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imagine-darksiders · 3 years ago

Text

A gentle touch.

[Strife/Reader]

Summary: Set three years after humanity is resurrected. Strife shows up unannounced in your bedroom in the middle of the night, which would have been rude enough without him getting blood all over your cream-coloured carpet.

Tags: Blood, injury, PTSD, knife, protective Strife, whump, hurt/comfort, fluff, angst, sharing a bed ;), bandages and cleaning wounds, how not to administer first aid.

-----

You have the apocalypse to thank for turning you into such a light-sleeper.

Even though the nights of sleeping with one eye open are far behind you and Earth is back on the road to a long and arduous recovery, you'll still jolt awake if your unconscious mind hears something scuttle beneath the floorboards of your freshly-restored home, and God forbid a tree branch should happen to scratch at the bedroom window...

Waking up with the feeling that your heart is three beats from bursting right out of your chest is exhausting, to say the least. And it isn't just you who suffers from the onset of hyper-vigilance.

It was a decidedly cruel consequence that the resurrected humans were able to recall their lives before the end of the world. Crueller still, they woke up to remember exactly how and where they eventually kicked the bucket, and of course, nobody knew that a significant chunk of time had passed at all since the end of the world and its rebirth.

They thought they were still in danger.

In one moment, all they knew was immense and excruciating pain, and then, in what seemed like the blink of an eye, they woke up again, screaming and writhing in the echoes of phantom pain that had occurred almost a century ago.

Three years down the line since ‘The Great Waking,’ and there isn’t a human alive who could claim that they’ve slept through an uninterrupted night.

------

The alarm clock on your bedside table has just ticked over to read '2:36am' when your eyes suddenly snap open and you fling yourself upright in bed, your spine ramrod straight and your ears ringing with a sharp, tinny note.

It isn’t a nightmare that wakes you. At least, not this time.

Worse.

It’s a sound.

An out-of-the-ordinary sound that isn't in keeping with the normal ambiance of your bedroom.

But where...?

....It's coming from your window.

Tired eyes swivel to the curtains whilst your hand immediately flies out to blindly fumble with the drawer of your bedside table. Once your fingers find the cold, metal handle, you rip it open and plunge your hand inside, rummaging around until you feel the reassuring grip of your most precious possession.

Your trusty bread knife. Serrated edge, nine inch blade, perfect for cutting slices of toast in the morning and for tearing through the toughened hide of a hungry demon.

Peace between the Universe’s species had been declared once humanity was fully introduced to the connected realms, a decision that suited a vast majority of Creation. Hell, however, had offered up a fair amount of opposition to the notion before eventually conceding and agreeing – albeit begrudgingly – to honour the peace treaty alongside angels, makers, undead and the rest.

Even demon-kind knew not to incur the wrath of humanity's strongest and most ferocious protectors, the Horsemen.

But... there are always exceptions to the rule. Some demons just... hadn't gotten the memo.

It wouldn’t be the first time one of them had tried to make an assassination attempt on humanity’s envoy.

Heart in your throat, you grasp the knife securely in your dominant hand and peer through the darkness towards the window.

Only a sliver of moonlight peeps through a tiny gap in the curtains. In another blink, the light suddenly disappears, and you know better than to assume that the moon has simply ducked behind a cloud.

Something is standing at your window, blocking out the light.

You think you might actually be sick when you hear the sound again, claws scraping on wood – a sound you know all too well – well enough to send your head spinning into a panic.

Swallowing back the nausea in your throat, you brace yourself, instincts flicking between running for the door and knowing never to turn your back on a demon.

Sadly, the decision is swiftly taken out of your hands. Through the darkness and the deafening roar of blood rushing through your ears, you can make out the distinct sound of your window sliding slowly open.

The knife is a comforting weight in your hand. But it’s less than useless if you don’t calm down and try to remember the lessons that Death has taught you. If the eldest Horseman were here, he’d probably have berated you seven ways to Sunday by now for freezing up and missing an opportunity to better prepare yourself for an attack.

A dark silhouette pushes the fluttering fabric of your curtains aside and pulls itself halfway into your bedroom.

Whatever it is, it’s big.

Breath catching in your throat, you clasp a handful of your duvet and get ready to fling it at the intruder as a distraction, hoping that it’ll be enough to buy you a precious few seconds to gain the upper hand. You've learned that humans are inherently weaker than demons, but if there’s one thing you’ve learned from Death, it’s that strength isn’t necessarily the deciding factor in any battle. You still have your wits. You only hope the demon has less.

Two luminous, golden eyes turn in your direction and you press yourself backwards into the headboard.

Several seconds drag by in perfect silence.

Then...

“Hey.”

And just like, that tension leaves your body like a balloon deflating of air and you heave the loudest sigh you can muster, dropping the bread knife into your lap.

“Damn it, Strife! You about gave me a heart attack!”

With a 'whump,' you flop back against your pillows and take a second to breathe whilst one of the Four Horsemen drags himself the rest of the way through your bedroom window.

Strife.

It's only Strife...

Whilst certainly a dangerous being in his own right, you know you have nothing to fear from the Horseman who had all but appointed himself as your friend three, long years ago, all in an attempt to irritate his brother, Death, of course.

At least, at first.

Death was the one who pulled you from the dying Earth and preserved your life-force as you journeyed together on a quest to resurrect humanity, but after he made the jump to introduce you to his 'little' siblings, it had been Strife who'd taken a particular shine to you, and it had everything to do with a compatible, if terrible sense of humour.

That first meeting sparked what was sure to be an interesting friendship between the pair of you.

-----

“So, my brother went and got himself a human, huh?” Strife had teased, pointedly ignoring the withering look he received from Death to add, “Gotta say, I'm impressed, Kid. Didn't think anyone would have the inclination to willingly travel with my brother. But then, I guess...” He trailed off and you could almost see the smirk growing under his mask. “Deathperate times and all that, huh?”

At once, his siblings all groaned out varying noises of disapproval. Fury, the loudest, cocked her hip and shot Strife a frosty glower. “You are singlehandedly ruining our reputation, brother."

“She's right, you know,” you spoke up, trying not to flinch when all eyes snapped onto you once more, “That pun was pretty deadful.”

