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pajarinwrites · 1 year ago

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you could ask

➳ fem!reader x Dino

➳ wc: 2.7k

➳ TAGS: pwp; fluffy smut, smutty fluff MDNI, my dudes; it's so sweet tho kjsdiasejnasd

➳ WARNINGS: fucking(?) it's super fluffy though; fingering (f receiving), kissing, marking, petnames (babe, baby for her)

➳ AN: i continue to surprise in that dino is my least biased member except now that i wrote this, he might not be anymore; he's such a cutie ugh; also this RAN! AWAY! FROM! ME! it started as a drabble but 2.7k can under no circumstances be classified as a drabble. also there initially was supposed to be piv sex but then it got too long. i'll definitely write a continuation one-shot for this ugh. anyway, ENJOY!

also that's my fave photo of channie

You look up from your phone as your friend enters the lobby. He has his duffel bag thrown over his shoulder, wearing the usual cap, mask, sunglasses combo in public, in an effort to remain unrecognised.

“Hey,” you greet with a soft wave. He pulls off his sunglasses to reveal eyes crinkling with smiles. “Hey!” He replies back, pulling you into a short hug before calling the elevator.

“How was practice?”

“The usual. Except Hoshi-hyung was hungover.”

“Huh?” You ask, sure you must’ve misheard him. Chan laughs in reply.

“Yeah, he filmed that program with Youngji yesterday that you like watching.”

“And he didn’t tell me?” You ask in mock affront, one hand resting on your chest dramatically. Chan shrugs. “I guess he assumed I’d tell you. But I forgot.” He sticks his tongue out to you as you follow him to his apartment.

You pass Vernon and Dokyeom in the kitchen; they wave to you in greeting before you follow Chan into his room.

“Leave the door open, children!” Dokyeom screams after you, prompting your friend to scream a dry hahaha back and slam his door all the harder. “They’re not even funny,” he pouts, dropping onto his bed where you’ve already gotten comfortable.

“Ugh,” he groans as the climbs up to the headboard next to you. “What’s wrong?” You ask, looking at his tense expression.

“It’s fine, practice just kicked a little harder than I thought.”

“Are you still up for movie night? We can just move it if you’re too exhausted.”

“Of course not! I always have energy for you.” He smiles softly, scooting closer, resting one arm on his headboard behind you as if it did nothing to him. You cleared your throat, trying your hardest not to shuffle so he wouldn’t feel obligated to move his arm away again.

“What’ve you got saved on your laptop?” He asks as you pull it up and open Netflix.

“I mean, I’ve been dying to watch the Scream remake for a while…” You know his stance on horror movies. As expected, “ugh! Can’t we watch something cute and cozy that won’t make me pull a muscle from jump scares!”

“Unfair argument! First you say you’re up for movie night and when it comes to picking a movie you bring up the issue of your sore muscles!”

“Well I can’t just make ‘em magically disappear.”

“But you got to pick the movie the last, like, three times!”

“I’m not saying you can’t pick. I’m just saying pick a different one!”

“Nuh uh, I want this one.” He groans again, rolling his head.

“Okay, then what will you do about my sore muscles?”

“Me? Do you want me to massage your sore muscles for you? Since when are your sore muscles my fault or problem?”

He grins, and with how close his face is to yours, it’s doing all kinds of things to your heart. “If you want to watch Scream so bad, it is your problem…”

Oh, so that’s how it is, you think, realising he never expected you to make good on any muscle relief. Lee Chan knows damn well you hate massages unless you’re on the receiving end. The amount of times he’s given you one eclipses the times you have returned the favour, a grand total of zero times.

“Sure,” you smile sweetly, setting your laptop back down on the floor next to Chan’s bed. He stares at you, eyes wide as saucers. “Huh?”

You remove his arm from your shoulders and get up, motioning for him to lie down. If your best friend wanted to play a game of chicken with you, he absolutely could.

“Also, you obviously gotta take your shirt off.”

Instead of moving, Chan is sitting still as a statue, still staring at you as if your hair had spontaneously changed colour. You wondered if this was really all it was going to take but eventually he shuffles down on the bed. He shrugs off his tee and you pretend like you aren’t surreptitiously looking him up and down.

“Okay, but you gotta do it properly, “ he states as he rests his head on his arms.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” You inquire as you get into position, positioning your left knee beside Chan’s body and swinging the other over so that you are straddling his butt.

“Just that you can’t quit after five minutes, and you can’t do it all softly.”

“Hmm,” you hum in agreement, “elbow grease.” Chan giggles in response, but it turns into a groan as soon as you dig your thumbs into the tops of his shoulders.

“You really aren’t holding back, huh?”

“I’ve been ordered to give it my all,” you reply, bearing down on one especially tight trapezius. Chan’s breath stutters under your ministrations and you’re glad he can’t see your face heat up. As your hands wander lower you feel like he’s tensing up more instead of less.

“Hey, relax,” you instruct, “this was your idea.”

Chan grumbles something into his pillow in reply but it only takes him a few more minutes and a few sounds that veer suspiciously into moan territory before he shrugs you off forcefully.

You let out a yelp of surprise as you flop down on the mattress next to him. “What was that for?”

“You did enough, we can watch your silly movie now.” He avoids your eyes and you can see that his face has turned red, but you try to blame it on the heat of the room and the fact that you just treated him like bread dough for fifteen minutes. As he sits back up against the headboard, he pulls the blanket over himself, his hands in his lap awkwardly.

“What are you doing?” You cock an eyebrow.

“Preparing to be scared to death,” he replies with a chuckle you believe was supposed to be light-hearted.

“It’s okay, I’ll protect you. You can hide behind me if you get scared,” you offer graciously. Chan rolls his eyes. “Just start the movie.”

You pull up your laptop and snuggle into your friend’s side. Chan fluffs up his pillows, one behind your back, one in his lap, and welcomes you into his arms again. You’ve watched movies in this position before, but today you’re restless. Chan seems to exude extra body heat today, and maybe it’s your wild imagination but his workouts have really started to pay off, and the feeling of his biceps pressing into your side distracts you more than you’d like to admit.

You stopped watching whatever is going on on screen several dozen minutes ago when you finally clear your throat. You’d been sneaking glances over at Chan for a while, his uncomfortable shifting, the suspiciously placed pillow. You had a hunch when he shrugged you off him earlier but the longer you sat next to him, having to endure his endless shuffling, the more convinced you were. Of course, you weren’t entirely unbothered by his presence either. The glimpse of his naked chest and back hadn’t left your mind, although you were hard-pressed to admit, that that sight had been the reason for your inability to focus.

“It’s a little boring, isn’t it?”

“Huh?” He asks, turning his frightful eyes from the screen. You hit pause.

“The movie, Chan.”

“Boring isn’t the adjective I’d use, but sure. We can definitely watch something else.”

“We could do something else.” You smirk, shifting so you can face him fully. Bless him, his expression betrays nothing but confusion. He opens his mouth to ask what you’re on about but you beat him to it.

“Chan,” you sigh, “is this going to be a repeat of Seungkwan’s birthday party?”

“Huh?” He asked. But the fact that he had turned a shade redder let you know that he was very aware of what you were talking about.

“You know, when we were in the kitchen alone and you leaned in and I was waiting for you to finally kiss me? But then you chickened out the last second and pretended you had just wanted to grab the vodka from behind me?”

Chan blinks at your, your words evidently not quite processed yet. “You wanted me to kiss you?” You rolled your eyes.

“For someone with such a big head, you can be pretty stupid, you know that?”

“Well, how was I supposed to know? I can’t read your mind.” You lean in closer - resting your hand on his thigh - and take delight in the way his breath hitches.

“You can always ask.” You whisper. He moves in even closer, the pillow sliding off his lap and letting you see that you were right about your prior assumption. You bite your lip at the sight of the obvious tent in his sweatpants.

“Can I kiss you?” Chan asks, bringing your attention back to his face. He’s gorgeous, you think, in the half-light of his bedroom, his hair unstyled, his eyes shining. But he really isn’t going to budge if you don’t answer, it seems. “Yes, please,” you breathe.

His lips are on yours, softly, as if he can’t quite believe this is happening. His right hand is cradling your cheek. It makes you smile, wrap your arms around his neck, and pull him down with you. Chan let’s out another groan, catching himself with his left hand next to your head instead of letting his full weight crash into you, which coincidentally happens to be exactly what you wanted. You nudge his hand away, hoping for him to get the hint. Much to your chagrin, he pulls back, panting against your lips.

“What—“ you mean to ask but don’t get around to it when you see the dark, almost desperate shadow in his eyes.

“I can’t believe you’re real.” His gaze drops to your lips, he’s nipping at your lower lip, making his way down your jawline. You manage to hold out on him until he reaches your pulse point, attaching his lips to the sensitive skin and nibbling at it in a way that’ll definitely leave a mark makes you whimper. Right now you couldn’t care less.

“Chan,” you moan, “please…” You can feel him smirk but he complies with your unspoken wish, continuing his way downward.

“Can I take this off you?” He asks, tugging at you shirt. You look down at his eyes, blown out and looking at you like you created the universe.

“Only if yours comes off too,” you say, meaning to tease him. His shirt’s over his head and at the other end of his room before you can blink. “Better?” He smirks, usually you’d be careful not to stroke his ego too much, but right now all you can think about it tracing every ridge on the expanse of his body with your tongue. It’s so much more fun when you can look freely. It must show on your face because Chan leans forward, whispering, “You can eat me up later, baby. Right now it’s my turn.” You have half a mind to hold back your whimpers at the tone of his voice but at the end you’re just a human, not some saint, so you stand no chance against the carnal vices of the flesh.

Chan takes off your shirt so skilfully that a very unwelcome thought of possessiveness flashes through your mind but with how he looks at you (very much not like you threw on your oldest, most comfy sport bra) the evil little voice in your head stands no chance. There can’t be any lingering doubt over his feelings with the way he undresses you slowly, deliberately, with all the care in the world, makes you think he mistook you for a fragile piece of art. His eyes say the same, casting glances at your face again and again, questioning; like he’s ready to drop everything if you so much as breathe a word. You have to commend him, especially with how evident the tent in his sweats has been for the better part of this evening.

“Chan,” you whine, ripping him out of the worship of the skin on your tummy. He looks dazed already. “Please stop teasing.”

He smiles, “Am I teasing you? Sorry, baby, I didn’t mean to. You’re just so beautiful.”

You want to tell him off for being a sap but he starts kissing a straight line downwards from your navel and your words are caught in your throat.

His hands skitter up your thighs, making you shiver as he finally presses a digit to your core. He groans, “So wet for me already, love, you’ve soaked through your panties.”

“Looks like you have to take them off, then.” You smile and he obliges easily. It seems he’s really had enough of the teasing because he presses his thumb to you clit immediately, circling it. You moan his name as he slides one finger through your slick, “wanna touch you too.”

“Later, baby. Let me focus on you for now. Can I keep going?”

