#I'm cold while I write this | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

writingdevil · 22 days ago

Note

I LOVED Tongues and Teeth; it's such a good fic! And you said the ParaCold crumbs you sprinkled into it were just for you but they also felt like a gift to meeee :D I LOVE THEM! So may I request anything you might feel like writing for ParaCold?

(AAH!Of course!I love your blog and your ParaCold stuff!I'm so happy that you requested this because now I have an excuse to write about them!Enjoy!)

Cold had a staring problem.

Paranoid knew this because he fucking hated being stared at.

Normal eye contact was fine-Paranoid could deal with that without twitching too much.But he couldn't stand blatant,intense staring,as if somebody was trying to see through his bones and feathers and find all his fears and secrets within him.It made his skin crawl and his mind whirl with an endless variety of creatures that wanted to reach out and snatch him up and into the darkness.

The only person that Paranoid was semi-okay with staring at him,was Hunted,and that was because Hunted was an intense creature with a need to check everyone and make sure they're alright,so Paranoid would just grit his teeth and bare it in those moments.

But any other time,he would feel this intense itching,and a crawling fear would creep up his spine,and all Paranoid would want to do was run to the darkest corner he could find so that nothing could perceive him anymore.

Cold had been staring at him lately.

Anytime Paranoid walked into a room,his feathers would puff up in alarm and his heart would pound, and he would be spinning around like a madman, looking for the culprit.Sometimes it would happen when he was just out for a walk!

It was Cold.It was always Cold.

Paranoid would find the bird in the corner of a room that nobody seemed to care about,and Cold's steel gaze would linger down his body like frost,leaving him shivering yet burning at the same time,and he would just glare at Cold from afar and go somewhere to escape his icy eyes.

As much as it irked Paranoid,he knew that it was just Cold being Cold.Maybe a few months ago,he would've marched up to him and told him to knock it off,but that would've been pointless.

Besides,he knew Cold was just eying up something potentially interesting.He goes through phases of intrigue with each member of the flock from time to time,but that intrigue never lasted long,except for maybe Contrarian,who Paranoid still couldn't quite understand even now.

Cold would lose interest eventually,Hero assured, and Paranoid personally couldn't wait to stop feeling Cold's eyes on him.

A week passed,and he still felt Cold staring at him. Then another week,and Paranoid started to stay in his room longer,as the itching was seriously freaking him out now,and he was losing sleep on top of it.

On the third week,a knock was heard at his door, and he didn't even stop to ask who it was before he opened it without a thought,finding Hunted nervously standing in front of him,switching between glancing down the hall,then back at him.

"Hunted?What's wrong?"Hunted's body straightened up in alertness,as if ready to pounce. He looked at Paranoid for a split second,before doing a double take,eyes wide and twitching. Paranoid was about to ask what was wrong,but then Hunted shook his head,as if to rid himself of his shock.

Paranoid had no idea what to expect,but when Hunted nodded out towards the hallway and said, "Follow,"he thought it best to obey him.

They walked side by side,and Hunted was making an obvious effort to not look at Paranoid for whatever reason,and he explained,"I need your help."Hunted briefly made eye contact with him and added,"No one's in danger."

That,at least,made some of the tension leave Paranoid's body."What's got you so wound up then?"

"It's Cold,"Hunted grumbled,and Paranoid immediately stopped in his tracks.Hunted stopped as well,but continued to calmly explain,"He was out with Contrarian this morning,and now his feathers are a mess.He needs to preen.Now-at once."

Now it was beginning to make sense.Preening was one of the very few non life-threatening activities that Hunted took very seriously.To the point where Contrarian had dubbed him the 'Preening Patrol' because of how serious Hunted took preening.If there was even a feather out of place,Hunted wasn't above chasing someone and pinning them to the ground to take care of their wings.Stubborn learned that the hard way.

Cold,predictably,had no interest in preening,seeing it as a useless waste of time and pointless.Paranoid has never seen him preen his wings,and to his knowledge,Hunted is the only reason his wings looked presentable half the time.

But that still didn't explain why Hunted needed Paranoid."Okay?"he said in confusion,"Then go preen his wings.You've never had a problem with this before."

"I can't,"Hunted insisted,"he won't let me."

Paranoid chuckled."That's never stopped you either."He's had the pleasure of watching Hunted drag an unimpressed Cold back to his room for preening with an iron grip around his wrist,and there would always be a hint of mild frustration on Cold's face everytime,as if this was the last thing he wanted to be doing.But Hunted always got his way when it came to preening.

Right now though,Hunted just looked more and more antsy as he finally looked Paranoid in the eye, who squirmed at the action,and said,"I can't.He said he'll only let you preen him."

Immediately,Paranoid's feathers puffed up,and a heat that could only be from nervous panic took ahold of him in that moment.

What?Him?Why?Why him?It was only ever Hunted that preened Cold-Why did Cold want somebody else now?

It was a trap,Paranoid was sure of it.This was a trap,and Cold was going to do something awful to him-that was what the staring had been all about. Cold was trying to figure out what the most fun and interesting way to torment him would be,and now he found it,and now he was going to do something that would set Paranoid on edge forever.

"No,"the words were barely out of his mouth before Hunted swiftly stood right in front of him,a pleading look in his eyes."Please."

"No.I don't trust this."

"It's bad to have wings as messy as his.What if there's danger?What if his feathers tangle together into tiny knots until he can't fly away,and he's killed instantly?"

Paranoid gritted his teeth,crossing his arms in frustration because he knew Hunted was playing to his sensitivities and fears-because those were all thoughts Paranoid would have.

Still,he turned his head away,not convinced that the danger wasn't Cold in this situation.

But then he saw Hunted lower his head,making himself look smaller as he leaned closer to Paranoid,and he found that he couldn't look away as Hunted stared up at him with big,shiny,and irresistibly adorable eyes."Please,"he once again said,feathers puffing up to make him look less feral, and Paranoid immediately felt his heart melt at the sight.

Damnit.Opportunist taught Hunted well.

He scrunched up his face in confliction,but he couldn't tear his gaze away from Hunted and his adorable face,until he groaned loudly."Ugh!Fine!I'll do it!"he conceded,and Hunted immediately dropped the cute display,going back to calm vigilance,if a bit satisfied with himself.

Paranoid glared at him,pointing a finger to his chest and said,"But if anything happens to me in there,you're gonna be my bodyguard for a whole month,okay?"

Hunted nodded his head solemnly."I will."Then a pause,then Hunted quietly said,"Thank you,"and that made all the annoyance leave Paranoid's body, and he sighed and said,"Yeah.I'll let you know when I'm done."

He walked past Hunted,who gave him a soft forehead bump on his arm as he passed,and Paranoid smiled at the gesture-until he got to Cold's room.

It was as if the very temperature around the room dropped,and Paranoid felt goosebumps shoot up his arms.In the back of his head,whispers of worst case scenarios and flashes of potential horrors flooded his mind,and he took a second to press his palms against his eyes until the whispers shut up-and he felt relatively calm again.

He took a deep breath in,staring at the door.Should he knock?Should he just walk right in?Cold didn't seem like the type to care about locking doors.But what if this was the one place where Cold would lock a door,because it was where Cold felt safest and he didn't want anyone to see him-

"You can come in,you know."

Paranoid yelped at the voice,but it did help stop his mind from spiralling further.He glared through the wooden door,at the insufferable bird on the other side of it,and that last little spark of anger was what pushed him to open the door and walk in.

He took a step into the room,before a full body shiver overtook his body,as he stared into Cold's eyes.

He was sitting on his bed,as if waiting for him, kneeling and facing him with a mask of boredom on his face,although Paranoid did catch a little spark of surprise in his eyes,as if he hadn't expected Paranoid to go through with this.

In a really fucked up way,Paranoid felt like he was back in that cabin,walking down to confront the Nightmare.

Of course,Cold was staring at him,and Paranoid tried to ignore the horrible sensation it brought upon him,by clenching his fists and studying Cold's room.

He hadn't really known what to expect,but a random assortment of items felt the most appropriate for Cold.There were many feathers scattered in every spot in the room,along with books strewn about the floor,and Paranoid recognised a few of them as belonging to Skeptic.

Cold also had many handmade weapons just lying around,which definitely didn't help Paranoid's heart calm down.There was a bow leaning against a wall next to the window in the room,and a pile of both normal and broken arrows,and Paranoid bet if he looked out the window,he'd find a bunch of arrows popping up everywhere.

There was also a bedside table that had five or six handmade knives sat atop of it,and that was when Paranoid became immediately aware of the various scratches and marks on the walls,and even noticed a crimson tint on some of the blades.He forced himself not to dwell on it.

There just seemed to be a lot of miscellaneous items that Cold had tried to amuse himself with, before losing interest and throwing them aside.He felt a draft slip in from one of the wall marks near him,and it merely highlighted how bitterly freezing the room was.

Eventually,his gaze made its way back to Cold,who hadn't taken his eyes off him the entire time-in fact, it only seemed to get more intense.

Paranoid shut the door behind him and said,"I hear you're causing problems for Hunted."

"Am I?"Cold said,then lifting a wing to show off,and Paranoid winced at the state of them.Hunted probably almost lost his mind when Cold refused to let him preen him.

"Why do you want me to preen your wings?You know Hunted's the best at it."

Cold shrugged."Got bored of him doing it.He just focuses on the task and then scurries off.He doesn't even respond when I try to talk to him."

"Probably because you keep trying to convince him that there's danger around every corner."

A quirk of a smile."He's more interesting that way. Jumpy and unpredictable."

"Scaring our most competent flockmate won't bode well when there's an actual threat that needs dealing with."Cold rolled his eyes.

"Anyways,"Paranoid said,"back to the issue at hand-why me?Why won't you let anyone else do it?"Cold shrugged again,then casually replied with,"You were the first one to come to mind."

His heart pounded in dread.Cold was definitely up to something.Cold was absolutely going to try something if Paranoid went through with this.He should leave.He should turn around and just tell Hunted to slam him to the ground and preen him, because there was no way that Paranoid could go through with this.

But then cold air hit his face,and he flinched as his feathers puffed up to keep him warm,and he focused back on Cold,just as he turned around so that his back was facing Paranoid,and he glanced over his shoulder and said,"Well?Aren't you going to start?"

He should leave.He should leave.He should leave.

He found himself walking forward.

Paranoid chalked it up to not wanting to upset Hunted further,as he kept his eyes on Cold's hands, which were politely folded in his lap,but that didn't mean he didn't have a weapon hidden somewhere, if his room was anything to go by.

He kept his fists clenched tight as he slowly walked forward,then sunk his knees into the bed,and Cold sent him one last look before turning to face ahead again.Finally,his skin didn't feel on fire for the time being,and he watched as Cold spread his disastrous mess of wings out for him.Shit,how long was this going to take?Paranoid didn't even take time into account for this.But he's here now,and he has no choice but to go through with it.

He started with the right wing,and they were sitting in silence for a few minutes,but Paranoid knew that wouldn't last.

At some point,he got really stuck into the preening, almost completely forgetting who he was with-until Cold suddenly flapped his wings wildly,sending feathers and dust everywhere,and Paranoid jumped back in shock,putting an arm out to block the rough action.

When Cold decided to stop,Paranoid looked up, only to find that all his hard work had been erased, Cold's wings looking as messy as the beginning.

He glared as he sat up,even though Cold couldn't see him."What the hell was that for?!"Cold shrugged,tossing him a nonchalant look over his shoulder as he said,"I needed to stretch my wings.I can't help that."

"Tell me that next time!"Paranoid ordered,then sighed as he started all over again.But merely five minutes later,Cold's right wing jerked itself out of Paranoid's grip,as if spasming,before settling back down.

"You're doing this on purpose!"

"My wing cramped up.I can't help it."

"You can't seem to help anything.Is this all you really wanted me for?"he asked,spreading his arms out as he said,"Did you just want to piss me off?"

Cold didn't reply for a few seconds,before lowering his head as he said,"You're here to preen my wings." Paranoid glared harder,ignoring how soft those words were spoken.

There was nothing he could do but begin again, quickly this time,so that maybe Cold wouldn't do that again,and in an attempt to distract him, Paranoid asked,"Why don't you like getting your wings preened?You're able to do more things with well-groomed wings,like flying,and I doubt you'd want to give that up."

Cold shrugged."It's too tedious to think about in the long run."Paranoid managed to get a small clump of dirt out of Cold's wings,and he felt the appendages tense up for a second,then relax.

"The only way you can experience things in the present is to not get bogged down by the past or the future."Paranoid flicked the dirt away,having many qualms about that logic,but now wasn't the time to get into that.

Especially when Cold turned to give Paranoid a sharp side eye and say,"Like how you do."

Paranoid froze,fingers tensing up while still buried in dark feathers.Cold kept his eyes locked on him, and then slowly tilted his head back until he was staring at Paranoid upside down,and Paranoid's hands were uselessly floating by Cold's head as his wings moved out of his grip.

