck. She rips and tears, getting flesh stuck between her teeth, but filling her screaming stomach with his delicious blood. 

But as her stomach fills, so does the room with shouts and yells and screams. Something wraps around her waist and pulls, but she claws back at it and it goes away, but then something cold is wrapped around her throat, and the chains that once bound her yank her back. 

Magdalena loses her balance and falls to her back on the floor, but quickly turns on the one that pulled her off: Brem, backing away with large black eyes. Her rage swells into something unmanageable and she lunges for him, biting anything she can get her teeth in, which happens to be his upper arm, biting through cloth to tear at the rosy skin underneath. 

His blood is sharper than the others, only a fraction of the sweetness, and Maggie doesn’t like it as much, but it softens the edges of her hunger, so she pins his arms to his side and gulps as much as she can. As she knew she would be, she’s yanked back seconds later, turned by her shoulder and slammed back against the wall with a large devilspawn body in front of her and his forearm across her chest. Something else wraps around her ankles, and she kicks at what she assumes is the chains, but looks down to see a red tail curling tightly around her leg. 

“Stop it,” Anzurin growls at her, red eyes blazing. “Control yourself, fledgling, or I will do it for you.”

She tries to shove him off to no avail without the element of surprise on her side this time. He stays put, holding her down. Breathing heavily, she stares at his torn neck, his blood running down his throat and chest, soaking into his tan shirt. After a few moments of futile fighting, she relents and lies perfectly still to glare up at him. 

Anzurin breathes just as heavily, touching his fingers to his bleeding neck with a sharp inhale through his teeth. “I’d like to be able to let you go, but I need to be able to trust that you’re not going to attack one of us again. Can we do that?” 

In a jerking motion, Maggie shakes her head back and forth. She’s only stopped fighting for now because she knows it's a waste of energy to fight against him. As soon as he gives her even an inch, she’ll take it, but she’s saving her energy for that. 

“Now, Magdalena,” he says with a tsk. “Do you understand what’s going to happen to you if you can’t control yourself?” 

She spits a mouthful of blood-tinged saliva at him, which lands on his chin. 

Besides clenching his jaw, he shows no other reaction and uses the sleeve of his shirt to wipe his chin. “You’re going to have to be put down if you can’t behave,” he tells her. “I do not tolerate this kind of behavior in my coven, and you are too wild to go anywhere else. If you can’t control yourself, then you will be controlled. Is that what you want to happen? Do you want us to have to kill you?” 

She doesn’t answer, unsure that she has an answer at all. Does she want to be killed? No, not particularly. But does she want to keep living? Maybe not, if this is the pain and treatment she has to endure. Her hunger is insatiable, fueling a need to rip and tear. She even thinks about biting her own flesh just for a taste of blood. 

“It doesn’t have to be this way,” Anzurin murmurs in her silence, keeping his voice gentle and comforting. “We’ll feed you and make sure you’re taken care of, but you have to behave with us. With me, at the very least. I’m the one that will decide what happens to you, so I suggest you behave.” 

Magdalena only grumbles unhappily and tries uselessly to wriggle out from under him, but his arm holds her shoulders against the wall, his tail around her ankle keeping her from kicking. 

“Okay, you can’t keep denying that there’s something wrong here,” Brem says from where he stands nearby, chains still in his hands. “This isn’t normal for a fledgling.” 

Brows creased, Anzurin studies her quizzically. “There’s something wrong with the situation, definitely. Something’s been done to her. Someone else did this to her.” 

Brem dares a step closer. “What do you mean?” 

“She’s starved, Brem. Her fangs are sharper than a new fledgling's should be. Hazarding a guess, I’d say that she’s a few months old, and I’m thinking that today is the first time she’s drank since she was changed. Am I right about that?” he asks her. 

Maggie can’t remember anything before today, but she’s certainly older than just a few months. She’s a grown woman. But she does also feel like she hasn’t eaten or drank anything in quite a while. Maybe ever. 

With his free hand, Anzurin brushes Magdalena’s hair out of her face. He then orders Brem to hand him the bag of blood that she’d turned her nose up at before. “You can’t keep drinking from me right now - I don’t have that much blood to spare - but you can drink these bags. I know they’re not as good, not as fresh, but it’s what you’re going to get right now. I’ll give you as many as you want – but only if you promise to try to control yourself.” 

Against every fighting instinct, Magdalena nods. 

—

Ending notes won't happen all the time either, but just a thing or two more to tack on.

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[phyx-m]

Chapter 6: The Tip Of Your Tongue

Content warning: cannibalism, forced cannibalism, vomiting, angst, mention of non-consensual voyeurism

🔗 Songs for this chapter:

Total Depravity - The Veils Touch Myself - Genitorturers

* * * * *

Chapter 5 | Chapter 7

* * * * *

Hours had passed since you awoke, long before sunrise and well before anyone else at the shrine had stirred. The night still envelops the world outside as you tiptoe out of your chambers, beginning your preparations for the day.

You bathe, tie your kimono, and comb your hair until it’s glossy. You're ready.

Now, you sit on your futon, waiting as the early morning sun gradually slides its fingers through the slats of your window.