You mumble a pathetic Ohmygod yes please, that earns you a soft chuckle from him. He wastes no time in sliding a finger into you. Chan moans at the feeling of you wrapped around his fingers.

“Shit, babe,” is all you get out of him before his mouth is back on your skin, kissing up the insides of your thighs as he stretches you out on another finger. “Wanna come on my fingers, love?” You don’t trust your voice right now, so instead you nod vigorously. He stops testing the waters as his fingers and thumb speed up, spreading a familiar warmth in the pit of your stomach. He shifts his weight upwards and is hovering over you, never ceasing the motion of his fingers.

“Can I kiss you?” He asks softly.

“If you don’t, I’m leaving right now,” you barely manage to breathe out between pants. From the way Chan smiles at you, you can tell you must look at least as fucked-out as you feel. He chooses not to tease you and you silently thank him for it. Instead he just leans in, meeting your lips in a manner that is nothing like the soft, innocent kisses from before. He pushes his tongue past your lips, exploring your mouth as if he wanted to taste all of you. Just at that moment his fingers find that spot inside you that makes you see stars. You moan into the kiss, prompting him to mirror your sounds. Chan doesn’t let up on that spot, speeding up and hitting it again and again and again until the pressure becomes to much and the knot in your stomach snaps. He fucks you through your orgasm, leaving soft pecks all over your face until you’ve calmed down.

“Feeling better?” He asks. You’re forced to watch as he retrieves his fingers from your pussy, putting them in his mouth instead and licking them clean. He hums comfortably, “you taste so good, babe.”

You’re still staring at him, wide-eyed, trying to make sense of why the sight of your best friend licking his fingers clean of your essence is the hottest thing you’ve ever seen. He notices your state and his brows furrow.

“Hey, are you okay?” There’s real worry in his voice, so you nod in reassurance.

“I was just thinking that if this what I get for massaging your sore muscles a little, I’m definitely gonna start doing it more often.”

His eyes widen. “You wanna do this more often?” The disbelief in his voice makes you laugh in earnest. “Of course, in case you couldn’t tell, I had a lot of fun.” You’re unsure of your next sentence, but if you don’t say it now, you fear you’ll say it never, “and I like you. A lot.”

He has the dopiest grin on his face as he leans back down, giving you another sweet kiss. “In that case, let me take you out on a proper date before we do this the next time.” You cock an eyebrow.

“Chan, do you wanna be my boyfriend?” The man in question blushes, avoiding your eyes. “If that’s something you also want…”

You look at his expression, hopeful gaze lifting to catch yours. There’s a blush lingering on his cheeks, his hair all mussed up. You’ve never felt more comfortable with another person.

“Of course,” you reply, snaking one arm around his middle and pulling him close, “I’d love that, actually.”

#lee chan #dino #dino x reader #lee chan x reader #chan seventeen #dino seventeen #svt dino x reader #dino smut #dino fluff #lee chan smut #lee chan fluff

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candilee-joestar · 2 months ago

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This took much longer than intended. I drew each of Scoria's main jobs! Here is a bit about them in lore order.

White mage- Taught some basic healing by her mother who was a well known healer in her area, White magic came most naturally to Scoria and was what she relied on in the earliest parts of her travels. Not being very physically strong, she used it almost as a crutch as she bumbled her way through the primals plaguing Eorzea, often relying on the strength of others to push her through fights. Encountering Lizzy while lost in the wilds of Gridania, she taught her some basic’s about being a conjurer. While this did help guide her, she still struggled through most encounters. She grew to resent her white magic and sought other ways to protect herself on the battle field, though, this was an uphill battle, as she had no real combat experience. It wasn’t until much later in her time on the first where she discovered the true strength of white magics, bolstered by the mass of light entering her from the flood. It was this point where she fell back in love with her roots and looked at it more as a tool in her toolbox rather than a weakness.

Red Mage- A secret love of Scoria’s was always the fights on the blood sands in Ul’dah, growing up and watching match after match with her parents. Her favorite heel, Cemi the Titan, who she’d been a long time admirer of, she became friends with and share with him her insecurities about her strength. Noticing her affinity for white magic and her total lack of strength, he felt a good stepping stone would be Red Magic and even (in a very domineering and heel-ish way, tossing it on the ground at her after besting her in combat) gifted Scoria her first rapier. Despite his non-nonchalant and demeaning disposition, the sword had clearly been hand crafted specifically for her.

She created a “Heel-Sona” for herself. Smooth and smug, dawning a set of circular, red, sunglasses (which were secretly also prescription grade as she is blind as a bat), she called herself “Drake” for her time in the coliseum. It was through this that Scoria found some ability to make her way through the dragonsong war. Touching the Eye of Nidhogg when attempting to remove it from Estinien’s body corrupted her aether with that of the wyrm’s, filling her with all his years of rage and hate. Scoria, never experiencing such feelings in this way, tried to channel it through her red mage magic, but this was not effective and often resulted in her accidentally injuring herself or her comrades.

Even after learning to channel this magic through dragoon, she still enjoyed the color it gave her aether and uses a bit of it while using her ‘Drake’ persona to give her more of an ominous glow. Dragoon- Corrupted by Nidhoggs aether, Scoria often would be doing simple tasks, sitting at home, reading the paper, and objects around her would explode in a cloud of red. She was plagued with migraines and flashes of the hate and rage of the wyrm. Visions and feelings about dragons or people she’d never met, as well as some she had, namely Estinien. After returning from Kugane and to Ala Mhigo, the problem only grew and Scoria sought out the one person who knew Nidhogg best: Estineien himself. After some long talks and begging (and some harassment from Tataru) he agreed to help her channel this rage. It was through this she grew to understand him more as a person and in turn, herself.

It was through Dragoon that Scoria finally found her true strength. It felt almost natural to her, channeling the energy of dragons and releasing it on her opponents on the battlefield. She felt swift and powerful, almost unstoppable. It was through this that she finally found a love of fighting and challenge, no longer the meek woman she once was. Her tall frame now posed to give her an advantage, having the strength to back it up.

While on the first, after being filled with so much light that she nearly became a sin eater, Nidhoggs rage and anger finally dissipated. There was so much white aether, it completely burned out any trace of him left inside her, transforming her dragoon gear and lance a brilliant white and brass color. Dancer- Scoria was never one for sexuality or showing much in the way of skin (or scales). Her parents had made it very clear from a young age how she should present herself at all times, so these desires were often suppressed, choosing to wear clothing that covered most of her body.

After marrying her husband Kahdan, she felt he did so many things for her to make her happy, she wanted to do something for him in return. Hearing about a trope of dancers in town, she went and met with them to learn more. While she didn’t gain too much in the way of sexual confidence, it did help her at least look like she did. Unable to fully commit to the relieving dresses of the other dancers, she did still find an outfit that showed off more skin than what she was used to.

Her husband, supportive as ever, purchased her an outfit in his favorite colors to wear. It was hardly clothes at all, Scoria struggled with the idea mentally of going out and being seen in something like that. Still, from time to time, as a way to help build that confidence, she would go out with him in it, completely red faced and usually hiding behind him as to not be seen. Dark Knight- Ardbert after melding with Scoria’s soul would often stay up at night talking to her. Because they were essentially a part of each other, she would confide her deepest, darkest, fears to him. Sometimes willingly, sometimes because he would find himself wandering in her dreams, unable to escape them. He realized her deep seeded fears about her own inadequacy. That she felt ill-equip to be the savior of not only his world, but her own. That she was tired of always being everyone’s hero. That she missed the days of painting in her flat with her room mate Alha, when she was no one. She even had some resentment for her friends and the common folk for relying on her so much. He helped show these subconscious thoughts to her. He brought them to the forefront, but did not shame her for it, explaining how he went through something very similar and how the hate that his own people felt for him harmed him even after his death. Ardbert guided her to his own dark knight stone, buried and gone from the eyes of others. He had her learn how to channel these dark thoughts and feelings into fighting. Taking the resentment she felt deep in her heart and turning it into a shield to protect herself and others. While these feelings never truly left, understanding them more did help. She would talk more openly about these problems with those she loved and found that she had to carry much less burden that way, literally and figuratively.

Island Sanctuary- No real story here, outside of Im pretty sure this is where she eventually retires. I just really like this glam.

#ffxiv #wol #scoria toshio #xaela #white mage #whm #red mage #rdm #dragoon #drg #dancer #dnc #dark knight #drk #Island sanctuary #oc

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conartisthaiji · 3 months ago

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[image description: 9 slides from a slideshow. The slideshow has a white background with black text in comic sans. Each slide is as follows.

Slide One: Witch Hat Atelier, by a little witch academia fan (sorry in advance)

Slide Two: Basic Overview

NOT to be confused with Little Witch Academia

yes, they both have a cheerful bad-at-magic lesbian who is in love with a grumpy magic prodigy lesbian (...i think) and yes, the uniform features cute little hats and robes and yes they are at a magic school and yes the two main teachers have homoerotic tension and…huh.

Just don’t call it witch hat academia (<-has done that)

Next to the words is the cover for the first volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows a blonde girl, Coco, cheerfully jumping down.

Slide Three: Blonde Akko Kagari

She’s blonde

Her name is Coco

Very sweet looking like i bet she’s just the nicest

Probably had something tragic happen to her i bet it’s qifrey’s fault

Oh my god maybe this IS little witch academia

Next to the text is the cover for the first volume of Witch Hat Atelier.

Slide Four: Not Olruggio

Lesbian (my mutuals told me so) (okay actually one of them had Agott over a lesbian flag as their profile but that’s basically the same thing)

I did confuse her with Olruggio wha but no, she is a lesbian and her name is Agott.

Rhymes with fa-i am forcibly removed from the room.

I just know she’s emo as hell like she looks like everything thirteen year old me would LOVE. unfortunately I am in my twenties.

See next slide for blorbo.

Next to the text is the cover for the second volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows Agott sitting in a chair and staring out with a bored expression on her face.

Slide Five: Richeh!!!!!!!!

Blorbo-in-law

I mean, she’s gonna be my blorbo now.

Look at her i love her she can do no wrong.

Her eyebrows are my fave thing about her like they are so expressive

Next to the text are two manga panels of Richeh, one showing her eating noodles from a bowl, and one showing her cheering with her arms raised. Text behind her says, "Riche is sold out!" Next to these panels is the cover for the fourth volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows Richeh sitting on the side of a cliff.

Slide Six: The little pink one

She’s…pink

I hate to say it but i do not know anything about her

Not even her name

Sorry to all fans of the little pink one

I bet she’s the energetic/upbeat one of the group though

Next to the text is the cover for the fifth volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows a pink-haired girl leaping gleefully into the air.

Slide Seven: Qifrey without a U

It’s QI-FREY. No u.

Now why is he wearing a one-lens sunglasses. Sun monocle.

It’s probably just the cover art sorry Shirahama

Gay and sad i just know it

Honestly i got nothing on this man

Next to the text is the cover for the third volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows Qifrey holding a book in one hand. One of the lenses on his glasses has been darkened.