The itching came back full force,but he also felt like if he moved,Cold would strike,and have no mercy with him.At this angle,Cold was maybe giving him either an intense look or just a weird,curious look, but Paranoid couldn't focus on anything else other than Cold as he said,"You let silly little things like the past give you fears,and the future give you mistrust.You never let yourself just be in the moment."

"So?"Paranoid managed to grit out,"It's almost impossible for somebody to not be thinking about the past or future,even to a small degree."

"But the amount you let it control you seems unnecessary."

"Unnecessary?"Paranoid repeated in shock and disbelief,letting a sharp laugh out,then retorted with,"If I wasn't constantly thinking about what the princess's next move would be,then we would all have died a lot quicker."

"But we still died,so how useful was it really?"

"Way more than you could ever understand."

Cold's eyes widened for a moment,but Paranoid couldn't tell if it was from shock or amusement.He got his answer when Cold's gaze hardened as he said,"I understand that hiding in your room all day doesn't seem very useful."

Paranoid's fingers curled,as if he could imagine digging them into Cold's skull.

"You think I didn't notice?How you suddenly stopped popping up around the place with your nervous mumbling and twitching?I'm fairly certain that holing up in your room won't help you in case something attacks us,arguably more than unpreened wings."

He noticed.He noticed his absence and had done all this just to drag him out of his room.Sure,Cold hadn't actually done anything yet,but the mere fact that Cold had planned this to get him out of his room was enough to have Paranoid shaking in fear.

Cold's eyes flicked across his face,and Paranoid wasn't sure what he was looking for-but he found it, and straightened back up so quick it made Paranoid flinch.

He found his fingers grazing soft feathers again, and he found himself petting the feathers down softly as a way to bring himself back to reality.He kept doing that until the trembling subsided,and all Paranoid was left with tense anxiety,trying to understand what Cold's goal was here.

He hadn't even realized that he had started on the other wing,until Cold once again flapped his wings aggressively about,undoing all his hard work.

Paranoid tipped his head back and groaned loudly."I was halfway done!Why do you keep doing this?You're just dragging this out longer than it needs to be."Cold's response was a shrug.

Paranoid stared at Cold.Well-the back of Cold-and he was beginning to get sick of this fear having a chokehold on him,so he just sighed and calmly asked,"What do I have to do to get you to stay still?"

That was Paranoid's mistake.

Cold hummed in thought,then glanced back at Paranoid and said,"Let me preen your wings as well."

"What?They don't need to be-"

But when Paranoid glanced down at his own wings, he realized with horror that they did need to be preened.Quite badly,in fact.Did he not preen at all in his bedroom?

Then Paranoid remembered the way Hunted was looking at him as they walked,how he looked nervous and twitchy.It was because Paranoid's wings were a mess.

He tore his gaze away from Cold's intense eyes,his mind screaming,'No!'

He didn't let anyone touch his wings.He preened them himself because he only trusted himself to do it right.The only exception was Hunted,and that was because not letting Hunted preen his flockmates was as cruel as Paranoid not having his chant-and now he was starting to realise that he let Hunted get away with way more than he should.

His eyes kept flicking between Cold and his hands, that were still gently holding his feathers.He couldn't go through with this,right?He couldn't actually let Cold preen him,right?What if this was where he made his awful move?

On top of that,Paranoid had finally gotten his wings to a presentable state.With Hero's help,he managed to stop nervously overpreening,and now Paranoid was actually quite proud of how they looked.Was Cold going to undo all that?

But then again,Cold hadn't actually done anything yet.

He doubted that Cold was going to pluck every feather from him,so whatever he had planned,it was probably just to anger or spook him,and Paranoid found that he could deal with that.He could deal with mind games,no matter how jumpy it made him-the Construct had felt like one big mind game.Besides,he's come this far,so he can't exactly back out now.

As he made himself look Cold in the eyes,he found himself unable to look away,the temperature of the room rising and making Paranoid flush with stress. He nodded his head,and he gulped at the wicked smile Cold sent him.

It was sickening,how Cold didn't move a muscle as he preened his wings again.

Paranoid was finished-all too soon-and he just stared nervously as Cold scooted out of the way for him.He stared at the empty spot for a second, before slowly moving to be in front of Cold.

He twisted his fingers around in his lap,his head ducked low as he waited for whatever Cold had planned.He tried to remain calm,to not think the worst of Cold in this moment.But after a few seconds of nothing but silence,Paranoid tensed up, attempting to turn his head to see what was wrong-when hands suddenly slammed down onto his shoulders.

He screeched in shock,and would've jumped ten feet into the air,if not for the tight grip Cold had on him,claws clutching his shoulders and keeping him on the bed.Paranoid held a hand to his chest, attempting to quell the shaking of his body,when he heard Cold chuckle in soft amusement.

His hand curled into a fist against his pounding heart,but before he could yell at the other-Cold squeezed his shoulders,then began to gently massage them.Paranoid wriggled on the spot,not used to the weird feeling,until he eventually felt the tension in his body leave against his will,and he shut his eyes tight,hating how his body relaxed against the ministrations,until his shoulders slumped and his wings weren't pinned to his back anymore.

He focused on getting his heartbeat under control, as Cold slowly slid his hands from his shoulders down to his back,dragging his claws lightly as he went.Paranoid ignored the shiver that went through him,or how he could still feel the path Cold had made,even when he stopped halfway.

Cold just splayed his palms against his back,and Paranoid sighed,blindly waving an arm back at him. "Are you going to preen me or not?"he asked Impatiently,and Cold just hummed in response, then lightly grazed a finger across his right wing and said,"I've just never seen them like this before. It's a funny sight."Cold finally started to preen his right wing,but it felt like he was barely making an effort to do it right,and then he asked,"Do you think you'll be able to fly?"

Paranoid felt apprehension at the thought of flying, so simply said,"I don't think I'd be very good at it." Cold hummed again,twisting a feather between his thumb and index finger,and said,"That would be an interesting sight to see."

It was at this moment,that Paranoid realised that he hadn't felt that itching sensation once since Cold started preening him,but of course-as soon as he realised that,was when Cold decided to strike.

There was a few seconds of peaceful silence,and Paranoid actually felt like everything was going to be okay,when Cold suddenly leaned forward, pressing his chest against his back,fingers still buried in his feathers-and then Cold rested his chin on top of Paranoid's shoulder,sighing in relief as if this was what he wanted all along.

Paranoid could do nothing but shake in that moment,frozen as the itching came back full force, crawling all over his body like bugs trying to rip his skin open and escape.All he could do to keep it together was stare into the distance,and mutter his chant under his breath as Cold pressed up behind him.

He could feel Cold's icy breath hitting his flushed skin as he asked,"Why were you hiding in your room for days?What scared you that badly?"

Paranoid finally got his nerves under control just enough to hiss out,"You were the reason.You kept staring at me."

"Why was that so bad?"Cold asked,stroking his hand over his wing almost lovingly.Paranoid hated how nice it felt.

He gripped the sheets next to him and quietly snapped,"You know I hate staring.You know I hate the eyes."Cold turned his head slightly to stick his face into Paranoid's neck,and that was also when he fixed a particular feather that had been irritating him,back into place.The whole thing made Paranoid release a breath,but he wasn't sure if it was good or bad.

Cold hummed,and it vibrated through his skin so much that it almost got rid of the the itching.He didn't even notice that he leaned his head back to give Cold more room.

"I apologize,"Cold murmured against his skin,"for frightening you.That wasn't my intention."

"What was,then?"Paranoid whispered,his mind whirling with too many feelings and sensation to string a single coherent sentence together.

Cold leaned back just enough for Paranoid to hear the hidden sincerity in his voice."I just find you interesting.You jump and tremble and fear-but you also snap and stress and protect.You let your mind cage you with your delusions,but you still know exactly what to do to keep the others safe.I remember enjoying our conversation about pain.I kept feeling a need to talk to you again,but I was trying to figure out why."

"Then you locked yourself in your room and everything got so dull again.Nobody to scare and nobody to challenge what I know.I needed a reason to see you again,to understand what I'm feeling."

Paranoid wanted to understand too.His heart was pounding,his feathers were puffing up,and his skin was on fire.All of these were usually signs that something terrible was about to happen-but the itching was gone.Cold was staring at him and the itching was gone.In fact,everything actually felt-quite nice.

The weight of Cold against his back,the sound of his voice so close to him,the gentle grazing of fingers in his wings-it made his mind melt,and it finally shut the whispers up.

Paranoid has never felt relaxed before,but Cold was apparently changing that.

His voice came out breathless and strained as he tried to explain,"I-I just-I thought you would-were going to do something b-bad to me."

"Oh,is that what you believed?"Cold said,not sounding offended in the slightest.In fact,he actually sounded amused.Paranoid could barely focus on his voice as he felt Cold drag a hand over his back.Cold tilted his head an inch closer to whisper,"Do you want to know what I believe?" Paranoid bit his lip,but nodded.

"I believe you think far too much for my liking."

Then Cold dragged his claws down to the base of his back,right in-between his wings,where all of them were extremely sensitive.

Paranoid couldn't stop himself as he arched his back and let a soft moan out,but even though his face was on fire,his head was swimming with pleasure-no worries,no fears,nothing but sweet, sugary pleasure.

He could feel how ragged Cold's breath had gotten, and his voice lowered to a husky tone as he whispered,"I think I like that reaction."

The next thing either of them knew-they were twisting around to meet each other,and crashing their lips against one another.

Everything was hot and desperate,and Paranoid threw his arms around Cold's neck,while Cold kept one hand in his feathers,and the other bringing Paranoid closer,and the feeling of Cold's icy breath in between their lips only urged Paranoid to keep kissing,keep chasing this pleasure,keep chasing Cold-

But then they suddenly parted,and Paranoid panted as Cold gave him a soft and wary look,his voice uncertain and almost scared as he whispered,"Do I still frighten you?"

Paranoid stared at him,really stared at Cold-at the clouded look in his eyes,at how carefully he was holding Paranoid-and no itching feeling overcame him in that moment.

So Paranoid cupped Cold's face and brought him into another searing kiss.

#slay the princess #stories #my writing #stp paranoid #stp cold #stp #stp voices #voice of the paranoid #voice of the cold #paracold #writing prompt #I felt possessed when writing this what happened to me???#This became so much more than a simple request what happened to ME??????!!!!#stp hunted #voice of the hunted #I hope you like this and I'm sorry it took a while-I apparently put my whole soul into it

35 notes · View notes

blueskittlesart · 2 years ago

Text

cold fruit in a hot kitchen (so i had this great watermelon last weekend)

#so I had this great watermelon last weekend. and the thing is it probably wasn't even that great of a watermelon #but I was four hours into an eight hour shift and we had thrown out all the watermelon salad because no one was eating it #and then our manager ran in and yelled that the client really fucking wanted watermelon salad.#so like six of us servers started frantically chopping watermelon. and the kitchen got really hot #in the way it does when everyone inside it is really stressed because there's no fucking watermelon salad #and after we chopped all the watermelon and the client got their fucking watermelon we all had a moment #where we looked at the remaining watermelon and we were so hot and cocktail hour was almost over anyway and the salads were all plated #and we all went for the watermelon and we ate it with the kind of rabid intensity you only get while eating cold watermelon in a hot kitche #and it was the best watermelon I have ever tasted and several days later i am still chasing the high of that fucking watermelon #and the thing is i know it isn't even the watermelon i'm actually missing #it's the feeling of cool liquid on hot skin and the feeling of a crisis averted and the feeling of camaraderie #that comes with devouring a watermelon in a hot kitchen with six other people who you have nothing in common with except that watermelon.#i don't dream of labor but i am dreaming now of being 4 hours into an eight hour shift eating watermelon in a hot kitchen.#i dream of laughing around the cold fruit in my mouth. I crave that watermelon like i'll die without it.#< honest to god this is real and that watermelon left such an impact on me that i had to draw it and write this. having a normal one #maybe this is insane but working in a team of people you truly like to do something you actually enjoy is so underrated #if only they fucking paid me i could work as a server for the rest of my life. unironically #skribbles

362 notes · View notes

hailsatanacab · 1 year ago

Note

For the prompt ask game!

9. Sleep deprivation and/or 37. Secret Relationship and/or 40. Identity reveal/major secret reveal

(I selected a few so you can chose the one that resonates the most.)

For any DPxDC characters. <3

*emerges from a google docs, covered in blood and panting* i did it... it is done.

thank you for the prompt!! because i love a challenge, or because i can't stop myself, i went and did all of them!! for everyone!! everyone is sleep deprived and everyone is revealing secrets ^^'

Danny/Tim, mentioned Jazz/Jason

(๑•́ ₃ •̀๑) enjoy!! prompt ask game

kid napping

“Red Robin, sound off. Status?”

“All good here, Oracle. Everything okay?”

