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igotathingforvampires · 3 years ago

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Aro Volturi N.S.F.W Alphabet

CANON DIVERGENT.

Info on Reader: Reader is an Elemental Gift user like Benjamin

CW/TW: a SLIGHT MENTION of assault but NO DETAIL AT ALL (as a SA survivor I do not use this lightly but I do like representation and not having the survivor be that cliche broken doll we end abusers here thank you)

How you two met:

You…..oh you. You’re standing with the Cullens wondering how the FUCK you got here.

Why am I here? What’s with this tiny little kid who can touch me and tell me things. Awe but she’s cute.

You’re just a bored Vampire who knows Carlisle and is Esme’s BFF.

You’re a nomad, and a badass one, see your gift is the Elements like Benjamin, it’s why Amun has his eye on you and is freaked out.

You and Benji are buddies now. Benjamin specializes in Earth and Water. You specialize in Fire and Air.

So now, here you are watching a bunch of cloaked baddies stomping towards you. But Carlisle and you have spoken frequently, the Volturi aren’t bad.

However, they are cautious.

And caution bred by fear is something you know to be wary of.

So you keep yourself a bit behind Carly. Waiting and watching.

The leader— that must be Aro you think, flings his hood back and suddenly you feel your entire chest clench up and a yank within yourself towards him. “Oh what the fuck.” You growl. Glancing UP at the Old Gods you couldn’t help but snap at them “ARE YOU ALL KIDDING ME RIGHT NOW?! HIM?!”

The platinum haired man barked angrily, “who dares?!”

Aro is too busy glancing at his brother Marcus who’s smiling. He nods at Aro and huffs a bit of a sigh.

The raven haired man turns ever so slowly, casting his red gaze over the crowd and it falls to Carlisle. “Carly.”

“Aro?”

“Who is that behind you.” Aro can feel his chest hurt like a chain is being pulled.

Carlisle looks confused and glances behind him where you are shaking your head face palming—looking embarrassed.

Edward and Bella are utterly confused, before Edward listens to Aro’s and your thoughts and gets a look of disgust, “REALLY.” He barks.

You feel the rage of a thousand suns consume you. “I CAN’T PICK IT YA KNOW AND HEY WHADDAYA MEAN REALLY —ASSHOLE DON’T TALK ABOUT MY MATE LIKE THAT!”

The entire field is utterly still as you’re heaving, standing on your tip toes in front of the bronze haired vampire pointing at Edwards cringing face, “but it’s—“ he starts, you let out a growl and sparks fly off you.

Edward shuts up.

“I will light your ass on fire.” You whisper hiss.

The Volturi are just tilting their heads like WTF.

Marcus is trying not to laugh, Caius has just become stunned glancing between his brother and the woman across the battlefield.

Aro is getting GIDDY.

“And who is the girl.” He asks.

You turn, your hips swinging with attitude and your arms crossing as you scoff. “Psh, get a load of this Mother fucker,” you whisper to yourself glaring across the expanse of space. “HEY. I have a name.”

------

-----

His First Impression:

Of course my mate swears like a sailor.

Is Aro’s first thought.

His next thought is that you’re awful adorable. Awe so lithe and cute and— Much too … hm, much too adorable to be mine I would think how In the —a violent wind kicks up and flames burst out from your body enveloping your form as you take a few steps forward.

Ah there it is.

“You wanna ask me my name— darling.” You smile wide at him.

“Of course,” his purr is laced with annoyance, but he’s far too intrigued. “Who might you be?”

“I’m y/n. No last name, my parents were assholes.” You shrug. “So, we doing this trial or we figuring the whole—“ you wave your hand between the gaping maw of land between you two, “bond thing.”

Aro pauses, a twitch on his lips, “after the proceedings cara mia.”

“Ooo… love me a man that speaks Italian—” You smirk, raising a brow and cock your head to the side.

Aro makes a stifled choked off growl as his eyes go black— thank God he lost the ability to blush as arousal slammed into him like a freight train.

You’re obviously annoyed, and have as Caius mutters ‘more balls than a Christmas tree’ and you are ready for this trial to be over.

Frankly so is Aro he wants to drag you back to Volterra and bring you to heel.

Not that he thinks that’s going to happen.

But he loves playing with fire. And you’re full of it.

He watches you glance at the Cullens and the half-breed. “Alright Nessie come on let’s show him what you can do kiddo.” You scoop the girl up and you and the Cullens walk over with Jake behind you.

-----

When does he know of his feelings?

When within reaching distance you set Renessme down and pat her head, “okay tiny Loch Ness, say hello.”

Bella is panicking, but she trusts you it seems, she better, you have no qualms frying— sans mate— every vampire here. They do their little song and dance. Aro tries to talk about the danger and you feel your temper boil over.

“Darling.” You croon taking a step forward with a sharp but soft smile.

You remind him of a lioness, purring softly but ready to tear into him with one movement.

He raises a brow; you are in 6 inch heels putting you nose to nose with him. “Yes carissima?” He breathes deep and nearly groans out loud, you smell so good, like spring and a heady feminine scent like perfume edged in lilacs and lavender.

“Could you pretty pretty pretty please just keep an eye on little Nessie— I hate to tell you but she’s quite important to me and I can assure you she fits in with humans better than the Cullens do.”

“And if I don’t.”

You let flames dance in your gaze. “I’ll roast everyone here except your brothers and their mates and make you start the fuck over without me.”

Aro’s done.

Cupid has struck him in his dead heart.

He’s never been more terrified or aroused or enraged at once at your dulcet threat purred from such sweet lips.

He wants to grip you by your hair to him, pick you up and haul you to somewhere private and teach you a lesson.

He wants to fight you. And it’s quite clear you’re ready to rumble, though he’s not sure you’d let him win. Or that it wouldn’t end up tangling in a bed somewhere on fire. That’s fine too.

A manic grin spreads across his face, eyes going pitch black as he snatches you up by the waist and hauls you closer loving the startled look in your eyes settling into something dark and wanting. “And if I agree?”

The brothers roll their eyes.

Go figure you’d be as bat shit as he is.

“I’ll leave with you right now.” You give him THAT look matching his almost mad grin.

A low purr echos from him making Bella clap her hands over Nessie’s ears. “Una ragazza così meravigliosa, credo che mi piaccia come funziona la tua mente.” Such a wonderful girl, I think I like how your mind works.

But your plans to drag your mate off end as Alice shows up with her witness right when he’s about to whisk you off for some obvious adult time.

Both of you sigh put out and exasperated.

Yes you just about ended an entire potential threat with batting pretty eyes and coaxing the leader of the Volturi into some fun.

But now that’s ruined because of the psychic. Alice is looking rather embarrassed as the proceedings go. Given that she probably saw how everything was about to go down.

Aro can sense you’re as annoyed as he is, that and you’re not leaving his side. And you don’t mind touching him but you’re not because oh yeah he needs to focus. But oh he can see your hand twitching towards his own.

He can easily turn his gift off and so he does and grips your hand, quickly jerking you to his side.

Electricity lights along your skin at the contact and both of you jolt a moment and glance sideways looking amused.

This was going to be fun.

——

How’d you end up with the Volturi?

Alice and her witnesses ease their concerns about Nessie. Aro placates the Volturi as you linger back behind him a bit. Everyone just poof! Vanishes.

“So ah, can we get my stuff first before you whisk me off around the world?” You ask sweetly.

Aro’s a bit startled, “you wish to leave already?”

You realize he would be willing to stay for a bit and let you acclimate.

“Nah where you go I fucking go, come on baby. Let’s get the fuck outta dodge.” You give him a teasing shove as you walk by making Carlisle’s coven silently shake in mirth at his surprised expression.

Carlisle murmurs, “Good luck Aro.”

“Fuck off Carly.” The King growls back before following you.

That’s all they wrote.

You were in. And you made yourself at home quite easily.

Jane and Alec adore you— you saw them and just SQUEEd. “OMG they’re so DEADLY but so CUTE!”

Jane wasn’t quite sure what to do with you picking her UP and hugging her nuzzling your nose to her cheek, “she’s just a tiny tot of doom I adore it! We’re going to burn the SHIT outta people.”

Alec just sat starry eyed as you ruffled his hair, “I know boys don’t like being picked up.”

Jane had become a koala on you. And you didn’t mind.

Well. You’re Mama now. Aro couldn’t be more pleased as you continue to help develop their skills trying things outside of the box.

See, that’s also a sort of talent you have— you can help people learn how to use their gifts because of how you think. Not a gift per say, but certainly useful.

Jane it turns out can utilize the fire element.

Alec can utilize air.

With you knowing both you’re easily able to teach Alec how to hone his targets and even allow his gift to POP UP near someone rather than from his hands.

Jane is capable of setting shit on fire now.

Aro isn’t sure if he’s proud or worried.

Bit of both. But you are STERN with their use of powers. And when Jane set Felix’s foot on fire she was forced to shine everyone’s shoes in the Volturi in the afternoon and write 200,000 times at HUMAN PACE. “We do not light family on fire.”

She never did it again.

The inner coven loves you. Caius and you are besties Marcus is like a big brother always doting on you. Athenadora and Sulpricia are of course still together as companions, and don’t worry about his ex wife— they were on the rocks she’s ecstatic someone else can keep him in line.

The coven instantly takes to you, in fact you’re now basically Mother to everyone. Scolding, teaching, comforting, you do it all. But you’re also a leader and a ruthless one at that.

A perfect fit Aro thinks.

——

How’d he deal with his emotions?

You are driving Aro FUCKING CRAZY.

Literally mad.

You know how to push his buttons and you are not one to do as told. So for him, he who has anyone bending to his will to see you just cock a brow at him and laugh “awe.”

He wants to choke you half to death.

You are a Queen. He tells himself. It’s to be expected that you’d challenge him.

Sulpricia finds it HILARIOUS and you two are besties. Fuck that’s all he needs. She is ever so encouraging of your independence.

He often finds himself in Sulpricia’s study pacing rampantly, “what am I going to do with her?”

“You know you like it.” Sully says lounging back on her couch. “If you didn’t you wouldn’t be so utterly ass over tea kettle.”

Aro is not good with his emotions when it comes to jealousy. And he is JEALOUS.

You’re perfect to him, utterly beautiful, you are the sun and he Icarus stupidly flying as high as he can towards you in hopes to reach the light.

You’re also inclined to let him touch you whenever you want to express things without using words— and you’ve learned to let him speak to you telepathically as well.

So often you just sit with your pinkies touching on a couch and have back and forth silently except for the occasional twitch on your lips at a humorous comment.

You’ve managed to make him huff a laugh occasionally.

But he is utterly posessive. He does not like it when men stare too long, admiring is one thing, but nothing escapes Aro.

So when a lower guard had been in trouble for an infraction and when you had disciplined him the utter disrespect for a concubine replacement was across Aro’s mind and…welll—

Guard died.

You had just looked startled and gave a ‘oh well’ kinda shrug before touching ARo’s hand. Feel better baby?

Yes you called him baby in private, so modern, and he would NEVER admit he loved it. Baby, darling, love, honey, the list went on and each one twisted his insides into ribbons of absolute adoration.

You had actually taken to the bond so well Marcus had informed him that it was practically cemented.

His only hang up was himself.

——

Who does he ask for help?

Didyme is no longer there— his dear sister, a deep sorrow as he was accidentally responsible for her death.

Marcus however is always there to be the voice of reason, and he sits Aro down and listens to his brother spill his guts. Aro is terrified, he is well aware he is THE monster that makes OTHER monsters keep in line.

But for you to look at him like that? He could never bear it. His heart would break.

Marcus sighs, “Aro come here.” He drags his brother to the training grounds.

Where Aro get’s to see his mate literally tear apart the entire guard with blades…. Did his eyes deceive him— were those made from vampire ash and fangs?!

You pause your onslaught, “oh hi darling!” You prance over and smile, “like them? My witch-smith friend made them for me! Fucking bastards kept coming for me after awhile and ya know I just hate the idea of wasting shit.”

Marcus glanced at Aro and gave him a I told you so.

“Everything okay?” You ask looking concerned. You are dragging him along as he partially willingly let’s you take him to his sister’s gardens. “What’s wrong?”

And so, he exhales and does the one thing he’s never done with his gift.

He touches your hand and shows you his own thoughts.

He expects your recoil. Expects you to shun him. Expects your hatred and braces himself for it.

You gasp and when he’s about to drag his hand away and you grip him tighter. “No don’t…let me…” and so you watch— thousands of years of memories over the course of a week or two. Asking silent questions as the images play, getting silent answers in return.

And so, in return, you show him your human life— a life that had been riddled with abusers, torment and lack of love, the iron in your spine that had solidified your creation when you had dragged yourself from an open alley way at dawn into the sewer system after being left to die being drained by a nomad after a brutal assault. You shared with him that it had taken a lot for you to even move after what had happened.

Esme had found you.

And so your friends made sure you were okay even if you didn’t follow their diet.

You both spend time going over your pasts, Aro gently asking questions and you doing the same to answer as best you could.

It was why Rosalie and you got along so well, there were some experiences one could only understand by going through it. And you both had learned how to cope with the trauma you had.

Aro is patient, both of you taking time to feel through each others wounds, taking time to rework into each others personal space.

Marcus is stunned to tell Aro that the bond is nigh unbreakable after this exchange.

The Kings magically -coughs- big brother Marcus loses his shit finding out and Caius leads the search party with Demetri— cough cough— find the nomad and he’s now in a box limb free 15 feet below the dungeon with a tube connecting him to the surface, his tongue removed and he only gets blood once a year. *Jane lit them on fire multiple times to practice her accuracy and aim*

You find out of course, and smile through the dry sobs as all three embrace you like a big protective group hug. For the first time in a very long time, it’s safe.

Truly safe.

——

What happens when he tells you?

Aro is a man of few words, and honestly not much is needed between you two with the ability to go back and forth with his gift.

So in the middle of a walk in Didyme’s gardens he merely grabs your hand gently and kisses the top of your fingers.

And you’re flooded with his emotions.

The warmth and tenderness and absolute adoration is almost enough to restart your dead heart as venom pools in your eyes. “Aro…”

He loves you, loves you more than his own life, would give anything for you to make you smile.

This isn’t the love that is complacent, to just sit idle and rust away, he wants to chase you for eternity, whatever it takes to keep you at his side.

And you flood him right back— lowering the barriers you had and after a moment he merely leans down and presses his forehead to your own, giving the two of you time to just bask in the warmth of affection that’s swirling back and forth akin to the waves of the tide under the moon and sun at twilight.