Slide Eight: Not a teenage lesbian

So Olruggio is actually a teacher.

Upon closer inspection i see that his hair is not curly. I truly thought it was. Sorry Agott.

Qifrey may be gay and sad but Olruggio is gay sad and tortured about it

Whatever is wrong with him has nothing on whatever the fuck is wrong with Qifrey i bet

Why is this picture so fucking pixelated.

Next to the text is the cover for the sixth volume of Witch Hat Atelier, which shows Olruggio jumping with his cloak flowing behind him. The picture is far more pixelated than the other images in this slideshow.

Slide Nine: Ok the end because i don’t know who else is part of witch hat! But go read witch hat atelier! Or just wait for the anime but i’m gonna go read the manga (and maybe i’ll rewatch little witch academia too teehee) /end id]

so sorry wha mutuals i didn't pay enough attention to your wha lectures 🙇🙇🙇

#lyz talks #witch hat atelier #i'm planning on starting this this weekend!!!! v v excited cuz a bunch of my mutuals love this manga #and it's getting an anime soon!!! i've been waiting for it lmao #(cuz again. my mutuals love this. and i'm pretty bad at reading manga)#currently managed to borrow the first two (2!!!) volumes from the library so i will be starting this though!! yay!!!#also seriously i think lwa and wha have a LOT in common at least vibewise. in my heart they are cousins.#(has not even started consuming wha and it's been years since i watched lwa)

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goodolddumbbanana · 2 months ago

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Sun's Wedding [2]

Cringe: hahaa... I have no idea what I am Writing...

Part 1

“--And then she dared to drag Sun along with her, like he was just some toys!!”

The dark blue animatronic’s heels crunched on Monty’s million-dollar tile floor. The crocodile was already sleepy, but they still couldn’t go back to cuddle with Earth in their bedroom because someone was still shamelessly refusing to leave.

The elegant yellow-green wedding invitation was torn to shreds on the glass table, but still managed to form some fancy letters, Sun x Miku.

‘Oh my god, it’s really late, Moon! Give me a damn break.’

Monty’s eyes twitched, almost closing under their sunglasses. The thought of throwing Moon in the trash was getting more and more appealing with every minute the damn moon-model kept them from sleeping. The vision ahead was getting more and more blurry, and Moon’s face was starting to resemble a mutated eggplant.

“Monty. Are you listening to me!”

Damn, Monty almost fell. They adjusted their glasses, snapped two fingers at Moon, their voices a little groggy.

“Sure, bud. Crystal clear.”

The silence was filled with gravel and the judgmental look from those red eyes. Moon looked like he wanted to snap their necks, which was impossible but kinda cute because that twink thought he could with these two rotten noodles the blue animatronic called hands.

“Monty, if you doze off again, I’ll blow up every vault you’ve hidden under the Pacific Ocean.”

A chill ran through Monty’s body, just like the day they’d discovered the money they’d invested all went bankrupt in a Soviet project. Using the German scientists was not a good move.

Their mouths dropped open, they clutched their metaphorical hearts. Their hands shook as they removed their glasses and stared at Moon’s eyes.

“Moon… Moon… Please…! Come on, buddy!? You don’t mean it, do you?” Monty stammered. “Those are my babies!!”

“Oh well Monty, guess your babies are about to go shit.” Moon sneered. “241 gold vaults and 462 weapon vaults. One wrong move and–.” Moon made the sound of an explosion, the activation button hovering teasingly in Moon’s hand.

A withered sigh of resignation came from Monty. They leaned back, both hands rubbing their foreheads.

“Geez! I don’t remember you being this scary…” They muttered under their breath, completely nonchalantly admitting their crimes. “Alright! I admit, I slept through half of your monologue.”

Not even looking at Moon’s finger that was so close to the button, Monty picked at their ear. “But what do you want me to do with that information?!! Find a sniper and deal with Miku myself??? Throw that crazy girl into the East Sea?”

“I don’t know!” Moon waved his hand, shouting. “I’m desperate, okay!! And you’re the one who does all the weird stuff all the time!!”

“So what?” Monty laughed, their voices almost mingling together. “You think I can pull something out of my ass magically, Moon? Do you really think I can do that without preparing anything? It is Art, Moon! I need time to think! And some minors are in labor!! If they’re orphans then even better, I don’t have to pay them anymore.” They waved their hands ridiculously, their handsome reflections in the glasses making them stop their movements and admire the mirror.

Oh yes, who has such beautiful muscles… It’s you~~~

“Monty! Focus!!” Moon snapped his fingers. He felt his own patience level going out the window, and just thinking about his poor little brother trapped in Miku’s evil embrace made Moon’s blood boil.

He wanted to find Solar, but somehow that orange animatronic had disappeared along with Lunar or Earth to nowhere.

“Fine! My God! You need to relax, Moon. This fussing isn’t going to solve anything.” Monty sighed, rubbing their shoulders. They took a sip of their gin, too sober to continue this conversation.

“Well, I don’t think Miku’s that bad. She’s pretty, and she has money, a lot of money. Heh…” Monty’s eyes might have turned into $$ shapes as their hands made the same counting motion before coughing and adjusting their glasses.

“What I am trying to say is that… I think you’re overreacting. Didn’t Sun look happy looking forward to this wedding?”

“Well Monty. The truth is… I don’t care!!! As long as the person Sun gets married is not Miku!! Besides, if you like her so much, why don’t you just marry her yourself.”

Moon glared, trying to slap Monty. Of course, if Monty was hurt by this, it wouldn’t be Monty. “I’d love to, but I have Earth.” The crocodile waved their hand. “Not worth the effort and the insurance. Besides, you’d definitely kill me if I planned to do it.”

“Good, you’re right.” Moon sighed, picking up his glass of water. “I’ll make a mess out of you if you make Earth sad.”

“But honestly Moon, my hands are tied.” Monty sighed, scratching their head. “I promised Earth I’d be ‘a good boy’ when I attend Sun’s wedding. Which means—” Monty held up their fingers to show. “—I can’t do anything illegal for you.”

The crocodile looked sleepy when they said it, which made Moon feel a little pity before he thought of all the scams Monty had put them through and that pity turned into hatred.

The two sat in silence for about a minute and twenty seconds before another voice suddenly rang out from the darkness.

“Well hello gentlemen, I see you're in trouble!"

Lunar's 4x4 body lurched behind Monty, causing the crocodile that was nodding off on the sofa to fall to the ground, lunging at the bottle.

"Cheese of Christ, Lunar!!! You scared the crap out of me!!" Monty yelled. Moon was startled too, but for a different reason, and he was too cool to act pathetically like Monty so he just opened his mouth before silently closing it.

"Lunar." Moon said slowly, sliding the orange silhouette of someone tied up pathetically, placed on top of Lunar's head. "What's that sitting on your head?"

There was a faint groan from someone Moon didn't expect. A candy corn. Or rather, Solar - The candy corn.

The poor orange animatronic was transformed into a candy corn, and was wrapped (?), tied up in a baby carrier and placed on top of Lunar's head.

There was a ribbon wrapped around his head(?), the triangular tip of the candy, and the words ‘I am the twink’ are really colorful.

“Please Moon… You have to help me.”

His friend’s voice was sad. Desperate.

Moon knew he should remember all the life-and-death moments with Solar, remember what Solar had done for them, both Sun and Moon. Moon also needs to remember he should rescue his best friend, his partner, his close brother for some holy reason that Sun would have made him do if he were here.

But for some reason, as if possessed by a devil, Moon’s hand made the sound of a camera snapping.

‘Clack! Clack! Clack!’

“OH, FUCK YOU TOO, MOON!!!”

That night, in Monty’s mansion, Solar’s curses resounded.

***

“Okay, it’s good that everyone’s settled down.” Lunar cleared his throat. Solar the candy corn had been freed, and was now soaking in a bowl of water with a tiny float. There was a gurgling sound underwater, as if there was still a lot of unique vocabulary that Solar had yet to exploit, bursting out in a place where no one could possibly hear.

Underwater.

Why doesn’t Solar dissolve in water? Moon's scientific side was eager to find out the answer.

But not now.

“First let me ask—” Moon raised his hand to signal Lunar. “Can you tell me why Solar… turned out like this?”

“That’s right, I also want to know why Moon’s weird boyfriend turned out like this.” Monty smacked their lips, and blurted out the most disgusting line of the year.

“Ew, gross. Solar’s my best friend. He’s like a brother to me.” Moon stuck out his tongue, looking like he was about to throw up. Struggling in the bowl of water, Solar gasped and clung to the edge of the bowl, also speaking up.

“Yeah… technically, I am his distant relative. Besides, Moon is an aroace. And… also no offense, but I don't see you that way, Moon.”

“None taken.” Moon nodded. “And since we've ended this awkward conversation here, can you tell me how Solar got turned into a candy?”

“Oh?” Lunar glanced back at Solar, who looked like he'd seen death and returned, with the melancholy of an old man who'd lived past 100 or a beggar who'd been swept away by a river.

“My dearest brother, the story started when the portal's malfunctioning again, and as revenge for making Jack follow me,” Lunar's tone was indifferent, but his brother's starry eyes were as cold as death that it made Moon shiver, “--I decided to take Solar for a walk before returning him to his home. It was actually quite easy, since he was small, and pickable.”

Solar, now almost resigned to the currents of life, still tried to draw a middle finger on the rim of the bowl with her tiny pieces of candy.

“So.” Lunar clapped his hands. “Do you have any plans to ruin the wedding?”

“Hey, wait.” Moon shaked his head. “We haven’t talked about that yet.”

“Really?” Lunar narrowed his eyes, “-because I heard all this time about how you two were planning on hiring an assassin to deal with Miku before you both become losers and stunted out.”

“Look, it’s not my fault.” Monty defended themselves, now that they had transformed into their female selves. “The promise to Earth is a sacred ritual between girlfriend and girlfriend. Or Boyfriend. Partner.”

“And Moon is the cowardly little shit who screams a lot right now, not me.”

“Look, it may not be to your ears, but not wanting to kill people isn’t a bad thing.” Moon gritted his teeth. “Besides, Sun hates it.”

“So we just need to find a way for Monty to freely help us do it… That should be easy.” Lunar muttered to himself. A metaphorical light bulb lit up above Lunar’s head. He took a deep breath, slamming his fist on the table.

“Don’t worry, my dear brother. I have a solution...” Lunar’s voice was stern, the darkness falling on his face creating a mysterious look.

The words were full of conspiracy mixed with the eyes that flashed with a cruel light like the way a crocodile stalks its victim, making Moon unable to think that he might have been trapped.

Throat dry, Moon swallowed, listening to Lunar’s golden words.

“But first, we need to break into the wedding and steal Sun.”

***

“Look, I don’t care what stupid thing Sun does,” Solar lifted his head from the water, his mouth slightly foaming. He said dejectedly.“--but instead of thinking of some stupid plans, why don’t you… I don’t know… talk to each other like normal people. And… ask someone you know to buy Sun?

Because we have money, and connections?”