Inevitably, your thoughts turn to the incident from last night. After two weeks of absence, Sukuna had finally returned to the shrine, and he certainly loved making an entrance. In a brutal display, he killed his stablehand in the corridor, toying with him, and making him suffer before ending his life.

You're unsure why Takashi entered your chambers while you were asleep, but hearing him die in such a manner was nauseating.

Worst of all, right before the end, Sukuna tauntingly declared he would be having Takashi as a meal. And you knew you would be expected to dine with him for the first time as husband and wife this morning.

You pinch the bridge of your nose, feeling the cool silk of your gloves against your skin.

The mental acrobatics you were about to perform would be nothing short of a miracle. But that's why you were up early—to prepare.

You had bathed, your kimono tied, hair combed until it was glossy. You were ready.

Now, you sit and wait for the impending knock at the door, indicating your attendants' arrival.

Any minute now.

You'd be lying if you said you weren't nervous about the upcoming encounter. The last time you saw Sukuna was weeks ago during that heated standoff. More heated on his part than yours. You still recall the way his four pupils dilated.

That way, he looked at you… You really need to kill him, and fast.

Your hands move to your lap, smoothing the fabric of your kimono in a repeated motion. Creasing it over and over again, then flattening it back out.

Back and forth, back and forth.

Any second now.

Your stomach cramps, pitching painfully.

You can handle this.

Knock, knock—

“Come in.”

You are on your feet before the third knock sounds.

The door groans open as Sayuri and Ren enter, giving you their customary bow. 

"Good morning, my Lady," they greet.

Ren’s voice is as reserved as ever, while Sayuri's tone is unusually animated. Her cheeks are practically glowing, eyes flashing with a bright intensity as she raises her head.

"Good morning," you nod, a calm, measured smile spreading across your face as you place your hands behind your back to fidget with them.

Sayuri steps further into the room. "Ah, you look lovely this morning." She all but beams the words at you.

"Oh, thank you," you reply, swallowing back modesty.

Ren silently moves to the futon to complete one of the few tasks you have allowed. Each morning, one of them sets the sheets back into place. They’ll likely need washing, as you woke up this morning covered in sweat from another one of your nightmares.

“Ren, would it be possible to have my sheets cleaned today?” you ask.

"Of course, my Lady," she replies, already starting to work efficiently. "I’ll replace them with a fresh set and remove these."

"Thank you," you murmur, twinging with embarrassment as the sweat-stained coverings are carefully removed.

It’s time to find a remedy for your disturbed sleep. Perhaps Uraume could help by making a sleeping draft.

"I’ll be the one showing you to breakfast this morning," Sayuri says, swaying on the balls of her heels. "Shall we?" She moves toward the door.

You glance at her, feeling your nerves taking root as if trying to anchor you in place. Despite the feeling, you force yourself to start moving. 

As you approach the door, something catches your eye—a small, pearl-white stain caking on the floor. It wasn’t there when you went to sleep last night. You toe it with your wooden sandals, watching the congealed mess flake. Your stomach curdles; you may be a virgin, but you are not naive. You know what semen looks like.

The incident from last night. Takashi.

You clench your fists.

Fucking pervert.

Beneath the surface, people can be an entirely different breed of animal.

You swallow the ugly feeling weighing on your chest before subtly grabbing a cloth from the wardrobe, wiping the stain off the floor and tossing it away.

Focus.

You exhale and move into the doorway's threshold before halting and glancing back.

"Ren, could you also have my door fixed? It makes a racket when opened and closed, and it's driving me a little mad," you ask gently, feeling conflicted about asking more of her. Though you suspect she won’t mind at all.

She looks up from folding your sullied sheets into a neat pile. Her eyes soften ever so slightly, a rare and welcome surprise.

"Of course," she hums before retreating into her familiar quietude, seamlessly returning to her task.

“Thank you.”

Sayuri moves closer to the doorway, silently urging you to step into the corridor. She communicates with her eyes, blinking prettily with her long, dark lashes.

You leave your chambers and glance to the right, towards Sukuna’s room. The muted feel of his presence suggests he’s gone, possibly already waiting for you. Though he’s not one to wait for anyone. 

Sayuri clears her throat, giving you the final push needed to take that first step.

One foot in front of the other, you start walking.

Though you've been traversing this same path for two weeks, today, the corridor seems to stretch on far longer than usual.

You keep moving forward, counting each step as if it were a mantra.

The skirt of your kimono brushes softly against the smooth wooden floor, its whispering sound helping you stay calm, stay centered.

Ahead, the turning point signals that the central hall is near. From there, you'll take another long corridor before reaching the private room.

You turn the corner.

Now, each step feels like a compulsion.

You pass the central hall and move into the final passage.

The door to the private room comes into view. It’s usually open, but today it’s shut. You swallow hard, realizing that being in that small space with the King of Curses will be suffocating.

You reach the door, stand there, and stare at it.

The lack of a breeze in the corridor suggests that the sliding door to the garden is also shut.

You listen intently for any sounds but hear nothing. Perhaps he isn’t here. You take a deep breath and catch the faint aroma of raw iron. He is here. The realization makes your mind go blank, erasing everything you had planned for this encounter.