——

First Kiss?

The leaders of Volterra were in the throne room, the Queens having their own thrones behind their husbands but visible carved in different woods to represent their personalities with different intricate features much like the brother’s thrones holding different crowning points but all the same color.

Your own is the same color as Aro’s throne, but mingled with mahogany accents. Ruby red stones slotted at the top with a crescent moon and sun carving emboldened with gold spiked halo.

Caius' mate's throne is a pale color, affixed with branches and beautiful earth like tones, complimenting her grounded nature.

Marcus’ Witch Mate is merely embellished in a ash throne, deep red almost black gems and the symbol for the overall witch and vampire alliance above her throne.

With all three positions of Queen in Volterra taken up by a true mate, it is the most stable the Volturi have been in several millennia.

But that day in particular was rough, there were a few traitors that had been brought forward— and one of them had managed to get loose from Felix as Aro had been gaining information lunging for the King’s throat.

You moved so fast no one even saw you as you streaked forward like a ghost and lobbed the vampire’s head off holding a blade made of vampire teeth expertly with an animalistic snarl.

You had positioned yourself in front of Aro, crouched, blade poised and your eyes wide and wild, teeth flashing with a dangerous snarl.

Marcus’ witch had already shielded Aro but paused when she saw how enraged you were. Athena and Sulpricia had faltered, Caius looked utterly proud.

You spun round, dropping your blade— knowing Felix and the others had everything in hand as Aro had reached for you, the two of you locked in an embrace, his hands holding your face still as your own hands grasped his wrists. Foreheads pressed together—

The coven was used to this, a private conversation but you could feel the utter terror that had gone through him when he saw you out of the corner of his eye. If anything had happened to you—he was almost angry at you.

But he could easily sense the rage that had consumed you at the thought of someone hurting him. Despite knowing the guard and Jane would Never allow it, your instincts had taken over.

No one would ever take from you again.

And you had been frightened.

Behind that rage when he got past it was utter fear that he’d be gone and you’d be all alone again all the tender memories would be the last you’d have of him as you gave a dry sob before the venom dropped from your eyes— a true show of vampiric emotion that was a rarity.

“Carissima, no. I’ll not leave you that easily.” He murmured and not giving a flying fuck about anyone in the room kissed you full on the mouth gathering you up in a tight embrace.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered half broken against his mouth. “I’m sorry-“

“I know I know, shhh cara mia shhh,” gathering you up he merely flitted out of the room leaving the others to deal with the issue.

Tons of snuggles. He had bundled you up to him in his private rooms and merely kept your hands together enjoying the shared emotions knowing the other was close and safe.

Aro knew exactly how to calm you, he merely showed you all his favorite memories, of the coven, of his travels, the antics his brother’s got up to. He replayed the moment he first saw you.

That always made you laugh of course she swears like a sailor.

——

First Time?

It’s in an elevator.

Okay so here’s the thing. The Volturi have these massive events, and your official coronation happens at one of these.

Aro is so proud.

And so fucking jealous as you are danced across the floor with other vampires— who are oh so respectful and as they should be as Aro watches from the upper floor like an angel of death.

You look stunning, your smile lighting up the entire ballroom, friends from near and far are there— even then Cullens— God bless Carly he even had animal blood brought for him.

You’re dancing around with Nessie laughing and watching the girl child giggle like a fiend before handing her off to the Shifter Aro hated the smell but it was what it was.

Over the course of the evening he was getting awful tired of sharing you. And as the evening wound down to an end you both were just going to take the elevator back up to the private rooms as the Ballroom was on the top floor of Volterra.

The energy crackled in the small space and you both glanced at one another. It was like a short fuse had been lit on a stick of dynamite.

We’re so not doing this in an elevator are we?

You didn’t realize you had said it out loud even as you both gravitated towards one another and his hands tangled into your hair sending gold pins flying to the ground as his mouth found yours and you let out a deep moan as his tongue swiped your lips before you happily opened them.

“We’re going to be patient. Cara mia. ” He said sternly more to himself than you— then groaned when your teeth tugged gently on his bottom lip knowing it drove him crazy. “Sarai la mia morte. Sulla mia tomba scriveranno 'ha giocato con il fuoco ed è perito felicemente’” his voice became heated as his hands moved over your form, “non mi importa più, vieni da me mia fiamma, brucia con me.” You will be my death. On my grave they will write 'he played with fire and perished happily'. I don't care anymore, come to me my flame, burn with me.

His hands were gripping your backside and hauling you up, pressing himself firmly between your thighs before grinding against you. But when his teeth scraped your neck your brain shorted out—

“Oh for gods sake Aro just fuck me already—” your hands were scrabbling at his waist coat and shirt pleased how easily the buttons pinged off the walls of the elevator.

Your mate let out a pleased noise, one that was utterly inhuman when your hands tangled into his raven locks and knocked the golden V pin to the floor allowing the ocean and pomegranate scent of his to curtain you from the world as he bent his head down and kissed you as if it were the last thing he would get to do just then. Right before he smacked his hand against the emergency stop button jolting the ride to the private floor still.

If you thought his kisses were something to be swooning over— because he always knew what you needed.

Well his gift extends to much and he is in tune with it.

Your mind is his favorite place to be, and he brutally uses what he knows to his advantage as his fingers skim up your legs flinging your skirt over your thighs to teasingly grind himself against you till you’re almost clawing at him half feral.

“My pretty little mate—“ he croons at you, “you looked so beautiful cara mia,” kissing down your throat before biting marks into your flesh licking them before continuing on as his teeth jerk the fabric of your bodice and sleeves off not even bothering with his hands. “E tu sei tutto mio, cazzo.” And you’re all fucking mine.

You were busy molding your hands against his form, loving how it was just ratcheting up his half mad with desire motions, twitchy, greedy, desperate to touch, “What was it you joked about that one time?” He was referring to a memory with your best friends over drinks.

You gulped and shivered a bit. “I believe I said sometimes a girl just wants to ahem— get slammed to a wall and fucked stupid?”

He smirked as his hands tore fabric off you letting his fingers to glide along your skin, allowing your own to do the same and showing you know exactly what he liked through the bond of touch.

If you’d been human the air would have left your lungs as he pressed his body tight to your own, pinning you in place letting you feel what you did to him, the hard length of his cock pressed into your belly. “What do you say we take care of that, hm?”

You’re speaking in tongues before he even takes you fully, and roughly, there’s no slow tender love making and frankly you’re just glad for it.

His wild smile sliding into a predatory proud smirk when you’re just a mess; whining at him, begging, pleading, twitching against him and oh you’re just so pretty when at his mercy.

He literally has the tongue of the devil.

“Did I finally break you little one?” He croons despite his rough movements sending you into another shockwave of bliss as your nails make claw marks in the wall.

Fuck he had— you’ll do anything if he’ll just continue.

Your submission is like a drug, he’s mad on it, hands digging against you, making small fissures of cracks along your hips that make you groan gleeful as you push closer for more of his touches.

“That’s right bambi, give me everything.”

That’s all you hear before he’s fucking you into the wall of the elevator, sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck just to relish in the pain and pleasure filled noises that escape from you as you beg for more, more, just please give more it’s all you want.

“My good bambi.” He growls as he begins it all over again, rumbling in your ear as your try to escape the onslaught of sensations— but happy you can’t as his grip has you immovable. “You’re not escaping me just yet.”

You’re both a mess, not that either of you care. Adjusting yourselves as best you can—

You’re lucky his private rooms are close and he simply carries you and flits you both into his rooms; you both end up continuing what was started.

——

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

He is a touch telepath, he knows exactly what you need.

But he also surprises you with what you didn’t even know you needed.

Snuggles, so many snuggles— Aro is not a tactile person— but with you?

Forget it.

He’s practically melting into your form and trying to fuse himself to you.

Massages, nuzzling your hair, biting.

Lots of biting— but not hard bites, love bites. Pressing his teeth to your skin to leave little imprints that he just can’t get over. You always poke fun at him for it.

Plus let’s face it.

Bite = Love.

He and Caius are on one mind with that.

He also took a note from Marcus and you both enjoy the heat of the baths together after a particularly long rough romp.

Which turns into a bath romp.

Because ahem *REASONS*

“I’m King I don’t need a reason to have you— now come here.” He’ll huff imperiously when you giggle at him as he drags you close into his embrace kissing you.

Okay he lies.

You looked too pretty in the bath.

Aro can’t help himself. That’s the reason.

——

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

He is SHOOK when you tell him your favorite thing about him is his hands. You never feel misunderstood.

Even in the rare fights you simply huff and reach out to him, wiggling your fingers with a pleading glance; or if he won’t take your hand you’ll walk over sit in his lap and headbutt your forehead to his like an angry cat.

But usually Aro will take your hand and you both have a deep understanding of where you’re both coming from.

After a few moments it’s settled.

You kiss his hands, he knows you love how he plays you like a finely tuned instrument when alone.

Love when he delves his fingers into your hair and cradles you close even if you’re in the throne room— he’s the fucking king he can do what he likes damn it.

But Aro is startled by this— everyone hates touching him even though he can control his gift, they seem to think that— aside from his brothers and sister in laws— that he just loves to dive into people’s minds for funsies.

No it’s awful. Plain awful. He can barely stand his own mind why would he want to traverse someone else’s?

But that brings us to what he likes about you— he LOVES your head space. When he’s stressed it’s his favorite place to be because you have a vivid imagination, as a writer as well you show him stories you’ve thought of and worlds you’ve created with vivid detail. He finds it quite amusing to use watch your thoughts too on a daily, you like it simply because he’s close.

But aside from that it’s you.

Just You.

Just ALL of you.

He can’t pick don’t make the man pick, he would just keep you near him for eternity which you seem to have no issues with.

———

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically…I am a disgusting person…)

He is quite a posessive person.

Two Words:

Breeding Kink

You’re his and his alone, so the idea of ah— claiming you that way just sends him off into the ether.

The fact that you both have a breeding kink and literally can’t have kids is a GREAT thing because you’ve literally sat there a absolute mess after round five and thought out loud as he tenderly cleans you up, “shit thank god we can’t reproduce because I am 100% sure that’d have knocked my ass up—” which has had him shaking in mirth having to pause to control himself after a few moments.

Beg him for it.

Make that whining needy noise in the back of your throat at him for him to finally give you what you need.

He’ll just lose it, pin you by the throat and well— you’ve broken a few beds this way.

He has no shame.

Just glances at the bed, hits speed dial to the furniture store and orders a new one.

His only other favorite thing with C as he soon found out from O (you’ll see) was he adores when you swallow down everything he gives you. That’s got him rumbling in Italian about what a good girl you are and how much you please him.

———

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

He’s a MASSIVE Pleasure Dom. And when I say Dom.

HE GOT DOM ENERGY.

With very mild Sadistic tendencies. (Thanks a lot Caius ya pervy fucker)

However he is also a very sincere soft streak when you’re a very good pet.

He picked up pet play from his sadistic brother hearing him call his amore Bunny. One day down the rabbit hole that is Google and he was hooked.

But he calls you Bambi. It’s an Italian term for baby-girl.

It also works because you become like a damn deer in the headlights when he pulls the Dominant voice on you.

It thrums with a low purr and has the capability to just make your brain go wait what?

HE’S A FUCKING SWITCH.

You had been pissed as shit at him. “I don’t know whether I want to strangle you or fuck you to death!” You paused because you had literally throat pinned him to the wall, the stone crumbling beneath him, feeling the muscles of his neck working as he swallowed nervously.

You were about to let go but saw his eyes had gone totally black and expectant and startled but excited.

He was just as fucking confused as you both calculated in a matter of seconds what had happened.

You were first to catch on. “Oh?….OH...….oooooohhhhhhh ….. you….you son of a….” You sputtered as he got a sly grin, “you can’t just look at me like— you are so ill behaved!!”

He wasn’t far behind and raised a black brow at you looking mischievous, “…..and what are you going to do about it mia regina?”

Next thing he knew he was face planted on his office floor with your boot pressed on his cheek making him groan low. “Gonna make you regret mouthing off to me is what I’m going to do my Aro.”

Edge him. Don’t let him touch you all day till he begs. He loves when you exert your authority especially on him? Oh forget it.

Queen Slay.

Literally you are his Queen and you are the only one who get’s to fucking tell him what to do.

And you ruthlessly do so when he’s in the mood. All you hear is “mia regina?” He’ll croon at you, as your hand comes up and drags him to you by his tie.

“would you like to be of service to me Aro?”

Magic words. He’s done, let him have you and he will literally just focus on your pleasure.

Worship Kink.

You had dropped to your knees at his desk and laid your head in his lap and he almost lost his god damn mind. You purred at him, “il mio maestro”.

Aro .exe has stopped fucking working.

———

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

Thanks to the tactile telepathy as well as the fact that he and his brothers have slept their way through history, Aro is a very mixed lover.

When I say greedy as a lover, he wants your pleasure for himself. And will literally drive you to it till you’re sobbing for mercy.

He has none.

But he does take pity on you when he knows you’re truly at your limit with touch.

You weren’t inexperienced but his own experience blew yours out of the damn water. Can literally have you on the edge in mere minuets. And is SMUG about it.

Fucking smug bastard just watching you with that smirk on his face and a ‘well?’ Kinda expression.

You have to beg if you want it.

You have to plead, you have to let him hear you or he’ll just keep going and I quote ‘hmmm I can’t hear you cara mia, you’re being so quiet you know that makes me want to fuck you harder, come now, let me hear you— don’t make me have to drag it from you baby girl. You know I love to hear your sweet sounds.”

Could probably kill you if you weren’t already dead with what he can do with his hands.

His tongue is even better.

When asked which you preferred you had just panted desperately after a hard orgasm, “any. All. Both. God just…holy fuck.”

He cracked up over that. “My poor baby I broke her.”

————

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

Loves having you in his lap.

Prefers to see your face and eyes, seems to need it.

But occasionally he just loves gripping your neck from behind and feeling you gasp against his grip as he slams into you roughly.

Adores anything that has you clinging onto him for dear life.

Likes being in a position to mark you. Favorite thing ever.

You had once tested his patience (willfully hoping for this outcome) a bit too much and he had pinned you completely immobile to the desk of his office and fucked you within an inch of your immortal life gagging you with his black tie.

“you just have to test me don’t you mia regina?” He had growled in your ear leaning over you, his hand crunching the ornate wood to splinters as you keened and whined for him to keep going. “Such a ill behaved thing you are, should just keep you here like this for when I please hm?”