It’s been a slow night, never a good sign. Pent up energy itches under his skin and he stretches when he stands, preparing for whatever Oracle is going to throw his way. It’s going to be something, he can tell.

“Good.” Relief briefly colours her voice answers, before she becomes serious again, keys clacking away in the background. “There’s been a report from Agent A. It appears that one Timothy Drake has been kidnapped and is being ransomed for five million dollars and a helicopter. I’m tracing the call now.”

“A helicopter, too? Kidnappers these days, used to be they just wanted their money and that would be the end of it… a fucking helicopter, wow.” Red Hood scoffs, and Red Robin can’t help but join in the laughter over the comms.

“Doesn’t exactly sound like these are the brightest tools in the shed now, does it, Hood? Wonder what poor schmuck they’ve got instead.” Nightwing says, slightly out of breath.

The smile slips off Red Robin’s face and clammy, cold dread shivers down his spine. A stone settles in his stomach. He wets his lips and clears his throat. “Oracle, can you pull up the CCTV on my apartment near WE? Any closer to tracing the call?”

“Still on the trace, they’re using a jammer. Agent A is cooperating so they should phone back soon, which will help.” she reports, falling into silence as he finds the video feed.

“You know who it is?”

“I hope not.”

It’s tense, he taps his feet on the rooftop, fingers tightening over his grapple as he fights the urge to fly off the roof and check for himself. It better not be him. Please, dear God, don’t let it not be him.

“What are you thinking, Red Robin?” Batman growls through the comms. Red Robin can hear the wind under his words, whipping fast as he no doubt makes his way over to his position.

“I had a, uh, a friend coming over tonight. From behind, he… he could be mistaken for Tim Drake.”

The jokes fall silent, the comms growing serious as they pick up on his tone.

“Well, fuck.”

“Eloquent as always, Hood.”

“Shut up, bat-brat.”

“You were right, Red Robin, it looks like it was your… friend they caught, instead. About two hours before the call came in. I’m following their van now, I should have the destination soon. In the meantime, it looks like they’re heading towards the docks.”

Red Robin throws himself off the building, shooting his grapple as low as he dares to get the fastest swing he can.

They have Danny.

Worry gnaws at his gut even as gravity pulls it into his throat with another swing.

Danny is… And Red Robin means this in the nicest way possible, but Danny is fragile. They haven’t talked about it, but RR knows that Danny has health problems. Something plaguing him since he was young, that’s landed him in the hospital more than once. A weak heart, far too slow to be normal, possibly chronic fatigue—he’s always so tired, falling asleep anywhere he can.

Sometimes, he doesn’t even need to put his head down. Once, when they had gone to the corner store to get some popcorn to enjoy their movie (which Danny had explicitly and repeatedly promised he wouldn’t snore through this time), Danny had rested his head on Tim’s shoulder while they were waiting and he’d just… gone. On his feet, asleep, just like that.

He’d laughed, when Tim woke him up. Apologised. Said Tim made him feel safe enough to fall asleep just about anywhere and—

Red Robin grits his teeth and corrects his course as Oracle updates them with more precise coordinates.

Tim had carried him home that night, piggy-back for four blocks, but by the end of it, he wasn’t tired at all. And that’s another thing, Danny’s just so light. It’s concerning.

They never did watch that movie, but it’s a night that Tim can’t help remembering fondly all the same. They’d ended up rewatching some old sitcom that Danny’s seen countless times but Tim’s never really bothered with, Danny drifting off to sleep again and Tim eventually following him, because… sleep is easy with Danny.

It’s the same for him, he thinks. He can’t explain it, but he feels safe enough to sleep with Danny, too.

He needs to be alright.

“So… Is this friend just a friend? Or a friend friend?”

“A friend, Nightwing. Now hurry up.”

He’s not in the mood to play these games, not now. There’s a reason why none of them know about Danny, and this is one of them. His family, as much as he loves them, are just too damn nosey for their own good.

“You know that doesn’t answer my question at all.”

“Then why don’t you ask something intelligible, rather than continue with your childish antics?” Robin snarks, and for once, Red Robin has to agree with him. Or, rather, he’s grateful for the distraction that it gives him.

Tim has secrets. He’s sure that Danny does, too, and so far—aside from the standard background check he always runs on new friends and friend friends alike—he’s done very well to respect them. He just can’t say that his family would do the same.

They can be overwhelming, to say the least, and Tim has tried his best to protect Danny from that.

Only to fail to protect him in every other way that it counts.

“How long have you guys been ‘friends’?”

“Nightwing, save it, please.”

“What’s his name?”

He ignores him.

Red Robin lands on the building first, thank goodness. He wastes no time in finding a skylight that can be pried open fairly quietly, slipping inside without a second thought.

“Wait for backup, Red Robin, that is an order!” Batman says, when he lets them know he’s in.

“Negative, Batman. I’m getting him back.”

“Red Robin!”

He weaves silently through the desks on the second floor of the warehouse, always moving, always keeping a trained eye on the shadows around him.

When he reaches the stairs, he hears voices.

“Looks like three of them, armed. The-the hostage is tied to a chair in the middle of the room, he…” Red Robin takes a steadying breath. The person has a burlap sack over their head is slumped to the side, from where he is, Red Robin can’t see if his chest is moving. There’s blood on the floor. “He needs medical assistance. Another two on the northside entrance.”

The comms explode in admonitions, everyone pleading with him to stay where he is, to wait for help, but fuck that. With a tap, he switches them off and he can finally, just about make out the words of the kidnappers as he creeps down the first few steps.

“—shouldn’t he have woken up by now?”

“I don’t know, man, you’re the one that hit him! Do you think he’s—”

“No! I didn’t even hit him that hard, I swear!” the man cries, holding his hands up in surrender. “I just couldn’t take any more of his stupid jokes!”

If there was any doubt in Red Robin’s mind that they picked up Danny by mistake, it’s gone now. Yeah. If you get Danny, you get his stupid jokes, too.

He creeps closer.

There’s some storage crates between him and Danny, if he can get behind there without being seen then that leaves him in a good position for when whoever’s next in takes out the guys at the front. He can’t do anything without them gone first, not without risking them taking shots inside and endangering Danny.

The man that hit Danny circles round behind him and grabs at his hands.

“What are you even doing, Pat? Who gives a shit, leave him alone.”

“I’m just checking! I just gotta see!”

“Fuck’s sake, guys, who cares? We just gotta get our money, that’s it—”

“And our helicopter!”

“And our—”

“Shit, I can’t find a pulse! Shit, Frank, I killed him, I—”

Jason told him once that when the Pits overtook him, he used to see green. Instead of blacking out, he’d be swimming in that putrid Lazarus colour and he’d slip into that rage and bad things would happen.

He’s heard of people seeing red, too, but really, he thinks that’s more of a literary device.

Tim doesn’t see anything aside from his targets.

A barrage of birdarangs take the guns from the guys at the front, the three around Danny startling badly enough that the guy that kil—that’s behind Danny—stumbles, losing his footing.

Only one of them shoots.

Amateurs.

There’s a round of curses on the comms as the shots come through. Oracle must have turned them back on.

“Fucking hell—Nightwing and I are at the front, Red Robin, don’t worry about them.”

Red Robin’s barely listening.

He spins, kicking the largest guy in the stomach hard enough so that he doubles over, wheezing. Following through the movement, another kick lands on the side of his head and he’s down.

The second one, Frank, gets his wits about him and raises his gun, spraying wildly. He’s a shit shot, going wide in panic, and Red Robin simply ducks and rushes forward, keeping low. Tackling the guy, he grabs the gun off of him and uses it to smash him across the face, once, twice, three times, before he stops moving.

“Oracle, get police and paramedics on scene, now.” Batman says, the displeasure in his voice evident. “Red Robin, Robin and I are coming in from the top.”

Pat hasn’t even made it up off the floor yet, scrambling backwards, fear plain on his face.

Red Robin stands, breathing heavily, gun still in hand.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I swear I didn’t mean to do it! Please—please, don’t, please!”

Red Robin doesn’t kill.

Well, no, Red Robin doesn’t normally kill.

No, that’s not quite right, either.

Red Robin has killed. Red Robin will more than likely kill again. Red Robin sees no problem with killing.

The gun is up, pointing towards the guy without any real thought about it.

Footsteps rush behind him, the familiar heavy footfalls of Batman and Robin, so he doesn’t bother turning around. The gun follows the guy as he keeps pulling himself backwards, snot and tears mingling down his face.

“Red Robin,” Batman says, softly.

It’s always weird hearing Batman’s voice like that. It’s not the first time, obviously—Batman can’t use his scary intimidating voice on victims or children, after all—but having it used on him is weird.

“Breathe.”

“He’s dead. They killed him.”

If hearing Batman’s voice was weird, Red Robin can’t even recognise his own.

Distantly, he realises he’s dissociating. There’s a tightness in his chest, it’s hard to breathe, a growing buzz drowns out any noise in his ears and he can’t think, he can’t—

A heavy hand squeezes his shoulder, jolting him out of his thoughts. Batman reaches around and gently removes the gun from his grip, and Tim feels the instant loss of it. He should have done it, why hadn’t he done it?

Robin takes care of the last man, his crying cut off by a swift kick to the head. Nightwing and Red Hood join them, zip-tying the men on the floor and starting to drag them back to the entrance of the warehouse one by one.

No one says a word.

Shrugging off Batman’s hand, Tim moves towards the chair.

Shaking, he takes a deep breath and removes the sack. The small part of him that was left hoping it wasn’t him, it couldn’t be him, please dear God let it not be him, shatters.

Even dead, he looks peaceful.

Tim’s seen death. He’s no stranger to it, he’s seen what it can do to a person. There’s some blood coagulating over his eyebrows, but otherwise, he looks peaceful. Is that comforting? That he didn’t suffer?

Danny’s head lolls to the side as the sack comes completely away, his hair flopping over his eyes. Tim’s been on at him to get a haircut lately, he thinks it’ll be nice tidied up a bit, just on the sides. It’ll get rid of that permanent bedhead. Help him with job interviews, he’s got to be thinking about that now that he’s in his last year of college.

It’s about the only thing that’ll hold him back, Tim thinks. Danny’s brilliant. Any employer would be a fool to turn him down because of his shaggy hair, but employers are stupid so it makes sense to put your best foot forward and—

Tim falls to his knees.

Fuck.

He’s dead, he’s really—Danny’s skin is horribly pale, cold to the touch. Gone is his bright, cheerful smile.

“Danny, I’m sorry, I’m so, so sorry, I—”

He stops himself with a deep, shuddering breath. He can’t break down here, he can’t, he can’t, he can’t.

Instead, he tips forward to rest his head in Danny’s lap, arms curling around himself. They were too late. They got here as fast as they could and they were too late.

“Danny, I’m so sorry…” he whispers. “I… I love you, I love you, I’m sorry.”

Dimly, he can feel the others standing around them. Someone crouches down beside him, resting a comforting arm over his back, but he doesn’t turn his head to see who it is. He squeezes his grip on Danny’s legs tighter.

“Come on, baby bird. Let’s—”

They’re interrupted by a huge, honking snore as Danny jerks himself awake.

Tim’s head snaps up, staring at Danny with wide eyes.

“You were asleep?” Red Robin springs up, several different emotions rapidly flip flopping through him.

“Wha… What?” Danny heaves a yawn, blinking blearily down at him. “Sorry, I’m just… they were shit kidnappers, man, really boring. Honestly, worst abduction yet.”

“You were asleep? I thought you were dead!”

“Not mutually exlusive, you know.” Danny says through another yawn. He rolls his neck around with an almighty crack and glances at everyone. “Didn’t think I’d warrant the whole Bat brigade, though…”

“The kidnappers thought they had Tim Drake.” Batman supplies, while Red Robin tries to work through the emotional whiplash.

“Ah, makes sense… wait.” Danny sits up suddenly, squinting at Red Robin. “Did you say you loved me?”

“No, of course not, why would I—”

“Tim? Is that—are you—are you Red Robin?”

“Everyone, hold the fuck up!” Red Hood shouts from the other side of the warehouse, having finished securing the perps to a streetlight outside. “Double R is dating Danny fucking Nightingale?”

Well, there goes his identity… Oh, who’s he kidding, Danny’s smart. There’s no way he could have salvaged that. This was not how he thought the night was going to go.

“Cranberry, is that you?” Danny twists in his chair, somehow delighted to see Red Hood rescuing him, too. “I thought I smelled you lurking about!”

“Shut it, you little shit. Since when were you dating this dweeb?”

“I’m sorry,” Red Robin pleads, hands in the air to try and slow down the onslaught of information and insults, “you two know each other?”

“Cranberry?” Nightwing echoes, looking as lost as Red Robin feels.

“Yeah, Cranberry—The Cranberries—zombie, zombie, zombie-ie-ie. Obviously. Also he’s wearing a big, fuck off red helmet.”

“Yeah, sure, makes sense.”

It’s about the only thing that does.