The panic starts settling in, and you step away from the door.

“My Lady?” Sayuri’s soft and airy voice comes from behind. She steps closer, standing next to you. “Is something wrong? Is there anything I can do?”

Her voice, so reminiscent of your sister’s, brings you back to your purpose. Yuna is the reason you are here—the reason behind it all. To save her.

You straighten your shoulders and shake your head.

“No, I’m fine. Thank you, Sayuri.”

Inhale. Exhale. Reach. Pull.

You slide the door open halfway.

You are greeted by a large expanse of muscled back draped in a haori the colour of midnight.

Sukuna sits on a large cushion, facing away from the door. His body overwhelms the space, leaving little room for you to navigate to your side of the table. His upper arms extend outward to support his weight, while the lower pair is hidden in front. The dark colour of his garment contrasts sharply with his pale skin, making the ink snaking around his wrists appear as an even deeper shade of black. He assumes his usual sitting position with one knee raised and the other leg folded beneath him, his posture both casual and attentive.

The sliding door thuds softly as you push it open fully.

Sukuna continues to give you his back, ignoring the sound of your entrance and making no gesture to acknowledge your presence.

Fearing him like a sleeping bear, you move silently through the door and into the room. You walk heel to toe, keeping balance, moving quietly.

You fix your eyes ahead, focusing on your destination: the cushion at the opposite end of the table.

Almost there.

Out of the corner of your eye, you see your bodies align side by side.

So close.

You take another step to pull yourself from his proximity.

Suddenly, his upper right hand leaves its place on the floor and moves forward. With all his arrogance, he pushes it beneath the hem of your kimono.

A firm grip ensnares your ankle, halting your steps.

His fingers, warm and steady, settle against the softness of your skin, wrapping tightly around the slender curve of your ankle.

You flinch, mustering all the restraint not to pull away, and in the end, you don’t.

If Sukuna were a shackle, you were a prisoner.

Heart racing, you tilt your head down to take in the situation.

Half of his forearm vanishes beneath the layers of fabric, and his tendons flex and shift as he adjusts his bruising grip.

You slowly raise your gaze until you are looking into his face. His eyes are lowered, focused on a ceramic dish on the table before him. A thick slab of meat stains the plate bloody. The cut is slick with a glistening sheen, hinting at its freshness.

He uses his lower left hand to eat, scooping up the pulpy flesh and bringing it to his mouth to tear off a chunk. Remarkably, he manages to keep blood off his chin, though his hand is smeared. His indulgence is almost civilized—almost.

He chews thoroughly, then swallows, the muscles in his neck tensing and rippling with the motion before going still. A look of bliss crawls over his face, making yours twist with disgust.

“Wife,” he says. His lower eyes are fixed on the meat as he places it back on the plate. His upper eyes turn to you. “I’ve been gone for two weeks, and you think you can slip in here without addressing me properly.” All four eyes finally lock onto you. “It appears that living under my roof in my absence has made you cocky.”

The grip on you tightens like a noose. The pressure against your delicate bones aches.

Your mouth dries.

From this angle, if you draw your right leg back, you might have a good chance of smashing his mask with your knee.

Be charming. Be obedient. Bottle everything up.  

“Welcome back, my Lord.” You bow your head respectfully. “I trust your travels were successful. We certainly missed your presence while you were away.” You force the words at the end through clenched teeth.

Cocking his head to the side, the monster studies you for a moment before bringing his red-stained hand to his mouth and licking the blood from his fingers while maintaining eye contact with you.

Your eyes start to narrow but then widen.

In one of the most bizarre displays you've witnessed from him, you feel his thumb start tracing gentle circles on the skin of your ankle, the pad of his fingertip sliding up and down.

A tremor of unease spans the length of your body.

Up and down, up and down. His thumb continues its languid path.

His jaw is set so severely that a muscle pulses along his jawline as he clenches his teeth. It’s clear he’s challenging you to do something reckless, but you stay perfectly still, even as your palms begin to sweat beneath your gloves.

Up and down, up and down.

What if you threw caution to the wind, tore off a glove, and shoved your hand into his face? Would you make contact in time, or would he cut you down before that? Most likely, the latter. You’d probably be dead.

Up and down, up and—

The circling abruptly stops.

A sharp, biting sting radiates from your ankle. He digs his nail into your skin with enough force to make your body jerk and twitch involuntarily. You feel a warm liquid trickle down your ankle. He’s broken the surface of your skin.

His nostrils flare in anticipation as if he can smell the blood pulsing beneath the fabric of your kimono. His eyes shut, chest rising and falling with deep breaths as he savours your scent.

You struggle against the urge to run, shifting on your feet, body swaying.

His eyes snap open, pupils dilated into black pools that swallow you whole.

You cease your movements, your spine locking into place as a shudder moves through you. Sensing it, the curvature of Sukuna’s mouth turns into a wide, hypnotic grin that reveals his sharp, pointed canines.

Now, you are scared.

“Sukun—my Lord.” your voice is a hesitant warning.