He was not joking, you were kept there quite happily under his desk sitting at his feet your head on his lap waiting and absolutely willing.

He could feel your hands grip his thighs, “quit that I know what you’re trying to do and it’s not going to work—“ his voice teetered off in a guttural growl as he looked down.

You were biting his shirt looking up at him already nudging yourself between his thighs your teeth digging into his trouser zipper and tugging down.

his hands were gripping your hair jerking you up to kiss him deep, a growl against your lips, “Fucking damn it— come here.”

When you can get him to swear which is rare— yeah…

He didn’t exactly sound angry.

But he sure fucked you like he was though.

“This is what you were after hm? You brat!” A harsh laugh as he pinned you down a bit harder, “fine then I should ensure you’re good….and….sated…shouldn’t I bambi?”

��——

———

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

Very sincere.

Teasing but only in a very sexual way.

Borders on humiliation but he respects you too much.

Very serious though when he focuses on you.

He’s focusing on all the sensations you’re sending him, letting you know what he’s feeling as well which just sets you into the damn ether.

———

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

It’s ARO.

The man is vain.

The man is neat.

Clean and pristine.

He’d give a regal huff of annoyance, “I am not a heathen darling.”

———

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

Ohhh you wouldn’t know it but he’s such a god damn romantic.

He is. And he MAKES time for you. The schedules are changed so you have time together more often— something that was never done before.

Operas, romantic walks out in Volterra at night.

Sightseeing.

Your favorite was your trip to Germany in the winter with a big cozy cottage and a big fire and lots of bedding to ahem— destroy.

Aro has penguin brain.

He brings you small gifts that made him think of you— you have a bracelet that has special charms he had custom made for you, a lochness monster for when you met, a castle obviously for Volterra, a doe, different tiny items that speckled through your life, each one means something— you hardly ever take it off.

You have a collection of very sparkly stones in many jars that he found on his missions.

They are actually gemstones— insert eye roll— they set off pretty prisms through your shared rooms.

“Aren’t you going to make jewelry of them?” Aro asks.

“No darling they are perfect just as they are.” You smile.

Aro actually has the literal voice of a damn angel.

He sings to you in Italian, soft dulcet sweet tones and dances you around your rooms teasing you relentlessly.

Aro writes beautiful poetry. He will at least write one every few months when inspiration comes to him.

You have your own private box at the opera house. As well as being allowed to fund artists across the world, you’ve found incredible talent on broadway and other venues.

Flowers. Aro ensures care for a private greenhouse for you on the roof, each flower has a meaning, and they all bloom year round given the proper temperatures on the greenhouse. “Why would I send you flowers when they die so easily.” He asks kissing your cheek as you smile over the new blooms. “This is everlasting, much more fitting.” He muses.

All his poetry is in a beautiful book Caius got you for your birthday.

———

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

Why would he do that when he has you?

He is a patient man.

He can wait.

And he has pristine control over himself.

He is too old for pre-pubescent raging hormone crap.

But he will legit melt for you if you do it for him. Prefers it slow, enjoying your touch and loves to watch as you take instruction.

You’re such a good girl for him.

————

———

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

Aro is a kinky bastard.

MASSIVE Pleasure Dom.

Worship Kink.

Edging.

Controlling Orgasms *you don’t get to come till he gives permission*

Collaring *your Volturi necklace is LITERALLY on a collar*

Overstimulation. *his gift allows him to know when you’re pushed to hard and when you can take a bit more. When you’re craving that over stimulus, he’ll give it happily. Knowing he can turn you into a babbling speaking in tongues, drooling, eyes rolling back mess just— just— GAH.*

Breeding Kink *Aro has a true breeding kink, ask him to fill you up beg him for it and he’s going to lose his mind.*

Gagging. *he loves to gag you, but also loves being choked by you or you grabbing onto his tie.

Wax Play *you’re a fire elemental user, bringing candles into play is just oh it’s nice. * Prefers to have it done TO him. Your air element gift also allows you to cool the wax quickly and give new sensations.

————

———

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

Aro is private, he prefers somewhere comfortable to take his sweet time with you.

Rooms Private, hotel, somewhere he can just lavish you and enjoy everything you can give him.

He’d rather take the time to find a nice comfy setting.

But every blue moon— he’ll just look at you in that specific dress molding to your thighs.

He will drag you into an alley way and just rail the shit out of you keeping you quiet with a firm grip over your mouth as he hisses the dirtiest things in your ear.

You two once had a quick rendezvous in a changing room at a theatre. -shrug- it was empty oh well.

———

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

“Master?” You bat your eyes at him

His nostrils flare as he breathes in and just knows exactly what you want and you smell so fucking good.

The tone you use.

He knows. You want him. That’s it.

Unless it’s a trial— and DO NOT DO THIS BEFORE TRIAL.

And if you happen to when he takes your hand send him your fantasies after seeing him standing there all regal and watching his mouth form syllables so well and how much better it’ll be with his mouth— ahem— busy somewhere else.

He will be so mad at you.

He’s glaring at you behind a mask of calm and you can feel the fucking tremor in his limbs.

You just bat your eyes innocently at him and smile.

His face: you’re in SO MUCH trouble.

Brat energy??? During Trial?!??! Now is that the time to give brat energy!!???

Oh. Oh. oh you are so in trouble. When he gets done with ripping some poor idiots head off— okay not really they broke the rules— stalks over to you; grabs you by your oh so pretty collar, “come with me bambi.”

And just pulls you along to your rooms with you giggling the whole way and practically prancing behind him like a— well like a doe prancing into a lions den.

He’s tossed you over his shoulder once and just flitted out of the rooms into your private chambers, hurling you onto the bed before ripping into your clothing. “You best be ready for your punishment.”

“Oooohhhhhh absolutly master.”

“that’s my girl.”

The coven just rolls their eyes. Aro is less manic with you there and you surprisingly bring ease to the coven— so ya know what if that’s what does it whatever.

————

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

Humiliation. No.

Impact play is one thing, but to intentionally hurt you no.

If he does impact play one hand is always touching you to ensure you’re okay.

————

———

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

Giving? The man has a wicked tongue.

His oral game is LEGIT.

Will have you in a puddle of twitching ecstasy in mere moments of teasing because he knows where to touch and that’s not just his tongue but his hands.

Will kiss you all over before even getting to the ahem— final destination.

You’re either ready to combust or ready to strangle him when he finally just begins to devour you.

Eats pussy like a man starved but has all the time to enjoy.

Smug as Fuck.

Expect him to just watch you as you’re coming back down from the absolute height he threw you up to and glaring down at his smug grin as he waits before beginning all over again.

Will go all night if you’ve been ill behaved.

Your record is 20 before you BEGGED for a break.

He finally took pity and gave you a warm bubble bath and snuggles and praises.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like receiving, however it was more just a “hm, that’s nice—“

But with you.

Especially when you had decided to walk into his office, lay your head in his lap as you had sat yourself under his desk so he could work while he played with your hair (you have a comfy cushion there who was he to argue if that was the best way to be close and he could get work done??!!)

But his work was abruptly halted when you had nuzzled his cock through his trousers dragging your mouth wide as he became painfully hard in record time.

“what is it you think you’re doing bambi?” He purred looking oh so curious.

“Nothing.” You muffled around him as your teeth found his zipper and trouser buttons with a rather feral sound.

Upon finding out you had no gag reflex and having your nose buried in his pelvis as you moaned around him he was done for and he didn’t even care.

Work was forgotten.

Loves when you pleasure him, but of course has to be in control for the most part.

Buries his hands into your hair and loves throat fucking you, praising you the entire time. “What a good thing you don’t need to breathe dolcezza.”

You had hummed around him ecstatically.

The reward for this is always drool worthy.

Play with yourself as you do and let him see you do so keeping your clothing out of the way and you’ll have him break finally, that cool haughty composure cracking as his gaze goes just utterly uncontrollably wild, his hips moving a bit harder.

————

———

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

You both fuck rough.

But you both also love the slow and sensual moments too.

Especially if you have the time to just drown in one another.

It just depends on the situation.

Rough And Fast:

Slow and Sensual is how it usually starts off, he’s so attentive, so soft and cherishes you, that is till you growl at him for more and he has of course no other option but to give you what he wants.

You’re his queen after all what kind of mate would he be if he didn’t give in?

But has today been exceedingly trying for either of you?

Or is your mate quite amped up from a particularly rough trial?

You’ve been pestering him haven’t you? Hmmm.. yeah buckle up.

You’re in trouble and therefore need to relearn where your place is— it’s in your bed, beneath him losing your mind out of pleasure.

And he is all too happy to provide that lesson if you seem to forget.

You try to forget often. You damn brat.

Slow and Sensual

However sometimes he just wants to be gentle. And frankly so do you, you want to just bask in the bond you have and slowly explore all over again despite knowing you have memorized one another to heart by now.

Doesn’t matter, you still find things that surprise you, things that make you smile.

Places that when touched cause a jolt— well that’s new.

“I could spend my entire life mapping out your body carissima.”

“that’s an awful long time in bed.”

Aro would just smirk kissing down your sternum, “oh what a pity— I suppose my brothers shall have to cover for me hm?” Bite marks being pressed into your flesh, “I plan on leaving so many of these that I forget where they are so I can find them later.”

“Such an evil overlord.” But you’re giddy, he’s going to make your entire world tilt again with those slow careful hands of his and you’re going to enjoy every second of it.

———

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

You’d be surprised that such a patient man could be so damn impatient for you.

He’s not as impatient as Caius but not AS patient as Marcus.

So it’s a toss up when he’s twitchy during trials and catches a glimpse of you floating down the hallway in all your grandure and he mentally tosses a coin.

Nope he can’t take it that flash of leg just set him off.

“Excuse me I do belive I remembered something that needs my attention.”

The others just inwardly roll their eyes.

Next thing you know you’re gagged by his tie in his office pinned over the desk with his teeth buried in your neck and frankly you expected this you wore that damn skirt with the slit in it to tease him.

Seeing this just makes him let out a feral noise and a laugh at the end, “oh you planned that hm?” He nibbles the outer shell of your ear, “missed me did you?”

You can only nod as he continues, eyes rolling back as he knows exactly what you’re needing and it’s certainly not gentle right now.

“I have exactly fifteen minutes before my brothers come looking for me— think you can be a good girl and make me come?”

You smirk against the gag in your mouth before purring at him; and it’s off to the races.

He’s in trouble quite often for this— but who’s to argue with him.

He’s king he can do what he wants…. At times….

Okay most of the time.

Plus he’s always in a MUCH better mood.

I wonder Why.

————

———

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

While Aro does love to experiment your safety is his utmost importance.

But he’s a curious bastard and you are right behind him on that scale so sometimes your games become a bit risky.

Never life threatening but oh boy do you two get a grin and just glance at one another, “you know we haven’t done that yet.”

“No…. No we haven’t….”

And that’s how it usually starts.

The worst thing you two can realize is you both utter “I don’t know”.

Well now you have to know if either of you are able to ahem— arrive— under rather dire circumstances such as utilizing your gift (don’t worry your gift doesn’t hurt him he knows how to use fire too surprise surprise.).

You almost had a heart attack though and nearly killed him after.

He just cackled that manic laugh that had you joining in after hitting him several times.

———

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

Need I say more than one word?

Vampire.

Aro takes his time most occasions, his slow, slow sweet time.

Now— you’d THINK that the rougher encounters would last a shorter period.

You’re wrong.

So wrong.

He lives for it you’re going to be so happy you’re a vampire and can’t really get sore except for when you both leave cracking handprints on one another.

————

———

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

Sensory.

Crops, leather gloves, feathers, ben wa balls are huge and he likes that they are silent but give you that teasing sensation. Wax candle play is huge for both of you and you enjoy long luxurious heated baths and sauna sessions with one another.

Ooooo he loves it.

Leather gloves area huge thing for him but not for what you’d think— he likes to challenge himself.

Sure he can know what you’re feeling but he wants to be in tune with your physical responses as well and so occasionally he dons them just to test his knowledge.

Damn smug overlord is just as good and you hate it and now he’s smirking at you while popping his jaw with his hand on his elbow waiting for you to come back into your body.

“Shut up.” You rasp as your head spins.

“I didn’t say anything.” His raven hair slides across his face as he grins wider.

“Your SMUGNESS IS LOUD ARO.”

“Me?! Smug! Why I never…” -cue the dark chuckle before he starts it up all over again, “maybe once more to ensure you remember it’s not just the gifts edge hm?”

“Ohhhh I’m going to die.” But you reach for him biting his leather clad hands.

“No you won’t.” He hums happily, “I won’t let you. You’re not allowed to leave me bambi.”

————

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

HE IS SO DAMN UNFAIR.

But so are you.

He’s not as bad as Caius but he is close, and he only does it with LOOKS.

His eyes are utterly expressive, as is that mouth of his, so when he glances at you in just the right way you can feel it drop down in your gut and sizzle.

And he does it during trial. Oh but when you do it you’re in trouble. Psh.

He’ll tease you and brush your hand as he walks by just to know that you’re basically twitching from frustration at the end of the day and about to boil over as he leans down and licks your neck. “Bambi, awe, was I too mean to you? Hmm I should make it up to you shouldn’t I?”

He always makes it up to you.

The man has the best ways to use his mouth aside from running the coven and giving orders.

————

———

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Aro was quite clear studies, and private rooms were to be soundproofed.

He’s loud, swearing (which he normally does not do), praising mess of a man, it’s needed.

And you love it.

You can practically feel the vibration in his chest when he purrs at you, less growling, he’s not as violent unless you get him too worked up.

No no no, he loves making you melt, and knows exactly what to croon at you to make your mind go blank.

———

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

He’s more posessive than Marcus. And that bleeds into a protective nature.

A bit controlling, but he knows very well he can’t do that to you as he had to Sulprica. BUT it doesn’t stop him from trying as gods forbid anything happen to you.

Less Jealous than Caius.

But his ah— mood swings can cause for quite an interesting feat.

Since Marcus and Caius were always the brunt of the bashing and warfare, and he the brains behind the operation, many seem to think he has no bite marks on his body due to not being in the fray.

No.

The problem is Aro becomes too violent. Especially because of his talent when touching his victims it tends to become a frenzy. Once he had decimated an entire coven single handedly because the rage they had was swamping him.

His brothers had to pin him down and try to relay calm emotions— his sister Didyme thankfully had been the one to bring him back.

You yourself are now that calm place.

