This Ate - Tumblr Posts
⌗ "I'LL GO EASY ON YOU," ⋮ but you absolutely fucking destroy him.
★ nagi seishiro x gn!reader ╰ how come you've obliterated him in something he's so good at?
▯ content warning. mentions of video game gunfire, shooting, etc.
"sei, this game looks fun," you murmured, shifting slightly to adjust your position on his lap. his eyes remained glued to the glowing screen, the faint gleam of colours casting a hazy light across his face. his arms were looped firmly around your waist, thumbs expertly swiping over the controller in his hands.
as you were cozily nestled inside his sweater, filled with the subtle scent of his cologne, you felt the gentle rise and fall of his chest. you observe him deftly move his virtual character across the battlefield, shooting enemies and cursing under his breath at each hindering obstacle. after being in this same position for quite some time, a sense of boredom had begun to bubble within you.
"mm, yeah?" he mumbles, resting his chin on your head. he tilts his head down to press a kiss onto your soft hair. "it is."
"can i try?"
he stays silent for a moment, the room filled with the sounds of obnoxiously loud bursts of gunshots. he finally takes a breath and speaks, his voice muffled against your hair. "tis’ really hard though. i don’t think y’can win,"
your brows furrow as you whip your head slightly to meet his gaze, raising your hand to pinch his cheek. "hmm, how would you know? i could be better than you!"
"yeah, yeah, fine," he pulls his face away from your fingers’ grip on his cheek. he gives you a faint smile, exiting out of the game and clicking 'new game'. "i'll go easy on you."
you slide off his lap with anticipation, grabbing the fluffy bean bag he had bought exclusively for you from the corner of his room, placing it next to him. giving it a pat to smoothen its wrinkles, you made your way to the tv stand's drawer in quick strides, retrieving an extra game controller.
"you don't have to, sei," you smile warmly, settling into the softness of the bean bag as you prepare to show nagi seishiro what you were made of. "i want it to be fun."
he nods, hesitantly clicking the start button. while watching the one-minute timer displayed on the screen, he remembers to explain the rules to you.
"basically," he begins, "there’s a five-minute time limit. the person who reaches one hundred kills first, or whoever is the closest to one hundred kills, wins."
"yeah, i know, dummy." you tease, reaching out to tousle his hair, in which he responds with a subtle blush tinging his cheeks rose. "i've been watching you play for at least an hour now."
the bolded numbers on the now-split screen enlarge, signaling the beginning of the new game; 3...2...1...
you waste no time, immediately equipping your weapon, fingers swiftly moving along the buttons. silence was quick to envelop the room, thick with the weight of your competitiveness.
nagi shoots you a surprised, quick glance, before focusing his gaze back onto his side of the screen. suddenly, his attention is drawn to the corner of your part of the screen, where your kill count is displayed.
to say the least, this man was astonished to find out that you’ve racked up 63 kills in slightly under three minutes. his eyes widened in disbelief ever so slightly, registering the number with admiration.
"what the heck..." he accidentally huffs, quickly pressing his mouth together as the sound of his confused voice reaches his ears.
you let out an amused giggle, "surprised?"
he does not respond, lost in his own muddled thoughts. how could he, after underestimating you so badly? how could he say anything when you, as you were currently speaking, have over 60 kills compared to his mere 34?
the white-haired boy feels a prick of suspicion creeping in; he hadn’t known that his partner was an expert at video games. why hadn’t you told him? he sighs, realizing that the person he could have played with all this time was right beside him all along; he would no longer need to play with his tediously boring game-mates or those doltish bots which he had always deemed a hassle.
then, the game came to an abrupt stop.
98 - 52
he stares hard at the game over screen, a deep frown creasing his forehead. "nuh-uh, let's do it again..."
"ahh, i told you i could win!" you cheer, your finger lightly tugging on the skin under your eye as you stick your tongue out in jest. "and sure, i really want to hit one hundred this time!"
a soft grumble escapes his pouty lips as he buries half his head under the inside of his sweatshirt, leaving only his eyes visible. "m'baby's so cocky..."