When he hears your nervous words, his eyes flicker to your mouth, and for too long, he’s captivated by the gentle dip and bow of your trembling lips. 

He blinks once, then twice.

The blackness consuming his eyes fades, and his grin vanishes into a pensive line.

Finally, he slowly releases your ankle, drawing his hand out from beneath your kimono. He then picks up the meat from the plate.

“Sit,” he commands dismissively, his eyes never leaving the bloody pulp.

It takes several heartbeats for you to gather yourself before you begin to move. Each step exacerbates the pain from the cut on your ankle. You are aware that you will need to bandage it later, once you can properly assess the wound. A pool of blood remains at the spot where you stood, and your kimono trails through it, leaving a stain across the floor.

When you reach your spot, you kneel on the cushion. Your meal is already prepared and waiting for you. As usual, it consists of rice, fruit, and vegetables. Meat has finally been removed from your meals, as it consistently remains untouched.

You lift your head to realize Sayuri is still waiting in the doorway, her presence having been forgotten. Now that you've finally taken a seat, she eagerly steps inside, her gaze remaining on Sukuna.

There’s a sense of longing behind her eyes.

“Get out,” he snaps, not bothering to turn. Her face falls, and you can’t help but feel sympathy for her as she is dismissed so curtly.

“Yes, Master,” she murmurs before retreating from the room and sliding the door shut, effectively trapping you inside.

You glance back at Sukuna, narrowing your eyes as you watch him eat in silence. His lower left elbow comes to rest heavily on the table, making a thud that rattles everything on it.

“I can feel you staring at me, brat. Why don’t you focus on the shit in front of you instead of me?” Sukuna remarks between mouthfuls, chewing voraciously.

You suppress a scoff and glance down at your plate.

“What do you mean, ‘that shit’? It’s called food,” you retort, grabbing your chopsticks from the table. “Unlike that travesty on your plate.” With a sharp glance at Sukuna, you pick up a piece of cucumber and shove it into your mouth.

What the hell are you doing? Charming. Obedient.

His eyes lift, and the atmosphere shifts as he pins you with a stern expression. To spite you, he takes a larger bite and chews so loudly that the clacking of his teeth is almost unbearable.

“You want to talk about what this travesty is?” he growls through his chewing, lifting the meat for emphasis. “Or rather, who it is?” It flops in his grip, accentuating his point.

Your blood runs cold.

No. You didn’t want to discuss who it was, because you already knew. The shame of what happened gnaws at you. You are unsure what you did to earn the stain that ended up on your chamber floor. All you know is that Takashi came into your room, and now he’s dead.

“I’d rather not,” you murmur, dipping your chin and focusing on your food.

“Tch, of course not,” he scoffs before returning to his meal with a renewed appetite.

Choosing not to respond, you scoop some rice up with the chopsticks and eat in silence.

Technically, you have only known each other for a day and have been married for just a few weeks. Yet, already, your interactions resemble those of a long-married, unhappy couple.

As you work through your meal, you finish the vegetables, then the rice, and finally, a cup of water to wash it all down.

You save the best for last: a fat, ripe peach.

You slide one glove off and bring the succulent fruit to your mouth. As you take a bite, the smooth skin gives way effortlessly under your teeth. Juices burst onto your tongue, a perfect blend of sweetness and tanginess that almost makes you groan with pleasure.

Uraume may be many things—emotionless, aloof—but they definitely knew how to find the most delicious peaches.

Feeling a sudden heat on your skin, you realize Sukuna’s gaze is fixed on your face. You look up to find him chewing slowly, deliberately, his eyes following the velvety fruit held between your thumb and index finger and the way your lips wrap around it.

A trickle of juice escapes from the corner of your mouth, making its way to your chin. Without thinking, you use the back of your hand to wipe it away before taking another bite.

Sukuna's eyes darken.

You are not entirely sure if this is part of your plan, but perhaps this approach will work—death by peach seduction.

The fruit squelches as your teeth sink into it for a third bite.

Drip, drip, drip.

Sukuna pauses mid-chew, his eyes fixed intently on your hand and mouth. His top lip twitches slightly. For a moment, he remains motionless until he swallows visibly. With a sudden sharp movement, he tosses the meat onto the plate, causing the ceramic to clang loudly.

“Come here,” he snaps.

The abrupt command catches you off guard. Not eager to provoke him, you set the peach down on your plate, wipe your hand, and slip your glove back on.

You approach cautiously and stand by his side.

With two fingers, he gestures to a spot on the floor.

“Sit.”

You sink to your knees beside him, feeling dwarfed by his imposing size.

Before you have a chance to react, Sukuna swiftly grabs your wrist with his upper left hand.

“What are you—ah!”

You stumble forward into his space as he pulls you with a force that makes you take a sharp breath. The sheer strength he uses forces you to brace yourself by placing your other hand on his muscular thigh.

“Hold still,” he grunts.

As you try to steady yourself, memories of his aggressive handling of your breasts in the forest flash through your mind, causing beads of sweat to form on your forehead.

He studies your delicate silk glove closely, rotating your wrist and forcing your palm to turn over several times. Then, with his lower left hand, he reaches for the human tissue and rips off a piece.