At one point, a guard had been careless enough to have thought about you in ah— that way— Aro was aware you were quite beautiful, your personality no nonsense and many of the guard and lower guard considered you a maternal figure almost otherwise a very good friend.

But this guard.

Ohhh he coveted. What was not his.

But what was worse, was that on the way to the throne room he had spoken to you rather crassly, you merely ignored him; he wasn’t even worth your time. But he had glanced you over as if you were a rather tasty morsel, the imaginings of you spread out beneath him had Aro’s hands cracking his wrists.

You saw the change slightly as you were behind him. His spine went poker straight. “You dare.” It was worse, the guard had actually tried to think of how to lure you away to him— you were a queen so surely infidelity was expected—

The rumble in his chest was a whole new sound you’d never even heard.

Both Marcus and Caius were sitting straight up and narrowing their gaze at Aro before Marcus flitted over and guided you to Aro’s throne placing you on it and standing protectively in front of you.

“Marcus?” you peered behind the eldest king and he hushed you gently.

The guard was torn apart in mere seconds.

It was utterly ruthless and with no mercy.

“People tend to forget Aro is only about a thousand years younger than I.” Marcus muttered.

You blinked. Aro was at least five thousand meaning that Marcus was Six, Caius being the youngest at three.

Aro speared the entire guard with a terrifyingly cold glare before flitting over to you, gripping your head back by your hair and sinking his teeth into your shoulder and neck with a low growl.

The sentiment was well understood as the entire guard backed the fuck away from the dais— he closed the wound before his head shot up and he snarled at the coven tucking you into his embrace your face buried into his robes. “She is mine.” It was a quiet, soft voice that spoke.

“Aro.” you muffled tugging his sleeve and looking up at him.

He showed you “what he had seen and tilted his head. Would you mind cara?”

You lit the bastard on fire with a scowl aimed at the body winding your arms about Aro’s waist and nuzzling into his solid form.

A soft kiss in your hair, his body relaxing. “That’s my bambi.”

———

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

Aro although he is lithe and tall….he’s not exactly easy to handle.

9” decent width, knows how to use it.

Be forewarned, he knows what he’s doing.

Tactile Telepathy, good luck remember to keep your head on straight.

————

———

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

It’s less of a wistful like of yearning.

And more a burning bonfire of desire always in the wing of his mind ready to take over the forefront.

One glance at you and he wants you— granted he thinks it might cool down over the centuries but when you look at him like that and bite your lip and grin.

Nah.

Nope. This isn’t going away. Not at all.

He of course has excellent control so he is able to push other desires to the back of his mind, but once finished you are certainly at the front of the line.

Super high.

You both are insane.

You can be sitting reading and next moment with one small brush you’re gone from the library and you’ve tackled him through the doors of your rooms and pinned him to the floor.

Insatiable.

Good luck!

————

———

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

Aro LOVES resting with you.

He likes to just lay with his hands on your body and watching your thoughts, you’re his favorite mind to go through and he just adores it.

You both can spend hours like this if you were allowed—

He likes when you drag your fingers through his hair.

Makes him melt.

Kiss across his eyes and kiss his hands as he brushes your mouth with his fingers trying to learn you all over again.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough.” He murmurs to you lazily. He has you nestled in his arms your head tucked under his jaw.

“That’s fucking fine by me.” You giggle.

He rolls his eyes and huffs a soft laugh kissing the top of your head. “Of course she swears like a sailor…”

#aro volturi

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archived-kin · 4 years ago

Text

words upon the wind

note from kin: i don’t really know how to feel about this one, to be honest - it feels kind of half-baked and messy, but oh well, what can you do?

the basic premise is that, instead of dvalin, it’s you, a dear companion from long ago, that venti finds rampaging through mondstadt after waking up from a long, long sleep

i’m pretty sure adepti are exclusive to liyue, so i guess reader is just the mondstadt equivalent? basically you’re in that grey area between vision-holder and archon - you’re not powerful enough to have received a gnosis and ascend into godhood, but you’re powerful enough to have attained a level of immortality and be able to control the wind to a certain extent!

enjoy!! (or don’t enjoy, it is meant to be angst after all)

fandom: genshin impact

character(s): gn!reader, venti

pairing(s): venti/reader

warning(s): memory loss, general manipulation of one’s actions, brief mention of death, sad venti

genre: oh it is angst time baby (i think so anyway, please let me know if this managed to get you In Your Feels or not)

Where am I?

Your eyes burn, the air whipping around you in harsh gales that tear at your clothes and dig into your skin like blades. Your hands move of their own accord in a pattern that you don’t recognise, and the wind seems to move with them, swirling around you in a vortex that obscures the world from view, until all you can see are blurred lights, blurred lines, blurred green.

Green. There is a boy dressed in green, far below, arms braced above his head, staring at you. His mouth opens and shuts, but you cannot hear anything - only the whistle of the wind.

Who is he? Who are you? Why does the air bend to your will? What is this strange land below you, spreading out in grassy fields to the south and a bustling city to the west?

The boy is shouting now, straining so hard that the force of his own yells almost knocks him over. Something lies abandoned in the grass by his feet - a lyre with broken strings. There is something familiar about the sight, something familiar about him - something that you can’t quite place. His face is twisted, as if in pain. Are you hurting him? You don’t want to hurt him.

“I’ll be back before you know it. Wait for me, promise?”

You don’t know this feeling - you don’t know this anger, this sorrow, this anguish that digs its claws deep into you and threatens to rip you apart. Tears sting at your eyes, but why? For who do you so desperately want to cry for?

The boy stands his ground, even as the wind around you swells in rippling masses and threatens to crush him under its sheer power. You want to shout, to scream, to tell him to run, run far away so that I can’t hurt you, but the only thing that comes out of your mouth is a guttural, inhuman howl of anger as the storm around you swells.

He fumbles with something on his back - a bow, a bow that trembles in his hands as he raises it and prepares to aim. How can he expect to fight the power of a thousand winds with an arrow? He’ll be killed before his arrow reaches its target, thrown back and forth by the very air around him until his limbs grow limp and his eyes lose their light. He knows this, he must know this - so why does he continue to refuse to relent?

He pulls back the string. You look back, expecting to be staring down the shaft of an arrow, but he isn’t aiming at your head. His face is scrunched in concentration, feet firmly anchored to the ground - and he is deliberately and determinedly pointing his arrow down at your hip. You don’t understand y our wind can easily snap any arrow of his in half, so why waste them on trying to slow you down? Why not go straight for the kill?

You don’t know why, but something tells you that he doesn’t want to kill you. He isn’t aiming an arrow in hopes of eradicating a target. You don’t how you know this, but somehow, against all odds, you’re willing to believe that this boy you do not know would never seek to harm you.

Perhaps that is why you do not intervene when he looses his arrow. Perhaps that is why you do not interrupt its path even as it sails forward, sharp and true. Perhaps that is why, even as the arrow strikes its target and the sound of something shattering rings in your ears, you do not lift even a finger to fight back.

You look down. Something purple and alien is crumbling from your hip, dissolving in the wind as it falls away. Quite suddenly, the wind calms, and you drop to the ground.

The boy stands in shocked silence for a moment, as if he can’t quite believe that his plan actually worked. Then he moves again, running to you, leaving both his bow and the broken lyre behind.

“Stay right there!” You warn as he reaches out a hand, jumping back into a defensive stance. “Don’t touch me!”

He pulls back, and an strange expression of hurt flashes briefly across his face. “But... it’s me. Surely I haven’t slept so long that you’ve forgotten me?”

You ignore the sharp tug in your chest at the sound of his voice, instead narrowing your eyes and glaring at him. The wind continues to swirl around the two of you, tossing the ends of his braided hair about in an almost playful way.

“I don’t know who you are or what you’re talking about,” You growl in reply. “What are you doing here?”

He’s silent for a long while before he replies. “I’m here... to free you.”

“Free me?” You scoff. “What on earth would you be freeing me from? I control the very wind! How much freer can I be?”

His eyes are sad - so sad that you can barely stand to look at them. “You haven’t been free in a long time, [Name]. Please… all I want is to help you.”

The silence would be suffocating if not for the breeze rustling the leaves of the nearby trees. You refuse to meet the boy’s gaze. You speak again, but your voice is softer… weaker. “What is there to help?”

Against all best decisions, he chooses to move closer, reaching forward and grasping your right hand. For some reason that you can’t quite fathom, you let him.

“This destruction, this rage… none of this is you. You’re no Stormterror, you never have been. You... you were always just my Starseeker.”

“Who are you to tell me who I am?” You shoot back in reply. You want to pull your hand from his, to push him away and scorn him, but somehow you can’t quite bring yourself to. “I don’t know who this Starseeker you speak of is, but they aren’t me, and I most certainly am not yours.”

“Then who are you?” He asks, and you find yourself at a loss for an answer. “Who are you, if not Starseeker? Why are you attacking this land, if not because of the Abyss Order’s control?”

“I am controlled by no one,” You snap, but there is no real bite in your tone. You raise a hand to your temple, gritting your teeth.

“How many gaps are there in your memory?” He presses further, his voice increasing in intensity and desperation with every word. His grip around your hand is so tight that it almost bursts. “Do you remember how you got here? Do you remember why you’re doing this? Do you remember how your abilities came to be, how you were even created?”

“I…” You pull back, and he releases your hand, gazing at you imploringly as you turn away. “I don’t…”

“They must have manipulated your memories, stolen them even,” His voice breaks slightly, and he rubs furiously at his eyes with one sleeve as he continues, “Anything to keep you under their control, to rip away the person that you were to leave only a weapon for them to use… but please… you have to try to remember!”

“What is there to remember?!” You finally turn to look at him, and your eyes blaze so brightly that he freezes in place. “This is all I’ve known, and as far as I’m concerned, it is all that I want to know. I will let you live, but I don’t want to see your face again.”

“No—!” He reaches for your hand again, but you push him away with ease, and he lands roughly in the grass. “Please, wait!”

You only shake your head in response and turn to leave, the air around you beginning to stir in preparation to lift you. But then the boy cries out once more, and you pause for just long enough for him to leap to his feet and throw himself at you once more - and in one final, reckless movement, he rips the flower from his hat and presses it into your hands.

“The Cecilias, [Name],” he says desperately, closing your fingers around the flower’s delicate petals. “Don’t you remember the Cecilias?”

“The… Cecilias…” You stare at the innocent flower sitting in your palm for a long moment. Something suddenly tugs hard at your chest, and you inhale sharply, almost crushing the flower in your fist. The boy catches you as you stumble forward, and two of you sink to the ground in tandem.

“I brought you to Starsnatch Cliff,” He begins to speak so quickly that the words seem to blur together. It feels as if he wants to say so much more than what he can. “We went to Starsnatch Cliff together, and we sat and watched the sunset, and we talked all night, until the sun came up again. You remember the stars, don’t you?”

“Stars...?” You repeat. The boy gazes at you hopefully, nodding, and, before you realise it, you’re lifting a hand to cup his cheek.

He reaches up and softly places his own hand over yours. He’s trembling, but he smiles nevertheless - he smiles for you, even though you don’t know him, can’t know him. How many memories have you lost? And what is his place in them?

“You were still so young back then,” He murmurs, eyes distant as if reminiscing something that has long since passed. “You didn’t know what stars were. That night, when we sat together beneath the night sky, I sang you a song. Do you remember how it went?”

“Star…” Your words come of their own accord, unfocused and dreamy. “Fly me to the stars in the sky…”

Something deep inside you seems to stir at the way that his eyes soften. There is something so achingly familiar about their colour, somewhere between blue and green, like the ripples out on the open sea where there is no land to disturb its waves, like the vast emptiness of the sky that goes on for longer than you can remember and longer than you will live to see, like the quiet rustle of the trees in a peaceful evening breeze.

“It was our song,” He murmurs, and his eyes slowly fall shut. “I never sang it for anyone else, and I never will.”

You stiffen.

“Did you like it?” The boy asks, his eyes bright against the dark sky behind him as the final notes of his song fade into the night.

“I… think I did,” You reply, unsure. You press your hand to your chest, and your heart thumps loudly against it.

“Come on, no need to sound so unenthusiastic!” He sets down his lyre, leaning forward, so close to you that you can see every flyaway lock of hair scattered messily about his face. “I wrote this song just for you. It’s all yours.”

You ponder over his words for a while. “...but it’s your song.”

“No, no, I’m just the one who sang it,” He shakes his head. He pauses and thinks for a moment, then continues, “And wrote it. And composed it. And named it.”

He pauses again, his face scrunching up slightly. Finally, he decides, “You know what, we’ll share it! It’ll be our song. Ours only. I won’t sing it for anyone else, and I never will. How does that sound?”

Everything is coming back now, bursting the banks and submerging you in its endless flow. You remember nights spent beneath an inky sky filled with stars, you remember the ring of laughter around a forest clearing, you remember hours spent riding a breeze above a city of flickering lights. You remember the rush of excitement as you plummeted from the sky to a rippling lake below, only for a pair of hands to dip down and catch you before you could break the surface. You remember arms wrapped around your shoulders in an warm embrace, spinning the two of you through the air until sky and land became one, until you couldn’t tell where you ended and they began. And the boy in front of you—

You know the curve of his smile and the dip of his frown. You know the way that his hair falls around his face in messy waves. You know the way that he laughs, head thrown back as if expressing his mirth to the very heavens above. You know the quiet melody of his voice, soothing you to sleep when the sea is too deep and the storms too strong. You know this boy!

“Barbatos...?” You whisper.

His eyes fly open. For a single, frozen second, the two of you stare at each other, one in disbelieving wonder and one in quiet realisation.

Then, before you know it, you’re toppling backwards. The boy throws his arms around your neck and hugs you tight, burying his face into the nape of your neck as he sobs, and the only thing you can distinguish among his muffled whimpers is your name, repeated like a mantra or a spell, as if you might disappear at any moment and leave him all alone once more.

Venti holds you close and cries. He cries for the memories that you were forced to forget, for the destruction that you were forced to wreak, for the people that you were forced to forsake. He cries because the centuries that the two of you have lost can never truly be recovered, because even though you are here with him, you are still so lost and the years have been so long and he doesn’t know i how to go on from here. You slowly shift and return his embrace, and he can’t help but sink into your touch, like a stone disappearing under the surface of a river.

It will take time to heal. Wounds as old as yours and his do not stop hurting easily, after all. But, as Venti burrows closer to you still, selfishly revelling in the feeling of your arms around him, he listens to the quiet hum of the breeze around him, and he allows himself to be hopeful.

He won’t be afraid of the storms on the horizon anymore. After all, it was those very winds that brought you back to him.