“BOOOOO!!! How boring, Solar.” Lunar lowered his finger, pushing Solar into the water, causing the candy corn to squeal in confusion. “Don’t worry, Moon, we’ll take care of it from behind.”

“You just need to relax, and watch the show…”

‘That’s right, Solar. You deserve to be drawn for that stupid speech.’ Moon thought to himself, continuing to gulp down his fifth glass of orange juice at this damn ceremony.

The altar was filled with blooming yellow roses, white silk drapes were decorated everywhere very delicately.

The sound of glasses clinking against each other. The laughter of strangers that Moon didn’t know rang out. He stood in a corner hidden from everyone, praying that a meteorite would hit this place and turn everything into a pile of dust.

“No thanks.” Every five minutes, someone would come to buy him a drink. Every ten minutes after that, some bastard would flirt with him. Moon wondered if it would count as manslaughter if he just accidentally threw those people into the sea.

After all, they wouldn't die anyway.

At least half of them would be eaten by sharks.

"Moon! You're here!!" His sister's voice rang out from afar. She looked fresher than usual today, with a pink dress and black gloves. She threw herself into his arms and gave him a fierce hug.

"Can't breathe, Earth!!" Moon coughed, trying to struggle but failing.

"It's good you're here Moon, I thought you'd be too angry to come."

Earth smiled, lightly poking Moon's nightcap.

"Haha... no way." Moon laughed so hard his mouth twisted, constantly wondering where the hell Lunar was.

"You came alone?"

“That’s right. I haven’t seen Solar and Lunar since yesterday. Neither has Monty.” Earth shook her head. “They said they had to go on some secret mission and would be coming later.”

“Hmm, that’s strange.” Moon smiled wryly. An expression that completely showed he didn’t know anything.

The silver bell rang suddenly. A certain handsome guy, who looked exactly like Miku with short green hair, spoke in a sour and annoyed voice.

“Ah, well, everyone gather, let’s start the ceremony.”

Moon didn’t even have time to react, he was pulled into his seat by Earth.

The procedures were so cumbersome, he almost fell asleep. It felt like he was stuck with a python, with a long ceremony that seemed to hypnotize people into falling asleep.

Suddenly, there was a light nudge to his side.

“Look Moon! It’s Sun.”

His brain had drifted out to sea, and suddenly got dragged back.

The music started, sacred and painfully annoying. Purple flowers were thrown everywhere by Gregory, followed by FC and Dazzle. Sun looked awkward and worried as usual, but on a not so bright side, his brother wore a proud white wedding dress and looked really better on it.

Moon would have been more moved if his brother's husband wasn't MIKU!!!

The purple bouquet was held in his arms, dotted with yellow roses. The smile on Sun's lips was still very forced, but it seemed much softer when holding the hands, or tassel(?) of their father, Creator.

The brain, inexplicably, had a bow attached to his cerebellum(?), looking extremely moved. There was a stuffy nose sound when Creator led Sun down the aisle, or vice versa because every few steps Sun had to stop to calm Creator down.

"Oh my, looking at Sun like this, I also want to get married soon. Let our father walk me down the aisle like this.” His sister cooed, something he didn’t understand why his sister wanted so much, when Creator was such a bastard—

“Oh my dear wife. You ate. Guess today guys I’m taking the big W.” Miku stood next to the priest, looking utterly smug. Beside her was Dark Sun, who looked like he didn’t want to be here at all, wearing a saffron bridesmaid dress. Their red eyes looked up at the sky as if they were waiting for this whole thing to end.

Honestly, and surprisingly, if this situation got any worse, Moon shared their sentiments.

“The Ring bearer is coming!”

On the pure white carpet with yellow petals, Ruin wore their damn purple dress, walking shakily like a British, with two bracelet-sized rings, glistening in the sunlight, placed on a soft velvet pillow.

“Oh dear! I hope I’m not too late.”

‘And I want you to cease to exist.’ Moon thought bitterly. Compared to someone who had destroyed over 4 million worlds, the treatment Ruin had received was too light. Moon wanted to do more than push them against the wall and break that arm—

Strange… Has he ever done that before?

The priest spoke up.

“Miku, do you agree to take this person as your husband?”

“Period, Father. This is lit.” Miku snapped her fingers. “Please hurry so I can bring my baby girl home.”

“And Sun, do you agree to take this person as your wife?”

The light shone on the veil, penetrating Sun’s pearl-colored pupils. His brother seemed scared. He blinked his eyelashes looking back at Moon as if seeking help, looking so heartbreaking.

Moon was about to stand up when a voice suddenly rang out in his ear.

'--No!! No!!! Lunar!!!.'

There was a loud explosion. Half the guests were blown up everywhere. The door flew open, smoke poured in and figures stood in the backlight, making Moon squint.

"Lunar!!! You little shit!!! How dare you throw me like that!!??"

"I have no choice, Monty!!! Only you have enough weight to break the door."

"You can use Bomb, Lunar!!! You don't need your bullshit magic to throw me inside!!!"

"It's star power, Monty!!!"

"I'll call it that when it does more than shoot lightning out of your ass! And turn me into barbecue!"

"BOTH OF YOU SHUT UP THE FUCKING FUCK!!! I RATHER DEAD THEN KEEP HEARING YOU GUYS MOANING EVER SINCE WHEN WE CAME HERE!!!"

"Oh look, Lunar! Solar is talking!! Why don't we listen to that craftsman, huh? Sure, let's hear the one who didn’t contribute a single bit!!!” Monty roared. Rushing forward to bite the candy corn before being stopped by Molten who was lifting them up like that hundred pound alligator only just weighed as Solar.

“Come on you bastard!!! Even if I’m small I’ll still make you shit!!!”

“How, with your short legs? And your invisible hands??”

The air melted to reveal four people standing and arguing. Technically it was one, or two. Only Lunar was human. Or animatronic. There was a roaring alligator on the ground, and Molten(???) appeared from nowhere holding Solar on his shoulder.

They were all black with soot, and still arguing.

“What the hell is going on here?” Miku yelled, her voice rising to an octave.

No one said anything, and there was an awkward silence, before Molten cleared his throat. Molten’s muffled, innocent voice dropped a few bombs on the seemingly ruined ceremony.

“Uh… We’re here to rescue Sun. Can you please let Sun go?”

“And for what?” Miku scoffed, tossing her green hair. “Just because you said please?”

“Um, yes?”

“Oh, my sweet summer child. The answer is no. Go home and play with your toy. Adults are married here.” Miku’s voice was sweet as venom. She gave the priest a commanding tone. “Let’s start quick before I fire you.”

“Urm… Wait… Sun can’t marry you.” Molten said in a soft, timid voice. Their icy blue eyes fixed on Sun with a look that Moon could only dare to call cherish.

“Why?” Miku narrowed her eyes in confusion. She looked as if she was about to call security to escort them all out.

A voice whispered into Moon’s ear.

‘Don’t interfere, big brother. Things start getting interesting.’

“Lunar, what are you on about!???” Moon screamed softly at lunar.“Because Sun married me.”

The bomb Molten drops, even makes Moon drop his phone.

#sun and moon show #tsams #sams #the sun and moon show #tsams sun #tsams moon #tsams dark sun #tsams nexus #sun's wedding au #to be a mirror #to be a mirror au #honeytrap #sams sun #tsam molten #tsams ruin #tsams creator

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whimsicalpolitical · 5 months ago

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Hi! Your writing is amazing! Would you be up for writing number 16 from the smut prompts list with Ross? Can’t wait to read it! ✨

Thank you so much!! I’m up for writing Ross every hour of every day 😁 16-> the classic “oh, let me help you put some sunscreen on” but then the little massage turns into something more.

The sun hangs high in the sky, casting a golden glow over the beach. The rhythmic sound of waves crashing against the shore is creating a serene background as you spread out your towel on the warm sand. Ross is already sprawled out beside you, his sunglasses perched on the bridge of his nose, a lazy smile playing on his lips.

You glance over at him, taking in the way his tattoos contrast against his sun-kissed skin.

“Ross,” you call out, holding up the bottle of sunscreen, “can you put some on my back before we go into the water?”

“Of course, love. Turn around.” He smiles, taking the bottle from your hands.

Squirting some into his hands, he tosses the bottle and lathers the protectant in his hands before he begins rubbing it on your shoulders. he works his way down to your lower back, massaging the sunscreen into your skin. Your head lolls back as you let out a shaky breath.

He laughs, “you minx, think you enjoy this too much.”

“I’m just so tense,” you lie, trying to keep him in this position, massaging you.

“Is that so?”

He continues massaging the sunscreen into your skin even though you know he doesn’t need to anyway. He just keeps massaging to get you to moan some more and you are happy to deliver.

His fingertips work magic into your skin leaving the whole situation practically irresistible. He keeps going, clearly distracted, it isn’t even about getting the sunscreen spread around anymore. He massages your back a bit more, earning a few more moans from you.

There aren’t many people on this beach, only old people who are tanning themselves while sleeping.

Ross puts his hands on your waist and tries to turn you around, you get the hint, facing him.

“Can’t neglect this side,” he grins, kissing your cheek only before putting some more sunscreen on.

He licks his dry lips as his eyes burn every inch of your body into his brain, and a dreamy sigh leaves you. He looks ethereal, exquisite, so devourable.

Ross’s touch is gentle yet firm, fingers kneading the tension from your shoulders, down your sides, and now across your chest. Your breath hitches as he begins to massage your breasts, his fingers working the sunscreen into your skin with a slow, deliberate pressure that makes your heart race.

“Perfect one’s,” he mumbles to himself but you obviously hear him and let out a giggle.

“You’re such a boy sometimes,” he loves your tits, Ross likes to spend hours with his face between them.

He hums, “can’t help it.”

Your eyes flutter shut, letting yourself get lost in the sensation of his touch.

His lips brush your cheek, then trail soft kisses down your neck, sending shivers through your body. “Relax, love.”

His hands continue their journey, massaging down your sides, his thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before moving to your stomach. His touch is intoxicating, each movement sending waves of pleasure through you.

The sun is hot above, but his touch makes you feel like you’re burning from the inside out. His hands slide lower, fingers grazing your hips, teasing the edge of your bikini bottoms.

"Ross," you breathe, a mix of plea and encouragement. He chuckles softly, the sound vibrating through you as his lips find yours in a searing kiss.

“All done,” he says, pulling back removing his hands from your hands, the look on his face satisfied when you’re left with a pout on his lips.

Your hands find his, guiding them back up your body. “don't stop," you whisper, pulling him closer. His mouth captures yours again, and this time there is no hesitation, no holding back.

He’s not the one to do stuff in public and you know it. He would never please you here, too scared that someone will see what is his.

“What now hm?” He asks, staring down at your lips. He wants you to make a decision with your foggy brain, which is focused on Ross in his black swimming trunks, a very obvious bulge forming.

“I think you know.”

“I think I want you to tell me, or else I’m going to piss off and go for a swim,yeah.”

You groan, hiding your face in your hands.

“Let’s go please,” you plead nicely giving him your best puppy eyes.