He brings it towards your face.

“Open.”

Shit.

“I’m not eating that.”

He clicks his tongue in annoyance.

“Oh, come on now. You once asked me to share a meal with you. Well, I’m doing just that. Besides, I can’t have my wife going hungry, can I?” His sneer is laced with mockery as he moves the piece of red tissue, pinched between his thumb and forefinger, closer to your lips. “Now, open.”

You lean back, trying to distance yourself.

“Your wife is not hungry. Let go,” you snap, your heart rattling in your chest.

“That’s a shame because I’m not taking no for an answer,” he growls. “Now, part those lips you just so brazenly taunted me with.”

Your face flushes with heat. He always seems to have the upper hand in these moments.

“No, there’s no way I’m eating that,” you insist, shaking your head as you shuffle backward, sitting on your haunches. 

He grabs your other wrist with his upper right hand, tightening his grip on both. Slowly, he drags you back towards him. Your wooden sandals scrape against the floor until you are practically in his lap.

“I will give you until the count of three before I pry your mouth open,” he says, his voice dropping to a menacing tone.

Using his extra appendages to his advantage, his lower right hand wraps around your face. Your chin rests between his thumb and forefinger, while his palm supports the underside of your jaw. His hand is so large it nearly engulfs your entire head.

You can’t help but whimper at the intense physical contact.

His eyes narrow.

“One.” 

He starts the countdown.

Your breathing grows uneven.

Your eyes dart between the piece of human flesh—no, Takashi’s flesh—in his fingers and his unyielding gaze.

"Two." 

If you can free one wrist from his grip, you might be able to slip off one glove.

“Three,” he says quietly, his grip tightening on your jaw and wrists. “Time’s up.”

Without hesitation, he follows through on his threat.

He begins to part your lips, doing so with excruciating slowness. Your tongue fights against the pressure, making a soft clicking sound as it leaves the roof of your mouth.

As he forces your mouth to open wider, his own mouth parts slightly. Tilting his chin up to look down at you, his red eyes lower in a way you've come to recognize—those eyes that seem to catch you at your most vulnerable, when your facade starts to crumble.

You are trembling with a desperate need to escape, pulling gently and testing his hold, but his strength is unmatched. The King of Curses is always unmatched.

A low whine escapes your mouth as he moves the piece of meat closer to you. His thumb, previously resting against the side of your face, shifts to press into the dip under your lower lip, dragging it downward.

Time slows.

Your heartbeat pounds so loudly in your ears. The piece of flesh approaches your parted mouth.

Your vision narrows. Weightlessness overtakes you.

He guides the meat past your lips, positioning it carefully on the tip of your tongue before gently setting it down. Salt and iron. As he withdraws his fingers, he presses his thumb upward, closing your mouth.

“Chew.” His voice has become low, rough.

You don’t chew.

His grip tightens painfully around your jaw.

You begin to chew.

Rolling the meat around in your mouth. You force yourself to ignore the unsettling texture and suppress the urge to regurgitate it into his lap.

“Swallow it.”

Fuck you, Ryomen Sukuna.

You swallow.

Satisfied, he smirks and releases his hold on you.

As the chewed human flesh moves down your esophagus and settles in your stomach, your face contorts in reaction. You feel your body tense and revolt.

You heave once.

Sukuna’s face morphs into a look of disgust as he realizes what’s about to happen.

You scramble to your feet with frantic speed, rushing to the garden door and wrenching it open. The door almost comes off its track with the force of your action.

Bursting into the summer heat, you stagger into the garden, bend over, and vomit the contents of your stomach onto the ground.

A harsh bark of laughter erupts from back inside the room, echoing through the open door and reaching your ears over the sound of retching.

You stay hunched over, expelling every last bit of bile until there’s nothing left to throw up.

The sound of heavy footsteps approaches, and you tilt your head to glance back at the doorway.

Sukuna casually leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, watching you with a smirk.

“You really couldn’t handle it, could you?” he chuckles. “You are so fragile, so weak.”

You straighten.

On the tip of your tongue lies every profanity and curse that waits to be unleashed. But you swallow them down, choosing to hold back the torrent of rage.

“Nothing to say? Your father really does have you well-trained. Just a mutt.” Sukuna taunts.

You clench your fists in response to his relentless goading, then turn to head back inside, deliberately brushing past him.

“I should have taken your sister as my wife instead.”

You stop in your tracks, slowly turning on your heel to confront him.

“What did you just say?” 

A vicious smile cracks across his face.

“You heard me. Your sister. I should have taken—”

“Don’t you ever talk about my sister again, you fucking vile creature!” you shout, the words spewing from your lips with anger.

He takes a step toward you, and to your surprise, you step toward him as well. Standing chest to chest, you strain your neck to look up at him.

He has no idea what he’s just unleashed.

“What are you going to do, girl? Scream, yell, cry at me?” he mocks.

Oh, if only he knew what you were truly capable of.

Your fingers itch beneath your gloves, his taunts drilling into your skull.

“Go ahead, try to do something. It will be entertaining and utterly pointless, but I know you want to,” he quips.