#genshin impact #genshin impact imagines #genshin venti #venti x reader #genshin impact x reader #angst #i wrote this all in one sitting in the tiny hours of the morning and honestly you can probably tell #unedited #i have a full length fic in the works that i should probably be doing some work on but no it's sad venti hours instead #feel like there should be more tags but i don't know what tags

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worlds-forgotten · 4 years ago

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Sanctuary

summary: A late night where Stephen finds the reader still awake and brings them to bed.

pairing: Stephen Strange x gn!Reader

warnings: N/A

word count: 1.2k

rating: Teen

posted: 21/02/14

You angrily erase the pencil lines, the bits of rubber flying across your desk as you brush them away, ignoring the way your paper frays under the constant friction. You tilt your head like a bird, studying the pose of the man in your drawing. Maybe it’s the hands that are throwing you off, they look just slightly too small, but no, you’ve redrawn them four times and they still look the same. It isn’t the eyes either, you tried those too. You stand to get a better perspective of the drawing and sigh. Your headphones rest easily over your head, steadily feeding your ears your current favourite song. You hum along, letting your body sway a little to the beat as you reach across your desk for your inking pens.

The clock on the wall reads 3:47 AM, but there’s no way that’s right, because you certainly haven’t been sitting and working for that long...but the last of the tea in the bottom of your mug as long gone cold, and your back aches from hunching over your sketchpad. You sit back in your chair, and reach over your head to stretch your arms and yawn. One last look at the drawing makes you close the book, finished for the night. You’ll work on it tomorrow - after all, here at the sanctum, you have all the time in the world.

You pull your headphones off and put them down with your phone on the desk, next to some small succulents. A cool, fresh breeze blows in from the open window, where there’s the last embers of a stick of incense wafting the smell of lemongrass into your room. The gentle ringing of windchimes somewhere in the tree outside fills your ears as you change yourself into more comfortable clothes for bed.

It’s then you sense something, a presence, and you look at the doorway to see a light creeping in from underneath. You freeze, and the floorboard outside your room creaks, before a gentle tapping sounds on the wood. That could only be one person.

Intuition wins as you open your door to meet the familiar eyes of the sorcerer you’ve come to know and love.

“Stephen,” you whisper, and step aside to let him inside. He accepts, gracefully sweeping past you in a long, dark robe that covers his sleeping clothes. He’s holding a candle holder with a long wicked candle on it, and you laugh quietly, trying not to wake any of the sleeping students up who share the sanctum. “You look like Ebenezer Scrooge,” you tell him, and he laughs along with you, protecting the flame from his breath.

“I came to check on you.” He admits with kind eyes. “Why are you still up?”

“Why are you still up?” You counter, though you know very well why. It’s practically a sixth sense to him - being able to tell when you’re awake at erratic hours. You’re convinced it’s some sort of spell, but he swears up and down it’s plain intuition.

Stephen switches the holder between hands as his fingers are shaking lightly. “I feel your restlessness through the walls.” He moves to reach around you, and places the candle down on your table. He then takes your hands in his. “Come stay with me tonight.”

You rub your thumbs along the surgery scars on his fingers, looking at your intertwined digits. His hands are cold, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. The offer is a sweet one - and he means so well. What's lovely about living at the sanctum with Stephen is the independence he gives you. While you and him are officially together, you have your own room, and it’s clear that you’re welcome to spend as much time in his space as your own. Having that place to yourself is nice when you want to spend some time alone, whether it’s drawing, sleeping, reading, or listening to your music. But it’s always wonderful to return to Stephen’s bed.

“Sure,” you offer him a warm smile and pick the candle up for him. Your other hand rests in the crook of his elbow, and the two of you exit the room and stroll down the corridor, carefully toeing the creaking wood floors. Up a flight of stairs is Stephen’s room, which is familiar and smells just like him; the room smells like warmth.

You let him go as he blows out the candle and returns it to its place on the shelf, and you move across the room to the large bed. There’s plants hanging from the ceiling (which were placed there for your benefit), and stacks of books that litter the floor and the desk. You spot his Eye of Agamotto hanging from the bedpost on his side, and while he fiddles with some papers at his desk that had fallen to the floor, you scoop up the necklace and run your fingers along its intricate designs as you wait for him in bed.

Stephen gives up on his disorganized notes, mumbling something about it being a tomorrow project, and pads over to you. He watches you intently as he shrugs off his robe, revealing a plain set of gray tunic and pants underneath. Plain as it may be, he looks so handsome, the gray on his temples shining in the dim light and a bit of hair falling into his eyes, and the divet at the nape of his throat peeking out from his top. You climb on your knees and inch forward on the bed until you’re face to face with the sorcerer, placing the necklace around his neck before taking his hands in yours again.

You can’t stop smiling, and Stephen gives you an amused smile. “What?”

“I love you,” you remind him, and you release one hand to bring a palm to his face.

“I love you too,” he whispers, before bringing his lips to yours in a soft kiss, the faint taste of his toothpaste on his breath. He pulls away to mumble your name, before pressing his forehead to yours. “But you need to start getting to bed at a reasonable time. Do you have any idea how bad that is for your health? You can-”

“You’re a surgeon, and a magician, not a..a..” You interrupt, but the word you’re looking for escapes your mouth. “A sleep doctor!”

“A somnologist?” He asks, a smirk on his lips and you playfully smack his chest before falling back into the pillows, with Stephen not far behind. He lays down and you snuggle up against him, tangling your legs with his and pulling the blanket over the two of you.

You’re quiet for a few minutes before you chuckle quietly. “I’ll start going to bed earlier, I promise.” He doesn't respond and you tilt your head upwards. “Stephen?’

When he still doesn’t you prop yourself on your elbow to get a look at his face and find him already fast asleep. You’re about to scold him before you catch his clock on his bedside table, and it’s past 4:00. Quietly, you squirm back into his hold and rest your head against his chest, bringing one hand up to play with the Eye again. Tomorrow, you decide, you will sleep in and let Stephen study and train, and when you wake up, you will make tea and lunch for the two of you so you can picnic in the back field, under the blossom tree and in view of the mountain range. Under the sun, with the person you love and cherish.

Your thoughts stay drifting upon the sea of promise and joy that will come tomorrow as you slowly fall into slumber, safe in the arms of the powerful sorcerer you call home.

#Lavinia's Fics #Lavinia's Fics: Sanctuary #Stephen starnge x reader #dr. strange x reader #dr. strange #stephen strange #marvel #benedict cumberbatch

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quijotine · 4 years ago

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@miraculous-bullshit ask and you shall receive! :D (sorry I tagged you again!) Note: reposted to not clog poor @toujoursmiraculous post :D

Interruptions

based on this thread

For what it’s worth, it took a lot to upset Luka Couffaine. He prided himself in that. He was never one to make a big deal out of things, unless absolutely necessary. Mild inconveniences like being flipped off for accidentally bumping someone in the metro, someone cutting him in a waiting line, entitled moms berating him at his job, being made fun of, not getting his way with something; these were all easily brushed off.

It’s not that he didn’t care, he just knew there were bigger things to worry about than an asshole being an asshole. He lived in Paris, after all. A city that big was bound to be ridden with them.

However, he had learned something about himself recently: His weak spot was Marinette. His skin positively crawled whenever anyone tried to harm, belittle, mock, or otherwise wrong her. There was a second element to this pet peeve of his; he had also discovered that he hated when someone interrupted them. It wasn’t jealousy or anything. It was more the fact that Marinette being the sheer tornado of creative power that she was, was always up to something. Finding a way to squeeze himself into her schedule was already a feat in itself, so he prized every minute he got to spend with her.

Needless to say, this was the precise reason why Luka was so excited for the weekend. He and Marinette were going to spend the entire Saturday afternoon together and the first order of business was going to the park and get ice cream.

The first offense happened at the hands of someone he otherwise respected.

Marinette and Luka had set up a blanket on a spot under a big, hefty tree. The ice cream was already gone, and Luka was playing a few new songs for Marinette. He had, rather evidently, sat a bit closer to her in the hopes that she might lean against him. Which she did, inadvertently causing for Luka’s heart to skip a beat or two. Now that’s an irony, a musician missing a beat.

Sensing Marinette resting her head against his arm, Luka put down the guitar and tentatively shifted to try and bring Marinette into his arms.

Then it happened.

Out of nowhere, a blur of a person crashed down through the foliage of the tree, falling right in the middle of the pair, and effectively dissolving the calm of the moment.

“Meowch! Heh, sorry!”

“Chat Noir?” Marinette exclaimed, uncharacteristically annoyed as Luka and her crawled from the pile of cat on top of them.

Chat Noir scrambled to his feet and gave them a sheepish smile. “Apologies er, fellow Parisians! Got stuck in the tree for a second there, hah.”

As Marinette grumbled, Luka simply shrugged, smiled coolly at him, and joked, “It happens. Maybe next time we’ll call the fire department to get the cat unstuck?”

Chat Noir blushed with a bit of embarrassment, largely due to the fact that Marinette actually laughed at the joke. Luka had no way of knowing this, of course, but Chat Noir had caught glimpse of him and Marinette as he vaulted through the city and had decided it would be a good idea to spy on them by perching on the tree they sat under, which only added to his shame.

“Yeah. So uh, yep. Sorry!” he babbled again, before scurrying out of the picture.

The second offense was at the hands of Paris’ resident terrorist. And Chat Noir. Again.

After getting their ice cream, Luka and Marinette walked around the city a bit and ended up at the steps of the Trocadero, where as luck would have it, an Akuma appeared.

As Luka and Marinette scrambled to get to safety, Chat Noir cut in to push them out of the way from one of the Akuma’s attacks.

It did not escape Luka that Chat Noir scooped Marinette up and vaulted away with her. He was glad Chat Noir was fulfilling his duties and that Marinette was now at least out of harm’s way, but really, was it so hard to escort them to the nearest shop to take shelter as he had done with literally every other person at the site of the attack?

A couple of minutes after he had disappeared with Marinette in tow, he came back for him.

“Your turn,” Chat Noir said with a wink, and took Luka away to an indistinct street away from the Akuma.

Luka gave Chat Noir a perplexed look. “Where is Marinette?”

Chat Noir scratched the back of his head. “I– she must have already hidden away,” he offered lamely.

Feeling a bit irked and suspicious that Chat Noir might have a crush on Marinette, he said, “I’ll look for her, then. Thanks for keeping my date safe, Chat Noir.”

As he calculated, he saw the discomfort in Chat’s face. “Yeah, no problem at all!”

Additionally, Luka quickly discovered he was right about something else: Chat Noir had very likely put Marinette somewhere else. Not only was he not able to find her anywhere, but she was not even picking up her phone anymore.

Luka worried that something might have happened to her, his contempt for the catboy growing by the second.

“That… that… that furry!” He grumbled to himself as he tried to figure out a way to contact Marinette, hoping to the heavens that she was okay.

After the Akuma was neutralized, Marinette called him. Yes, she ended up several districts away and apologized profusely about something she had absolutely no control of which both endeared and saddened Luka.

He had noticed Marinette tended to blame herself when things didn’t work out around her, even when she had no way of controlling them.

“Hey, hey, no stress,” Luka said chuckling, as he interrupted Marinette’s mortified rambling. “We can meet back in the movie theater.”

He let a sigh of relief as he spotted Marinette waiting for him by the ticket booth. He ran to her and threw his arms around her without thought, only realizing what he did when Marinette hugged him back.

He blushed and hugged her tighter.

“I’m got hit by the Akuma after Chat Noir took me away,” Marinette explained. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m just happy you’re okay,” he said, finally pulling away and smiling at her. “So, which movie should we watch?”

Luka pointedly noticed the fact that Marinette suggested to watch a scary movie. The first time he had gone to the movies with her, Alya, Nino, and Juleka had tagged along and he remembered her adamantly informing everyone that she wouldn’t join if they picked anything scary.

He wondered why.

“Really? You sure?” Luka said.

“Yeah, you like scary movies, right?”

“Yeah, but you don’t,” Luka said. “I’m happy to watch anything you wanna watch.”

A light blush crept onto Marinette’s face again. “I wanna watch a scary movie.”

Luka tried not to entertain the thought that the reason why Marinette wanted to watch a scary movie with him was probably a plot with the end goal of having an excuse for them to hug throughout the movie. He didn’t want to get his expectations too high; he was already writing songs about her as it was.

As they took their seats, Marinette seemed to pick up where they left off at the park before Chat Noir interrupted them. She sat decidedly close to him–as close as one could to justify any casual brush of the hand as an accident— while Luka, in a sudden bout of confidence, put his arm around her.

He tensed up, waiting for Marinette’s reaction, and was pleasantly rewarded when she relaxed into his grasp and leaned her head against his chest.

“Oh, I just remembered,” she said, while waiting for the movie to start, “I have something for you.”

She reached into her purse and produced a small box.

Luka beamed at her as he picked the little gift from her palm. “You didn’t have to give me anything, Marinette.”

“I just wanted to do something nice for you,” she said, shrugging and giving him a warm smile.

He opened the box and found a guitar pick that Marinette had hand painted with little blue-and-black motifs. His heart swelled for her and found himself wishing he could kiss her.

“I love it,” he said, smiling from ear to ear. “Thank you.”

“I… I have something else for you,” she said, turning herself so that she was squarely facing him.

His pulse hitched up, realizing he wasn’t the only one wishing for a kiss, as Marinette trained her eyes on his.

He couldn’t look away. He felt as if a sort of magnet pulled him towards her, a sort of force that he was unable to escape from even if he wanted to.

A short gasp escaped him as the distance between them shrunk slowly, almost painfully. He was so close he could feel Marinette’s warmth on his skin. So, close their lips almost brushed. So close that–

“Hey guys!” an all-too-familiar voice chirpily greeted them from behind Luka, effectively and immediately interrupting them and causing Marinette to flail and throw the bucket of popcorn she had on her lap.

Luka sighed, this time at the end of his wits. Third interruption, of course it had to be at the hands of whom Luka considered to be the densest human alive. He turned around to find none other than Adrien Agreste, accompanied by Nino. Luka could do little to help himself from giving him the meanest look he could possibly conjure.

“Hey, Adrien. Nino,” he said, clenching his teeth. “What. A nice. Surprise.”

Adrien, oblivious as always, seemed not to grasp what had just transpired. Luckily, as Adrien went on about what a coincidence it was to end up in the same movie theater, at the same showing, and how cool it would be to watch it with them, it was apparent Nino knew better.