“And please don��t call my boyfriend a dweeb, Cranberry. Especially when he just said he loves me for the first time.”

“He only said it because he thought you were dead.”

“I am dead, so it counts.”

“Only half, so I’d say that puts you at a solid ‘like’. Tim’s—and savour this, Tim, because I’m only going to say it once—Tim’s intelligent, so I’m sure he’ll come to his senses soon.”

Danny just throws Red Hood such a shit-eating grin. A level of feral that Tim’s only seen before in Damian.

“That’s what I used to say about Jazz, too.”

Hood scoffs in offence, and to be honest, Tim’s not sure where he should go from here. What the hell is happening, how do they know each other?

“Come on, is anyone going to untie me or am I really meeting your family mafia-style?”

“Do it yourself, Slimer.” Red Hood laughs, crossing his arms.

“Ugh, you suck so much. I’ll fucking slime you, just you wait. Can’t believe Jazz even likes you, I preferred it when she was dating Johnny.”

And then, without Danny doing anything other than muttering obscenities at Red Hood, the ropes fall to the ground. In one swift motion, Danny stands up and stretches himself to his full height of 5’6.

“All of you need to explain, now.” commands Batman, and honestly, Red Robin’s very much on his side of it.

“I can’t believe it… Jason and Timmy are both in secret relationships? That’s… How come no one told me?” Poor Nightwing sounds the most shocked out of all of them. He turns to Damian and clasps onto both of his shoulders. “You’re not secretly dating, are you, D? Please tell me you’re not, please tell me you’re single, please?”

Of course, Robin just clicks his tongue and pushes his hands away. Really, Red Robin doesn’t think that Nightwing’s in any danger of that happening, he’d be surprised if anyone could stand Robin enough to actually date him.

He shakes his head and turns to Danny, who’s staring right back at him, worry clear on his face.

Fuck, he... He's alive. He's really alive.

Tim pulls him into a bone-crushing hug, fingers buried deep in his NASA shirt. Tucking his face into the crook of Danny's shoulder, he laughs wetly with the joy of it. He's alive. He hasn't lost him. He's safe.

“I’m sorry I haven’t told you before now, starshine, but…” Danny breaks the hug and softly pulls away from him to rise on his tiptoes to place a kiss his cheek. The skin burns cold where his lips touch. “I love you, too. Also, you’re gonna wanna sit down. This is going to be a lot.”

#dpxdc #dead tired #anger management #(barely but it's there haha)#dcxdp #hailsatanacrab🦀🦀writes #i'm sorry this has taken a while but also this week has kinda sucked and i'm still pissed off about that #so writing has been a nice little break from that!!!!#i hope you enjoy it!! i'm not fantastic with writing romance/ships so like... hope it's alright haha #also i feel kinda bad about not putting the whole phantom reveal too but like... we get that all that time haha #idk maybe i'll continue it #OH SHIT I FORGOT MY WRITING TAG HOLD ON #must admit - i do like that you can edit the tags now even though the new post maker sucks #anyway!!!!!!! i had this whole bit from danny's pov in the beginning where he just decided to go to sleep but realised that fucking sucked #it was so boring haha #so we got this instead!#hope the emotions came across - i feel like i have a tendency to just go cold and clinical when emotions happen #idk #oh! danny and tim met because danny's a part time barista and when tim ordered his monstrocity of a drink danny just winked and said #'ah the walking dead special coming right up!' and added another three espresso #jason and jazz met before they did though - and none of them knew they were dating the other's family #danny and jason have a bit of a rocky relationship - he's not good enough for jazz!! she deserves way better than some two-bit gangster!!#jason just thinks he's a cute overprotective brother - he really envies their relationship and wishes he could have something like that #he likes to rib danny and tbh danny is really warming up to him too - now that the gross stinky ecto is starting to filter out #(which is thanks to him and jazz - which jason does know about and is extremely grateful for)#(he really does love jazz and is a little bit jealous that tim told danny he loved him first)#(jason goes home that night and dips jazz into a kiss and whispers it into her skin over and over again)#(he loves her he loves her he loves her - and who the fuck is johnny?)#once tim gets over his shock he's doing good! of course he accepts danny there was never any question of that #he meets ellie and then introduces her to kon and the rest of the team and ellie decides she might like to do some superheroing for a bit

373 notes · View notes

valentineish · 11 days ago

Text

General PSA: the strains of flu going around this season have been especially severe. "104°F/39.5°C fevers feat. multiple symptoms for a week straight" kind of severe.

Now is a good time to remember the importance and utility in prevention. If you haven't been masking recently, this is a great reminder to start again. Did you put off your flu vaccine for the season? It's still worth taking the time to get it! If you're taking care of somebody with a known flu infection, or are a high risk individual exposed to the virus, you can ask a doctor for a Tamiflu prescription as a preventative.

Take what precautions you can for others, too – even if you do get sick. If you're feeling unwell, stay home as best you can. If you have to venture out, take extra precautions (e.g. social distancing, making sure your KN95 is properly fitted, etc.). Be mindful of shared spaces with those you live with, especially when coughing or sneezing.

Remember: flu season is considered to run from October to May in the northern hemisphere, and May to October in the southern hemisphere. The rollout for the upcoming season's vaccine usually starts 2-4 weeks beforehand. Everybody over the age of 6 months should try to get their flu vaccine ASAP. Your shot needs 2 weeks for your immune system to build antibodies, and it will last you a full 6 months. Getting it at the beginning of the season means the fullest protection possible.

Just remember: as individuals, the best way we can contribute to public health is through preventative care, and mindfulness of other's wellbeing and needs. So, please take care of yourselves and each other! You're never too late to start. :)

#open mic night #public health #psa #hi. can you tell i caught the flu from my beautiful wifey.#i'm actually writing this because i'm really thankful for this year's flu vaccine #i get sick every flu season. sometimes multiple times. and the drift from the vaccine to the circulating viruses can be brutal.#this is the first time in a while i've caught the flu and it's been miraculously mild.#like it is as bad as the doctor was telling wifey. i have basically every influenza symptom possible. but they've been extremely limited.#temp hit 100.4° briefly. i feel like i'm having an above average pain day with low spoons. my tummy hurts. it feels like i have hay fever.#but i've been able to do things and i've been pretty alright with OTC flu medicine. haven't even needed to use my inhaler much.#meanwhile the human health tank that is my darling sunflower was out cold for 3 or 4 days #it's a reversal that makes me really thankful for the medical care i have access to. this is the shit that can kill people like me!!!

15 notes · View notes

bumblingbabooshka · 2 years ago

Text

Thinking about Vulcans prizing “calm” over “happiness”.

Like how humans look back on their childhood and remember how happy it was - joyful days spent running around in the sun, getting into a bit of trouble, laughing with peers and family - that’s how they know it was a good one. Meanwhile Vulcans might look back on their childhood and remember how peaceful it was. Quiet days spent studying, the warm glow of candlelit lessons in caves, getting along smoothly with ones peers - that’s how they know it was a good one. Humans typically chose their friends and romantic partners based on if this person makes them feel happy above all. The question of “Do you like being with them?” is interpreted to mean “Does being with them make you feel happy?” But since Vulcans don’t experience (or strive for) happiness there would have to be some other parameter. So I was thinking about like, what is a good relationship to a Vulcan? There’s obviously a big emphasis on ‘togetherness’ in Vulcan unions. The Pon Farr ritual Tuvok does with his [hologram] wife involves them committing to becoming “Two bodies one mind” and it’s stated that they give and receive from each other all that they are. There’s also of course the iconic “Never and always touching and touched”. This is all (as was said during T’Pol & Koss’ wedding) “The Vulcan heart, the Vulcan soul, this is our way.” Vulcans are also (ENT) expected to live together for at least a year after being married - I imagine so that they can bond with and get to know one another. In SNW T’Pring wants for Spock to honor the commitments he makes to her so in that case T’Pring values Spock keeping his word to her and placing her above other things. I see a bit of Tuvok in that, where he prizes his commitment to T’Pel over anything else to the point where he’d nearly rather die than break it: (Even though he eventually agrees to having sex with a hologram it MUST be of his wife and he lets Tom/The Audience know that he will NOT be making a habit of it. There’s no ironclad logical reason for him to react this way as a hologram is not a person but his commitment to T’Pel seems to take precedence and I believe that’s his reasoning. His bond with T’Pel is logical, sustaining and important to him and he’s loath to break it over some bodily need. some desire that will pass even if it kills him.) <- By this way of thinking, betraying T’Pel would be the emotional choice while remaining loyal to her is remaining loyal to his logical self. A strong emphasis on loyalty to one’s mate seems to be a common Vulcan trait. In the beginning this seems to be rooted in tradition but later on its probably assumed that the couple will be loyal to one another out of some sort of actual connection between two people as opposed to pure obligation. In ENT T’Pol says that a certain degree of “affection” is eventually expected to happen within a marriage (though the way she says it makes me think this doesn’t always occur and isn’t necessarily The Goal) and her mother says that she and her husband developed a “deep connection” to one another. All this makes me think that a connection and a sense of ‘togetherness’ or ‘compatibility’ would also be prized over more emotional things like a passion for one another. It’s a partnership above all and that would be prized over a romantic union. It makes me think of Vulcans’ roots in violence and war. Maybe this commitment to a steady togetherness, two people who don’t know each other being able to work together so seamlessly they nearly become one, is a way to show they’ve moved beyond that despite the pon farr remaining. Vulcans are a naturally very emotional species. Someone who incites that would probably not be seen as someone you should spend your time with. Someone who makes your heart pound, sets you ablaze, fills you with passion - that sounds like a bad Vulcan time v_v Tuvok says as much when he talks about how he was struck with “shon-ha’lock”. Humans wouldn’t see anything wrong with having a crush on someone (and indeed in that episode Tom only comes to the conclusion that it’s a shame Tuvok couldn’t act on these emotions) but it’s obvious that even a teenaged crush when uncontrolled can become a very big problem to a Vulcan. In one of the Star Trek Novels Tuvok even stops being friends with and talking to a girl because she tearfully admits she has feelings for him and he sees that her feelings for him cause her pain. Instead of thinking “Oh, she really likes me, good! We’re close friends so maybe we can make this work.” or even “I don’t like her romantically but since we’re close friends we can work through it.” Tuvok thinks “Oh, she really likes me. That must be causing her to become very emotional and I can see she’s clearly upset. I’ll remove myself from her life so my presence doesn’t incite those emotions anymore.” And while him flat out just cutting himself out of her life might seem weird and kind of cruel and a frankly hilarious reaction to someone confessing their love to you - I also think it’s something he thought of as a kindness. If his presence harms her (stirs up emotions in her) then he will remove himself to keep from harming her. Along that vein, calmness or the absence of strong emotions would be a good relationship and one worth staying in. Not that there can’t be any emotions (Tuvok and T’Les obviously care[d] deeply for their respective spouses) but that they must be controllable and able to be cast aside in the face of logic. I also think that “knowing” the other person would be considered very important (after marriage of course). If you’re to operate as a partnership, a team, and especially if you’re both telepaths you should be able to know your spouse pretty damn well. I see T’Pring attempt to do this in SNW where she is constantly fighting to get to know Spock which Spock self-consciously discourages since he’s been told/shown that his human side is unappealing to Vulcans. But yeah man idk...just picturing a Vulcan and a human talking for hours...walking along the beach...sleeping side by side...getting to know one another...and at the end of it all one says “You make me feel happy” and the other says “Your presence calms me” and it means, essentially, the same thing.

#star trek #vulcans #Flipside to humans seeing Vulcan relationships as frighteningly cold and formal: where's the choice? the autonomy? the love!#Vulcans seeing Human relationships as exhaustingly turbulent meandering and estranged: where's the union? the commitment? the connection!#In the star trek universe my only contribution is that I write a book titled 'Vulcan-Human Relationships: Peace & Love'#and it's never important to any story it's just a background gag #Vulcan: Is that your husband? / Human: HUSBAND?? Haha we've only been dating like a year or two. / Vulcan: I can't with this. I have to go.#I don't ever know what to call these things #ummmmmmmmmmm I hope I'm making any sense #alien affections and value systems my beloved....#people who earnestly 100% do NOT desire human concepts of 'love' or 'happiness' - INTERESTING!!!!!#I like Tuvok a lot when i think about this bc he has a Vulcan spouse whom he cherishes while every other main Vulcan has either:#A human love interest and/or A vulcan spouse they don't want to marry #WHICH IS WHY I WISH. THEY HAD EXPLORED TUVOK'S RELATIONSHIP W ITH HIS WIFE. EVEN A ///LITTLE//// BIT.#-chewing at the walls- BUT ITS FINE. IT'S FINE THAT THEY DIDN'T AT ALL. /lie

409 notes · View notes

ominous-auburn-orbs · 1 year ago

Note

Yo can you do a oneshot with your human AU where Caine and Kinger are out n about in a cold place and Caine is freezing, but Kinger is one if those people who is just always really warm so Caine just clings onto him to get warmer?