A violent burst of adrenaline courses through your veins, and the familiar humming sensation below your fingertips pulsates.

Sukuna closes the distance further until your chest is pressed against his abdomen.

“Do it! Let’s see if you are even capable of scratching me.”

You tremble. Fists clench and unclench.

Subtly, you bring your hands together, pinching the edge of one glove, preparing to remove it.

His fingers curl inward, leaving only his middle and index fingers extended. His presence fills the space with a tense energy, coiled like a snake ready to strike.

“Do it!” he commands, voice booming.

Your jaw shakes. Your legs shake. The overwhelming urge to strike at him is too much.

But then your rational mind reasserts itself.

You can’t do it.

Throwing everything away in a moment of reckless fury is not an option. A reckless death is not an option. Surviving this—so you can return home—is and has always been your only option.

With a deep breath, you let your hands fall to your sides.

The anger that crashes across Sukuna’s face is instantaneous. His four arms tense as if he's restraining himself, just as in your recurring nightmare.

A deep, jagged groove cuts a path between his mask and eyebrow. His energy increases.

With no other options available and no way to escape the escalating situation, you push off your wooden sandals, gather the hem of your kimono, slip through the open garden door, and fucking run.

* * * * *

🔗 Chapter 7

[redflazok]

what if I told you that "take responsibility" is about all the characters in the game? (in this post, I will not consider only Daisuke, because I have no complaints about him)

Swansea

is an alcoholic and that says it all. yes, he tries to quit and take control of his life (that is, take responsibility for it), but as soon as everything goes wrong, he immediately breaks down. he is the first to notice alcohol in the mouthwash and starts drinking. Swansea doesn’t believe in their salvation and gives up immediately. he returns to alcoholism again. Swansea doesn't want to take responsibility, but he admits it himself

Anya

it's not her fault that she was a victim of rape. we feel sorry for her, and that's okay, but it's this fact that prevents us from evaluating her objectively.

Anya has no medical education, this has been said more than once. the question is, how was she even allowed to work as a nurse back then? A nurse is a person who takes responsibility for someone else's life, and Anya should have understood this. so she is deliberately taking a risk by getting a job as a nurse without an education. she had to take responsibility and she is not succeeding.

she sees that Curly is clearly having some difficulties. her psychological assessment of him is useless, she doesn’t give any recommendations, doesn’t try to convince him to at least rest (which Curly needs, obviously), doesn’t try to get him to talk and understand what is the matter.

she takes responsibility, but is not able to cope with it.

Curly

situation is almost the same as with Anya. we can feel sorry for Curly as much as we want, but the fact that he is not coping with his responsibility is obvious. Curly is the captain, he should be aware of everything that is happening on the ship. including what happens between employees. he's responsible for all of them, which is what jimmy reminds him of. and no, we can't justify his unstable mental state, because if you feel bad, if you stop coping, then you need to talk about it, and Curly doesn't do that.

this crew should not have existed at all (It's amazing they haven't been fired before), but Curly continues to turn a blind eye to the strange behavior of his friend, to a nurse with no education and to an alcoholic mechanic. he puts his pity for them above the responsibility he bears, and this is his mistake.

Jimmy

is the character that almost the entire fandom hates. yes, Jimmy is a vivid example of a man who is not ready to take responsibility (although he tries very hard, imagining himself to be a captain). he is the extreme in the question. Jimmy's problem is not that he is a bad person, but that he is a coward. Jimmy is not responsible for his actions, he is trying to avoid the consequences. and it is precisely because he is constantly trying to avoid them that he is pulling himself down more and more, committing one terrible act after another.

Jimmy thinks that "taking responsibility" means fixing the situation. although in fact, in his case, this means realizing his mistakes and feeling all their consequences for himself.

unfortunately, he only realizes this at the end, when he apologizes to Curly and for the first time admits to himself that he is to blame.

because of the violence Jimmy is committing, it's hard for us to look at the whole picture. But in fact, all members of this crew must take responsibility and feel its burden

[notreallysane]

Kind of a Halloween thingy (VERY OOC) Au where Aventurine is one lonely mf. Okay, it's true he has a little friendship group but... he can't really say they're friends, they're close enough to have a dynamic and a group name but not for everything else except for a game night once in never.

You can say he is kind of a "Komi can't communicate".He is absolutely gorgeous but he tries to pretend his crippling social anxiety doesn't exist by talking to fictional characters on a screen, if you looked at it you would probably be surprised by the amount of Otome and gacha games he has on his phone.

One in particular recently caught his eye, it's a game in beta development with only three routes at the moment. A Priest, A Teacher and a Beautiful Tief lady. He decides to download to try every route, but gets bored of the priest route at the first date, turns out Sunday is not really the most fun person (character?) To be around even if his route is pretty interesting. Aventurine decides to not even try the pretty tief lady, Kafka is her name, Because he simply is non interested in woman, but he can admit she would make an incredible best friend irl.

That leaves him with the teachers route. And to say he became obsessed with Veritas Ratio would be the understatement of the century.

His plotline, His character, his looks, his feelings, everything feels so human to Aventurine, he feels thirsty for more, he wants to KNOW that man even if only two dates are available for public right now.