The brief, startled second of silence was soon blasted apart when Strife threw his head back and barked out a triumphant laugh, while Death slowly turned to look at you, utterly betrayed.

“Ha!” Strife's eyes positively gleamed with mischief, “You're right, human. Guess I should'a considered the reapercussions of a joke like that, huh?”

“I ought to have known introducing you two would be a mistake,” the eldest Horseman grumbled, earning a sympathetic look from War.

“Sorry, Death,” you said with a perfectly straight face, “You want us to get out of your scythe so you don’t have to look at us anymore?”

Strife had howled.

Death, however, merely heaved a long-suffering sigh. Fury's eyes all but rolled into the back of her skull and War just stood there, struggling to keep his lips from twitching at their corners.

And you had looked around at all of them, a little proud and blissfully unaware of what you'd just unwittingly signed yourself up for.

You'd had Strife's attention from that day on.

-----

Shaking off the fond memory, you tiredly will your mind back to the matter at hand.

You reach across your bed and drop the knife back into the drawer before leaning down and skirting your fingers over the wall in search of a switch. The next moment, there's a 'click!' and the room is illuminated by clustered fairy lights that you've draped around your ceiling, forcing you to squint blearily against the intrusion of light as Strife hauls his leg into your room.

“Honestly. How many times have I told you to use the door?”

“S'locked,” he grunts.

You're in the midst of rubbing your eyes to try and stimulate a little life back into your bones, so you miss the way he stumbles a few steps away from the wall and presses a gauntleted hand to his abdomen.

“Yeah, it’s locked because it's-” You take a quick glance at the clock next to you. “-Two thirty in the morning! Strife, I’m supposed to be up at six to meet Ulthane! What do you need so badly that you'd-... Hey.. Are.. are you okay?”

At last taking a long, hard look, it suddenly occurs to you that the Horseman is... not entirely himself.

He's hunched over, his shoulders pulled in around his neck and his chest rising and falling in long, languid motions. The tattered cowl he wears around his neck hangs loose around his collarbones and it faces the very real threat of slipping off to the floor. At last, your eyes drop to the hand that's clamped over the left side of his abdomen and you blurt out a startled gasp.

In the paltry, pink glow of your fairy lights, you spot an unmistakably crimson liquid dribbling between his fingers, starkly contrasted against the steel-grey colour of his armour.

The next few seconds pass in a blur as you frantically begin kicking off your duvet and scramble out of bed, flying across the room to the Horseman's side.

“Strife! What'd you do!?”

“Oh, that's real sweet,” the Nephilim chuckles wryly whilst he collapses back against the wall and slides down it with a strained grunt, “Why're you – ung... assuming it's something I did?”

Without missing a beat, you snap, “This would hardly be the first time you got hurt because you're a wise-cracking jokester with a big mouth! Now tell me who you pissed off?!”

You drop onto your knees next to him and reach out, fingers hovering tentatively above his stomach. With your focus directed away from his helm, Strife doesn’t bother to hide the way his eyes dart from left to right before they settle back on the top of your head.

“Ah, it was... just some demon, caught me slackin', that's all,” he shrugs, letting you carefully grasp his wrist and lift it away from his torso.

At once, fresh blood gushes from a deep gouge cut into in the dark, leather under-skin he wears beneath his cuirass and you yelp, slapping a hand over your mouth in abject horror.

The sound draws Strife's gaze to you and once he spots the shocked despair on your face, he gives himself a mental kick.

He hadn't meant to... He... doesn't like it when you’re scared because of him.

"Hey, no, no – I'm okay!” he rushes to reassure you, “Don't worry about this. I've had worse!”

“That's not the point, Strife!” you argue, dropping his wrist and carding your hands through your hair, “You're hurt now! And I don't – there's so much blood, and you-” Cutting yourself off, you squeeze your eyes shut and inhale deeply through your nose, willing your pulse to ease so that you can rationally address this situation.

Another lesson Death had taught you - stay calm in a crisis. Panic kills.

Releasing a long, hard breath, you peel your eyes open again and nod, jaw set. “Okay. All right. I need to.. I need water. A-and I need to see the wound.”

The interrogation can come after you've dealt with... this.

“There's a bowl and flannel in my bathroom,” you announce, getting to your unsteady feet and gesturing towards Strife's cuirass, “Think you can get that off so I can have a look?”

Huffing out a breath of laughter, the Horseman winks at you suggestively and drawls, “An' here I was doin' things the hard way to get your attention. You know, you didn't have to wait till I got myself gutted before you asked me to take my armour off in your chambers.”

A wise-cracking flirt with a big mouth.

As exasperating as he is though, you don't mind it in the slightest.

This is your usual rapport, after all. A friendly back and forth interlaced with the occasional, flirtatious comment. At first, Strife had only initiated it because it drove an over-protective Death up the wall. The eldest Horseman had almost threatened to 'remove Strife's libido' until you'd up and flirted right back, distressing the old reaper even further.

It's funny. It's innocent. But right now, it's reassuring, if only somewhat, that Strife is behaving just like his shameless, old self.

Besides, you can give back as much as you get.

“Well, I had to wait for a good enough excuse,” you retort, “Couldn't come on too strong and risk scaring you off, now could I?”

In response, Strife just chuckles fondly and watches you turn and speed away to your ensuite, oblivious to the warm, soft glow radiating from his eyes.

In less than a minute, you're briskly striding back into the room, a dripping flannel in one hand and a bowl in the other, and he suddenly remembers that you'd asked him to remove his cuirass.

Mission failed.

But you don't even bat an eyelid to find it still in place, assuming that the Horseman can't get at the catches on the sides in his current state.

In one, smooth motion, you drop down beside him once more and set the cloth and bowl nearby. “Here, let me help..”

The Horseman's pulse sputters when your tiny fingers reach around his torso and fumble with the buckles and straps that keep his armour securely in place. It doesn't pass his notice that your hands are trembling.

“Hey,” he calls, catching your eye for a moment before you go right back to fiddling with the cuirass, “This is nothin’, you know that, right?”

You only press your lips together and hum, clearly skeptical.

You're working fast and in almost no time at all, the straps have been released and you carefully take the Nephilim's broad shoulder, giving it a tug, guiding him to lean away from the walls so that you can start to peel the bulky armour off.