You bet I can, buster!!

You can even have a little bit of Caine angst sprinkled in because if I write literally anything where he doesn't feel emotional turmoil I will simply explode.

Kinger and Caine were out buying groceries. It was winter and everything was freezing, much to Caine's displeasure. Since he'd never experienced any changes in temperature before, weather was pretty horrible for him. He already had on multiple coats, a beanie, two scarves and gloves, yet he still felt the winter air penetrate deep into his bones.

Kinger wasn't having nearly as much trouble. While, yes, the troop had also gone a while without weather, that was more of a psychological adjustment than anything. Their bodies were still more than used to drastic changes in temperature. He was naturally warm, anyway, so he was at an advantage in this particular situation.

The two had just finished getting what they needed and were walking home. Kinger's eyes eventually drifted down to Caine's shivering body. He was holding the bag of groceries tight to his body, as if it might make him warmer.

"Honey, are you still cold? You have so many layers on, it's a miracle you can feel anything through it... I mean, a bad miracle, in this case."

The ringmaster looked to the floor, embarrassed. He didn't want Kinger to worry about him, he already relied on him for too much. He should be stronger than this anyway. Kinger must think he was weak. Useless. And to think he used to be a God, for the most part.

"Caine? I'm sorry, did I word that wrong? If you're cold, you can have my jacket, too."

"Oh goodness no, my love, you mustn't! You need your jacket, you're only wearing the one, after all." He took a deep breath and calmed his voice. He was always a bit too loud when he didn't need to be. "You didn't do anything wrong, I just... overthink a bit too much."

"Hm, alright. If you do need anything, tell me." Kinger placed a hand on Caine's head and affectionately ruffled his hair through the beanie. It felt like he was talking about more than the jacket.

Caine could feel the warmth emanating off of Kinger from the touch, leaving him even colder than before when the man put his hand back to his side. After only a few moments, Caine started to miss the warmth too much to not do anything, so he grabbed onto Kinger's hand and interlocked their fingers, shifting the groceries to his other hand. Kinger glanced down and smiled before aiming his eyes ahead again.

Over the course of their walk back to their apartment, Caine got closer and closer to Kinger, clinging to his arm like a koala to a tree by the time they got home. The pair walked through the door and set down the groceries on the kitchen bench. Kinger held Caine's now far less cold body close.

"So, I take it you like using me as a portable heater?"

"It's very convenient, although I simply can't understand how you can be so warm in weather like this." The ringmaster removed his gloves to touch Kinger's hands properly with his own, making the other man jolt.

"Ah!- your hands are very, very cold!" Both of them laughed, hugging again. "I guess I just got lucky, when it comes to being warm. Well, less so in summer, but you are right about it being convenient. Also, it's cute when you cling onto me like that."

Caine buried his face in Kinger's coat. "I have to keep myself from getting hypothermia somehow. And I like hugging you."

Kinger smiled as Caine nuzzled deeper into his chest. "Believe me, I can tell."

#I was just listening to best served cold on repeat while I was writing this #HELL HAS FROZEN OVER NOW THAT I GOT SOBER-#I'm going insane a little bit but I'll live #kinger x caine #royalteeth #caine x kinger #kingleader

84 notes · View notes

spotaus · 13 days ago

Text

New Age AU (The King's Bed)

Hi. That title sounds super dramatic but istg it's not. here's a Drabble which I've kinda been cooking because! Guess who needs to start writing the main story! (It's me!) This happens immediately following This Drabble which begins the main plot! (There's a bit of the same scene but from a different perspective at the start, my apologies! Picking up that strat from a certain pal of mine lol!)

Hello to @ancha-aus @papiliovolens and @mutzelputz ! (if these tags ever get old lemee know, but otherwise I'll keep trying to remember to add them!

No edits or beta-readings so, as per usual, good luck!

That wasn’t normal. Whatever had happened to the king was not normal. Everything had been tilted sideways in that moment.

Cross had just been talking to Horror. He’d known what he’d stumbled on, the king was always encouraging him to break his rhythm and he was very aware that Horror always took it easy on him when they sparred. He had great self-control and an amazing handle on his strength. Cross couldn’t even take it as an insult, because he was honestly relieved he wasn’t coming out of trainings beat to a pulp. That hadn’t ever happened here, to any of the knights, no matter how dirty they claimed to fight. It gave Cross a change to evaluate himself. Ask the others what they thought of his work. Get honest answers. Horror was always receptive to the discussions, but Cross always wanted to act fast to ask, to get it out of the way. Training could stay in the training room, for once.

He’d just finished hanging his armor up in the designated stand, only four were ever in use, his being tucked between Killer and Horror’s, when, past Horror’s hulking form, he noticed Dust shift and duck back towards the rest of the room. Unusual, normally he’d be quick to discard the set and move off to his room.

The surprised sound from behind him finally convinced him to quiet and turn. Just soon enough to catch the way that Killer and the king were about halfway to the exit. To catch the way the king’s tendrils seemed to be propping him off the floor, how some were writhing, slinging around Killer. To catch how the king’s cyan eyelight disappeared behind Killer’s shoulder as he stumbled and collapsed.

Killer caught him, of course, letting the weight of their king drag him down to the ground like a safety cushion. Killer never let any harm come to their king. This, though? The king had dropped like a sack of potatoes, and even as Killer held him, he seemed disoriented. Cross felt frozen as he stood and watched what he could of the scene, most of it being of Killer’s back. The king’s tendrils lashed sluggishly against the ground, tugged and slid away from the armor of the knight holding him. He seemed to shift, pushing himself up and turning his head to look around him, ignoring the increasingly worried prompting from Killer. My lord? My lord, what’s wrong? It was still stoic, but it was obvious his hackles were raised. This wasn’t normal.

Dust had moved beyond the pair, standing at attention, his magic wafting over the room like a miasma. Dry and crackling, enough to make Cross wince at the familiar aura. It hadn’t hurt him on purpose, not since that first day. That was just it, though. Dust was searching for a threat. Some sort of enemy. Anything that might have done this to the king.

“He’s not responding.” Killer voiced, though Cross couldn’t tell exactly to who. The king had sun down, now. His one socket was closed and- Was he trembling? Cross thought he could see the way the king was shaking in Killer’s grip.

“He’s losing magic.” Dust asserted, not turning around.

It was hard to tell with Dust’s magic coating the room, but Cross could feel it too. That heavy, encompassing, energy that always followed the king? It was smaller. Less imposing. It seemed… It seemed like it was fading away, rapidly draining from some unseen leak. That shouldn’t happen. That’s not how magic worked. Unless, of course, a monster was bleeding out. A dying soul would flicker and fight, until it suddenly gave in, magic rushing out all at once as they started to dust.

“He’s what?” Horror, from beside him, seemed to break out of the same confusion that had held Cross back. Kept his feet in place. “Is he injured?” He questioned, already taking a step towards Killer.

“No, he’s not. Not that I can see.” Killer replied, though he didn’t turn to his fellow knights, his skull was trained down on Nightmare as he shook and hunkered with his eye closed. His tendrils were… His tendrils were melting. Sinking into the grouted brick of the training room and leaking away like little veins. Cross wasn’t sure Killer noticed. It made him feel sick.

Cross watched as Horror stepped forward again a bit more quickly.

“Let me take a look, Killer. Maybe it’s-” Horror was cut off by a quick snap from Killer.

“No. There’s no time. Go find Ccino.” It was an order. If it had been directed at him, Cross would’ve already been out of the door, but it was to Horror. Horror was a stubborn monster. A caring monster. Cross could see his expression shift as he stopped moving forward and stared at Killer’s back.

“This is bad, he needs a healer, not-”

“Horror, I told you. Go get Ccino! Now!” This time there was a bite in Killer’s words. One Cross wasn’t sure he’d ever heard from the senior knight. “ This isn’t some sort of test, I don’t know what this is. It can’t be good.”

The burly skeleton in question grit his teeth. It was obvious to Cross he didn’t want to leave, but he shifted on his feet. His eyelight didn’t even meet Cross’ as he barrelled past him and out the door of the training room.

That left him alone over on the other side of the room, watching things happen like a horrible accident. As Killer muttered something and Dust seemed to grow more stiff in his posture. Cross gripped the hilt of his sword nervously. What could he do? Killer didn’t want Horror’s help, he certainly wouldn’t want Cross’. He didn’t know much healing, and he couldn’t sense any threats, and-

“Shit.” Dust’s voice again. “His magic levels are dropping. Fast.”

It was almost like a ripple of water being splashed into Cross’ system when it hit him. Just a moment after Dust’s words. That thick aura barrier dropped. Entirely. Whatever it was that made the king so imposing, so powerful, so familiar to be around. It all seemed to disappear. Cross rocked on his heels. Everything seemed too open, like he’d come up from under the surface of the water.

“Cross, try to grab his magic.” The order rang in his ears a moment.

Killer wanted him to do what?

Everyone knew the king had never allowed Cross to attempt his control magic on him for long. It was supposedly for Cross’ safety, because the godlike magic was so dense and consuming. The king seemed to fear it would backfire not unlike Dust’s, only with a much more fatal result. Cross had respected the boundary placed, only gripping at the edges of the dark magic. Frankly, the king had been right, even the smallest of spells he attempted to control would require too much energy, and would slip away before he could do anything useful. This was an absurd thing for Killer to tell him to do!

“W-what! I- I shouldn’t-” Though he found, just like Horror, that Killer wasn’t looking for others opinions right now.

“Just try. Now. Hold it in place and see if it stabilizes.” Killer demanded.

Cross knew better. This order did not make him feel good. The king was unresponsive, and technically Cross knew Killer was his superior, and he should be listening, but would the king be mad at him for trying to control his magic? Would-

“When the King and Ccino are unavailable, I’m in charge. Listen to me.” Killer sounded like he was getting frustrated.

Cross could understand why, though. Their king lay shaking in Killer’s arms. The king lay dying.

Cross moved closer by a few step, just close enough that he could see the king’s upper half. Killer had tucked the king’s skull into the space between his shoulder and chin, something so deeply gentle that Cross had little time to really process. Cross thrust his hands out, both sending out his wave of intent. He needed to grab tight to the source of that fast-fading magic. The one that he recognized so well and had lost track of in the air.

Unlike usual, his magic cut through the tar-like body of his king and grasped at something settled in his ribcage. A tight, sticky, sickly orb of magic. When his magic brushed against it, the king’s magic seemed to solidify slightly, recoiling from his intrusion, and he snatched at it.

Holding the magic looked like nothing. It felt like sticking his hands into a sopping wet puddle and trying to collect the wet dirt at the bottom, the pieces slipping through the space between his fingers, no matter how tightly he cupped beneath. So, he adjusted. Pulled his hands into a circle, entirely enclosing the magic and ensuring there was no escape. A cold feeling bit at his palms, radiating in the space, but it wasn’t as painful as he had expected. Though, he also doubted what he held was the entirety of the king’s magic. More likely, it was whatever was left after the big loss of energy,

He was so focused on holding it in place, he had no clue how long he actually managed to hold it stable. It was still, there was a brief second where the familiar energy had returned.

And just like that, it was gone.

Cross still had hold of something, but it wasn’t the king’s magic. It was something else, tiny. Still familiar, sure, but the slime and gunk simply disappeared, like it had decided it had better things to do. He searched after it, but found it had gone, and there was no sign of it attached to the king’s soul. Distress filled him. Had he failed?

No time to linger on it.

Cross jolted back a little as the king seemed to regain his senses. Cross watched as he shoved himself out of Killer’s hold… only to retch. He knew the feeling well, magic escaping in any way it knew well. His usually only did that after sustaining injury, though. As far as they knew, the king had never been hurt. Never was touched.

Killer leaned forward, following the motion, and Cross was shell-shocked to find that the first knight refrained from touching their king as he gagged and lost more of that black goopy magic. It was dripping off of his bones now and.. Oh. What?

The king. The longer he heaved, the more of that magical substance sloughed off from his body. He wasn’t dusting. It was more like… he was shedding his skin? The goop pooled beneath him, slinking away into the crevices of the floor, and revealed bones. Bones. Pearly white, unmarred, clean bones. The king was a skeleton monster, they all knew that, but Cross had assumed he was a hybrid, maybe some sort of earth elemental in his ancestry. The monster who was crunched in on himself just inches from Killer was certainly a normal skeleton monster.

And. he was small. It wasn’t obvious at first, but as Killer kept easing closer, Cross noticed. The king, or, he assumed the king, had a small skull. His tunic and cape nearly enveloped him. Sleeves hung baggy over his hands and his circlet had slipped over his skull to hang around his neck. Was this his true appearance? Was this their king?

It wasn’t until one socket blinked, a pale violet eyelight popping into view, that anyone spoke.

“My king?”