100 - 67
"fuck, again!"
99 - 75
"this game's gotta be rigged!"
96 - 56
"seiii, i'm boredddd—"
"one mo' time,"
89 - 88
"ack–fuck this shit… i'm going to sleep."
you blink your eyes in silent amusement— this was a side of him you had rarely ever seen. your usually calm, bored boyfriend trying so hard at something; it was adorable seeing him so invested, even if it was simply a video game.
but somehow, you had managed to fire him up enough to the point of rage quitting?
"y’know sei, i was going easy on you..."
"..."
despite his muted response to the fuel you've added to the fire, you catch a glimpse of a proud smile tugging on his lips as he retreats back onto the bed, beckoning you to join him. “that was fun… play w’me again, ‘kay?”
© 2024 bluelockmaniac — do not repost, copy, translate, modify, etc my work on any platform !
Ate this up omg😭😭
● Blood Orange
● II - Gambit
A gathering of bees wafted along on a string of wind, as gentle as the kiss of a monarch on a bushel of baby's breath.
They hummed and bumbled, aimlessly darting between flowers that bloomed rainbow hues, muted and bold, but none of which they deemed worthy.
In the distance, caught between the split of a great wood, they caught sight of a pale blue that shone white in the overhead sun.
With satisfaction, they perched, only to crumble and fall down to the earth, far too hefty for the decaying petals of winter blossoms.
"Stupid bees," a plume of frosty breath escaped his lips, "The warm seasons are far off."
Cossick turned his head back into the coach where Esandolyn was seated, her foot tapping at a pace against the floor.
"How are you feeling?"
"Yeah, I'm okay." Her eyes had darkened half circles beneath them, threatening to become whole at any second.
"When's the last time you slept?"
"I'm apalled Lysander, how rude."
He exhaled through his nose and frowned, "You look like you're going to fall forward at any moment."
"I will catch myself."
His head dipped, questioning her statement.
"I might catch myself." She corrected.
A smirk tugged at the corner of his lip, and he turned back outside to save her the satisfaction of seeing it.
Parked on a patch of grass a short length away from the main road, they rested beneath an oak tree that dangled its dappled light over every surface.
From where he stood, leaning against the outside of the coach, he could see the entrance of the church, a tall building that was almost blinding when it caught the light, imposing in its potential and radiant in its apparent glee.
The church of Saint Alding was neither a church by definition nor was its namesake derived from a patron Saint. Rather, Alding was the name of the grounds on which it was built, a well manicured area situated at the edge of the town near the castle.
It tapered off in gray sloped roof sections and was as simple in shape as a crate but stretched lengthwise. Various windows lined up in file, and their dramatic tracery defaced the otherwise smooth walls.
In a stone campanile, a head taller than the church itself, a bell rang once, the vibrations sent down to the floor and into Cossick's chest.
"They're late. Though I'm not surprised, it goes to show how seriously they are taking this."
He took a step into the coach and helped her up by the arm, leading her outside and helping her down the step.
"Remember, it's fixed, and you've got no friends in there, so don't appeal to anyone."
She took a shaky breath and tensed her jaw. "How long will it be before the punishment takes effect?"
"A few days, it has to go through the council for approval first, so enough time to kidnap you and create a missing person's scandal."
"I'm starting to think you aren't joking about this." she shuffled a few steps away from him.
"No, no, I am joking. It won't be a scandal. They don't want you anyway." He dusted a leaf out of his hair.
She glared at him, "I'll pluck your eyelashes out."
"That is outrageous."
She leaned beside him, her back against the wooden frame.
"I'm surprised you can still make light of things."
"It hasn't set it in yet." She stared off at the building with dead eyes, "I don't remember what happened, I don't remember doing those things," a leaf drifted from the swaying sea of green above her head, she watched as it fell and twirled and flipped until it hit the grass. "I'm scared."
"You did nothing wrong, it wasn't you."
"Then who was it?"
He fell quiet. "I think that might be the scariest thing about all of this."