“Nng, hang on,” he mutters.

Reluctantly, you sit back to let him tug his chest piece loose before he simply drops it onto the carpet next to his legs with a dull 'clang.'

Exposed to the soft glow of your lights, your eyes are instantly drawn to the gaping wound that stretches in a horizontal line across the left side of his abdomen. It seems that something really has tried - and nearly succeeded - to gut him. Several inches long and goodness knows how deep, even against the iron-grey colour of his skin, the gash is alarmingly obvious and the blood far, far too noticeable for your liking. It still comes as something of a shock to learn that the Horsemen, barring Death, can actually bleed.

Wordlessly, you pick up the flannel and wring it out into the bowl of water, wondering if he'll mind that you didn't wait for the tap to get warm before you soaked it. It shouldn't surprise you that the Horseman doesn't protest or even flinch when you gently press the wet cloth to the bloodied skin around his wound, nowhere near the gash itself, not until you've cleared away some of the mess around it and determined its real depth.

You don't notice that his eyelids flutter closed once you press the cloth to his skin, nor do you see when their golden light fluctuates in contentment as the fingertips of your other hand press gently to his stomach, the pressure barely enough for him to feel, but enough to keep you steady whilst you daub at his drying blood.

It takes a formidable effort to suppress the shudder that nearly races up his spine. This is the first time he's felt your skin against his without a single piece of armour standing between you.

Creator, you're so soft! Just like he always imagined you would be.

“Jeezus, Strife,” you whistle, abruptly snatching his focus away from the soothing strokes of your silky fingers,“You've made a real mess of yourself. Why on Earth didn't you just go straight to Death? I thought he was the best healer in your family.”

The warm skin underneath your fingertips jumps as the Horseman puffs out a quick laugh, gazing dopily at your temple whilst you wipe at the edges of his wound with small, careful touches.

“He is,” Strife readily agrees, “But the moody bastard wouldn't be nearly as gentle with me as you are.”

You blow an unimpressed huff from your nose and glance up at him in time to catch his lazy wink. “I can always press harder if you like?”

“Nah.” The Horseman settles himself more heavily against the wall, knocking his skull back against it and mumbling, “Just keep touchin' me all gentle like that. S'nice...”

Quite abruptly, the chatty Nephilim goes silent and the glow from his eyes that had illuminated your face only moments ago suddenly disappears.

“Strife?”

He doesn't respond.

“Hey, Cowboy! Don't you fall asleep on me, you hear?”

There's a long stretch of silence, then, “Won't,” he mumbles, cracking one eyelid open to peer down at you.

Harrumphing, you promptly turn back to the gash in his stomach and wipe the last of the dried blood off his skin, still far from clean, but at the very least, better than it had been.

“Right,” you declare, pulling away to stand up and drawing a decidedly petulant whine from the Horseman on your bedroom floor. “I'm gonna go get the first aid kit from downstairs.”

There’s a shift in his expression and something that hinges on alarm suddenly whistles through his blood.

“I won’t be long,” you promise, "Be right – Hey, woah! What're you doing!?”

Darting forwards, you hastily place your hands on each of Strife's broad shoulders, trying to push him back down as he grabs the window sill behind him and begins hauling himself up to his feet.

“What's it look like ‘m doing?” he answers gruffly, slouching forwards as if the weight of his own head is too much to keep aloft, “Comin’ with you”

Sputtering out a few, incredulous noises, you try to make him see sense. “I’ll bring the first aid kit to you! You need to rest! It's bad enough that you already climbed in through my second storey window!”

But Strife, stubborn as a mule and much, much stronger than you, isn't deterred by your protests. Grunting, he curls one arm over his stomach and takes a step forwards, ducking beneath your light fixture and standing to his full, imposing height.

Even with three years of companionship behind you, you’re still frequently taken aback at how effortlessly the Horseman can make you feel small and fragile when you stand close to him.

Knowing full well that you’ll never be able to force him down again, you allow your hands to slip from his shoulders and fall against your sides like lead weights. You aren’t sure why he’s suddenly so hellbent on following you, downstairs, of all places, but you don’t dwell on it, especially given that you’re far more preoccupied with the fresh blood that has already begun trickling out of his wound to replace the stains you’ve painstakingly cleaned away.

Puffing out your cheeks, you raise a hand and pinch the bridge of your nose. “Strife, please sit down?” You aren’t so proud that you won’t resort to begging, tired as you are and exasperated with his obstinate behaviour. “I’m worried about you...”

All at once, the Horseman stiffens. ‘Oh, now she’s fighting dirty,’ he muses to himself.

Gradually, you lift your eyes to meet his and try your very best to glare up at him, pinning him down with all the stern authority you can muster. For several, slow heartbeats, the Nephilim peers right back at you and you’re almost certain that you’ll lose this battle of wills, which is why it comes as such a shock when his fiery gaze falters, wavering slightly before it promptly drops to the floor near your feet.

It's... rare for Strife to be looked at by someone who isn't ashamed to show that they worry about him.

But the way you're looking at him now? Hell, the way you've been looking at him since he clambered through your bedroom window? You're practically broadcasting your concern.

Strife just... isn't used to seeing that. So he glances down instead, finding the fibres of your carpet particularly exhilarating tonight. Slowly, begrudgingly, he sinks down to sit on the edge of your bed, heavy enough that the frame creaks and groans under the weight of a fully grown Nephilim and he has to hold back a contented sigh at the softness beneath his legs.

From the corner of an eye, he can see that your jaw is hanging ajar and remains so until you give yourself a little shake and throw him a satisfied nod. “Thank you,” you huff before turning on your heel and striding purposefully from the room.

Strife listens raptly to your footsteps disappearing down the staircase, unaware that his hands have curled into tight fists around your duvet.

'It's fine,' he assuages the insistent voice at the back of his head, 'She's fine.'

He took care of the threat. That demon asshole isn't coming after his friend.

You’re only downstairs. He can already hear you pushing open the door to your little kitchen whilst the rest of his senses remain trained on the sounds and smells of the night.

It isn't as though something bad might happen just because his eyes aren't fixed upon you...

Frankly, he thinks he’s being more than generous to allow a full, Earth minute to pass as he taps his heel impatiently against the side of your bed.