Even Killer seemed frazzled by the proceedings. Dust turned around now, and the three of them watched silent as the king lifted his skull and turned it. Slowly but surely. Until he met Killer’s gaze. Killer was looking at him so gently. The same way he looked at the kittens he’d show them in the stables.

The king seemingly hardly noticed, because in a split second he whipped his head around to face Dust, only to lose his balance and topple over.

“Woah, steady!” Killer was quick, and Cross was relieved to find he’d caught the king, pulling him closer and onto the steady platform of his lap again.

He almost missed Killer asking their king a question. He almost missed the quiet squeak of a response which was promptly cut-off by the white-boned king. From this angle, Cross could see the other side of his skull. The king, before, had a cascade of magical energy obscuring the place where a second socket would have sat. Now, Cross could see the cracks of an old injury, trailing up from a dead socket into the top of his skull. An impact wound, by the looks of it. That didn’t set well.

The king still shook in Killer’s arms, but Dust seemed to have relaxed a bit. All of them could feel it, as Killer practically bundled the king up between his arms. The loss of magic had stopped. The king was stable. Weak, it felt like, but stable. A quick meeting of eyes from Cross to Dust revealed the truth of the matter. They’d need to wait for Ccino. That was all they could do.

Killer had been right. Insanely right.

Horror had returned with Ccino, and the poor guy had been frazzled and covered in flour, probably right in the middle of making desert for dinner. It looked like he was going to chew into someone, sounded like it too, and Cross backpedaled out of the way as the head of house made a b-line towards Killer where he was still dutifully on the floor.

Horror stood just behind Cross, and everyone was there as witness to see Ccino’s expression entirely change. To something gentle and soft. An expression they each recognized, from brief moments of weakness, where Ccino would show them a kindness. They didn’t expect him to say the king’s name, or to see the small form of their leader scramble out of Killer’s protective hold and straight into Ccino’s awaiting arms.

Cross almost felt uncomfortable, standing vigil to something he didn’t understand. The king, this… this boy? He curled into Ccino and began to cry. It felt like something he shouldn’t see, some private moment, some vulnerable piece of a secret he wasn’t aware of.

The other knights, if they shared his discomfort, did nothing to show it. In fact, Dust took it upon himself to tell Ccino what had happened as they knew it. “Magic loss. A lot of it.” And Ccino just nodded and cradled the king’s skull closer into his shoulder.

When the king passed out, it had only been a moment of distress before Ccino settled again and insisted the knights recount to him what exactly happened. Killer took the lead, he’d seen it all.

Of course, there was a lot to worry about. Maybe he’d been in shock? Yeah, he could blame it on that. After all, their king seemed to be a child all of a sudden. But for some reason he couldn’t help but notice how the other knights were acting. Reacting. As Killer told Ccino the recap of the past few minutes, Cross noticed how Dust was tense. His white eyelights were moving subtly between their king and the rest of the room. His fists were balled at his sides, and his magic unreadable under the shadow of his hood. Meanwhile, beside him, Horror was only staring at the king with wide eyes. His good eyelight trained on the little form which would occasionally shiver against Ccino and be tucked closer into the arms holding him. And Killer. Killer was crouched exactly where he’d been, but Cross noticed that he leaned closer to Ccino, his arms a bit outstretched as though half-expecting to have the king returned to his arms.

Cross felt awful. Standing there.

The king’s magic had escaped him. Entirely evaded him. Maybe if he’d trained more, maybe if he’d been quicker to listen to Killer, he could’ve done something. Kept the magic in-tact. Maybe if he hadn’t reacted in the first place he wouldn’t have scared the magic off. Was this… No. No, the king had told him once. One person alone cannot be at fault for the whole. He imagined the king would be gently correcting him right about now if he were conscious.

“Cross.”

The soldier blinked as his name was spoken, and he realized that Ccino and Killer were both looking at him. Had they said his name sooner? Ccino’s face softened a bit.

“Cross, go clean up. We’ll reconvene in the king’s quarters in an hour.” Ccino said.

“A-and the king?” He didn’t know why he questioned it.

Killer rose to his feet, then. “I wasn’t planning on cleaning up anyways, I’ll be with him and Ccino. Just go about our schedule as normal. Word cannot spread until our lord wakes up and we can speak with him.” He seemed… unnerved. Cross wasn’t sure how he could tell. He just… could.

Cross, against his better judgement, saluted and hesitantly moved away. It seemed Dust and Horror were already in motion. Had he spaced out? That was embarrassing.

“Horror?”

Cross muttered the other knight’s name. He’d cleaned up quickly, restless, and had rushed to the quarters of his bulky comrade. When he’d knocked, Horror had opened the door a bit.

“Yeah? Come in.” Horror answered from somewhere inside.

Cross did just that, slipping through the doorway and shutting the door behind him.

The inside of Horror’s room was warm. Cozy. Cross wasn’t sure how he kept it so warm, but he thought he’d heard something about magic-weaving from Ccino when he’d mentioned the warmth of a lent blanket. He hadn’t ever realized the comfort magic could bring in that capacity. Inside Horror’s room it was also very dark. Only a few scattered candles lit the space, and the soft orange glow was just enough to illuminate the furniture,a few cushioned chairs, a couch, a table, the wardrobe, and the large bed. The window had a curtain drawn over it, banishing outside light.

Near the wardrobe, Cross spotted the shifting weight of his fellow knight, and the glow of his eyelight briefly came into view before bouncing away again. Cross drew toward the chairs and leaned his side against the high, sturdy back of one.

“Something wrong?” Horror asked calmly. Seemed like he was rummaging through his clothes, and Cross noticed that the mass of fur which usually sat over his shoulders was absent. The tunic was missing too, his ribcage exposed. Cross tried not to pay it any mind.

Something wrong. Of course something was wrong!

“Our king, Horror. That- that doesn’t happen to normal monsters! Have you seen something like that before?” He whispered it, quietly. No one aside from them should’ve been in their wing of the castle, but then again, their king really shouldn’t have peeled like a banana either, so who knew what could happen next?

Horror glanced back at Cross. It was a little bit of silence as Horror was seemingly formulating an answer. Cross was always willing to give him as much time as he needed to think, because he had good things to say. It was his own fault that his heel tapped against the floor, only muffled by the thick rug beneath his boots.

“Mm. No, I haven’t.” He answered simply. “Then again, the king’s not like anything I ever knew. Just one more odd thing on the list.”

Horror tugged a fresh tunic out of his wardrobe and tugged it over his shoulders, moving to ever-so-carefully clasp it in place around his front. Cross was quiet for a few breaths. Sometimes Horror would have more to say, but this time it seemed like he’d said his peace. He finished with his tunic and looked back to where Cross was stood.

“It just doesn’t seem right. He was so small, and even Killer didn’t know what was going on! None of us could do anything!” He whispered again.

At this, Horror turned and walked toward his bed. There at the foot, resting atop a chest, was his fur cape. He lifted it and shook it in the air a bit. Cross could see a bit of dust fly off in the low-light, but it was just as quickly clasped around Horror’s shoulders.

“Killer hasn’t been here the longest. Ccino was here before all of us, remember?” Horror suggested. “He seems like he knows what he’s doing. We all look to him for a reason. I’m sure you’ll get answers when he wakes up.”

This wasn’t what Cross wanted to hear! He was hoping for some wisdom, or insight into a secret previously barred from him. Horror had seemed all too calm when he saw the king in his state, Cross had figured he’d known something! Anything!

“This is… weird. We’ll be fine, though. Promise.” Horror said finally.

Cross sighed. No matter how desperately he was hoping this was all some sort of big practical joke, or that what he’d seen would make any sense to him at a reasonable pace, he knew that wasn’t the case now. His answers lay with the unconscious king and his most trusted follower, the head of the house. He guessed he’d just have to be patient. No matter how agonizing the wait for answers would be.

The hour passed by rather quickly.

Cross had made the choice to stay with Horror until they were meant to meet, and he hadn’t regretted the choice. He definitely preferred to have someone else nearby, it helped to keep him from spiralling.. Wondering what he did wrong.

As usual, the wing was empty aside from them, and it wasn’t far to reach the private room of their king. The door was large and carved with the image of a tree, something Cross had grown very used to seeing ever since arriving here. Horror had knocked, and it was Killer who opened the door to let the both of them inside.

The king’s room was large, though not much larger than the knights, and was decorated all in shades of cyan with that familiar red-ish wood that seemed to trail all the furniture of the royalty. The big desk in the king’s study was the same shade. The room was brighter than Horror’s, but darker than the torch-lit hall beyond. Sunlight beamed into the room through the two large windows and the balcony doors, providing the only light and casting heavy shadows on the far wall.

To the left, where Horror started to move towards and Cross followed, was the king’s bed. It was large, it felt like it could probably fit half the council on its surface. Or, maybe it just felt so big because of its occupants.

Near to the edge sat Ccino. His clothes seemed to have been loosely dusted off from the flour previously coating his front, but it seemed he hadn’t been able to do much else. He was sat with his back against the headboard and his legs partially covered by the heavy comforter of the royal bed. Plastered to his side, though, was the form of a young skeleton monster. The king. He still seemed unconscious as far as Cross could tell, but he was partially curled onto Ccino’s lap. His too-big cloak was wrapped around his sides, comforter tugged up as far as it would go without smothering him, and his skull exposed. Ccino was using one hand to press a cloth to the king’s forehead, while the other draped over the king’s back. The two of them seemed so small in the bed made for a god.

Ccino didn’t acknowledge them, and Horror stopped a few paces short from the edge of the bed. Cross followed his example and stood tense and awaiting. Answers? Orders? He wasn’t exactly sure.

It only took a few more minutes before Dust appeared in the door. Killer had been pacing circles into the floor at the foot of the bed, and Horror was seemingly entranced by the little monster the head of house was keeping close to his side.

“It’s clear. Nobody.” Dust reported in a mutter, and Killer seemed to sigh in relief. He planted a hand on Dust’s shoulder, which the other didn’t shrug away.

The both of them moved closer to the edge of the bed, and Killer was the one to round to Horror’s other side, closest to Ccino and the king. Only when they were all still was there any reaction from Ccino.

“Thank you, Dust.” Was what he said first. Dust must’ve been searching for hidden foes, saboteurs, assassins. Part of Cross worried that Ink might’ve been around, before he realized how irrational that idea really was. Dream would do a lot, but he wouldn’t risk Ink like that. Dust didn’t give any response.

“I am aware that this is a sudden change and I thank all four of your for your quick action to protect our king, on his behalf.” Ccino voiced then, his eyelights lingering on the small skeleton plastered to his side. Cross caught the way his thumb curved along the king’s forehead in a comforting motion. “It would be unfair and unwise to leave you in the dark about his state, so I’ll trust that our king was correct in appointing you as his most loyal and explain best I can.”

It was only then that Ccino seemed to peel his eyes away from the small king and up to the surrounding knights.

Cross realized, as Ccino skimmed over each of them, that. Well. He wasn’t technically a knight at all. A trainee a best, but no knight. He didn’t have a mask and had never been knighted. Was this a conversation not meant for him?

The head of house’s eyelights lingered on Killer for a moment longer than the rest of them before he spoke.

“Our king, Nightmare. This is the form he had on his thirteenth birthday, just over seven years ago when he attended his twin’s coronation. It’s the form he lost when he completed the ritual and became king as you all knew him, god-like and powerful.” Ccino’s voice was small. “I’m not sure how, but it seems that the magic which made him that way is gone, lost, and now he’s back to the way he was all those years ago.”

There was a resounding silence in the aftermath of Ccino’s words.

“He never mentioned the possibility of something like this happening, I’m not sure it ever has.” Ccino said. “Despite that, on his behalf I request that we keep news of this change within this circle. I have no doubt that this is still our king and he will still perform his duties as needed when he adjusts to the change.”

Cross was stunned. Their king…

“You… said he’s only about 13?” Horror asked from beside Cross. He jumped a bit in surprise at the noise.

Ccino gave a nod of agreement. Cross was pretty sure none of them missed how Ccino’s hold around the king’s back tightened. Just a bit. Protectively.

“Young king.” Horror established what they were all thinking. “Is he wounded? I thought I saw…” Horror trailed off, but he gestured to his skull. He pointed to his uninjured side of his head, just above his empty socket. Right, that crack along the small king’s skull. Cross had caught a glimpse of it too when Killer was holding him.

Ccino seemed all too tense at Horror’s question. That was when Cross noticed all of them had, at some point, gotten a bit closer. It seemed like they were looming.

“You may take a look if you like, Horror. It doesn’t look like it’s harming him, but I believe it was a result of a blow to the head he took just after his coronation.” Ccino relented, and Horror stepped forward.

Ccino was gentle and honestly seemed practiced at gently shifting and nudging the king. Where he had been tucked into Ccino’s side and mostly hidden, Ccino managed, with a few small hums and leading of limbs, to twist the king so his skull was a bit more exposed and he lay instead with his back to Ccino, an arm now wrapped at his front. Horror waited patiently beside the bed, and only when Ccino had Nightmare in front of himself, practically fully in his lap, did he pull down the now oversized hood for Horror to see the wound. The king seemed to wince in his sleep at the loss of cover.