Surrounded by rolling hills, picket fences, and right angled flower fields like knitted quilts draped over the land, it was almost impossible to feel anything but tranquil.
Through the susurrus of chirping birds, the coach horse eating away at tufts of grass and the rustling of the leaves, a foreboding feeling irked at the fibers of her muscles and the fine hair on her skin.
"Sir Cossick!" A guard in the distance yelled, beckoning them toward the church.
Her body sank through the floor, the pallor of her face caused by the blood rushing to her beating heart.
Cossick did a half reach into the coach and removed her helmet, tucking it under her arm, "This is as far as I can go." He seemed to flick through a collection of words and facial expressions but settled on a somber "See you soon" and a smile.
"Goodbye, Lysander."
***
Through two grand carved doors above which an organic lynette was displayed, she entered to an open chamber, her footsteps echoing like sharp knocks in the silence.
Vaulted ceilings supported by arches and beams crossed through each other at intersections, where dangling chandeliers provided an unhelpful candle light.
The room was fairly dark despite it being the middle of the day, along the walls that stretched far into the distance stained glass windows replaced the daylight with low rays, deep and rich.
From behind her, absorbed into the sheen of her armor and the wood on the floor, a large circular window, mosaics of blues and greens forming the image of a knight kneeling, sword pointed to the skies.
The church was empty, not a person seated at the rows of pews lining either side of a marble walkway nor an official at the grand stand, only a single man in a three piece suit sat at the stepped seats reserved for witnesses and court officials.
The guard that followed shut the doors and led her to a platform between the altar and the public gallery.
A fenced off checkerboard square of black and white tiles where she was brought violently to her knees.
"Hey!"
The helmet fell and rolled a distance away, staring at her as her bound wrists were joined to an iron bar that was then fixed to the floor with a steel pin.
"I'll take this off your hands." The guard knelt and retrieved the helmet, inspecting it as he receded back to the entrance, and then past the closed door.
Through a curtain behind a raised stand before her, ornamented with shields, swords, and flags, a well-dressed man emerged and then seated himself, "Good afternoon, Lady Esandolyn."
"G-Good afternoon, sir." She managed to force out an answer.
He straightened a stack of papers on the desk, "Don't look so alarmed, you didn't expect to stand free, did you? My name is Obille, I will be your judge today."
People began pouring into the stand behind him, leaking in through a dark gap, flooding the available chairs and the air with a soft hum.
Amongst the faces of those who seated themselves, she recognized Balic, the owner of the church that existed now as rubble and charred remains.
He was a man whose shirt was a button too tight, and his beard a few strands unkempt, dressed to the finest degree but without a care toward his physical appearance.
He stood out like a crow amongst Ravens, his feathers more oily and his caw scratchier too. Staring at her through cold eyes, dead and dark.
"We are waiting for the last of our witness arrivals." Obille peered at her over thin lenses before bringing his thumb to his tongue and flicking through pages.
The skin under his eyes drooped like an old dog's. Covering his face was a thin white mustache curled at the ends and a thick beared, trimmed into shape. He brought a hand to his balding head to scratch an itch.
The door behind her creaked open, and Esandolyn was judged by the shadows that reached her on the floor. By the pointed shaped of their shadowed heads, she knew the witnesses had arrived.
They filled the seats thirty spaces on either side of her, like blood red pawns lined up on a chess board.
Were there always this many of them? She wondered.
Obille's voice cut through her thought, "In the presence of our father who art in his haven, we must rest our hands on the words of our savior and drink from a chalice the blood of the innocent so that we may never deceive nor prove deceitful, lest we be struck down and repent."
The murmurs slowly died down, and the last of those that still stood took their places amongst the rows of seats and the stand behind the judge.
"May we close our eyes."
She obeyed, and the room turned to a pitch black. Her fingertips were guided to the textured cover of a leather book, and cold steel was brought to her lips. A red liquid flushed into her mouth, bitter and pungent, a dark wine that made her shudder.
"Now, let us begin."