“Um, dude, actually, I think I’ll have to sit at the front this time if you don’t mind,” Nino said, interrupting Adrien’s question of whether they could sit with them. “Yeah, my glasses have been giving me trouble…”

Adrien could do little to hide his disappointment but in the end went with Nino. Luka, on the other hand, would have kept grumbling to himself even after they had left if it weren’t for Marinette’s quick kiss on his cheek, which interrupted his train of thought.

“Thanks for being so patient,” Marinette said.

Luka, unable to stay irritated so long as Marinette looked at him like that–with those bright blue eyes and cute little smile, chuckled. “It’s no problem.”

There would be other opportunities, he thought to himself as Marinette snuggled back next to him. For now, he was happy with just watching the movie and enjoy having Marinette in his arms. At one point he was even brave enough to peck her on the head, in one particular scene where Marinette hid her face against his chest with the excuse that she was too scared to watch.

Encouraged by the quick kiss, Marinette looked up to him and again, he found himself drawn to her lips. So, close he could brush his nose against her, so close he smelled her perfume. So close that–

“AN AKUMA!” someone screamed out in the movie theater hall, unchaining a mass hysteria that propelled the audience to rush to the exit.

“Of course,” he muttered under his breath as Marinette sprung up and he followed after her.

Dammit! What does a guy have to do to kiss his crush? Was moment with Marinette too much to ask?

Judging from the smug little smile Chat Noir couldn’t help but sport as he herded him and the rest of the civilians to safety, yes. Yes, it was. It took a lot to annoy Luka, but he now kept a list: Anyone wanting to hurt Marinette, being interrupted when he was with her, and the idea of cats in general. Especially black cats.

“I’m just saying, dude’s a bit weird,” Luka said, hanging out with Marinette and some of her friends a couple of days after Chat Noir’s repeated attempts at sabotaging his date, plus then some more. The story had been quite the laugh for everybody and the group now heatedly discussed whether they knew of other couples Chat Noir liked to sabotage, much to Marinette and Adrien’s mortification.

Adrien, Nino noticed, was quite uncomfortable with the topic. He squirmed in his seat and went to great lengths to not cross glances with Luka.

“Yo, you okay?” whispered Nino.

“Huh?”

“You seem a little… uncomfortable.”

“I’m fine!” Adrien hurried to assure him, but then resumed being consumed in his thoughts. Great. Marinette’s boyfriend now had it out for him for accidentally having interrupted them a time or two.

Okay, maybe it had been around ten times so far, but in his defense half of those were due to Akumas and the rest… Well, the rest were just... you know, “accidents.”

Nino did not comment so as to not add fuel to the fire, but he suspected that Adrien was not only lying, but had finally realized his feelings for Marinette. Nino chuckled to himself, feeling a little sorry for Adrien. Poor dude had the timing of drying cement.

ta-da!

I couldn’t include the part where LB kisses Luka because that sent me into outlining a multi-chapter angst fic and we are NOT doing that cause these babies deserve happiness :)) but alas, here you go

#miraculous ladybug #ml #ml fanfic #miraculous ladybug fanfic #marinette dupain cheng #luka couffaine #adrien agreste #chat noir #lukanette

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twopoppies · 4 years ago

Note

Hi Gina :) this isn't really anything having to do with all the pics going on recently, I just wanted to pop in and ask if (besides the obvious one being your tumblr header) you have any favorite quotes that come to mind from any of the larry fics you've read? I've started making a list of some that I find beautiful whenever I read a new one and wondered if you might have some too! You're an incredible writer so I thought you might have an eye for them :)

You know, there used to be a blog dedicated to that, but I can’t remember the url anymore and I think they’re gone anyway, but yeah... I do have some that I love. I used to be much better about saving them... so these are old, but it’s still some gorgeous writing IMO.

“You look like flowers,” Louis whispers softly. “A meadow. Somewhere warm and colorful and all my own, where I go to be all by myself. And you look like my favorite book with the tea-stained pages, all the highlighted parts that speak to me in ways other books just don’t. You look like a bonfire, the brightest thing around, so bright I can’t look at anything else. And you look like silk, and softness, and happiness. That’s what you look like.” - Hiding Place by alivingfire

“Except I wouldn’t want to keep you, would I?” Louis’ smile instantly dips a little, finger withdrawing, but Harry clasps his wrist, holding it to his chest. “I wouldn’t want to keep you, because I’d make you want to stay.” - A Red-Dusted Planet by onewasturning

Louis slips their fingers together, slotting between the gaps and curling around his like a possum’s tail around a branch. - A Red-Dusted Planet

Louis is looking up at him, and his eyes are as bright as the moon and the projector light flickering through the window, and it’s like Harry has caught starlight in his hands, something like a wish, a hope, shot straight through the night and burning into the fate lines of his palms. - A Red-Dusted Planet

He smiles down at him, all rosy-appled cheeks, and he’s so beautiful, Harry thinks he must have been magicked from the sky itself. Thinks he can still see remnants of the storm spinning in his eyes. - These Roads We Stumble Down by onewasturning

It makes all the sense in the bloody world and the realization cracks over Louis’ head like an egg, dripping down his neck and trailing down to his toes. - The Actor by mizzwilde

"If you were nobody, and had nothing, and were going nowhere at all, I'd go nowhere with you and make it somewhere. And yeah, I'd still want you. Fuck," he laughs, rough into Louis’ mouth. "'Course I'd still want you. You're like, you're like everything. You make me feel everything." - Little Technicolor Things by scarycrow

Instead, he wonders if it’s possible at all to miss something he’s never had. If the tall boy with his long fingers brushing against the turn of Louis’ ankle was supposed to have been in Louis’ life ages ago but the author forgot to write him in when he had meant to, if maybe that’s why Louis is falling into him so quickly, because he’s trying to make up for lost time, trying to catch up. If maybe that’s why Louis’ life has been so off lately. - Little Technicolor Things

He imagines a world where it’s possible to drag someone back in time, one where time is a two-way street and he can grab Harry’s hand and pull him along until they’re stumbling breathless into the past, into the empty days Louis spent alone and filling those days with Harry—with morning breakfasts and paintings and summer-sun smiles, with cheeks dimpled in laughter. - Little Technicolor Things

“Nothing, just,” Harry starts. He laughs a little, and Louis looks up at him solely because he doesn’t want to miss the way his eyes crinkle when he does. He looks like he’s about to say something else, but then he just shakes his head again and dips to plant a light kiss on Louis’ cheek. “Nothing,” he repeats, and Louis wonders what nothing really means. - Little Technicolor Things

He learns quite a few things about Harry, really, but the one that stands out to him the most is this: Harry is soft. He isn’t soft in a bad way, in the way people these days throw the word around and use it to mean weak and frail and scared. He’s soft like spider webs are soft, like cashmere is soft and the music you fall asleep to is soft. He’s soft when he reaches out slowly across the carpet and touches two fingers to Louis’ wrist without looking at him, soft when he hums along to the songs on the playlist Louis made, soft when he licks his finger and waggles his eyebrows and turns the page of a book, carefully, carefully carefully. Softly, softly, softly. And because he’s soft, he’s brave. Or at least that’s what Louis sees when he looks at him, when he hears him talk about how scared he was moving to London, how angry he was when his dad left, how terrifying the idea of living on his own instead of in a dorm with other university students was. - Little Technicolor Things

Harry does, but not before grinning wide and easy, his arms moving to bracket Louis’ body against the dresser, and Louis melts into him like the winter melts into the spring. His mouth is warm and velvet-y, tongue heavy in Louis’ mouth. The kiss doesn’t feel forgettable right now, but Louis kind of hopes that it is. He hopes that their future is filled with so many kisses that this one is nothing more than one out of a thousand, each one better than the last, that Louis kisses Harry and Harry kisses Louis so many times that the only time he’ll ever remember this kiss is in the middle of some winter night, when he dreams about it and wakes up in the dark, before curling into the curly-haired boy lying next to him and dreaming about the next kiss. - Little Technicolor Things

He thinks that’s kissing Harry is like turning a dial: where everything is cold, now there’s only warmth; where everything was dark, now there’s only light; where everything was bleak, now there’s life, blooming like the blossoms on Cherry trees, blushing pink and white with awaking. With waking up. Harry wakes Louis up. - Little Technicolor Things

There is so much music in you: bare feet against the floor, the sandpaper glide of your palm on the stair rail, of your skin against mine, of your ceaseless fingers tapping at the table. He's music, Louis thinks. I'm in love with a song. Little Technicolor Things

(clearly, I adore this fic)

And that’s what Harry hates, Louis knows, because black has always had a connotation with death, and despair, and disease. It’s never been associated with good things, happy things.

But there’s more, too. Because Harry isn’t a demon who was twisted into darkness when he was still human; he chose darkness, a self-sacrifice. His soul is black but in the same way the night sky is black: deep and endless, sprinkled with bits of light. Sparkle. Vast and overwhelming, containing the possibilities for anything.

It’s black like panther fur is black, shifting blues and purples when the light hits a splay of powerful muscle. It’s black like an eclipsed moon. Black like tattoo ink. The blackness has meaning; the blackness is meaning: it hides speckles of brilliance in its depths, adds contrast to the bronze braids of hope and faith in Harry’s soul, the harp strings of kindness buried inside him that the sin could never touch. - Say Hallelujah, Say Goodnight by alivingfire

I’m sure I have others... but these are the ones I came across first. Thank you for the great ask. It’s refreshing! LOL. And thank you for the wonderful compliment. It means a lot. 💜

#fic quotes #Anonymous #long post

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keanuquotes · 3 months ago

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BY MAT WEIR

In a “most excellent” display of rock, Dogstar–featuring Hollywood outsider favorite, Keanu Reeves on bass–played to a sold out Catalyst main room last night. The air was more electrified than the batteries of the Matrix as everyone anxiously waited to get a glimpse of the star. Despite the show starting at 8pm, Catalyst staff had been at the club since 10am setting up the stage and keeping fans away from the tour buses all day.

music in the park san jose

Yet, despite the early call time, stage managers, runners and security were in just as good of spirits as the fans later in the evening. That’s just the magic of Keanu.

While the official time the doors opened was 7pm, VIP lanyard ticket holders were allowed in twenty minutes before. A group of fifty or so individuals rushed to the front of the stage to stake their place. Every once in a while a friend from any given group would go to the bar and place an order of drinks to bring back while the crowd broke into cheers whenever the door to the green room opened.

By the time the opening band, Sons of Silver, hit the stage the Catalyst bars were in full gear cranking out drinks to thirsty crowds. The Los Angeles five piece is touring off their latest single, “Running Out of Words” ahead of the release of their debut full-length, Runaway Emotions. Featuring former members of Pearl Jam, Candlebox and Skillet, Sons of Silver brings a certified classic rock sound with a twist from keyboardist Brina Kabler. Their first time in Santa Cruz and at The Catalyst, Sons of Silver singer Peter Argyropoulos acknowledged the venue’s historic past.

“It’s good to be in a proper rock ‘n roll club,” he told the audience, noting the current Summer Vacation Tour with Dogstar has taken the bands to multiple casino resort shows.

After a 20 minute or so break between bands, the crowd erupted as the three piece Dogstar took the stage. They opened the set “Blonde,” an Echo & the Bunnymen-esque song that also opens Dogstar’s new album, Somewhere Between the Power Lines and the Palm Trees, which came out in October 2023. Throughout the set they played a number of new tracks like the break-up ballads, “How The Story Ends” and “Glimmer” along with energetic anthem, “Breach.”

After a quick five minute break, Dogstar returned for a four song encore that included lively cover versions of The Cure’s “Just Like Heaven” and The Ramones’ “I Wanna Be Sedated,” maybe or maybe not in honor of the day being the 20th anniversary of the death of Johnny Ramone.

As they closed out the set singer Bret Domrose–a Santa Clara native who has also acted in movies like The Replacements with bassist Reeves and previously played bass in San Francisco new wave punk act, The Nuns–told The Catalyst he was once in a local band as “a kid” that tried to play the venue but couldn’t get a gig.

“So thanks for finally letting me in,” he joked before the band walked off stage.

Living up to his reputation as a “regular person” and grateful star, Reeves re-emerged once most of the venue cleared out to greet fans and hangout with old friends. Before heading back onto the bus he signed autographs and took a couple of photos with some lucky fans while rocking a comfy pair of UGG boots. Like his character in The Devil’s Advocate said, it’s “free will after all.”

#keanu reeves #dogstar band #santa cruz 2024

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clumsyclifford · 4 years ago

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cruel summer fic: director’s cut

fever dream high in the quiet of the night

so...............for a fic i wrote in such a short amount of time, and also for a fic written by me, there’s actually a surprising amount of Stuff To Analyze in here. themes. motifs, if you will. anyway. i am really proud of them, and ainslee and helen and sam enabled me, so i’m gonna talk about some of them here!

fair warning, this gets a little long. hence the cut. also i know not everyone cares. and that is super fucking valid. anyway. let’s get into it. spoilers for the fic under the cut, obviously.

1. colors

so this fic has a lot of colors, like a lot more than i normally include (since i tend to write dialogue-heavy stuff). thematically the main important colors are blue and red. the ~blue~ is more or less for this like...physical relationship, but also blue of course connotes sadness and any kind of negative feeling in general (and re: cruel summer the song, "it's blue, the feeling i got"); the ~red~ is there in more romantic moments. the VERY first line of the fic says "the sky is bleeding navy blue" talking from the get-go about jack's uncertainty and how nervous he is and how unfamiliar the terrain is for him. but later on, in the scene when alex randomly picks jack up to go on a late-night adventure, we get this line:

“You certainly surprised me showing up at my house,” he says. “Any reason you thought I would be the best person to join you on your adventure?”

Alex casts a glance at him. The red stop sign before them is a jarring change from all the blacks and blues and washed-out yellows around them.

so there's this flash of red in the midst of the darkness and all this ~blue~ around them, and this is almost a romantic moment, because up until this they've pretty much only been hooking up and they're not even really friends. but now alex has specifically come to take jack on an Adventure. also i think it's interesting that it's a stop sign! possibly conflicting signals!

but then in the nightclub scene there's these lights ("flashes of blue and red keep washing over Alex’s face, making him difficult to look at for too long") and this is the scene where jack tells alex how he feels and then alex says that they wouldn't work. and it's not that alex doesn't feel the same, but alex is rejecting him anyway, so it's somehow a moment that is both romantic and tragic, hence both colors over alex's face at once. and then here:

Blue light washes over Alex. He gives Jack a hard look. “You’d tell your family?”

it's like..........that's the turning point. alex says this and it flips the argument in his favor and proves his point that they couldn't work, and that's a really fucking sad moment for the two of them. but then outside the nightclub, jack keeps talking about alex's red converse. like:

Jack staggers, and Alex grabs ahold of him, wrapping one of Jack’s arms around his shoulders.