It was as Horror looked, ever-so carefully pressing on the edges of the crack, and seeing the sleeping flinch of their ruler, that Cross realized just how much trust Ccino was putting into them.

This room was full of killers, soldiers, ones who had chosen to follow a god-on-land. It was full of potential threats to the life of a wounded king.

For just a moment, he was brought back to Ritten. The coup his brother had worked for years and years and years to bring to fruition. If XGaster had ever shown nearly an ounce of the vulnerability that the king was showing now, he would’ve been slaughtered on the spot. Many wanted his head, and now Cross realized, it was for good reason. Now, here, the king frail and asleep, only guarded by a single servant. This, if ever, would be the time to strike. To destroy the crown and claim the land as their own. No one in Orchard rivaled the strength of the knights.

“It’s raw.” Horror’s report snapped Cross back to the present. The burly knight leaned away from Ccino and the king, but spoke to Ccino still. “Need to clean it, but it’ll hurt. Might want to wait till he wakes up.” He paused. “You said seven years ago? The wound?”

Horror was always the gentlest of the knights, at least from what Cross had gleaned since arriving. Killer was full of sharp edges and had the same energy as a stray animal. Dust was always so closed off, and Cross knew better than anyone that he was skilled and attacked ruthlessly. Horror seemed so baffled by the wound.

Ccino nodded in agreement with Horror’s question, and seemed put at ease as the other took another step back to stand tall again.

“That’s. Someone struck him while he had the magic? Hard enough to hit bone?” Dust questioned quietly from his other side. He too sounded awestruck.

Cross was aware that none of the knights were ever able to strike him during training, neither had Cross, but he assumed that was because the king had adapted to their fighting styles. Did this imply that the king had never been hit by any of their attacks dead-on?

Ccino nodded almost sadly. “Tensions were high and both princes were distressed. Prince Dream lashed out and our king did not expect it.”

Dream? That might’ve been the first time that Cross had heard utterance of the Prince’s name since he had arrived to the castle. He certainly hadn’t been forgotten, his traces still lingering about the place, but Cross felt like a bolt of ice slid down his spine at the mention of the one who had recklessly sent him here.

Dream had told him the basics. How at the coronation his brother rushed in and took their mother’s soul from his hand. How Nightmare, the king, had eaten it in his place and been transformed into a beast unfamiliar. Had sent him away. For some reason, Cross had dismissed it as rumor, another piece of propaganda that Dream was telling to the hopeless saps that stumbled his way. But… This sounded like it would fit. A second half he didn’t readily share with the world, one where he was outraged at his twin and struck him.

His mind wandered back to the tapestry. Nightmare’s image had just the same, round, perfectly childlike expression as the crown prince. No injury in sight. Did that imply there was a time where Nightmare had two eyelights? That the way his face had formed and obscured half his face was not a choice, but the result of a wound from his twin? Now that Cross thought about it, this young king did share the boyish features fading from Prince Dream’s face with age-

“That rat.” Killer spat all of a sudden. “I’d do worse than send my brother away if he bashed me over the skull like that.” He voiced. Ccino didn’t react to the comment, only gently shifting the cloth over the king’s skull. The king was looking a bit flushed, maybe from the magic loss? “Good thing you guys know better.”

There was a scoff from Dust.

“So, our lord is alright. Just a bit… under the weather, we’ll say.” Killer continued, “Ccino and I discussed a little while you guys were cleaning up. Until he wakes up to give us new orders, we’re going to act business as usual. Training and rounds again tomorrow, tonight we’ll trade off guard shifts to keep watch and make sure there’s no one out to get our king or Ccino. Sound good?”

He sounded jovial as he usually did, but Cross could see the tension held in the way he stood. Like he was waiting for an attack to go flying or to have to start running. Much like before when he had pulled rank, it wasn’t exactly a question.

Horror nodded beside him. Dust, on his other side, shifted a bit.

“No problems. Just.” He paused a moment to think. “If Ccino stays.” He gestured to the door. Right , of course, Ccino was the head of house. It would be suspicious if the king fell ill and his servant when missing. Along with that, he was pretty sure Ccino kept this castle running practically by himself. All the servants and guards would probably be lost without his coordination.

“Don’t worry about that.” Ccino spoke up, “I trust the staff to be capable in my absence, and if I’m really needed I’ll ensure our king is in safe hands before handling any troubles.”

Dust nodded then, seemingly satisfied.

The focus then, he realized, fell to him.

Cross stared blankly at Killer for a moment, before jolting a little.

“Oh! I-” He stammered for a second before his mouth snapped shut. For some reason, in this exact moment, the past months he’d spent in the presence of these people all left his mind. Was he meant to be speaking? Did this apply to him? He hadn’t even realized he was part of the assembled group for a moment. Maybe it was all the years of simply standing around during important conversations, invisible and ignored. Maybe he was just spooked by Killer’s intense gaze. The weight of a choice. “I… Didn’t realize you were asking me, too.” He answered dumbly.

Killer blinked once. “Of course I am. If our king didn’t trust you to be included in conversations like this you would’ve been out of the castle months ago. So?”

Cross glanced back to the king. He was still resting. He’d shifted so his face fell towards Ccino’s chest and the head of house had tugged the comforter up and around his lap as far as it would go.

This was not like last time. There is no evil tyrant. There is no worthy resistance. This was not blind devotion.

“Then yes. That sounds like the most logical plan. I will partake in whatever ways I can.”

Cross felt pride well up in his chest with his agreement, an oath if only to himself that he would see this through of his own volition. Killer seemed much less excited by the news and gave an easy nod before looking to Ccino again.

“Well then what are our plans for tonight, O' mighty Head of House?” Killer questioned.

The tone shift seemed jarring to Cross, but the others didn’t bat an eye.

Ccino took a deep breath before speaking. Four knights all awaiting his instructions. “Your first move should be to eat. I was done with all of dinner aside from the dessert, I’ll have to ask for your forgiveness on that front.” He said, “I’d like one of you to remain here with the king, have one of the servants bring a meal for whoever stays and one for the prince. The rest of you focus on maintaining normalcy. In the morning, I will go about rescheduling meetings and arranging for visits to be delayed.” His voice seemed to peter out the longer he went on, until silence followed in his wake.

“Dust, you should stay for first shift.” Killer suggested, and the other knight nodded in agreement. “I’ll go clean up and bring food your way. I can take the shift into the morning so that Horror and Cross can get some rest.”

Cross glanced to Killer at the mention of his name, but the knight was un-subtly watching the royal bed. Ccino with their king tucked tight against him still. For a second, Cross wondered how that must’ve been for him. The king suddenly growing small in his arms? Killer had been quick to cradle him after all.

Horror hummed at his side, and Cross noticed him back away. As much as a part of him desperately wanted to stay, to keep watch, to know anything more… Killer had spoken. Dust moved forward, hoisting himself up a bit to sit on a chest towards the foot of the bed. His vigil. Meanwhile Killer dragged his gaze away from the party on the bed and focused in on Cross and Horror, nearly ushering them out himself.

This was a whirlwind, but Cross was not the victim. Just someone swept along. It’d be fine. The first hurdle would be dinner, and he could do dinner.

Are you eating with the others? That trainee still had a little while to go before he’d be a knight, Killer was sure of it. Not that he didn’t have amazing skills, he just… needed to be a little more observant.

No, save my seat still. I just know Ccino forgets to eat when he’s working on a project. He can’t go running on empty. Killer had shot back in the confines of the little personal kitchen that Ccino always used for the king’s meals. True to word their food was complete, minus some dough that had gone a bit flat and shapeless on the far counter, surrounded by flour powder. Normally they’d be served by the man himself, but they were all adults, they knew how to serve their own food.

Killer had kicked the door open with his foot, moving through the doorway with ease and navigating into the halls. Balanced on his arms were three plates of nice warm chicken and various vegetables. Were those carrots? Sick.

He didn’t think much of it as he passed by servants and guards. They all knew better than to ask him what he was doing, and he knew that none of them were threats. Dust would’ve sniffed out a rat in the first minute of his search, let alone the hour Killer had given him. No threats were left inside if there ever was one in the first place.

He came to the ornate door and kicked his heel against it three times. It swung open revealing his shorter fellow-knight. His hood was still up, though Killer could see his eyelights were calm and white. No danger, no harm, but also probably no developments either.

“I bring gifts! In the form of a warm meal I didn’t make!” He jokingly announced in a stage-whisper as he slipped in past Dust.

Just as he expected, Nightmare was still curled up into Ccino’s side, though he’d once again been moved to lay more on the mattress than on Ccino’s dirty uniform and chest. Now, Ccino’s one hand was pinned by the sleeping king, gripped in his own, little, boney hands.

Somewhere behind him the door closed, and Dust slipped past him with a quiet ‘thanks’. With his shape went one of the plates, taken seamlessly from his bicep where he’d carefully been keeping it steady. Dust didn’t bother with much else, taking up his position on the chest once again. If Killer didn’t know better, he would’ve joked about how he could totally fit Dust inside it. …He was saving that one for later.

For now, he moved towards the bed again. Ccino watched him approach with a hesitancy, but it was not the same awkward and reluctantly docile stare he’d grown to know over the years. Ccino had never really wanted Killer here, he was a criminal and the king fresh to his rule, but he had welcomed Killer when he realized that Killer was sticking around. Ccino might not have known it, but Killer wanted nothing more than to bridge the gap imposed between them. He tried not to get his hopes up that this might have been another of many other little baby steps they’d taken over the years.

Killer moved closer and set one of the meals on the bedside table just near Ccino’s side. “He’s still out cold, then?” Killer asked the obvious, and Ccino hummed in agreement. His free hand gently caressed Nightmare’s skull, and the pearl-white bones shifted comfortably under the contact.

Something about this felt all too familiar. Those first days, back when Killer had arrived. When he’d spot the king crumble under his own weight and bare a weakness. It had always been to Ccino. In the nights he couldn’t sleep, he’d sometimes find the king lingering in his study, Ccino not far off on a couch. And then, of course, the documents. Ccino had cared for the king since he was a babybones. 13 years worth of helping and watching him grow. If it hadn’t been obvious to Killer before, it had to be now. How easily Nightmare slept at Ccino’s side, how Ccino had been so receptive to the change. How he had dropped everything to care for this now young king.

“Are you eating with us after all?” Ccino questioned. Hopefully he hadn’t been staring, that would be awkward. He’d embarrassed himself enough times in front of the other that it probably wouldn’t matter, but he had to keep his composure now of all times.

He glanced to the plate still in his hand. He scoffed. “As much as I’d love to, four’s a crowd.” He claimed, “This is for you. I figured I’d take up the sacred duty of making sure you remember to eat for yourself, too. At least until our Lord is awake enough to tempt you himself.”

He gracefully bowed and firmly pressed the plate into Ccino’s open lap. A playful look revealed that Ccino was staring at the food a bit baffled. He opened his mouth to say something, probably to tell him off, but apparently decided against it.

Ccino shifted the plate to his right thigh, probably so he didn’t risk getting any on a sleeping Nightmare. He stared at it a second, before he nodded very subtly to himself.

“Thank you, Killer.” Was all he said.

Killer grinned wide and nodded.

His spin back to the door left him double-glancing at Dust, but the other gave him a thumb’s up. “Enjoy the meal you guys, I heard the best cook this side of the sea made it.” He teased and slipped out before he could be scolded for the bad joke.

He would stay, he would love to stay, but it wouldn’t be good. Dust was a lot more attuned to the magic in the air. He could sense threats and react a lot more quickly. Besides, Killer didn’t want to make Ccino uncomfortable. Sure, they were overcoming differences, but Ccino had always been the king’s left-hand man while Killer was his right. Ccino made sure he was calm, and happy, and feeling alright and taking care of himself. Killer was handling his dirty business, warding off harm and threats, acting as his voice. In a room where Nightmare commanded all, they could work like they had for the past seven years. A well oiled machine that had its own parts. This? This was emotional work. Killer hadn’t missed how the king had been shaking and trembling in his arms, tense and worried. The king had ripped away from him the moment Ccino had spoken. Of course, Killer couldn’t really blame him for that, if Ccino said his name like that he might go running too. Point was, Killer knew better than to cross that line. He’d defended Nightmare. Now it was time to give Ccino some time to himself… figuratively.

He figured Dust would be invested and alert, but unlike Killer he wouldn’t be hovering, and fidgeting, and tossing his knife in the air, or pacing circles into the floor. He wouldn’t be internally cooing over the king’s soft baby features or trying to sneak closer just to see him. Make sure he was really, truly alright.