He won't be sleeping for awhile thinking about sunset eyes and shy animated smiles... is that healthy? Probably not. Topaz can at least say she tried to knock some sense into him. You can't possibly be in love with a videogame character, a videogame character That's NOT EVEN OUT YET! she sounded exasperated and Aventurine can't blame her for it.

Months pass and the game is out with other route options, none of those matter now that Aventurine has all the time in the world to get Ratio's 100% Route, but... things start to go weird by the middle on the game. The other characters seemed distant and Ratio was the only one talking to him constantly. ((Not that Aventurine complains, every second with Ratio is a second to be cherished... that should probably be discussed on therapy.))

Everyone else seemed to be doing their things individually, even talking to him about other character's he has never heard of even in the games wiki. Who the hell is Himeko? It's almost as if... they're alive or something... lol that would be stupid.

Until one day he gets to a specific chapter on Ratio's backstory, The character breaks down in tears and Aventurine does his best to confort him as much as the dialogues allow him to, but then, Veritas reaches out to the screen and a hand simply passes through his phone like some sort of portal, Aventurine, Panicking, freezes as he watches Ratio slowly emerge from the screen to hug him tightly. Am i dreaming?

They talk for a while as things settle down and Ratio decides to stay with him until they can find him somewhere to live comfortably.

((As he comes to find out, theres a lot of complaints on the steam page of the game from the general public on how the bachelors seemed to already be in love with other in game NPCS nobody has ever seem, the name "Aventurine" is mentioned quite a few times along with "Himeko" "Gallagher" "Acheron" "Dan Heng" "Moze" and others... he hopes he can find those people some day to create a support program for people who fell in love with AI's))

((Yes this is a troupe, no i did not mean for it to get that long

[aventurineswife]

HEAR ME OUT 🗣️I though this would be really silly but, i'm curious 😭

An Aventurine x reader! Reader is based on Emu Otori from pjsk.

Since she is always cheerful, and her mission is making smile everybody, i think it would be cute. <3

And she's just there, trying to cheer Aventurine up, especially if she ever finds him in a vulnerable state.

“I'll be there for you”

Summary: You visit Aventurine, in the IPC headquarters to cheer him up. Aventurine, usually charming and carefree, reveals his exhaustion and the heavy stakes of his life as a gambler. As you share laughter and support, Aventurine allows himself to be vulnerable.

Tags: Aventurine x Reader, Emu Otori based Reader, Established Relationship or can be read Platonically, Vulnerability, Emotional Support, Lighthearted Moments, Wholesome, Fluff.

A/N: I'M NOT FAMILIAR WITH PJSK SO I HOPE I DID IT WELL!! 😭

A gentle hum filled the air as you, the embodiment of Phoenix Wonderland's spirit, wandered through the gleaming halls of the IPC’s towering headquarters. The place was elegant yet sterile, a stark contrast to the lively theme park that had been your second home. But here you were, ready to surprise someone who often brought out the best in you, despite his tendency to wear a dazzling, almost mischievous facade.

Aventurine, or “Aven” as you liked to call him, had been in his office all day, immersed in work. You knew he’d play it off with a smile and a breezy wave if asked, but even his calm, unruffled demeanor couldn't hide his exhaustion from you. You had a knack for noticing those small tells—the way his eyes lingered a bit longer on his paperwork or the faint crease in his brow as he silently analyzed risks, always playing that high-stakes game he seemed to live for.

Your shoes made little noise as you reached the heavy door of his office. Poking your head in, you found Aventurine at his desk. His gaze, fixated on a roulette-themed document, held a rare tinge of weariness.

“Aven!” you called, stepping in with a bounce in your step and a grin that could rival the warmth of a summer day. “Look who’s come to bring some cheer to Mr. Serious himself!”

Aventurine’s lips curved into a soft smile as he looked up, momentarily distracted from his work. “Well, if it isn’t my sunshine in the gloom. You know, I’d almost think you were trying to make an entrance.”

You laughed, brushing his tease off with a wave. “What can I say? I’m on a mission—to make you smile! Wonderhoy!” You threw up your hands in a triumphant gesture, the same one you used to cheer up your friends back at Phoenix Wonderland.

He chuckled, unable to resist the charm of your infectious energy. “Careful now. You’re dangerously close to breaking down my professional demeanor.”

“Aven,” you said more softly, catching the slight dimness in his usually vibrant eyes. “You’re always smiling and laughing, but… Are you really okay? Just because you’re the master of cards doesn’t mean you can bluff with me.”

For a moment, his confident mask faltered. Aventurine looked away, his smile fading as he exhaled, almost as if releasing the weight he held within. He rested his hand on the roulette design of his overcoat, fingers tracing the pattern.

“Sometimes,” he admitted, voice low, “the stakes feel… higher than I let on. It’s easy to play the part, to treat life as if it’s just another game, but… sometimes the risks don’t seem worth it.”

His vulnerability tugged at your heart. You placed your hand on his, squeezing gently. “You know, it’s okay to lean on someone else every now and then. Even big-shot Stonehearts need a break.”