Didn’t you say you’d be right back?

...

“Fuck it...”

-------

Perhaps, in hindsight, keeping your first aid kit on the top of the fridge hadn’t been one of your brightest ideas, given that you need a chair to reach it. Then again, securing immediate access to bandages and plasters hadn’t exactly been on the forefront of your mind when you were rebuilding your old home from the ruins it had been left in.

With a grunt, you drop your rickety kitchen chair next to the fridge and clamber up onto the seat. “I have got to find a better place for you,” you grumble at an apathetic first aid kit that sits gathering dust near the wall. Stretching your arm out, you manage to snag it by the handle and drag it towards you-

“The hell're you doing!?”

The violent jolt that shoots through you like lightening nearly sends you toppling off the chair. You let out a yelp, just barely catching yourself on the fridge with your free hand before you whip about to see none other than Strife silhouetted in the kitchen doorway.

“Wh- the hell are you doing!?” you retort, knitting your brows into a frown and clutching the first aid kit against your heaving chest, “Why aren’t you upstairs?”

The Horseman’s glowing eyes are fixed unsettlingly on the chair beneath your feet and rather than answer the question, he ducks under the doorframe and thunders towards you in a few, short strides, leaving you with no time to protest before he suddenly sweeps you up off the chair and into his arms, caging you against a solid chest.

At once, you begin to struggle. “Strife! Your wound! Put me down, you'll hurt yourself!”

But the Nephilim is hardly paying attention. His glare lingers on the flimsy, wooden chair legs for a moment before he flicks his gaze towards the large window above your sink, noting with no small degree of distaste that it isn't even shut.

It’s like you’re inviting danger in.

If you had any idea of the fate he and his siblings are currently trying to protect you from, you might just try a little harder to take better care of yourself.

“Hey!” you continue to protest against his hold but manage to refrain from jostling about too much, mindful of his injury. “For god's sake! What's gotten into you?!”

He offers little more than a noncommittal grunt in response and begins trailing back towards the staircase, casting brief glances at the french doors leading out onto your patio.

'Structural weakness,' he registers, 'Perfect point of entry for anything smaller than a Trauma...'

Shaking his head, he turns sideways to fit you through the kitchen door and takes the stairs up to your room.

After a second, he lowers his eyes to meet yours and finds himself meeting a highly unimpressed scowl. “What?” he asks, the very picture of innocence.

Raising your brows, you snap, “Don't you 'what' me! The hell is all this about? I told you to stay put!”

“You were takin' too long,” he shrugs.

“Too long!?” Indignant, you flick your wrist and rap the first aid kit against his collar bone, “I was gone a minute, max! If you were so worried about me taking too long to fix you up, then why are you moving around and making your injury worse!?”

The light of Strife's golden gaze dims and he turns his head away, staring up towards the top of the stairs and your bedroom door beyond. “S'not me m' worried about,” he mumbles.

It's such an about-face from his usual demeanour that you can do little but blink dumbly up at him and fall still against his chest, your mouth hanging agape.

In silence, the Horseman ducks through the door into your room and sidles over to the bed where, hesitantly, he lowers you down until you're sitting safely on the edge.

In the next moment however, just as Strife drops heavily onto the bed next to you, you slip away and settle on the floor instead, placing the first aid kit beside his boots and fumbling with the latches.

Despite blowing out a rough grumble of disapproval that sounds entirely too much like War for his liking, he lets you go.

Chewing on your lip, you stare at the contents for a moment before snatching up a pack of antiseptic wipes, tearing one out and bringing it up to his stomach.

“You want to tell me why you just exacerbated your injury to rescue me from my kitchen chair?” you ask him, adding as an afterthought, “This might sting a bit..”

When he doesn't reply, you glance up and quirk a brow at the underside of his chin, only to catch him peering back at you from behind heavy-lidded eyes. Then, with a weary sigh, he sags forwards and raises a hand to rub at the back of his neck, looking sheepish, of all things.

Unable to dispel your frown, you blindly begin brushing the wipe underneath his bleeding wound.

He doesn't even wince.

Strife tips his helm towards the bedroom window and slumps further backwards into your mattress, seeming so entirely out of place amidst the colourful duvet cover and frilly cushions.

“Okay,” he mutters, “I uh, I got a confession to make.”

Interest piqued, you make an acknowledging sound at the back of your throat and return your attention to his abdomen.

“Death didn't want us to tell you about this,” he continues quietly whilst you toss the now ruined wipe over your shoulder and pull out a fresh one, “And, to be honest, neither did I. We didn't want you to have to worry, y'know?”

You don't know. And you nearly ask him what you should be worrying about, but you soon let your mouth fall shut and settle for humming curiously instead, trusting that he'll tell you soon enough anyway.

There's a long pause, during which you find the courage to bring your fingers close to the edges of his wound and immediately have to withhold a gag when the motion sends another spout of blood oozing from the cut and dribbling down your wrist.

After a moment, Strife huffs and forges ahead, “Course, War and Fury did want to tell you-”

He's stalling, you realise belatedly.

“-War thinks you have every right to know. And Fury said there's nothin' for you to worry about anyway, cause we've got your back.”

“Fury said that?” you ask distractedly, dropping the wipe and rummaging around for a gauze pad. In response, Strife exhales, a tiny, hidden smile creeping onto his lips. “Fury says a lot of stuff about you that you don't know about.”

Gently, you unroll the gauze and press it against his wound. “Wow, you sure that's your sister? Sounds like she might've been body snatched.”

“Ha!” The Horseman suddenly throws his head back. “Well, if she has been replaced, I sure as shit ain't going lookin' for the original. This Fury is... she's...”

He pauses, tipping his head in thought before eventually settling on, “She's learning.”

You blow out a long, impressed whistle and he nods his agreement, adding, “Yeah, s'weird for all of us too.”

The room lapses into silence once again as you stretch the gauze across Strife's abdomen and mutter, “Hold this,” before your hands are retreating and the Horseman's slide down to keep the bandage in place.

Reaching into the box once more, you take some bandages and begin to unfurl them gingerly over the top of the gauze. “Not hurting you, am I?”

You miss the soft expression he aims at the top of your head. “Never.”