Her eyes opened in time to see the church assistant shuffling backward with chalice in hand, disappearing behind the stand.
Obille paused, shifting back and forth, as along with his demeanor, seemingly uncomfortable in his clothes and seat.
A sweat broke on his forehead, undoubtedly throughout his body too, vented by the tugging of his collar and a large exhale.
His sight drifted to a sheet of paper at his sight, which he read quickly before he cleared his throat; "Due to the rising conflicts in Landol, Queen Joan will be unable to attend this trial and take her place as judge. As appointed second in command of matters relating to the churches and courts, I will temporarily take her place."
She felt everyone's eyes on her. They pierced her flesh, and they studied the most minute details of her face, from the pores on her skin to the sweat cascading down the contours of her cheeks.
"Lady Isolde Esandolyn," he placed his hands in front of him, fingers intertwined, "7th Holy Knight of our Queen Joan Desiliers' military forces, a warrior governed under your oath to her majesty and our lord to protect and serve the kingdom and its people with the utmost bravery and valiance in the face of any evil."
"Do you," He continued, "attest to the truth of this statement?"
"Sir?"
"Do you attest to it? It's a simple question, I expect you can even answer it."
"Y-yes, sir, I can attest to the truth of that statement."
He tapped a finger on his chin, eyebrow raised expectedly. "Well...?" He gestured for her to continue.
"Sir, I don't understand."
He sighed, irritated. "What truth do you attest to?"
She furrowed her eyebrows, and she felt Cossick's statements were beginning to feel more real with every word that left Obille's mouth.
"The truth that I pledged myself to our kingdom and dedicated my being to protecting our Queen and her people."
"Very good." He turned slightly to nod at a woman behind him, who held papers and writing tool, she nodded back at him.
"Three nights ago, you were spotted leaving Wilrife Castle after hours, after which you wondered into the woods," he rifled through his papers, his mouth moving as he read, "witnesses claim having seen you enter Saint Balic's church after which they heard "Screams of an angel who had come to death."
She looked to the witnesses, the members of Balic's church, and searched their faces for the ones who might have seen, but they were all the same, their expressions darkened.
"Then...you set the church ablaze. You were captured by the castle guards and taken into custody."
Her mind flashed back to that moment, the only one she could remember. Standing on coarse dirt as yells filled the air, violent hands gripped at her scorched and bloodied body with the church a ball of flames behind her.
Balic rose from his seat and hurriedly huffed to whisper something in Obille's ear, undoubtedly spitting every word. "Yes, yes," Obille nodded, smiling for only a second, "okay."
"Tell me, Isolde, do you have any family?"
She eyed Balic, who had seated himself in a sweat, dabbing at the moisture on the upper lip of his satisfied smile.
"That question hardly seems relevant, sir." She protested.
"You are in no position to defy me. It will not make this easier for you."
"No, sir, I do not have any family." Her teeth were clenched tightly.
"Ah, so you could surely understand the pain... the strife that comes with losing your family, yes?"
"..."
"Isolde, you are meant to use your voice in a trial."
"Yes, sir, " her words were short, "I understand the pain."
"Why then, would you willingly ruin another man's family for your own personal gain?"
"My own personal gain? That has nothing to do with it!"
"Oh, so what you are saying is that you did not, in fact, do it for your personal gain. Rather, you did it for another reason?"
Her body rapidly heated up, the armor she wore containing the heat like a furnace in which she was being cooked.
She had blundered, and her fate was now in the hands of someone who believed checkmate to be when a bishop had cornered a knight.
"Hmm, very interesting... and finally, " she stared at him, not an ounce of an emotion was conveyed by her eyes, and by her face, she was not willing to give more than she already had.
"What was your reason then for committing such an atrocity if not for your own personal gain?"
Silence followed, through which she could hear his breaths and the shuffling of clothes as the witnesses shifted.
"I do not remember what happened." With eyes unable to face the man at the stand above her, she knew by the statement alone that the words on paper would not favor her side.