You know you won when he stands up, adjusts his pants inconspicuous. “C’mon then.”

#the 1975 #ross macdonald #ross macdonald imagine #ross macdonald x reader #ross macdonald fluff #ross macdonald blurb #ross macdonald x you #ross macdonald smut #matty healy #george daniel #adam hann #the 1975 fic #✿rossmacdonald

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cocoa-rococo · 4 months ago

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Koopaling Headcanons: Roy

The cool guy, the main muscle, the roughest-n'-toughest member of Bowser's army! Get a load a' them shades.

Left-handed.

Owns at least fifty pairs of those sunglasses of his. They are also pretty much indestructible, thanks to a certain brother inventor.

A root beer fan! Root beer floats are one of his favorite desserts and guilty pleasures.

His "tough guy" persona is mostly for show, but he really does love his siblings. This does not exempt them from noogies and teasing.

Regularly works out, and is happy to have a gym partner in Lemmy. Granted, Lemmy leans more towards acrobatics than athletics, but he likes sharing the space with him.

Likes watching professional wrestling with Morton in his free time. Also likes to wrestle with Morton. And his other siblings. And anyone willing. And anyone unwillingly, really.

Dyslexic. He'd probably like reading a little more if it was easier for him, but his dislike of "nerdy books" helps with his whole tough guy image. He's a better audio + tactile learner, anyway. Ludwig’s been trying to get him into audiobooks with varying rates of success.

He wanted to own a monster truck SO BAD as a kid. Getting to participate for the first time in the kart tournaments was the best day of his life, and one of the most terrifying for everyone else.

Has a pretty balanced diet due to working out a lot, probably compared to most of his siblings, but he'll never turn down a nice rack of ribs, especially BBQ. Slow cooked and so tender it falls off the bone? Roy would kill a man.

No one, other than his siblings, knows his eye color. The story as to why he never removes his glasses changes whenever someone asks.

Knows how to sew, though he doesn't tell people often due to his "cool" persona. He learned it because he wanted to have patches on his jackets, and after pestering Wendy to do it enough times, she taught him.

While Wendy's definitely the more beach-y of the two, he also likes tanning in the sun and surfing on the waves. He prefers hotter temperatures to cold, and while he hates the winter and snow, he loves snowball fighting (especially dumping piles of it on top of his siblings).

Has a high tolerance for spicy things. He chews fire flower seeds when he's stressed, and has a particular fondness for good chili.

Knows his way around a car and its engine, and keeps a collection of vintage magazines of older muscle cars.

He generally doesn't deal with flowers, but he's got a soft spot for hydrangeas and lavender. Reminds him of childhood.

He loves chip snacks, all flavors of them. Ludwig used this to his advantage as a kid and turned him onto apple and banana chips. He keeps a stash hidden for cooldown munchies after a workout.

If he ever learned an instrument, it'd probably be either the bass guitar or a drum set. Larry is trying to lure him into practicing more so they can start a band.

A fan of classic rock music, with some hints of metal. He partially gets this from Bowser; so much so, in fact, that when paired with his knowledge of car maintenance and learning about speakers, ended up spawning Roy's Smooth Sounds.

While he's all for bucking the rules, especially if they're stupid in his eyes or it helps him somehow, he's actually one of the few siblings who thrives on routine. Makes it easier to put his time in 'blocks' and work around them if need be.

He keeps a calendar and in his room for remembering important events, both for the castle and things his siblings have going on. Wendy keeps trying to gift him journals to use, he keeps trying to remember to use them, and ends up forgetting regardless.

Likes watching car showcases and auctions in his free time. Gives him inspiration for customizing his own vehicles, since he and Iggy are banned from collaborating on cars since The Incident™.

While he can do magic with his wand just fine, it's not his preferred fighting method; why waste time studying spells when you can just punch the thing in half the time? He was, however, the second to learn how to transform his wand into a weapon.

Not a big candy person, but his favorites are malt balls and anything with peanut butter. Will also never turn down a nice slice of chocolate cake, especially if Wendy makes it.

Favorite fruits are cantaloupe and mangoes, especially if it's hot out. Avocado is pretty good, too, but he prefers that in dips and spreads, especially if paired with bacon.

What makes him especially dangerous isn't just his strength and his Bill Blaster, but his stamina; his determination to win, along with his ability to keep going in spite of all obstacles or enemies in his path, makes him kinda terrifying to face.

He's a bit of a night owl, which works out well for night school. It also means he gets to affectionately bully any of his siblings who think not sleeping is a good idea.

His favorite school subjects vary. Literature he doesn't do well in because of how subjective and interpretive it is, but he's good at math because of the consistent formulas. He's not too bad at geography, either, and history is interesting in small doses. Shop classes he does very well in, too.

Most likely out of all his siblings to get a tattoo. Probably something across the knuckles or on his upper arm.

He's one of the stricter siblings when it comes to his army, and runs a fairly tight ship, but he's also the kind of higher-up who will take the select few who do well out to a steakhouse to celebrate.

Cannot, for the life of him, stand menial tasks and busywork like sweeping, sorting papers, organizing, etc. He feels like he’ll crawl out of his skin from boredom. It's why he bribes his siblings to do it whenever he can.

He's a fairly good cook, and can follow a recipe with ease, he just doesn't like how long it takes. He leaves that to Larry and Morton.

Knows how to work a grill like nobody's business. You invite him to a cookout and he’ll make you the best burger or hot dog you could ever want.

His favorite sport is wrestling, as well as all forms of boxing. He’ll respect the rules in the ring if there’s something important at stake, but with his siblings? He fights dirty and does not care.

#smb #super mario bros #super mario #koopalings #roy koopa #roy #cocoapost #gif #headcanons #HE'S HERE #it's been a while since the last one #last one left is morton and then we're complete!#roy's surprisingly hard to headcanon for!#but it's a fun challenge

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paeliae-occasionally · 4 months ago

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WIP Ask Tag! Part 2

Idea by the incredible @the-letterbox-archives.

Premise: Open the floor for questions about your WIPs/OCs/ creative processes, etc.

I did one of these yesterday about mainly characters and I really enjoyed answering questions so I am making a second post to encourage more questions, but mainly new questions about the world’s history and the cities and empires.

Some important events you can ask about:

The godly war / the separation: the gods split into factions and fight after the death of Rin

The dissolution: a war between the mages and the gods because the mages try to achieve immortality and reach into the territory of the gods.

The blood wars: the isreni people fight the Haemocrafters.

The clover wars: War of different Altic Kings in the tribal period of the Altic people.

The Mist war: the mages of Onkairel search for a way to remove the permanent mist that shrouds the steppe next to their city. They end up unleashing powers long banished.

The Tiel’Drysar: a society of people who die and come back with the same memories in a different body. They also exterminate necromancers.

I am also open to any general questions and I always love magic and plot questions!

Tagging

Tagging @kaylinalexanderbooks, @phoenixradiant, @poethill, @the-golden-comet, @drchenquill

@sunglasses-in-the-bentley, @leahnardo-da-veggie, @quillswriting, @willtheweaver, @emabatis,

@elizaellwrites, @rivenantiqnerd, @the-letterbox-archives, @yourocdoeswhat, @yourpenpaldee

@i-am-moss-the-boss, @illarian-rambling, @aintgonnatakethis, @sunflowerrosy, @diabolical-blue,

@dyoniawrites, @fortunatetragedy, @fourwingedwriter, @halfbakedspuds, @honeybewrites

@just-emis-blog, @katenewmanwrites, @leitereads, @leitereads, @lunaeuphternal

@veil-of-exordia, @bluewritesbadly @bookish-karina, @notnulli, @mk-writes-stuff

@tildeathiwillwrite, @wyked-ao3, @winvyre, @saturnine-saturneight and @theink-stainedfolk

#writeblr #writing #writers on tumblr #writing community #fantasy worldbuilding #history #Paeliae Lore

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red1culous · 2 years ago

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Ambrosia

A/N: Inspired by a scene from 1883.

You sit. Hunched over assignments you were meant to have finished grading two days ago. You’ve been sitting in that same spot since late morning nursing the same cup of cold coffee. The patrons of the small cafe did not seem to mind seeing as you were a regular who tipped well.

Every inch of your tiny table was covered with assignment booklets. You had separated them into piles of ‘Good’, ‘Meh’ and ‘WTF is this shit’. You look up from the mess in front of you and focus your eyes on something other than badly written sentences and plagiarised paragraphs. Blinking rapidly and pinching the bridge of your nose to ease the familiar throb of an approaching cluster headache your eyes see the afterimage of red scrawls and circled words. After a few seconds the scene in front of you starts to come into focus. It is magical to say the least like you were sitting in an Edward Hopper painting.

Because the sun was quite high in the sky the light enters through the large cafe doors painting an image that starts low and arches high up across the back wall. Your eyes follow its trajectory and you squint slightly as you drag them across the uninterrupted expanse of blue from the sky that’s reflected in through the sun and rain worn streaky windows. A single shaft of light splits from its main funnel and falls slantwise revealing something, or rather someone who quite literally takes your breath away.

You see her face illuminated by a rosy glow. Her hair is tied into a neat bun and it sparkles in the refracted light as if it were ablaze. You sputter and choke on your spit which causes her to lift her head in your direction. She’s watching you. Or at least you think she’s watching. You can’t see her eyes through the dark sunglasses shielding them. If it wasn’t for the small hint of a crooked smile she gives you would be none the wiser.

It takes you a good amount of time to muster up the courage to walk over to her. “Hi” is all you can manage. Your voice suddenly sounds too loud and it carries to the every corner of the space around you. You feel the blood rush to your feet and your stomach does a little flip.

“No” she replies.

“Wh-what?” you stammer out. Every last ounce of confidence you had slowly fizzles away like a deflating balloon.

But she also smirks a little bit more.

“Ok say it then” she turns in her seat to face you.

You raise a questioning eyebrow at her and she chuckles softly. “You came over to get my name and or my number, yes.”

Her words come out more a statement than a question. You are pretty scared at this point but there is no turning back. You are fully committed to this embarrassment and by God you were going to let it play out completely.

“No, actually” you finally reply.

“Oh…” Your answer takes her by surprise and you applaud yourself internally when you notice a slight blush travel up her neck and settle on her cheeks. “What did you…” she starts but you interrupt her quickly.

“I wanted to ask if you’d remove your sunglasses” you gesture acting as if you were removing glasses from your face.

She scrunches up her brows. “Why?” she asks genuinely confused.

Taking a half step closer you fidget with the fraying ends of your jacket sleeve. It’s now or never. “I just wanted to see if your eyes were too pretty for me.”

She laughs dryly and shakes her head. One side of her cheek half dimples and you find it adorable. She removes the dark glasses and you smile. Her eyes are lovely, you wonder what they would look like in the full sunshine. Or closer up.

“So what’s the verdict?” she asks breaking you out of your trance.

“Well…” you answer taking a half step away from her. You cough through a chuckle at your silly little secret thoughts. “I was right” you answer, “much too pretty for me.”