“Easy,” he says. “I got you. Just focus on one spot until you get your balance.”

[...] Jack stares lasers into Alex’s red Converse.

because first of all the gesture itself of alex holding jack to help him get his balance is romantic and that even THOUGH alex rejected him there is still something romantic there. and it's here again later:

The scenery races by, Baltimore in all its trashy glory, but Jack fixes his gaze on Alex’s shoe until all he sees is red.

until all he sees is red.......it's all love baby. just call him FLETCHER cos it's all love

(there's also something to be said about the hickeys that are supposedly "reddish-purple"...purple as the middle ground between red and blue...something romantic but kind of painful...masquerading as a thing that exists without feeling...and another thing to be said about when jack falls from the tree and his palms are bleeding red and alex patches him up...but we'd be here all day)

2. shadows/darkness

i honestly don't know how much of this was intentional and how much just worked out, but there’s this idea of a dark cloud of rumors that surrounds alex? there's a lot of talk about rumors and reputation in here. like one of the first lines is:

From what Jack has heard, Alex is bad news. All he has to go on are rumors, but rumors start from somewhere, and rumors surround Alex like a storm cloud.

he's surrounded in this dark cloud of rumors! that's mentioned again in the scene at the high school:

After a while, a cloud of rumors resolves into a reputation, and Alex’s is impossible to ignore.

and this feels inherently dark, and this fic is inherently dark (not thematically just literally dark because it almost entirely takes place at night) but alex specifically seems to be shrouded in shadows and darkness, a LOT. his very first appearance in the fic is introduced like this:

There’s a shadow outside Jack’s window.

Something too irregular to be a heartbeat rams against Jack’s chest. He approaches the window. In the dark, dressed in black from head-to-toe, Alex looks like a robber, or maybe a ninja, or maybe a nightmare.

and almost immediately after that:

Alex fits so incongruously into it, absorbing all the light from Jack’s lamp like a six-foot black hole.

importantly, this is the very first scene of the fic, so this alex is the closest to Reputation-Alex as he gets in the fic, because hereafter jack starts learning more and more about him and the threads of this reputation start to fray and fall away. but in this very beginning, jack sees alex as someone surrounded by these rumors, and he keeps noticing shadows and darkness around alex, and alex (dressed in all black) kind of tries to be seen that way, too.

and then when they're in the high school, this Dark High School At Nighttime, the darkness over alex's face returns. they've all but broken into their high school and that's a very Reputation-Alex thing to do! jack sees this reputation around him, not necessarily as a bad thing but just as something that is very present. this exchange:

“No, it’s cool. I get it. Lotta rumors about me.” Alex nods. Jack can’t read his tone, can’t tell if he likes that his reputation precedes him or not.

“What’s your favorite?” he asks. “Is that a weird question?”

Alex looks at Jack, face shrouded in shadows. “Who cares?”

they're talking about alex's rep and his face is shrouded in shadows. jack is very aware of these shadows. he's not afraid of them or anything. but he knows they're there. he keeps mentioning them. he's never not aware.

and theeeen when there's light on his face...and jack sees him........clearing away this Shadow of a Reputation..........there's subsequently this theme of gold/light on or around alex, in certain moments when jack Sees alex. in the first scene:

Jack breaks away and the lamp light casts a glow over Alex’s face. It occurs to Jack for the first time that Alex is beautiful.

and also from that scene:

“Shh,” he says, grabbing Jack’s face in one hand. His eyes look like shimmering gold. “Your parents will hear.”

and in the high school (this one has Layers) when alex buys jack something from the vending machine, and they kind of...........become friends:

Now he and Alex stand before one, bluish-white light awash over Alex like a fluorescent halo.

there's this light around him and jack can see him, and especially on the heels of that conversation where they both talk about how the other person is good for them, this is a good moment of jack Seeing alex as a person and a friend and not seeing his Reputation

3. the halo (aka the devil/angel dichotomy)

this part is very important to me, so here we go. in the final scene, when alex comes out of his house to talk to jack, his appearance is characterized like this:

By the time Alex appears, a shadow backlit by streetlamps, incandescent halo in full effect, Jack is very close to a nervous breakdown.

now. first of all. his halo at the vending machine had been fluorescent, and his halo now is incandescent. aside from the obvious ~angel/devil~ dichotomy (this part happens only moments later: “I love you too,” Alex says in a rush, and then a devilish grin splits his face in two as he takes Jack’s hand in his own) (i.e. "he looks up, grinning like a devil"), the color of the halo has changed. it started as this clean fluorescent bluish white, like their relationship was before; incandescent light is warmer and it feels a lot closer to red. so the light behind alex's halo has changed, because the nature of their relationship has changed. and that's important.

but the other important thing is that he has a halo at all. because alex is the "devil" in this fic and jack is the "angel," so to speak, of course. but in these two moments, jack sees him as an angel, and he sees this halo. and then JUST after that incandescent halo line, there's this line:

As he comes closer, the streetlight glow fades until only darkness surrounds them both.

importantly: it surrounds them BOTH. the darkness isn't just alex's now. maybe that's because jack has changed and he's done a very non-jack thing, a very alex thing, but whatever the reason, the Rep isn't just alex's now, and jack is aware (not negatively or anything, just Conscious) that it's now around them both. in short, the devil isn't just alex now, but jack as well, at least a little. and then there's also this, and this is the last way jack describes alex:

Alex’s smile gleams brilliantly, impossibly white.

so......maybe.......he's a little bit an angel. a little.

4. height

this is small, but in the beginning there's this:

With a start, Jack realizes he’s actually taller than Alex. Somehow he’d never noticed. Alex takes up space. Jack never has.

this is a scene in which jack feels like alex has the power. because alex has the experience and the Reputation and this is the kind of thing he Does, and it's not something jack has Ever Done. but THEN, in the high school, there's THIS:

An echoing silence fills the space between them. Jack pushes himself off the wall. The two inches he has on Alex suddenly feel very real.

alex is insecure in this scene. he's saying jack is a good kid and that jack is good for him because alex is a bad kid and a bad influence, and suddenly jack has the "power" (so to speak) and alex is the weaker one. because alex is feeling insecure. so suddenly jack realizes not only that he and alex might not be as different as he thinks, but also that alex isn't this untouchable Reputation, that he's also just a kid who resents himself sometimes. and that's very important for their relationship! for jack to realize that alex is not on this pedestal, that he is also just a kid.

5. stuff i did not do on purpose

these are things that either i noticed or that got pointed out to me after i posted the fic but i will gladly take credit for them if you feel like giving it lmfao

(1) there are a lot of taylor references. some of these were intentional (yes it does say cruel twice, that was on purpose lmao), and the mention of august ("August starts melting away, slipping through Jack’s fingers") was kinda a callback, but it fully slipped my mind that all the reputation talk could have read like a reference. "For something so heated, it certainly feels delicate” was not an intentional reference to delicate. but kinda cool that it worked out that way !!!

(2) in the high school scene, jack tells alex that he's the worst thing he's ever done. and then at the end he tells alex, “Alex, I honestly think you’re the best thing that’s ever happened to me.” talk about a fucking 180!!!!!

(3) in the very first scene there's this:

and when Jack says he’s out on a limb he means it. To fall from here would mean almost certain death, but fuck, it might just be worth it.

and then later, jack literally falls from the tree. and on top of that, alex is the reason he falls (the texts), but ALSO, alex is the person who's there to patch jack up. it's not "certain death," BECAUSE alex is there. jack hadn't been wrong; alex had been the cause of his fall, but he'd also been the reason why the fall hadn't been "fatal." (using hyperbolic words to make this point)

(4) the first and final scenes parallel each other. in the first scene jack's room is in complete darkness except for the one light at his bedside. in the last scene, too, they're surrounded by darkness. the streetlamps illuminate alex briefly but then the light fades and it's just the two of them in the dark again.

on top of that, here's this from the scene in the car towards the beginning:

“What are you doing here?” [Jack] whispers, leaning through the window. “Turn off your headlights, someone might see.”

and from the last scene:

“What the fuck are you doing?” Alex hisses, and he sounds nervous, for what Jack thinks might be the first time since they’ve known each other. “My dad is still awake, you know.”

so the cautious (jack) has become the reckless, and the reckless (alex) becomes the cautious!!!! that's shown in a LOT of ways in this last scene, but that one is particularly salient.

also, this doesn’t really go anywhere but it is one of my favorite lines of figurative language in the whole thing:

It’s a dumb joke in a lot of ways and Jack gets the sense that had he made it to anyone else it would have landed like an airplane on fire, but Alex actually chuckles.

airplane on fire!!! it’s just so much fun. and so evocative. and i like it.

so anyway, that’s my director’s cut analysis of cruel summer fic. if you read this, or even if you just read the fic, or even if you read this WITHOUT reading the fic (although ???? i think it will make more sense if you read the fic), thank you for indulging me!!! i am extremely happy with the way this fic came out. point being. thank you for joining me. love ya <3

#god i wanna make a playlist for this fic so BAD #the thing is i HAVE a playlist where the plot is very close to the plot of this fic but that's just coincidence #so i might just fuck around and do it #anyway thanks everyone for humoring me #xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo ill kill and die for you all xoxoxoxoxoxoxoxo #stuff #director's cut #cruel summer fic #i've never done a director's cut but that's because there has never been so much stuff to Talk About before so like #also yessss i know i'm not a Director and this is Fanfiction #but i like the phrase director's cut i think it fits i'm keeping it you can pry it outta my COLD DEAD HANDS #complete full disclosure this was originally typed up with the intent of only sending it to helen and ainslee and possibly sam #and it was written on discord #sorry if it doesnt make a lotta sense #theres some other stuff but it's a lot more obvious #like the scene in jack's bed where jack resists the urge to brush alex's hair away and when he DOES do it it's with the excuse of sex #versus in the nightclub when he doesn't disguise the action at all #or the 'take your parents' car' 'no' >>> he takes his parents car thing #anyway there are just THINGS in here #STUFF!!!!

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theharellan · 4 years ago

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To Feel Another’s Woe

Set in early Inquisition, in the heart of the Mage-Templar War. Featuring Thora Cadash from @ourdawncomes. Content warning for gore, descriptions of battle, and mild illness.

Now available to read on AO3!

He counts the battle in heartbeats. Every rush of blood through his veins is another spell from his fingertips, every sixty seconds counted it another sixty seconds survived. Minutes count more in this Veilless world, where the tide may turn in an instant.

Everything is different, even war.

Bowstrings slap the air, signalling a fresh volley of arrows. “Shield yourselves!” the Seeker cries. Solas blinks to Varric, stopping short of his shadow to draw a barrier over them both. His magic resists his dwarven companion, drawing more mana from his fingers before the spell completes, and with little time to spare. Arrows skirt by them, falling harmlessly to the earth, cutting only magic upon their descent. Varric wastes no words thanking him, vanishing in a cloud of smoke to retreat to a safer distance.

Tangled in the midst of half a dozen Templars, their Herald draws every last eye on the battlefield to her. Every blow is preceded by a shout, often followed by another torn from their enemies’ throats. Swords point towards her back, posed to pierce the gaps in her armour. Their wielders hesitate to join the fray, uneven grips a telltale mark of fresh recruits, but they will not wait forever. He seizes upon the moment, hand gripping his staff and grinding it into the dirt, its focus drawing his intent into the world. A thin orange line burns in the grass, smoke heralds flame which bursts to life at Thora’s heel, a harsh curtain drawn between her and half her enemies.

She does not flinch, nor shrink from the flame. Solas watches as her leg hooks around a rogue Templar’s ankle and trips him. He falls headfirst into the fire, inhuman shrieks silenced by a killing blow to the head. As she lifts her hammer from the bloody pulp of a skull, another soldier lunges. Solas slams his staff against the earth, calling winter to a warm August day. Ice crawls up his target’s leg, erupting from the damp grass stamped down by war. In an instant it claims him, sword aimed at their Herald’s heart now suspended harmlessly in ice. Cassandra arrives, blade red with archers’ blood, and slams the tapered end of her shield against a weakness in the ice. It shatters, the boy’s body falling limp in the grass, joining his fellows.

The hairs along the nape of his neck stand on end, an uneasy premonition answered by an unseen force reaching across the Veil. It parts the fire, reducing it to a ribbon of smoke that coils in blue Fereldan skies, and through the ashes steps a Templar, his shield held aloft. Spells glance off him, rolling ineffectively over his armour. Thora’s hammer fares better, shield straining against its face as they come crashing together. Sparks fly from where their edges scrape together, forcing his guard down for an instant. Long enough for the Herald to find her advantage.

She strikes her with the heel of her hammer and he staggers, stumbling forward with the grace of a drunkard on his sixth tankard of ale. “Now, Solas!” she shouts. He stops, stares. There are only seconds to discern her meaning, no wisdom floats to him from across the Fade to deliver her meaning. Visions of a war long since finished return to him, memories of dwarves that cleaved dreams. He decides, then acts. Solas stretches across the Veil to find his own truth, a different reality than the one these Templars seek to reinforce. The air around the Templar expands with dreams, then dissipates.

The effect is instant. Beneath his helmet he heaves, lungs flooded with magic like water in the lungs of a drowned rat. Thora brings down her hammer on his breastplate. Metal made brittle by magic crumbles at the impact, leaving a hollow crater in the center of his chest.

From a distance his eyes meet Thora’s, her head nodding in his direction. Behind her, the remaining Templars gather their strength and prepare their onslaught, but her attention remains divided. Her gaze darts to his left. Brown eyes widen in their sockets, alerting him before she can cry out: “Look out, Solas!”

He catches the greedy glint of steel against sunlight from the corner of his eye, thrusting towards him. In the space of a breath he surges backwards, Fade carrying him from the Templar’s reach. All the air rushes from him, back crashing against the trunk of a tree, stealing the air from his lungs. Skull cracks against the bark, vision blurring as the Templar advances. Dark words seethe from bloodied lips, cursing him in the name of her fallen brothers and sisters.

Solas’ grip tightens around empty air, realising only then that his staff was lost in his retreat. It matters not. Energy pools into his palm as easily as through a focus, but stutters in the presence of the cleansing aura. Sparks fly, grazing the Templar’s breastplate, earning him nothing but seconds. Once the task of dispatching her would be as trivial as crushing an ant beneath his thumb. Now, his magic wanes, flying further from his reach with every step the Templar takes. What a cruel joke his life would be if this is its final note.