He looked up, and for once, you could see past the facade, to the real Aventurine: the man who’d won his place by daring fate, the one who hid deep scars behind his dazzling smiles.

A smile of your own crept onto your lips, and you reached into your bag, pulling out a small, whimsical treat—a mooncake decorated with a tiny cat face. “I brought you something special,” you said with a playful wink. “I know it’s silly, but it reminded me of you.”

His laughter, softer than usual, filled the room as he accepted the treat, admiring it with a curious gaze. “Is this your secret weapon for cheering me up?”

“Absolutely!” you replied, bright-eyed. “I thought you’d like it. And besides, it’s cute—just like you.”

He raised an eyebrow, amused. “Are you flirting with me?”

You shrugged, laughing. “Maybe a little. But only because I want to see you happy.”

Aventurine took a bite, savoring the sweetness of the pastry and perhaps the warmth of your gesture. For once, he allowed himself a genuine moment of contentment, the weight on his shoulders momentarily lifted.

“Thank you,” he said softly, squeezing your hand in return. “You have a gift, you know… one I’m not sure I deserve.”

“Oh, Aven,” you murmured, leaning in closer. “Everyone deserves a little happiness. Even you.”

In that quiet moment, the IPC office felt like the small stage you’d grown up loving—a space where people could share smiles, cheer each other on, and find a bit of joy amid life’s struggles. And as you looked into Aventurine’s eyes, you saw a hint of something brighter, a glimpse of the man behind the gambler, and you couldn’t help but feel your heart swell with pride.

Aventurine’s fingers brushed over yours. “If I knew I’d meet someone like you, maybe I wouldn’t have gambled so hard.”

“Aw, but then you wouldn’t be the Aven I know and love,” you teased. “So no regrets, okay?”

With that, he chuckled, nodding as he set down the mooncake and drew you into a hug—a rare, vulnerable embrace. And in his arms, you felt the quiet promise that you’d always be there for him, cheering him on and bringing a bit of Phoenix Wonderland’s magic wherever life’s game took you both.

[liecoris]

「Hmn,」 Mukuro hums in response to Popo's answer, it was to be expected。 After all, Popo said that they couldn't outright give her any answers, but it was interesting to hear Popo use "and" instead of the "or" Mukuro had used moments ago。 There was another hum that left Mukuro when Popo brought up the photos back from the apartment, and now that she thought about it, she could only recall images of "her" and various cats, she didn't recall any childhood photos with family either。

「That is very interesting。。。」 It was possible that she had gone low, or even had no contact with her family, but that also didn't feel right。 She'll have to dig around more at the apartment later。

「Ah。。。 that's right。」 Mukuro had just about forgotten about that fact, 「ugh, I wish I knew more about ghosts and the like。」 She wasn't an expert by any means, all her knowledge was obtained via Wikipedia so who's to say just how accurate that is。。。「Could you get me information on a type of inhuman being that could do something like this? Because I didn't inhabit the body of the female lead, right? And if she's a descendant of exorcists demons would probably have a beef with her right? But if I'm not the female lead, it couldn't have been a targeted attack? Unless。。​​​​​​​。​​​​​​​ hm。 This is going to be a bit more trickier to figure out than I thought but that honestly makes things a bit more fun~」

She could also use this time to explore her surroundings a little bit, as far as the limitation would allow her, and see what she could see or hear。 Looking around, Mukuro was in thought until something like a realization hit her。

「Wait。。。 Ken, from the train ride, has been the only one to have brought up that I was on breavement because of my mother being murdered and yet no one else has really expressed their condolences about that, or if they knew, they're not talking about it so openly as Ken had。 So maybe there's something up with him?」

Popo listened to Mukuro talk about her thoughts in regards to the murder of the hosts mother. Ears twitched at her question, as it had to think long and hard about how to answer her. They couldn’t give away the answer, but could possibly give away some hints to help lead her in the right direction. The conjunction ‘or’ would mean that one of the options had to hold true, but the possibility of neither of them holding true couldn’t be ignored either.

After much thought, “you could send me out to gather information and fool’s errand together, yes.” Hopefully she’d understand the meaning behind the change in wording. Perhaps another small hint can be given. “Think back to the photographs, do you remember seeing any people? Family?” If Mukuro thought back to it, in all of the photos, the only human pictured was of her with various cats. Even in the pictures of the host in their childhood there were no pictures of any family. What could that mean?

Perhaps the host had cut ties with her family, or maybe there was another reason behind it. “As a casual reminder for you, don’t forget that in this game, there are various species inhabiting this world. Ghosts, beasts, spirits and more exist. Some of the answers you’ll seek may be related to the inhuman habitants.” In other words, some of the answers she’ll have to answer for her missions couldn’t be solved by simple human knowledge. Mukuro would have to branch out past human knowledge to think of answers.

There have been some hints that Popo snuck into conversation, like little clues about what she could try doing that would lead her to another clue to help her solve the mystery of the ‘murder’ that she was seeking. This was just her first mission, and due to the fact that Mukuro was brought here on a glitch, the game had adjusted the difficulty levels for some of the first few missions, so it was programmed in for some hints to be given to her periodically.