She genuinely smiles exposing the whites of her teeth. You’re starting to love that dimple on her cheek and the laugh lines that crinkle of the edge of her eyes.

Tagging: Plse let me know if you would like to be tagged or removed from the list entirely ❤️

@whataloadof @when-wolves-howl @youralphawolf72 @blackwidowismylove @screechcat @readings-stuff @scarlettsnat

#natasha romanoff x fem!reader #natasha x reader #ambrosia #redfic #black widow x reader #natasha romanoff x reader

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runawayonryo · 1 year ago

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In the beast's Den

{K. Heisenberg x GN! reader}

Chapter two: trusting the beast

Your cold shaking hands grip the cold, steel sides of the chair; desperately trying to ground yourself as well as proving that this indeed is reality.

In that moment the man who introduced himself as Heisenberg, curses under his breath at his cigar accidentally extinguishing.

The agitated lord flicks his wrist, a zippo-lighter levitating from his pocket and towards his cigar. Your eyes are glued on this; mouth agape and in awe as the lighter floats in the air directly at the tip of his cigar.

“Kid- eyes up ‘ere”

He snaps his fingers at you, motioning for you to look up at his face whilst he speaks.

When his cigar is lit; the lighter makes itself back into his pocket seemingly with magic.

“Now- I wouldn’t bother giving you this offer if i didn’t see… potential”

He grumbles out as he takes a long drag from his cigar; blowing smoke out in your direction. The feeling of his hazel eyes staring directly at you is overwhelming, especially when his eyes are covered by small round sunglasses.

“Potential…?”

Heisenberg nods; crossing his arms as he leans against the wall behind him; eyes still piercing your soul in an almost predatory look.

“Exactly… y’got a good head on your shoulders- something rare in this damned village”

Gulping, you keep listening to the older man’s words as he takes slow and heavy steps towards your sitting form-

“I could use someone like you, someone quick, someone not from this shithole-”

“Shithole?”

Your question was rhetorical, honestly it was obvious why he considers it a shithole.

Within a flash; his large gloved hand rests under your chin, lifting it to meet his gaze.

“Someone with a smart mouth… join me, and survive this place- you’d be under my protection. No lycans, villagers or super-sized-vampire-bitches could threaten you”

It’s difficult to trust this lord, to trust anyone here; though, do you have any other options? The possibility of death if you dared taking a step outside, was way too high for comfort; thus, your decision would be simple, if not for that feeling.

“How can I trust you?”

He grins like a cheshire cat; his sharp canines bright in the dim light as he takes steps towards his wooden desk. His hand reaches up for the large rag and in one swift motion, is removed; exposing the pictures and notes you saw mere minutes ago.

“How could you trust me hm?”

His gaze briefly lingers on the board before landing back on you; cigar still hanging from his lips as one of the many knives on his desk floats in the air, the tip pointing at one of the many pictures.

“A super-sized vampire bitch!”

The knife now sticks in the picture of the pale lady with deep red lipstick; the knife after a second retracting and levitating once again.

“Ugly-ass knockoff jigsaw puppet and owner!”

The knife flies towards the picture of the woman in a black veil; a pale doll in hand.

“A disgusting moronic fish freak!”

The knife flies at the picture of this thing you looked so confused at earlier.

“A narcissistic, psychopathic, crazy bitch!”

With inhuman force, the knife shoves itself into the board at the largest picture; the woman with a golden mask, a golden halo behind her head, the supposed leader of these beings.

“The narcissistic crazy bitch- who is that?”

You ask, hands nervously fidgeting as the lord sighs deeply.

“That bitch, is Mother Miranda- the one responsible for all this. The cunt who turned all of us into monsters! I didn’t choose this life, I want nothing more to be free of that bitch! Unlike my siblings- those freaks remain loyal to that witch…”

The raw emotion in his voice was unexpected. He seems tired, angry and even-

Sorrowful?

“Siblings?”

“She refers to us as her children… a fucking joke- I’m nothing like those other midless sheep! All I desire is freedom! Freedom from that witch! In exchange for your loyalty and assistance; you’ll have my protection from the dangers of this place, you’d survive all this”

Heisenberg seems eager to convince you to join him; to join his ‘mission’ in freedom…

As much as you were afraid, you also didn’t want to be subjected to those other ‘children’ he speaks of. Especially not without protection from someone stronger, knowledgeable.

Thoughts raced, unsure of exactly what to chose; you fear to trust him, yet he somehow seemed genuine.

His shoulders drop as he takes swift steps closer, resting one of his large hands on your shoulder; his hazel eyes certainly staring at you through those sunglasses.

The hand resting on your shoulder, slowly makes it’s way back under your chin, lifting your chin to look up and meet his gaze.

Whatever weird form of manipulation or seduction he was applying at this very moment; it worked like a charm. Your shoulders relaxed as you nod, actually trusting the beast.

His cocky smirk returns as he pulls away; tossing his cigar to the ground and stomping on it.

“Right choice kid- follow me”

#karl heisenberg x reader #karl heisenburg fanart #karl heisenburg x reader #resident evil village #resident evil #karl heisenberg

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a-solitary-sea-rover-backup · 1 month ago

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I finally finished this fic after weeks and weeks!

Taihoro pulled her helmet off as she made her way down the dock, shaking out her teal-streaked dark hair. The lighthearted fun of the World Series was over, racing with the rest of the Class of 2024 with no real consequences. Now, as her cohort fought to knock each other out of the Louis Vuitton Cup, for Tai and Team New Zealand, there was only endless in-house practice— simulations, solo runs, and racing with her older sister Te Rehutai.

And in her ear, always the voice of—

"Taihoro?" A dark-haired shipboy stood on the dock in front of the young AC-75, clipboard in hand. With his mirrored sunglasses pushed up into his bushy dark brown hair, she could see Black Magic scrutinizing her for any sign of injury or weakness, his pale blue eyes as sharp and cold as usual. Sky blue like hers, like almost all sailfolk of the Team New Zealand family. Brian Murray was her much-older brother— or perhaps a cousin once removed or uncle at this point— but during the workday, all that mattered was that he was her coach.

#writing #fanfiction #link #Brian Murray #Tai Murray #Olivia Archer #Octavia Archer #personifications

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ohbutwheresyourheart · 8 months ago

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I have far too many half-written things in my google docs that have never seen the light of day, so I've decided to start buffing up the best ones and posting them unfinished. Maybe I'll come back to them later, or if not at least someone will hopefully enjoy reading them as they are.

First up: fragments from a WIP based on the concept that Eva did not actually die when the twins were children; instead, she got caught in the magic field of a Geryon and sling-shotted to the middle of Devil May Cry 5. What I wrote revolved more around the aftermath, and Eva trying to come to terms with the modern world, her losses, and not knowing what happened to her sons.

The building is echoing once the buffer of trash is removed. High ceilings dissipating into shadowy un-shapes. Dark corners shifting like predators turning and twisting. It’s too like the manor in those early days before she tamed it as Sparda had; made it respect her for all she was a mortal woman.

Made it respect her because she was a mortal woman.

She feels so tired, though; too tired to start a fresh war. So Eva lives with the shadows and whatever they may hide. At least it’s not outwardly hostile. Even if it was, by rights she shouldn’t be comfortable here.

This domain, this world, empty of her sons.

----

Swollen and fragile all at once, like a wine glass held too long in hot water - ripe for shattering with a single thoughtless move.

Midmorning is an inauspicious time for any demon to appear; Eva uses the reprieve to walk the city streets. Capulet is smaller than Red Grave but still a decent-sized city in its own right, checking off all the requirements: university, libraries, museums, churches, arts district, cheerful cafes dotting the sidewalk…

A few months ago -- no, thirty years ago -- she would have delighted in browsing the art supplies store, or checking the museum events for child-friendly exhibitions (but boys you must behave), or laughing into her coffee as two eight year olds descended into extensive debate on the merits of chocolate cake over strawberry tarts.

Now she buys peppermint tea in a to-go cup and takes it to the park.

Capulet is unexpectedly windswept in August, errant breezes stirring up the parched over-long grass around her ankles and pulling her hair, strand by strand, out of the confines of her ponytail.

The park is quietish; the younger children are out in force but a university city never really feels alive during the summer while the students are away. She follows the winding gravel path towards the duck pond at the centre and circles it once, twice. Watches other mothers with children tossing breadcrumbs to the ducks; running; playing.

“Why don’t you go and play, boys? Just--”

“Be careful, I know.” Vergil’s eyes, already so much older than they should be. “Why even try when we have to pretend?”

She’d never come up with a good enough answer for him.

Trish finds her on a bench. She sits down without ceremony or preamble, sunglasses her one concession to the summer day but otherwise as unaffected by the August sun as she no doubt will be by the coming autumn chill.

(Eva is rapidly coming to dislike Trish. Not because she is a demon, per se, but because it’s so fucking demoralising to constantly see the perfect version of herself; an Eva who will never succumb to sagging tits or a bloated stomach or even messy hair.)

“Are you all right? You’re sitting there like a ghost.”

Eva sips her tea to save herself from an immediate response. The cup is almost empty and the dregs are cold; she doesn’t remember drinking it.

“I’m fine.”

“Mm.” Trish doesn’t look as though she believes Eva in the slightest, but thankfully doesn’t push the issue. “Well, in that case, I have a favour to ask.”

“Oh?” Eva becomes instantly wary. Even as despondent as she feels, she knows better than to thoughtlessly promise a demon anything.

Something flashes in Trish’s eyes, gone too quickly for Eva to define it. The slow smile that curls the corners of her lips is equally inscrutable.

“Don’t worry, it’s not a favour for me, exactly,” she assures her, waving a perfectly manicured hand (again that familiar burst of jealousy towards a creature that could control their human physical appearance at will; Sparda had never had a bad hair day in his life--). “Lady heard you’re quite the dab hand with magic and she wanted to know if there were any goodies you could make for her, or teach her, or… whatever, really.”

“Last I saw, Lady has a tongue in her head,” Eva replies coolly.

Trish’s smile widens. “Oh, she does, but she’s out of town this week and when I saw you I thought I might as well ask now as later.”

“Mm.” Now it’s Eva’s turn to give Trish a searching look. She taps her nails (not perfectly manicured by any definition of the term) against her empty cup, wishing there was some left; she could make use of a timely pause to sip her tea and give herself a moment to think. “Well, I’m happy to talk to Lady about what she needs when she’s back in Capulet.”

“I’ll pass the message on.” With one flowing, elegant movement, Trish gets to her feet and stretches like a languid cat. “I’d better get going. See you around, Eva.”

“Yes, see you,” Eva mutters to her back; Trish is already going, sashaying through the park like she owns the place.

Something about this doesn’t smell right and Eva has sense enough to be cautious.

And yet… When she returns to Devil May Cry, she spends time going through the cupboards she’s restocked and checking her herbs. She uses the laptop Nero and Nico set her up with and finds websites that sell the supplies she needs -- whether advertised for witchcraft or otherwise -- and prepares lists of useful tricks; things that used to give her the edge she needed to survive another night.