Killer needed time to cool off. To come to terms with the current state of things. When he came back for his morning shift he was sure he’d be in a better state. Not worrying so much over how wrong it felt when Nightmare had shuddered and gone limp. Yeah. He could be normal about that. He just had to give it a few hours.

#new age au #Cross pov AND Killer pov? In one drabble? Unheard of from me!#Anyways yeah I think it's gonna be really funny to have a day or two where Nightmare's out cold and everyone'd like. Not leaving. They're #all just too committed and they're good to each other so #they trust Ccino and listen to Killer and just business and usual it!#Also yeag. Cross has worries he did too little too late and fell back on his old habits when he got stressed (waiting for orders)#while Killer and Ccino got to have an off-camera discussion about Nightmare and the apple situation during the break so he's... more chill?#but he definitely is still freaked out because. Yeah he was always gonna listen to Ccino and #Night proved himself to be a good and trustworthy king but... now he's a kid? And for some reason he feels even MORE protective???#Shout-out to the knights. They're all separately going through it. And Nightmare's down for the count. so they can't ask him questions-#Okay i'm done now lol #Just... had some emotions to work out irl and as always it fuels my writing spirit so efficiently <3 #Hope y'all enjoy!#(One more note: Istg when I write these on my laptop they're always so much longer-)

12 notes · View notes

nekrosmos · 1 month ago

Note

Your comments... Ahh. I have read it four (4) times. I don't think you understand how amazing you are for commenting on fics and just unpicking everything you liked and...

Thank you, bud. Made my morning. Skilled of paintbrush, big of heart.

(Even kindly ignored the duplicated paragraph where I was pasting poorly from GoogleDocs, lmao, it's gone now.)

Glad you enjoyed them <3 You put so much effort and love into your fics, I feel like it's literally the least I can do. Still, I wish I found some better words because I feel like I repeat myself a lot, but your fics just make my brain melt, in the best way possible👉👈

Bringing this one back

#And don't worry about the duplicate paragraph #I read it on tumblr because dark mode my beloved #being called big of heart by you is gonna balance all the times I've been called cold-hearted trust #the emotional rollercoaster I go through when reading your fics man #ESPECIALLY THIS ONE #always takes me a while because I want to savor every word #you have a way of writing that is so unique to you and I'm just addicted #you put pieces of yourself into your fics and it makes them feel authentic and real #I still need to go through some of your older fics I may have missed #I'm gonna be visiting family for the next week so I'll have time to do that hopefully #Man am I glad to have fallen in love with NikPrice and to have found your fics #highlight of 2024 👏#nekro yapping

8 notes · View notes

seraphic-sibyl · 3 months ago

Text

I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been born a frog. I should have been

#us elections #us politics #election 2024 #i talked to an older friend today and he helped a lot #being with people helps #reminding myself that people care helps #47.5% of people in the usa care #which is a minority but at least it's close enough of a minority to a coin flip that i can always find good people #i am trying to be positive and not live out these last two months of peace in despair #being alone hurts more and i spent too much time today doomscrolling but i need some time to prepare for what i might see in the future #i do not want to make plans i do not want to make plans i should not NEED TO HAVE PLANS FOR A PRESIDENTIAL ELECTION #when i was 15 i had a whole plan for a novel i wanted to write. it was a whole carpe diem/memento mori about living life before it's over #it was going to be a good book. but now i'm not sure i believe in what i am saying enough to write it.#and i am not sure if it would be what the world needs.#but it would have been a good book. it would have been an amazing book and i didn't want to start because i didn't know how #and i wanted to wait until i had more writing and life experience to do it justice #and now i just don't have the OPTIMISM to do it justice and now it may never be written #moral of the story is write the thing NOW edit later make the thing now while you are still passionate about it existing #contrary to the contents of this post i am actually doing much better than i was this morning.#today an irl friend held my hand as i cried under a couch and an online friend reached out to make sure i am okay and i am not alone.#a lot of it is cold comfort. but at least i am regaining some faith in humanity. not all of it. i will never again have all of it.#but i will have enough.#i am a little more afraid of dying young than i was this morning and that is good. that is good.#i am not the only one who has lived through a historical event.#i will do a lot more tiredposting in the near future #especially as inauguration day comes up #but for now in the tags i feel at least a little better.#seraph rambles #seraph originals #side note: the content of the actual post is reminding me of otherkin back in like the 2010s lol remember when that was a thing on tumblr

12 notes · View notes

sugaredparchment · 27 days ago

Text

was thinking about Calixto again and this snippet isn't about him but like. see the world (the moon) through his eyes a little bit

Built of brick and stone, standing at only two stories, made of only a room or two more than most common houses, is where they currently reside. And it is here that Calixto finds Arion. The Moon has a game of cards laid out on the small table in front of him and the chair he lounges in. While Celeste has the power to fill any space with the cold, commanding air of a throne room, any room Arion is in feels like sitting on pillows beside a hearth. The casual way he sits is still somehow full of grace, but in the way that is tossed around carelessly. White hair falls in front of his eyes, surely obscuring his view of the cards, although his gaze is the empty, black shine of starless nights. He stares blankly enough that many might believe it if told he saw nothing at all.

#I like how I juxtapose my gods of the sun and moon here #the sun gets described as cold #while the moon is likened to warmth #sometimes Im like Ha. I'm a genius #this feeling will fade soon I fear #oc: calixto #celestial: arion #woahhh gods tag???#snippet #my writing

7 notes · View notes

astraphone · 5 months ago

Text

if you give it a name, then it’s already won

1.5k, blackwall/cadash. after the breach is sealed, the man who calls himself blackwall shares a moment and a dance with the herald of andraste.

Hours before it is lost, there is dancing in Haven.

Blackwall isn’t with the Herald as she and the mages close the Breach, but even down in the village it’s obvious the moment she succeeds. With a blaze of light and energy, the sky stitches itself back together before his very eyes. For the first time in months, the green, angry menace above settles. Scarred, still, a reminder of what happened here, but quiet at last.

The villagers have already begun drinking by the time the Herald returns from the temple. A wild cheer erupts at her approach, and though Blackwall intends to congratulate her, he quickly loses sight of her in a gaggle of admirers. Probably for the best, that. Tonight is for her, and she hardly needs him interrupting her festivities.

That thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, and he hurries to find himself a drink before he can dwell too much on things that aren’t for him. Today was a victory, for the Inquisition and for the world. He’ll focus on that, not on the way he’s itching to find the Herald in the crowd, to see her grin up at him when their eyes meet, to run his hands over her and—

Well. So much for not dwelling on it.

The fact of the matter is, they’ve been... flirting. He’s almost certain she isn’t serious; she flirts with him like it’s a light-hearted reflex, just part of her charm, and he should know better than to respond in kind. Easier said than done, though, when their banter comes so easily, when she smirks when she catches him watching her, when he hears her laugh as they take down demons together, all exhilarated adrenaline.

He’s not courting her. He hardly knows her, really, and he does know full-well how unworthy he is of even attempting such a thing. But it’s a pleasant fantasy to indulge in from time to time, that a woman like her might see something in him, of all people.

“There you are.”

Blackwall just about jumps out of his skin. As if summoned by his thoughts of her, the Herald of Andraste herself stands at his side. She’s changed out of her armor into casual clothes, carrying a drink in one hand and a half-eaten plate of food in the other. Her face is still smudged with what must be soot from the Temple, and he pushes down the urge to reach out and wipe it off for her. She looks tired, he thinks.

“I haven’t seen you all night,” she says. “Was starting to think you’re avoiding me.”

“Never, my lady,” he manages once he finds his tongue. “Are you enjoying the festivities?”

“Sure, as long as they keep the ale flowing.”

The mug in her hand looks nearly untouched, but he decides against pointing that out.

“I believe congratulations are in order,” he says instead. “You did a great thing tonight.”

She smiles, but there's something almost sad about it—and when did he become so good at reading her expressions? “My hand did, you mean. And the mages.” She seems to catch herself, looking inexplicably annoyed for a moment before continuing. “But—you’re right. We did good.”

“Are you alright?” He ventures.

“Sure as stone. Why?”

“I suppose I expected you to be celebrating. You did, after all, just accomplish what we’ve all been hoping for.”

“I know that,” she snaps, then sighs. “Sorry. Just tired.”

“You don’t have to talk to me," he says slowly. "But I will listen, if you do.”

She looks at him for a moment, as if deciding whether she wants to say anything, then seems to come to a decision. “I’m fine. Just thinking about what happens next, now that I’ve done my part.”

“I’m no expert, but I don’t get the impression that this whole mess is over. Do you?”

“No. But they brought me in to close the Breach. Half the Chantry still wants me in chains, and I’m fairly certain the Carta will tell me to sod right off if I go crawling back, so…” She grimaces. "It's Inquisition or dust for me, I think. I just hope I still have a job now my bit's done."

"The Inquisition would be mad to let the Herald of Andraste go. And regardless, surely you realize you're far more to these people that just your mark."

She glances down at the mark in question, still sparking with light underneath the leather glove she wears. "Still hard to believe sometimes. All this for someone like me." "Breach or no, the people still need you. The Inquisition still needs you." And then, because he's been drinking and he's feeling rather bold, he adds, "And, for what it's worth, I still want you. Here, I mean. I still want you here, helping."

She raises one scarred eyebrow at him, pointedly enough that he feels himself blush. "Right."

He'll gladly put his foot in his mouth a thousand times, if it brings back that little half-grin of hers. Seeing a ghost of it now, he gestures out towards the gathered crowd of dancers. “Come on. Tonight is for you; it would be a shame if you didn't enjoy it."

The Herald snorts, a surprised and undignified thing that makes him grin. “What, you want to dance? I've been told I have two left feet, you know."

"I'll be the judge of that, my lady. If you'll allow me."

"Oh, fuck it." She tips her mug back and downs her drink with impressive speed for someone her size. "Lead the way."

He extends a hand to her and she takes it with a smirk. This is foolish, he knows; just about all of Haven is out here tonight, and people will talk. She hardly needs that kind of rumor on her plate. But once her hand is in his, he’ll be damned if he lets go.

With a half-bow towards her, he leads her into a dance. He’s never danced with a dwarf before, and has to adjust a bit for her height, but it’s easy to get used to her. As though all that time spent twirling around ridiculous Orlesian ballrooms a lifetime ago was merely a lead-up to her.

Despite her initial protests, the Herald is a fast learner, and soon she’s laughing breathlessly as he spins her. He finds that he doesn’t care about the people watching, the whispers that will surely come, the voice in the back of his head telling him he doesn't deserve this; in this moment, she's the only thing that matters.

The dance is over too soon, and as they come to a halt they're both smiling like a pair of fools.

"How'd I do?" The melancholy of a few moments earlier is vanished from her face now, her eyes bright and shining with mirth.

"You're a natural, Lady Cadash." Caught up in the moment, acting more on instinct than anything else, he catches one of her hands in his and presses it to his lips.

Too far. He knows it instantly, as her eyes snap up to meet his, open wide with surprise. He drops her hand and takes a hasty step backwards, but she follows, so close they’re nearly pressed against each other. It would be damnably easy to do something unwise in this moment. She’s closed most of the distance herself; all he has to do is lean down and brush his lips against hers.

No. He shakes his head to help clear it, although he can't quite bring himself to move away again. “I—I forget myself.”

The Herald's voice is low, meant just for him. “I think I like it when you forget yourself, Warden Blackwall.”

The moment is broken with the sound of that name. He’s long-since gotten used to it, thinks of it more than he thinks of the name he was born with, and on most days hearing it reminds him of the sort of man he wants to be. Tonight, it’s a reminder of why he shouldn’t be doing this. The Herald of Andraste, this remarkable woman with the world at her feet, deserves far better than a lying, murderous fraud.

He takes another step back, and this time she doesn't follow. "I'm sorry,” he mutters.

He thinks he might see disappointment flash briefly on her face, but she only shrugs. “Don’t apologize. This was the best part of my night.”

“Given what you’ve accomplished tonight, perhaps you need to reevaluate your priorities, my lady.”

He means to say it lightheartedly, but he must have struck a nerve, judging by the way her eyes narrow. "Perhaps you need to figure out what you want, Warden," she says sharply. "Come find me if you do."

She stalks off, and he watches her go. She's joined by Cassandra a moment later, and he turns away.

Maker, he’d wanted to kiss her. He almost had kissed her, and she’d looked at him like she’d wanted him to. She's wrong; he knows exactly what he wants, he's just desperately fighting a losing battle against it.

When the alarm bell starts ringing, it's almost a relief.

#dragon age: inquisition #dragon age fic #inquisitor cadash #cadash #blackwall #blackwall x cadash #cleo writes #amber cadash #anyway. i saw a post a while ago about how the immediate tension between cadash and blackwall at skyhold #makes it feel like something happened between them at haven #and this has been rotating in my mind ever since #anyway if it hasn't been obvious from my blog lately i'm kinda obsessed with this relationship #and the whole hot and cold thing they have going on in the early days is very fun

13 notes · View notes