You're more than aware that he probably won't tell you you've hurt him even if you were to stick your fingers in the wound twist them.

“Sooo~....?” you prompt.

Peering down at you, Strife cocks his head to one side and echoes, “Soooo?”

“What did Fury and War think I should know?”

“Oh. Right...” His reluctance is as painfully obvious as a slap to the face but you're slightly more focused on plunging your hand back into the first aid kit and rooting around for a roll of adhesive tape.

He observes you for a moment, growing more and more certain that despite your curiosity, you aren’t actually paying a great deal of attention to his words. Quite abruptly, he asks, “You listening?”

Emitting little more than a vague hum, you finally snag the tape and run your fingernail along the smooth surface, searching for the ever-elusive end.

“You sure?” Strife grunts skeptically, “Kid, this is kind of important.”

Without missing a beat, you nod your chin towards his injury and reply, “Yeah, well, you're kind of important too, buddy.”

Oh.

Oh, that's...

Strife wracks his brain, trying to pluck an appropriate response from amidst his tumbling thoughts. Part of him wants to scoff – of course he's important! He's Strife! The best, damn marksman who ever walked the realms of existence.

But then, there's another part of him that lurks deep behind the walls of hubris and brass he's been building meticulously for centuries, and it gives a little leap at the sound of your words, delighted beyond measure.

Averting his gaze, Strife lets out a chuckle. “You're getting soft.”

“Ah, I've always been soft.”

His heart thrums. “Wasn't talkin' about you, kid.”

You shoot him a smirk as you stick a piece of tape over the bandages covering his injury. “Well, if you're talking about yourself, then you're wrong again. You aren't getting soft. You've always been soft.”

The Horseman mutters something incoherent, but it's his distinct lack of an articulate response that speaks volumes to your ears.

The slight pressure of your fingers as they prod at the tape with tentative care leaves him mourning the centuries he's gone without knowing such a gentle touch. Rolling his eyes down to you, his smile droops and he sighs, sagging forwards to rest his elbows on his knees just as you attempt to place another strip of tape.

“Strife!” you complain, leaning back, “I need to put more tape on!”

He merely blinks at you languidly and says, “Later. I want you concentratin' on me right now.”

“I've been concentrating on you all night,” you huff, though you eventually concede and sit back on your haunches, peering up at the Horseman expectantly.

Studying your face for another moment, he breathes a long sigh and gestures to his stomach. "I told you a demon did this..."

“Uh huh...”

Solemnly, Strife continues, “So more specifically, it was a Shadow Caster. Been on her trail for a couple of weeks now. Finally caught up with her on some farmlands west of the city...”

“Okay?” you nod, digesting the information, “And why were you on her trail?”

He hesitates, flicking his eyes between you and the window a few times before he quietly admits, “She was comin’ after one of my friends...”

“Who?”

The look he throws you is so pointed, you suddenly feel like a fool for missing the obvious.

“Ah.” Understanding, you slowly nod your head.

“Yup.”

“But, she's dead now, right?” You gesture to his wound. “You came straight here after killing her.”

Strife's eyes darken further and each time they try to land on your face, they seem to slide right off again and drop to the carpet. “Uh, yeah. She's dead.”

You heave a sigh. “She wasn't the only one who's after me.”

“... No..”

“I see.” Inhaling long and slow through your nose, you tip your head back and slap your hands on your thighs, rubbing at them anxiously as you gaze around the room. “So, do we know how many there are?”

The Horseman eyes you for several, silent seconds. Eventually though, he speaks up. “Got wind of a small group of about four of 'em. Demons mostly, one undead. You and I've got a mutual... uh, friend, who's been keeping his ears to the ground, and he reckons they’re aiming to provoke another war between Hell and Earth by killin' the human envoy.”

“Wow. Talk about sore losers,” you scoff humourlessly, “So, who is this mutual friend?”

Some of the tension bleeds out of Strife's posture once he notices that you haven't immediately flown into a panic. “C'mon kid,” he snorts, “You know I can't expose my source. He doesn't want you know that he cares about you. Thinks you might start askin' for discounts if you thought he was getting' soft.”

“Discounts, huh?” Your lips quirk up at their edges and Strife smacks a palm over his mask in mock distress.

“Ah, hell, I gave it away, didn't I?”

“I bet his name rhymes with Shmulgrim, doesn't it?” you laugh.

Chuckling, Strife leans back on his hands again and replies, “Hey, you came to that conclusion on your own. Technically, I never told you who my source was.”

With the atmosphere in your bedroom gradually becoming lighter and lighter, you follow the Horseman's lead and relax backwards onto your hands, stealing a surreptitious glance at the bandages adhered to his torso.

It's no longer as surprising as it used to be that Vulgrim is invested in the well-being of his 'valuable asset.' The Horsemen are perhaps his best clients, hence the vested interest in keeping himself in their good graces by looking out for their human ward.

Shaking your head with a knowing smirk, you push yourself up onto your feet and glance down at yourself, brushing off your pyjama shorts, only to grimace when your hands do nothing but smear Strife's blood all over the fabric.

“Sorry... for the mess.”

You raise your head at the sound of the Horseman's voice and find him glowering down at the stains he's dripped onto your carpet, his eyes hooded and glum.

Heaving a sigh that you hope conveys both exasperation and affection, you reach out and place your comparatively tiny hand on his shoulder to give the pauldron a reassuring squeeze, drawing his gaze back up to your face. “I don't care about the mess, Strife” you tell him matter-of-factly, “The carpet's just here to stop my feet getting cold in the morning. You're my best friend.”

Ever so slowly, his luminous eyes grow wide with wonder and he lets his jaw drop open to speak, but before he manages to utter a soft, 'what?' you give his shoulder a friendly jostle and add, “So long as you're okay, pal, that's the main thing. Now...”

Trailing off, you move back around the bed and let your fingers slide off the Horseman's arm, stepping up to the bedside table containing your pyjamas, oblivious to how swiftly and easily you've just swept the rug out from underneath Strife's feet. He twists himself around on your mattress to watch you, his eyes as wide as than dinner plates.

Did you mean to say... best?

He – well, he always knew that you considered him a friend! Hell, he'd even go so far as to say the two of you are close friends.