It might not be useful for Lady -- if, indeed, Lady even asked the question -- but it’s useful for Eva. Practically, because she can’t be too careful even now, and in the abstract; when she goes to bed that night, Eva sleeps better than she has in weeks. Her hands might be dry and her nails might be broken, but with her fingertips stained and smelling of herbs once again she almost begins to recognise herself.

----

To Eva’s palpable surprise, Lady does actually swing by Devil May Cry the following week.

“Trish told me she saw you,” Lady explains as she unholsters Kaline Ann and sets her down on the desk. “Did she tell you the kind of thing I was looking for?”

Because there is truth in this cover story that Lady and Trish have concocted between themselves. Yes, mainly they want to check on Eva, but it also never hurts for an old bitch to learn some new tricks.

And how does Eva look? Less like Trish than she used to; Eva has taken to shoving her hair up in a loose bun at the back of her head (the better, Lady assumes, to keep it out of her face now she was no longer playing lady of the manor) and has swapped her elegant black gown for a serviceable sweater and jeans. On her feet, Doc Martens. On her hands, broken nails and stained fingertips. In her eyes - fire.

“In passing.” Eva is - suspicious? Well, Lady can’t entirely blame her for still finding her feet with all of them, particularly Trish - though Trish herself had taken it as a compliment that Eva considered her enough potential trouble to be wary of.

“You’re welcome to anything I can teach you, although…” Eva’s gaze slides across and down to Kalina Ann. There is something distinctly hungry (covetous?) in her eyes. “You seem to have the offensive side pretty well covered.”

Lady grins, one firearms aficionado to another. “Give Nico a call if you want anything - you can’t beat the Goldsteins for guns and for you she’ll probably do it for free.”

That does it: the reserve cracks and Eva grins back. It is not the kind, motherly smile that Dante probably remembers. This is the smile that a tiger would give you if it could.

“Noted.” Eva pulls out a stack of books from one of the desk drawers. “Now, where do you want to start?”

It does not take long for Lady to be very, very glad she arranged this meeting. Eva is an absolute trove of knowledge. Much of it Lady already knows, and some of it is interesting but not strictly relevant -- Lady’s fighting style being much more full-on than Eva’s tactics lend themselves to -- but she still picks up plenty.

----

Nero is a dutiful, darling boy. He checks in with her, regular as clockwork, trying to disguise the anxiety in his voice. He doesn’t know how to be with her, but he tries nonetheless.

He asks her, often, to visit him in Fortuna; to meet his girlfriend and the children they have adopted. Eva demurs and lets him think she’s still putting off the inevitable label of grandmother. It’s not a total lie, but it’s far from the primary reason. Maybe, perceptive as he is (and he is; Sparda’s eyes staring at her, seeing straight through her despite the un-Sparda-ish mouthing off), he knows that, too, and is giving her time.

It’s just… what if they come back, and she isn’t here to greet them? What if they think she’s truly gone again? She can’t hurt her boys like that a second time. She can’t let them down again when they look for her, reach for her. God knows she was worth fuck-all to them then and even less now, as much protection as a paper cut-out, but if they know she’s willing to put herself between the two of them and danger, then… that’s something, isn’t it? However little, it’s something.

The latest attempt comes on a late autumn evening. October is slipping away, each dark evening bringing them a little closer to Halloween. The most enterprising of the local children have already ventured out trick-or-treating with the excuse that the 31st is a school night, and Eva watches troupes of ghosties and ghoulies and long-legged beasties parade past the windows with a bittersweet smile. She bought a bag of candy but doesn’t really expect any trick-or-treaters; Dante, with good reason, didn’t take pains to encourage the local kids to come calling.

Nero and Nico pull up, a welcome interruption to her descent into melancholy, out of breath but radiant from their latest skirmish. They stop by Devil May Cry on the pretence of leaving word for Morrison that payment is due, but Nero could do that himself on the little computer phone he carries around with him. In reality, they’re checking on her.

Eva doesn’t mind, really. She likes the company, and the kids (God, she calls them kids, they’re not that much younger than she is) are energetic; it’s hard to be actively maudlin when refereeing a shouting match. Nico especially is nosy and almost impossible to brush off or offend. On every visit, she wheedles a few more secrets out of Eva’s recipe books. Lately, Eva has been amusing herself by giving her tidbits and letting Nico reverse-engineer either the process or the product. Usually, she gets it right. Occasionally, she comes up with something better.

Tonight, though, Eva feels even harder to cheer than normal. Nico is put off by a wad of cash to get takeout -- Sparda laid the bounty of the world at her feet, but Nero and Nico are giving her a world tour laden with grease -- leaving Eva and Nero alone for half an hour. Nero has unchecked notebook privileges, as long as he’s careful with them, and he flicks through the entries thoughtfully.

“How did you learn all this stuff in the first place?”

“It depends which stuff we’re talking about.” Eva leans over his shoulder, pointing to the pages. “Sparda gave me a lot of them; things he’d picked up over the years, I don’t even know where from. But this one -- here -- that was from a hunter I partnered up with a lot in the early days. These tisanes were from my aunt. I used to say she should have been born a mediaeval herb-woman, except they’d have hung her for a witch.”

But Nero has stopped looking at the pages. He’s looking at her instead; thoughtful, in a way that is so Vergil it makes her heart skip a beat.

“What were they like, your family?”

“My family...” How long has it been since family wasn’t Sparda and the boys? How much longer since it meant the house she grew up in, and the people who populated it? “Oh, they -- they’re long gone. Better not to dwell. I have the boys,” Except she doesn’t. “And you, of course.”

Nero isn’t diverted, not for a moment, and the tilt of his eyebrows is pure Vergil. But he lets it go for now.

They taper off into silence. It lasts for a few minutes, Eva turning over possibilities in her mind. The words, when they come, are nevertheless a surprise; something she hadn’t meant to let loose.

“My father was a twin,” she says abruptly. “He and my uncle were thick as thieves. I always used to hope I’d have twins -- they say it skips a generation, so I thought it was likely I would -- and then they’d both always have a friend.”

She lets out a hollow little laugh. A friend. What a fucking fairytale.

Where did she go so wrong? Yes, the boys had always had their spats, but Eva had chalked that up to a mixture of their demonic blood and the marked differences in their personalities, watchful but not truly worried. She tried to encourage them to get along, to talk out their problems, but had also comforted herself that it was something they would grow out of as they got older and developed a bit more emotional maturity. Siblings fought; it was perfectly normal. Even she and Elijah--

Eva squeezes her eyes closed. She can’t think about Elijah right now.

A warm, calloused hand covers her own and Eva opens her eyes to see Nero watching her, his expression unusually serious.

“It’s not your fault,” he tells her, quietly but with a forceful conviction behind his words that reminds her of Sparda. “Yeah, they’re idiots, and they’re both kind of fucked up in their own ways, but it’s not your fault. They’d be a lot worse if it hadn’t been for you.”

Is that true? Eva isn’t sure which is worse; that she has ruined her boys, or that they would somehow be even worse without her.

But none of this is Nero’s problem. Grandson, she reminds herself once again. Grandson. Not a peer, not a comrade to lean on. A young man she needs to protect.

Pull yourself together, Eva.

----

Eventually, Eva gets sick of sitting around Devil May Cry waiting for something to happen.

She has never been a passive person. Eva makes things happen. Ever since Lady asked for some tricks to help her on hunts, Eva has been building up her supplies again. Restocking her herbs, potions, and powders. Dusting off Dante’s collection of magic books (a surprisingly comprehensive collection; Vergil had always been the bookworm, while Dante was too much of a fidget-bottom to sit still for five minutes) and reminding herself of her favourite cantrips. Eventually, she contracts Nico to make her a pair of guns like her old ones.

The last time Eva felt so lost, she was drowning in grief for her husband and it ended in tragedy for her sons. She will not make the same mistake twice. Reaching back through the years, breaking down the walls she had so carefully built up, she remembers how it felt to be fifteen and alone; fifteen and desperate; fifteen and unstoppable.

Then she asks Morrison for some work.

As a young woman trying to break into this line of work, Eva had gotten used to the looks she elicited from these “brokers”. The initial amusement, thinking she’s joking. The surprise when they realise she isn’t. The patronising shake of the head as they assure her this is no work for a pretty little lady like her. Finally, the shock and anger as they hastily reconsidered their position with a gun jammed up against their throats.

Over time, she’d gotten a reputation for being an infernal bitch who was extremely good at what she did, which meant the work came easier. Eventually, by the time she met Sparda, she’d been running her own jobs without a broker at all - unless they were coming to her for a favour.

But that was then. Now she’s back to square one. Unproved. Untried. Untested. It’s aggravating but Eva knows she’ll have to just deal with it if she wants an in.

Because Eva is pretty sure she can talk Morrison into kicking a few jobs her way. Asking Lady, or Nero, or Trish to share, though? It will all be there - amusement, surprise, disbelief - and the worst thing of all is that they will be speaking not from baseless stereotyping but all too real knowledge.

Dante told us all about it, Eva. You barely lasted a minute when the demons attacked, isn’t that right? This is way too much for you.

No. She will work until she has beaten the softness out of herself. Until she can go back to them on an even footing. Until it’s second nature once again to have gunpowder on her clothes and the spark of magic at her fingertips. Until the Underworld has learned to fear Sparda’s whore again.

Then she will get their respect, rather than their pity.

Morrison drops by periodically for coffee and a chat. There hasn’t been any money-grubbing yet; Dante owns the office outright - Eva has seen the deed and it’s real enough - and the bills are being paid out of his last earnings. It won’t last forever, but it’s been enough to take one worry off Eva’s mind so far.

Instead, Morrison seems to simply enjoy her company, or maybe he just can’t kick the habit of showing up at Devil May Cry to see Dante. Whatever the reason, Eva enjoys his visits and his dry humour. What Morrison makes of her, she’s not sure; Eva had told him, in a tone that made it clear she was lying, that she was Trish’s long-lost sister. Morrison had simply chuckled and refrained from asking any questions.

That’s one thing Eva always did like about brokers; they’re the kind of people who don’t ask difficult, unnecessary questions.

“You’ve got this place looking real good, Eva.” Morrison looks around with genuine admiration and gestures with his lit cigarette to the spider plant growing ever larger in the corner. “Way better than Dante ever did. Mother of God, the state I’ve seen this office in… well. Maybe best not to elaborate too much there.”

Eva laughs, remembering how Dante always tried his best to weasel out of his chores. Even getting him to make his bed was a challenge. It seems he hasn’t improved with age.

“It’s certainly been quite the project. But, now that it’s done, I’ve been thinking I need something else to do.” Eva watches Morrison carefully, waiting for his reaction. “Do you have any work for me?”

Morrison smirks. “Getting bored already? Yeah, I got a few things on the back burner - the kind of stuff the other ladies think they’re too good for, if you catch my drift, and the kid really has got his hands full.”