"How convenient." He seemed to brush this fact away as if he couldn't care less. "With no memory of whether or not you did it, you can confirm that there is a possibility that you might have been responsible for it after all?"
"No, I can not confirm that."
All she wanted to do was to scream at him and force a scene in which she could explain herself, but she recognized the officials seated behind Obille. They were capable, serving beside the Queen.
"Do you seriously believe we can conduct a trial of the church on a statement as frivolous in its meaning as that? What weight does your "no" carry here? If it were that simple to avoid charges, the kingdom would be filled with miscreants and thugs."
"Then what would you call the assholes sitting behind you, lining your pockets and your gut too?"
"I do believe that is all?" He once again looked to the lady behind him who nodded and began packing up her supplies, ignoring her words.
"Despite they outcome of this trial, guilty or innocent, you will be stripped of your credentials and banished from the kingdom." Balic chimed in with a grunt, clearing his throat.
"You are also to pay a lump sum of one thousand gold to Balic and his family for the damage."
"Money? This is about money!?" The chains of her bonds rattled as they pulled taught. "You don't give a shit about your son. You never even mentioned him! This means nothing to you!"
"Hush now, my dear, there's no need for such filth to leave your mouth." His anger seemed genuine, but it paled in comparison to the rage that she felt, bursting at her joints and at the bruises on her wrists.
"Why don't we skip the whole, "How do you plead?" Ordeal, I can throw you behind bars simply for cussing in a holy place and defacing a member of the church. Imagine how guilty you would be for burning one down." He chuckled, and Balic joined in before coughing up an excuse by wiping his mouth and beating his chest.
"I pronounce your punishment to be..." He raised his gavel into the air, and her head lowered in response, higher once more, and her eyes shut tight, there was no point in fighting.
"Execution."
It fell to the block beneath it with a force that shattered her internally, ringing through the hollow room so loudly that she flinched.
Screams erupted all around her, blood curdling and by their sudden ends, futile.
The ear piercing bang that befell the finality of her life echoed around her, each louder than the next, followed by a shrill screeching that dug unto her ears.
She forced her eyes to see and the sights etched into her brain, a warmth flowed beneath her knees, a crimson red reflected in her plated caps.
She whipped her head up and reeled backward, pulling hard on the rod she was attached to.
Her stomach churned and fought to escape. Her lungs and breaths did the same.
Obille's head rested on the stand, fragments of his skull had been misplaced about the stand and the walls, blood poured from a gaping wound where it leaked down the front of the panels, soaking into the wood and staining the Kingdom flags.
Her eyes dragged to a man who hovered over the body, his three piece suit stained with red splotches. He held an oddly shaped wooden stick in Obille's direction, metal plates covered the majority, and smoke rose from its tip.
He looked toward Esandolyn, staring straight through her, but the contact of his eyes still sent a shiver down her spine. Remorseless, and glazed over, flecked with blood but none the wiser to it.
He nodded, indicating to her, and before she could react, before she could think to react, her vision was stolen.
It was dark, her lungs pleaded for a breath, but the more they struggled to take one, the tighter the force around her neck became.
Hands grabbed at her, and she fought them, but they did not budge. They moved her from where she was kneeled and dragged her across the floor with a horrible scraping shriek.
In a final attempt, she lunged forward, swinging her legs beneath her, and for a split second, it worked. Her sight broke free from the material around her head as it slipped off, and the hands lost their grip.
She fell on her side, and she remained fallen, for in the stands of witnesses, not a single body remained.
Corpses draped the steps, and their innards lined the walls. The blood that soaked into their red cloaks made no difference, but it was striking against their pale skin.
Broken skin and flesh torn, horrid faces frozen in time, their fear caught forever.
Lined up in file were men dressed in the same garments of the ones they had murdered, wielding knives and blades.
The sight, the smell, shut down any attempt to fight, only the desire to crawl into herself and forget, remained.
The church of Saint Alding had bore witnessed a massacre it may never forget, and as her body left its doors, she would remember.
for the requests, would you draw an embarrassed flustered Shane? :)
thank you for the food, anon!