But best?

Best implies that there's nobody – nobody – that you hold in higher regard than him...

'How did I miss that!?' his psyche all but screams at him, 'When the Hell did I get so important!?”

You aren't even looking at him, too busy rummaging through your drawers, as if you have no idea that you've just pulled his heart right out of his chest and now you have it cradled in the palms of your hands.

You could crush the life out of him with hardly a word.

“So, you never did say!” you call out to him as you duck into your ensuite bathroom and flick the light on, hiding yourself from view whilst you change, “How does the master of marksmanship get tagged by a Shadowcaster in the first place? You’re not usually the type to get up close and personal. That’s more War’s thing, right?”

All at once, the threats that demon witch had made against you ring like klaxons in Strife’s head and he has to make a conscious effort to ignore his instinct to leap off the bed and barge into the bathroom just to be sure you’re safe. He hears the shuffling of fabric against skin as you pull off the bloodied shorts and begin to pull on the new ones.

Grinding his teeth, he spits out, “She just.. got me mad, is all. Made me wanna have the satisfaction of wringing her neck with my bare hands instead of filling her with bullets.”

“Wait, seriously?” Your silhouette suddenly appears in the bathroom doorway and and strife glances up, briefly enraptured by the halo of light glowing at your back. A fellow human might have likened you to an angel. Strife, however, knows that none of the feathery bastards could hold a candle to you.

Garbed in clean shorts that smell distinctly of you, and not copper, you step out into your bedroom. “How’d a demon manage to make you mad? You’re like, the champ of not getting mad. It’s like your superpower.”

“Yeah, well..” he mutters, turning his helm away, “This time, she went too far.”

You’re quiet as you flop down onto the bed next to him, your eyes flicking between his downturned head to the fists that are clenched like vices at his sides, metal claws gripping fistfuls of your duvet so tightly, you’re worried he might end up poking holes in the cover.

Whatever had been said to him must have been bad if he’s this riled up.

Biting your lip, you let out a pensive hum and lean backwards, your fingers brushing over a soft lump near the headboard. At once, your eyes grow wide and your lips stretch into a sly grin as your hand closes over something fluffy and familiar.

Strife is still busy stewing when he’s suddenly brought out of his thoughts by a face that’s shoved promptly into his line of sight. He blinks, drawing his head away to properly see what you’re holding up in front of him.

He can’t contain a chuckle once he realises that it’s none other than your old, toy horse, dangling in front of him with its little, black ears flopping forwards to cover a pair of button eyes.

Allowing a smile to grace the edge of his mouth, the Horseman wordlessly relaxes his grasp on your duvet in favour of reaching out to gently take the soft toy out of your hands, lowering it down into his lap.

“I thought David Hasselhoof might make you feel better,” you tell him, bumping your shoulder against his companionably.

The Nephilim simply smiles, stroking his palm over the horse’s fuzzy mane.

“Hey, Strife?”

“Mmm?”

You fiddle with your fingernail for a moment, dropping your eyes to the bed and taking a breath before you ask, “What did the demon say that made you so angry?”

It isn’t as though you want to pry. But having your friend turn up at your house in the dead of night with his stomach torn open warrants a couple of questions, in your honest opinion.

The Horseman’s brows knit together underneath his helm and he shifts slightly, twisting away from you further until you can’t even see the lights of his eyes. If you didn’t know any better, you’d almost dare to say that he looks shy. An impossibility, frankly.

When he speaks, his voice is gentle, a far cry from the normal, strident tone you’re used to hearing. “She, uh, she might’ve made a couple of threats about you.. Bad ones.”

You wait for him to elaborate, but for some time, he doesn’t utter another word, prompting you to ask, “And?”

You very nearly reel backwards into your headboard when Strife whips around to face you. “And?!” he echoes, incredulous, “The Hell d’you mean ‘and?’ Isn’t that enough of a reason?!”

Taken aback, you lift your hands in a placating gesture and stammer, “Woah! I - I just meant... Well, it’s not like I haven’t been threatened before? Just seems like a weird thing for you to get so angry about.”

Without warning, the enormous Nephilim lurches to his feet, the cuddly horse left to tumble, forgotten out of his lap. “Did you not hear me?” he snaps, “She. Threatened. You!”

“A-and that... made you mad?”

“Did - Of course it did!” he all but howls, his voice cracking as it raises in pitch, “She made me listen to all the god damn, sick things she wanted to do to you when she found you! She said - she said, I’d never see you again!” Roughly, he drags his clawed fingertips through his spiky, black hair and exclaims, “Next thing I know, I’m droppin’ Redemption and Mercy, I’ve got her heart in my fist and I’m... I’m...”

He trails off, knocked out of stride by his own admission. You remain silent, pressed up against your head board with the blankets clutched to your chest.

When he notices you staring up at him, small and wary amongst the sheets, the frustration saps from him like water circling the drain. “So... so yeah,” he huffs, his shoulders slumping and a great wave of shame crashing over him, “I got a little mad! I got a little pissed off. Cause I didn’t like hearin’ someone say they were gonna hurt my friend.”

And with that, he just... deflates, not unlike a punctured tyre. All the hot air inside him is dispelled with every heave of his mighty chest whilst he peers down at you, feeling the weight of your stare upon him.

Guilt leaves a sour taste in his mouth, rancid and acidic.

You look so..

...scared.

Sometimes Strife forgets that to you, he’s an unassailable figure from biblical legend, a bringer of the end days and an ancient gunman with a body count higher than there are grains of sand on the earth. Of course you’re going to be scared of him when he’s raising his voice at you and towering over you like this. And all because he’d had the life scared out of him in the first place.

“I’m sorry, kid. I didn’t mean to -” The words die on his lips and he sighs, defeatedly casting his eye over towards your bedroom window. He doesn’t want to leave you, not without knowing that his siblings have dealt with the remaining threats to your life. But... “I’ll just.. I’ll go.”

Turning his back on you, the Horseman bends to retrieve his discarded cuirass and takes a step towards the window, but a voice, thin as the cobwebs in the corner of your room, stops him in his tracks.

“Strife.”

The Horseman doesn’t move. he just stares at the darkness through your curtains.