...Okay, that was absurdly easy. Eva narrows her eyes, but Morrison doesn’t look like he’s trying to mock her. On the contrary, when he sees her expression, he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“Hey, I don’t control the work that comes in! Besides, pay is pay, am I right?”

“I’m looking for hunting work,” Eva says pointedly, wondering if he’s mistaken her meaning.

“Yeah, yeah, I got you.” Morrison chuckles as he takes a drag on his cigarette. “What, were you expecting me to say no? If nobody will do the work, I won't get paid either.”

“I…” Eva is floored. All of her preparation, all that time spent rehearsing her arguments, and it turns out she doesn’t need any of them. “I was expecting, uh…”

“Pushback?” Morrison gives her a knowing look. “Do you really think I’d have lasted this long with those ladies if I trotted out that kind of line? As far as I’m concerned, if you hang around with Dante, Lady, and Trish, then you know what you’re doing and you can take care of yourself.”

Morrison pulls a notebook out of his pocket and rifles through it, humming under his breath. He tears out a page and walks over to lay it on Eva’s desk.

“Here are the details. Just give me a call when you’re done with them and I’ll arrange your payment. Damages come out of your cut, mind you. If everything goes well, I’ll see what else I have for you.”

----

It really is grunt work, but Eva doesn’t mind; she’s not arrogant enough to think she could jump single-handedly into something like Red Grave, guns blazing.

The job also isn't urgent - hence Morrison being lackadaisical about bullying someone into taking it - which gives her the leisure of reconnaissance and planning time.

An empusa nest out on some waste ground that a local developer bought before noticing his unexpected squatters. Straightforward enough, although Eva takes more precautions than she thinks are necessary just in case. After all, she’s seen her judgement is far from perfect.

But in the end, all goes smoothly. No nasty surprises. Just some nasty stains on the concrete from empusas blown to kingdom come. Eva grimaces at them, hoping they don’t count as “damages”. The land is being developed anyway, right? Surely they’ll be putting down fresh tarmac?

In the end, Morrison does take a cut from her pay, but it’s less than she feared and so Eva swallows it with as much good grace as she can muster. The stack of notes is a reassuring weight in her hand. Ballast, though for (or against) what, she’s not entirely sure. The important thing is that she’s done a competent enough job that Morrison leaves her with the details of another couple of jobs. In this way a reputation is built.

“Morrison,” Eva calls out just before he leaves.

Morrison pauses on the threshold. There’s a beat before he looks back at her over his shoulder and Eva gets the impression he knows exactly what she’s about to ask.

“Do you think he’s coming back?”

Because Morrison is not Trish, or Lady, or Nero. He does not know her connection to these people. To Dante. So he has no reason to lie to her or spare her feelings.

He sucks in a breath, considering. “You know, I’d gotten to the point where I never thought I’d see anything Dante didn’t come back from. So many times I thought he was in way over his head, only for him to walk away laughing. But this job… this felt different from the start. Gave me a sort of -- premonition, you might say.”

A soft hum; something that might have been a laugh, if there was any humour in it, and Morrison shook his head.

“The truth is, Eva, I don’t know. I really don’t. He could come waltzing back in here tomorrow, carrying a pizza and laughing at us all for ever doubting him. Or we might never see him again.”

Eva sinks slowly into the desk chair, feeling the truth of it in her bones. A tidal wave of exhaustion crashes over her, threatening to drown her in one clean swoop. Tired of worry. Tired of uncertainty. Tired of never even having the cold comfort of a body to bury. Tired of that tiny speck of hope that even now refused to be snuffed out completely because, however ridiculous it was to expect it, there was still the chance--

“I knew someone else like that, once,” she hears herself say. “He never did come back.”

Morrison gives her a searching look. He seems, for a moment, to be on the verge of saying something more, but in the end refrains. Instead, he tips his hat to her.

“You take care, Eva.”

“Yeah,” Eva replies distantly. “You too, Morrison.”

----

The work is important for more than Eva’s ego.

Her blood sings in her veins once again. The hum of power at her fingertips, like the whine of electricity. A promise, maybe even a vow if you were so inclined to call it such, that one day in the none-too-distant future a small slice of the world would once again turn at Eva’s call and beckoning. She has known this once before when playing lady of the manor. Now, the power is both weaker, for lack of Sparda’s force bolstering her, and sweeter, for knowing it is all of her own clawing and devising.

Her blood sings and Eva tastes iron and lightning on her tongue. Her fingers smell of metal and herbs and something no mortal can rightly put words to; the tang of the Underworld and the burning sulphur of demons.

When Eva looks at her reflection in the chipped bathroom mirror and sees an old, familiar light in her eyes, she knows it is time.

Very little magic needs to be complicated. The point is will, and the directing of it. For those unfamiliar with the craft then the trimmings of rituals and candles can go a long way in finding that direction.

For those who live long enough to become old hands, just the thinking, coupled with the right runes, is enough. Eva takes a sharp knife, a handful of herbs, and a silver-backed mirror (in this, old ways are better; a mercury mirror would work better still, but this will do for now)... and she searches.

Blood of my blood, flesh of my flesh, soul of my soul, I seek thee now. Come to me, come to me, come to me…

It is a powerful spell. Kinfinding may not be enough to physically draw her boys forth from the Underworld, but it should at least show them to her in the scrying mirror.

Eva seeks until her blood runs dangerously thin and her head pounds and her vision begins to darken. She seeks further still until she knows herself at the very precipice of what she can safely come back from… and only then, with great reluctance, does she let the spell go.

She has not seen them, either of them, even once.

----

Eventually, it feels meaningless to even keep up the pretence she thinks the boys are coming back.

What has happened to them is almost immaterial. The nightmare scenarios are so numerous that eventually they blur together into one long snuff film that leaves her numb. Like Sparda, they were there and then they were not. Like Sparda, she will never know what exactly happened.

Devil May Cry becomes part tomb, part cocoon. She has saved enough money to keep Morrison at bay for a while even after Dante’s funds run out, and she continues to take work for the sake of it, though she doesn’t keep track of her income versus expenditures. If or when the money runs out, she’s not sure. It’s pointless to think so far ahead. Perhaps she’ll just die, like she should have before.

A wife without a husband. A mother without sons. Once, she would have vomited at the thought of a woman identifying herself by the men in her life, but somehow it crept up on her over the years and now she’s left with gaping, bloody holes that gung-ho feminist rhetoric does nothing to paste over.

Nobody seems to notice the change in her philosophy. Though, she gets precious few visitors anyway. Trish and Lady leave her to her own devices, having apparently satisfied their curiosity about her. Morrison has tapered off their tete-a-tetes and only shows up when he wants money. Nero is a busy boy these days.

One night she dreams about them. The dream is very similar to the ones she used to have about Sparda; lifelike, almost lucid dreaming, where everything was the same - she is in bed, having just awoken - except he is there, smiling gently, brushing her hair out of her eyes.

Sleeping in, Eva?

Dreaming about the boys is very similar. She dreams she awakens in the night to a sound downstairs. There is no panic of a break-in; nobody bothers her these days. Voices, muffled, from the floor below. Eva calmly gets out of bed, registering even the rustle of the sheets and the cold, bare wooden boards under her feet. She pads slowly out of the bedroom to the top of the stairs.

There they are, standing in the centre of the office, illuminated perfectly by a strip of moonlight through the window. It is like a picture. It is too perfect and too easy. This is how she knows she is dreaming.

Still, for the first time in months, her heart eases.

They are talking softly to each other, too softly for her to catch the words (there is a limit, she concedes, to just how much even her vivid imagination can conjure). Eva doesn’t mind. She stands at the mezzanine and soaks them in.

Dante gestures to the stairs and looks up. He freezes as their eyes meet. Vergil, a half-heartbeat behind his twin, mirrors him.

“...Hey,” Dante croaks, the gesturing hand that had fallen still now awkwardly waving. “We’re home!”

This is more than she expected. Eva’s throat constricts. Even her dreams of Sparda were not so vivid or so long.

“You’re late, boys,” she manages after a moment. “Dinner was hours ago.”

She is trying for levity, trying to play her part in this scene, trying to piece together something happy for when she wakes up, but her voice cracks halfway through the sentence and she finds herself choking on a sob.

Dante is halfway up the stairs in a moment, hand outstretched to her. Eva, too, is reaching out to her little boy and she cries out when she finally has her arms around him again.

She does not get even a heartbeat of joy before the world collapses into shadows and flames. Dante dissolves, her arms closing around thin air, and the staircase morphs into an endless corridor to hell. Her boys are nowhere to be seen, but she can hear them screaming.

Or maybe she just hears her own voice, screaming herself awake.

There are more dreams, afterwards; more recognisable for what they are. Her life runs before her eyes in reverse. Searching for the boys. Watching Sparda walk away for the last time. The face of every person she never saved. Then, at last, the denouement: Elijah, torn open. Her father and uncle staring sightless into an abyss. Her mother reduced to so many scattered chunks of meat.

Eventually, because Eva is someone who makes things happen, not someone things simply happen to, she makes the decision to go back. She has faced Red Grave; faced the ruined manor. It is time to face much older ghosts.

It is a private matter, and so Eva tells nobody of her intentions. She lets Morrison know she will be out of town on personal business, timeline uncertain; she will give him a call when she’s back. He is free, in the interim, to pass her usual work on to other sources.

For anyone else (because she still hopes, deep down, that her boys will one day come home), she leaves a note on her desk.

Out of town for a while.

Eva re-reads the brief scribble and wonders what else to add before realising there really is nothing more to add. No forwarding address or contact number, because she does not want anyone to find her. Anyone who wants her, can wait until she comes back.

She makes it ten minutes out from the city before she turns back to scribble an address at the bottom of her note.

Just in case.

----

Plane tickets are cheap these days, and she has a passport courtesy of Morrison, but Eva elects to drive. Call her old-fashioned, or even just plain curmudgeonly in her old age (ha), but Eva likes the hum of a good motor much better than the press of noisy crowds.

Besides, she’d need a car at the other end of the flight anyway, where she’s going. She can even call it a vacation if she finds a motel to spend each night in. If not -- she’s slept in a car before and it won’t kill her to do it again, especially when the rental is much more comfortable than any old banger she’s passed a night in before.

Highways turn to country lanes as she veers further and further off the beaten track. The temperature drops, too; winter in the shadow of the Appalachian mountains is nothing to sneeze at. Eva has forgotten a lot of things over the years (too many things), but she remembers that. Funny how events and people slide slowly but surely from her mind but sensory impressions remain: the icy, pinesap-tinged tang of morning air in winter; the crackle of a fire; the warm doughy smell and pillowy softness of homemade dinner rolls.

Become someone else, she’d told her younger son as their world burned around them. Change your name, change yourself, and hide. Not easy, no, nothing like easy -- but possible, for the right price. For the price of giving up who you were before.

Except no bargain is ever so neat and no transaction ever so complete.

#devil may cry #dmc #eva #dante #vergil #nero #nico #trish #lady #i have a whole headcanon backstory for eva #shocking revelation: she did not have a good time before meeting sparda!#fragments from the google docs

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