But he has been backed into tighter corners than this by worthier foes. Undeterred by the fear which lays claim to his heart, he grasps desperately for more power, summoning every last scrap of ambient magic in the air. A hopeless thought eats at him as he wonders how it came to this, shooting cinders from his fingertips like a child conjuring their first flame. They fly from his hands, aimed at the dull human eyes which blink out at him from behind a helm.

Every muscle in his body tenses, unsure if he had missed. A shout of pain tears from her throat, and he has his answer. Gloved hands yank her visor back to reveal red-rimmed eyes, tears already streaming down her face to fight the ashes suspended in her eyelashes. “You’ll regret that,” she spits. The glow that wreaths her sword bursts, and he braces against the tree. Blinding light tears the colour from the grass and magic flies from the Veil to places beyond his reach. She purges the song from the sky, all the weight of the world seems to fall around his shoulders. He grips the bark at his back with white knuckles, until the grooves bore into his skin. If not for it, he might have collapsed. His lungs ache as though they are new, throat closing around unyielding reality.

The Templar sloughs off the dispel from her blade, now trained to kill. Somewhere beyond his field of view, Solas hears a shout. “You wasted precious time taunting me,” he says, words straining against empty lungs. Amusement flickers in his eyes, lips too tired to form any semblance of a smile. “I would be dead were it not for your pride. Now it is too late.”

He sees the question in the soldier’s eyes. Solas counts the seconds. He hears his rescue upon the wind.

Bones crack with a sickening crunch as the Templar’s knees snap backwards, crumbling from the force of Thora’s hammer. She falls like lead weight at Solas’ feet, legs bent at an unnatural angle. A feral cry chokes her, whimpering like a wounded animal which has not yet accepted its end. “Mercy,” she moans, the plated hand which moments ago reached out with violence now stretches imploringly towards his feet, desperate for the healing touch of magic. “Please.”

It isn’t Solas’ mercy, but Varric’s, which ends her life. The bolt pierces her helmet, puncturing it like paper, killing her instantly. “Poor bastard,” he hears the dwarf say, but in the heat of the moment Solas cannot find his pity. His heart hardens as the Templar’s life oozes onto the grass, and he thinks to himself that her blood and bones will do the world more good than her deeds ever had. The bitter thought goes unspoken, Varric’s remark remains unacknowledged.

In an instant, the chaos of battle is over. As he recovers his breath, he looks out over the field to see it riddled with fresh corpses, all of their making. Cassandra stoops in the dirt, wiping her blade in the grass as Varric retrieves his ammo from the bodies of their enemies. Thora’s hammer stands alone by the Templar’s body, its face crusted with a thick layer of blood, its handler nowhere in sight. In the grass beside it lies his discarded staff, its crystal focus shining dully, unaware the danger has passed. Solas bends to claim it, magic coaxing it the rest of the way to his fingers. The exertion proves more taxing than he envisions, the back of his head throbbing with the memory of his collision with the tree. He winces, nursing the back of his head, capping his fingertips with ice to soothe the growing ache.

“You alright there, Chuckles?” Varric asks, concern overshadowed by the hint of amusement which laces his question. “You hit that tree pretty hard.”

“I will manage, thank you,” he says. “Were it not for our Herald’s intervention, however…” He looks for her again, eyes darting around the area. This time he sights her in the shadow of a tree, one arm supporting her against its trunk. “Excuse me a moment.”

Solas steps out of the reach of his would-be killer’s corpse, winding towards the battlefield’s outskirts where their intrepid Herald lingers. “You fare better with a hammer than a sword,” he remarks as he nears her. Thora’s shoulders tense at the sound of his voice so close, and he stops short, uncertainty tinges his words. “After Haven I was unsure what experience you had in battle. I see now I was too quick to judge.” She had been clumsy in the snow, swinging at demons as though she had never held a sword in her life, and maybe that was the case. What she’d lacked in skill she more than made up with strength. The demons fell, though she made quicker work of the Templars today.

Thora doesn’t answer, and for an instant he wonders if she’d taken offense. Dwarves of old were proud warriors, it may be that not everything he remembers of them has been bled from them by the Blight. She turns her face an inch towards him, the rest cast in the shadow of the tree. “I—” One hand flies to her face, fingers pressing against her mouth in anticipation. He watches, uneasy, as she swallows thickly and fights back whatever had threatened to escape. “Sorry.”

Before he has a chance to reassure her, Cassandra’s voice rings out behind them: “We should press on if we want to reach Redcliffe Farm by nightfall.” She stands where he last saw her, sword sheathed and shield shining, bearing no mark of the battle that came before. He does not linger on her, eyes returning to Thora whose attention has shifted as his had, allowing him a glimpse of her face. An ill look haunts her, grey tinges her usual warm complexion with dark lines drawn beneath her eyes.

A sharp intake of breath pierces the air as Thora readies her answer. He reaches out, hand brushing her shoulder before he interjects. “Another moment, Seeker,” he says. “I believe it best I examine the Anchor first. There is no telling what influence a Templar’s abilities have on it.”

The Seeker looks at him, her mood impossible to discern from beneath a dark, drawn brow. A small sigh that sounds like frustration escapes her lips. “Very well. Do what you must.”

“Thank you,” he says, inclining his head towards her. As he turns to the Herald, he sees emotion shining in her eyes as she looks up at him, perhaps trying to decide what to make of his diversion. Solas is not certain what to make of it himself. The easy answer is that it is in his best interest to protect her image, even if only from their companions, but it would be a lie to insist it’s the only answer. In her discomfort he saw a glimpse of the familiar, recognition of a feeling he had once grappled with himself— or so it seemed. He did not know. The Veil mutes all emotion, from the most fervent passions to the most tender sentiments. It may be a reflection he sees in her eyes, his own hopes and fears echoed back to him.

Whatever he sees in her he pushes aside for the sake of their present problem. Cassandra could not be held off forever. Lowering himself to one knee to accommodate her height, Solas extends one hand towards hers. “Give me your hand, please.”

She peels the glove from her left hand, offering it forward to Solas as she did on the day they first met. This time it lands in his waiting reach, rather than being yanked forcibly towards a Rift. He’d studied it well while she lay motionless in her cell, and then again in bed, but conscious it is a different creature. Her fingers flex and bend, clearly unaccustomed to the careful attention afforded to them. He strokes his thumb across her palm, smoothing them back to allow him an unobstructed view of the Anchor. It runs like a fissure in the earth across her skin, an otherworldly green occasionally flashes in the center, and through it he catches a glimpse of the infinite. “Does it pain you?” he asks. This examination is a façade to buy them a moment’s respite, but there is no telling what effect the Mark will have on her in the coming weeks. Already he fears there will come a day where his knowledge of it will fail him, powerless as he is now.

“No. At least not since you last looked at it. I... don’t think the Templars could touch it if they’d tried.”

“Curious.” Although he ought not be surprised, the Anchor and the Templars share more than a few similarities, tied together by a Titan’s heart and blood. “Regardless, I would advise caution. This may have been an anomaly.”

“I’ll be careful. I’ve had it described to me by mages before, doesn’t sound like something I’d want to invite on myself.”

Her comment sparks a question, one which has plagued him since she called out to him in the midst of battle. “You’ve fought alongside mages before, have you not?”

“Yeah,” her response is strained, and punctuated by a second heavy swallow, “how’d you guess?”

“You signalled for my intervention when handling the marksman. The uninitiated would not have thought to ask.”

The observation catches her off-guard, eyes darting from his face to her hand before she remembers who she’s addressing. “The Carta’s been known to hire apostates. Some jobs just needed that magic touch, you know?” A small smile turns her lips, weary eyes shining with a hint of mischief. “I’ve, uh, been known to smuggle a mage or two out of the Circle, too. Back in Kirkwall. Don’t... don’t tell Cassandra.”

He blinks, surprise registers upon his face as no more than a mild arch of his brow. “You believe she would be displeased?” Solas asks, working a barrier into the surface of her skin. It accepts the magic more readily than Varric, the Anchor glittering like an uncut peridot, recognising the spellcaster.

Thora shrugs. “They’ve got enough to deal with from me being Carta.”

“True, but there is more than the Chantry to consider,” he says. From his perspective (and in his experience) there will be little pleasing them, presenting an obstacle to be worked around rather than through. Even Cassandra seems to realise that. “The rebel mages may look favourably upon someone who has helped them in the past.”

“Maybe.”

A frown tugs at his lips, her dismissal rankles despite telling himself she is not at her best. “If I may ask, how did you find yourself in their employ?” He imagines the children of families blessed with the fortune to be born into money and magic, with coin enough to make the Carta think it was worth the Templar’s scrutiny. “I cannot imagine it is work you find yourself in by chance.”

“It’s not. I volunteered. I ran the same tunnels as the Mage Underground, and it— well, it seemed like the right thing to do.” She pauses. “It was the right thing to do.”

“I see.” He doesn’t see, at least not entirely. Like the many lies he has told since walking into the Inquisition’s midst, it is woven with truth. Solas knows well the impulse to do good, or try to, whatever the cost to oneself may be, and he’d seen it in Thora before. Thanks to her, the people of the Crossroads will sleep with full bellies and warm blankets, but the world will thank her for helping them. The same cannot be said of the mages. Suddenly the promise made to him in Haven does not seem so empty. Her oath to guard his freedom from those who sought to take it no longer rings as a hollow platitude. “Whatever Seeker Pentaghast may think, I believe your conviction is admirable.”

She shifts self-consciously, the hand in his grasp straining against his gentle grip. “I’m glad you think so.” The simple effort it takes her to accept his praise seems a laborious undertaking, he wonders to himself if the sweat on her brow now shines fresh from the endeavour. Her acceptance is punctuated by a sharp inhale. “Listen. I… I wanted to thank you, you know, for this.” She looks pointedly at their joined hands. “I didn’t want anyone to see me like this. It’s…”

“A natural reaction.” Their eyes meet, but it’s her gaze which falters first. “They were our enemies, but where we saw a threat to be eliminated others would have seen friends, family.” He does not look back, but his mind returns to the felled Templar behind him. No pity nor guilt moves his heart at the thought of her passing, she laid in a pool of her own violent choices. Still, he spares a thought for the woman her family will mourn. A woman who undoubtedly bore little resemblance to the one Solas briefly knew. “Our duty to ourselves and Redcliffe’s people demanded we face them, but it is not weakness to be affected by their deaths.”

A weak smile spreads over Thora’s lips, thin and touched by lingering unease, but it shines true in her eyes. “Thanks,” she says for the second time. “For understanding, I mean.”

He acknowledges it with a mild bow of his head. “Does it bother you, knowing that I have seen how this affected you?”

“A little,” she admits. “Better you than—” Her head nods towards the others, brow arched in their direction.

Solas looks towards them, catching sight of Cassandra as she paces aimlessly around the field, throwing glances towards their destination, always mindful of their journey’s end. Varric shows no such concern, reclining upon a rock, an unfamiliar tune whistling from his lips. He turns back to Thora with a question upon his. “And what have I done to earn the distinction?”

“Nothing.” The confession is quick, as though speaking it without hesitation will spare her his offense. “Cassandra’s put such faith in me, I’m just counting the breaths until I let her down somehow, and Varric…” She pulls a face, nose wrinkling. “I’ve read one or two of his books. I’m not sure I like the thought of making into one of them.” Thora at last looks up at him again, searching for something in his face. What quality she seeks, he’s unsure, though he is reluctant to grant it. Every piece he surrenders is a piece he cannot get back. “You? You’re just… odd.”

A surprised laugh chokes him. He does not need to look behind them to feel the Seeker’s head whip in their direction, discerning eyes measuring their progress. “An honest assessment, and perhaps well-deserved,” he says, amusement wrinkling the corners of his eyes. “Should I take offense?”

She fixes him with a challenging stare and smiles, though this time the gesture spreads her lips wide, revealing two rows of white teeth. “I suppose that depends on if you think being normal is something to be proud of.”

To his surprise, he feels himself smiling back, her playful grin reflecting in his own. “I suppose it does.” He looks down at her hand, ears angling back as he realises any pretence of examination had since been forgotten. Seconds counted for more in this world, true, yet it remains remarkably easy to become lost in conversation. “Do you feel ready to move on?” Solas tries to discern the answer for himself from her expression. The long, drawn-out look has faded, forgotten as the excuse which kept them here a moment more. Recognising that settles uneasy in his stomach, raising questions better left for dreams.

“I think so.” She takes her hand back from him, flexing her fingers before she fits them into her glove. “I don’t know how much longer Cassandra will buy that excuse of yours, anyway.”

“You underestimate me.” There is a humour in his remark that surprises him, a wry twist to his words which he did not expect to find in the company he keeps. “Were I less adept at wasting the Seeker’s time, I would not be stood before you now. Still—” He rises, mindful of the wet patches of mud which now darken his knees. “We would not want to keep her waiting.”

She gives him a knowing look, the faint smile creasing the corners of her eyes fades as she turns back to the rest of their party. Varric is the first to notice their business concluded, or the first to acknowledge it, behind him he hears his voice call out, “Hand treating you any better?”

“Never better, actually,” she replies in a chipper tone, a friendly veneer which masks the unpleasantness of a moment ago, but Solas notes how she averts her gaze from the carnage they left in their wake. The shadows of war still seem to haunt her steps. She tilts her head towards Cassandra, deference clear even from behind. “Sorry for the hold up. I’m ready to go now.” Deference aside, it is at Thora’s word that their party picks up and moves, mere moments passing between her signal and the resumption of their journey. Solas alone trails behind, forgetting his feet beneath him. Only his eyes follow her, mind wandering, wondering, doubting if the Mark upon her hand is the most remarkable thing about her. She senses his absence, looking over her shoulder with a question upon her brow, saying nothing, but somehow he hears. Questions pile like snowflakes on a rooftop, building around him with no easy remedy to relieve their mounting pressure, but he picks up his feet and follows the answer into Ferelden’s hills.

Surrounded by the voices of his companions in the thick of conversation, the seconds lose their urgency, the minutes slip by without notice. As a joke in the air draws a new smile to his face, sixty seconds starts to resemble not another minute survived, but rather another minute lived.

#gore cw #solas #dragon age #dragon age fanfic #inquisitor cadash #( my writing )#show that mercy to me ( thora )#[ ok the title stays... for now. ]

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