Minutes pass without another word said between you. He remains stubbornly silent, hardly daring to breathe let alone respond to his name, until eventually, he hears a soft huff and rustling behind him.

Footsteps pad across the room and your scent grows stronger as you draw near, wafting over him like an intoxicating aroma before your hand places itself into his palm and he instinctively curls his fingers around it, shuddering at the feel of your soft skin pressed like silk against his roughened hide.

Your tiny, fragile hand... Creator, he really is just a beast standing next to you, isn’t he? The last time he felt this monstrous was..

No. Strife abruptly slams the shutters of his mind down around any thoughts of the Animus. Now is not the time to let dredge up old memories.

Luckily, your voice breaks through the haze and keeps him grounded. “Come on, big guy. Stay here, please?"

“You want me to stay?” he chokes out a laugh, “Even after I scared you?”

“Scared me? What?” It’s your turn to sound confused. “You didn’t scare me Strife, you shocked me. I’ve never seen you this serious before.”

The Horseman half turns to face you, giving you a glimpse of his warm, golden eyes. “And, I’ve never had a best friend before.” he admits slowly, hearing a soft intake of breath behind him.

“Wait?... I’m your best friend?”

With your hand still in his, Strife steps around slowly to face you, shooting you a quizzical glance. “Uh, yeah? I mean, I don’t exactly have a plethora of friends to choose from, so the competition isn’t that fie- Oof!”

He’s violently interrupted by a soft, squishy body colliding with his.

You fling your arms around the stunned Horseman’s waist and bury your face into his chest, momentarily forgetting about his injury. Strife, meanwhile, has to employ every molecule of willpower he owns to refrain from flinching, fearing that you’ll let go if he does. He can’t ignore how high his heart just jumped at the feeling of you pressed against him, nor the way his soul soars after realising that you still trust him enough to get this close.

It’s something that both he and his siblings are all having to get used to, these impromptu hugs.

Fury had almost flipped you over her shoulder and onto the ground the first time you came at her with your arms open wide, assuming you were going in for an attack.

War had pulled the most remarkable face, a mixture of alarm and wary delight that caused Strife to keel over in hysterics when you threw your arms around his broad stomach.

Death... Well, Strife hadn’t been around to witness your first hug with his oldest brother, but he imagines it must have been like hugging a block of cold stone.

And Strife? Well, he doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the first hug you gave him. It was so tight and comfortable, and for all of a moment, the only things that existed were the two of you. Inside the binding circle of your arms, his troubles couldn’t touch him, the anguish of his sins took a backseat and he became convinced that he could live happily and peacefully until the end of time trapped in your silent embrace.

The sentiment hasn’t dulled with frequency either. Every hug he receives is as powerful and intoxicating as the last.

This one is no different.

Strife's large, thickset arms carefully raise to your delicate back and shoulders, where he simply folds himself around you, pushing the nose of his helm into your soft, messy hair and drawing in a long, deep breath, earning your snort of amusement.

“You a big fan of coconut, then?”

“Is that what that smell is?” he mumbles, feeling the world settle around him as his eyes slip shut, “S'different from last time...”

“...Setting aside the fact that you remember what my hair smelled like last time we hugged.. I ran out of apple shampoo.”

“Mmm.” He trails off, humming into your hair, a sound that rumbles straight through you and leaves the top of your head tingling.

It takes your brain another few seconds to recall the injury on his torso.

“Oh, shit,” you hiss, leaning back and instantly finding your progress blocked by the Horseman's sturdy forearms. “I'm sorry, I didn't think -”

“- Eh, s'fine,” he cuts you off.

“It's not! I forgot, you need to be resting it!”

Strife grumbles his displeasure when you suddenly become very wriggly. “Strife, let go. You should be resting, not standing.”

Cracking one eye open, he roves his gaze over towards your bed. “Resting, huh? …. Not a bad idea.”

Without warning, he stoops down, and for the second time tonight, you find yourself suddenly swept up off your feet, bleating out a garbled squawk of alarm. “Stop picking me up! You'll start bleeding again!”

Smirking to himself, the Horseman takes two, loping steps towards your bed and lowers you down amongst the folds of the duvet, taking great pleasure in crawling over the top of you to get to the other side, armour and all. It isn't the first time he's rested in your bed, usually following a long night of playing your video games and catching up on all the human things he's been missing out on, and it likely won't be the last.

The bed springs creak despondently as he lifts his corner of the duvet and flops heavily onto his side next to you, grinning at the unimpressed glare you're shooting him.

“I like your bed,” he announces, burrowing himself deeper beneath the duvet, “You got a lot of pillows. And-”

His hand rustles beneath the covers for a moment before he winks... and slowly draws out David Hasselhoof, wiggling him back and forth in front of your eyes. “There's room for a threesome.”

“Oh my god. Goodnight, Strife!” Your lips quiver until you give in and crack a genuine smile, grabbing a pillow and whapping it softly down onto his helm. You get no resistance from the Horseman at all in retaliation. He merely lays there with his head hidden, black tufts of hair sticking out from behind your pillow as his shoulders bounce around a throaty chuckle.

Leaving him where he is, you roll over, turn off the fairy lights and plunge your bedroom into cozy, unassailable darkness.

A thick silence falls over the two of you, and the back of your neck begins to prickle, sensing without a shadow of a doubt that the Horseman's eyes are open and watching you. Sure enough, you peel your eyelids apart and find that your far wall is faintly illuminated by the golden light that emanates from his gaze.

Rolling your eyes, you resign yourself to a long night of fighting for your covers and kicking a wriggling Horseman back over onto his own side of the bed. And yet... if it's him, if it's Strife, it most likely won’t bother you in the slightest.

The alarm clock on your bedside table steadily ticks over to the three o'clock mark and you finally feel sleep crawl up behind your eyes. Just as you think you might nod off, however, the bed shakes ever so slightly, and behind you, there's the sound of shuffling sheets. It stops just as suddenly as it starts and you snort, chalking it up to a certain, restless Horseman trying to get used to the human-sized bed.

Several more minutes pass.

The shuffling starts up again, then it stops.

The same thing happens again a few more minutes later and your eyes snap open when something cool and solid nudges gently into the back of your head and you hear a quiet sniff before the whole bed shudders as the enormous Horseman laying upon it releases a monstrously low rumble of contentment.

-----

Strife leaves his helm right behind you all night, not that you'd know until the morning however, when you jerk awake to your bedroom door suddenly slamming open and Death thundering inside. He takes one look at his brother laying at your back and promptly begins a lecture that you're fairly certain will be the favoured topic of neighbourhood gossip for some time to come.

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #darksiders 3 #Strife #reader #fluff #sharing a bed!#monster boyfriend #interspecies relationships #blood #injury #whump

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delu-jean · 3 years ago

Note

Erwin x reader based on attack on caste, could you make reader like one of his crew worker friend tysm 💌

𝐌𝐫. 𝐒𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐡

(Erwin x fem!/reader) -> fluff -> 1.9k

Request: Erwin x reader based on attack on caste, could you make reader like one of his crew worker friend tysm 💌

Notes: I haven't read it, but saw a brief summary on the separate au! Since I had quite the freedom, this is a confession scenario and the reader is a teacher! Thanks for the request, and hope it's to your liking. ^^

Erwin was the History teacher. That being said, you were the English teacher, only two rooms away from his. Levi and Hange had always known you had quite the crush on him. Hange would constantly tease you about it, and surprisingly, Levi would use it as blackmail (he used it only when you refused to buy him new cleaning supplies). That being said, your bank account was not doing the best. He had you constantly on your toes since you didn’t want Erwin knowing about how you felt...well...not yet at least. You wanted to do things when you felt it was right, although...you never knew if that time would come.

English was something you liked teaching, and since Erwin had a liking for literature (and history of course), you’d take advantage of that every now and then. You see, Erwin wouldn’t approach you, rather, you did with books and all different types of topics. Hoping that you could extend your time together. Your conversations were rather...interesting. He took his pride and joy into your talks, expressing how much he loved your variety. And you would constantly talk about how extraordinary his taste was.

Each time you brought a new book and obtained his praise, it made you blush. You couldn’t help but feel so smitten for someone like Erwin. Perfect in every aspect, your co-worker, and a very kind person in general. Though you thought that, it seemed others thought differently.

“Miss. L/n, why do you even like Mr. Smith? I mean, he’s so generic and boring in my opinion. Wouldn’t you rather go out with a guy like me?” Jean snickered as you shook your head.

“Jean, that’s none of your business. Plus, who said I had such inappropriate feelings for Mr. Smith?”

“Miss, sorry to inform you, but Jean does have a point-” you then looked at Eren in a defensive way.

“Not in that way...it’s just that, it’s obvious you like him,” Jean then followed after Eren spoke:

“Yeah, you’re constantly approaching him and well...he kind of doesn’t-”

“Shut up Jean!” Annie threw her bag at him.

“You don’t have to be such an ass. None of the girls think it’s cute”

“Shut up Annie!”

“H-hey, let’s calm down-”

“Armin, you too! Be quiet!”

“Enough. All of you in your seats right now,” you hallared and the students did as told. Though you hated to admit, those little kids did have a point. You always came after Erwin, and he, never after you. He probably saw you as a friend if anything. Just someone he could casually talk to when it came to english...nothing else. Though Hange had thought differently, if Levi didn’t say anything...your hunch was probably right. Speaking of Heichou, he surprisingly flung the door after all of the commotion.

“Oi, shut up brats.”

“Janitor Levi!” They all sat in silence since they were scared of him (given the intimidating look).

“You know what, I’m sick and tired of this. I’ve been waiting for one of you idiots to actually do something.”

“Mr. Ackerman, that’s absurd-”

“No it’s not. Let’s go, all of us now. If he rejects you, then too bad. And if he accepts you...well that’ll be disgusting but it’ll get out of my way.”

“I’m still in the middle of receding Shakspere-”

Hange would come in with her lab coat drenched in some kind of liquid. You wouldn’t question though, since it was probably something harmful. You didn’t need her to lose her job, plus, you enjoyed her company quite a lot.

“C’mon Y/n! He totally likes you-” Jean would snort, causing Eren to punch his shoulder.

“Well...as I was saying, he obviously does! Come on! Do you really want to be that one depressed English teacher who’s single till her 70’s?”

“And what if I do?” you questioned.

“ Well I know you don’t, so let’s get going!”

Hange would drag you to Erwin. The students followed, and Levi trailed behind. He made sure that most of the crowd was under control, and that he could see the deed was done himself (from afar of course). You guys looked like a kindergarten line awaiting to go outside. Jean and Eren fought here and there, but other than that, everyone else was quiet. Waiting for what was yet to come.

Hange smacked open the door and yelled

“ERWINNNNNNNNN! I’VE GOT A SPECIAL SURPRISE FOR YOU!”

“Hange...please don’t-”

“Oh, what is it Y/n?” The philosopher was putting a book away. He looked very handsome while doing so, and Hange could tell that’s how you were thinking.

“Oh, that’s right”

Hange then pushed you into the classroom, and forced everyone away as you sat utterly speechless. She smirked, winked, and did almost every teasing gesture she could. Erwin sat fixated on you, wondering what surprise was going to be given...and ohoho, was he really in for one.

Erwin then walked closer to you and put a hand on your shoulder. You jumped a bit at the sudden motion, but tried keeping calm. Your heart raced as he then said:

“Hange, what is the matter at hand about? I have to prepare for my next class, and quite frankly, this is time consuming.”

‘Time consuming?...’ you sulked a bit disappointed.

“Okay okay, so I won’t be delivering it...but instead Y/n will!! You two have fun, and I’ll come check up on the both of you later!” she then slammed the door and he removed his hand from you.

“I’m sorry Miss. L/n, I didn’t realize it was you who had something to show me.”

“N-no, don’t be. Mr. Smith, if you’re busy I won’t bother you and will be on my way-”

“I’m not busy…” he muttered as he leaned on his desk.

“I’m sorry, what did you say?” you asked, trying to see if what you heard was right. He then approached closer, now both of you face to face (with a gap because of your height difference). He crossed his arms, and you watched as his eyes darted at yours.

He seemed to be genuine with what he said, and you could tell by the way his eyes had softened. He looked very gentle and cautious. Maybe this had to do with the fact that you were such a doubtful/uncertain person...or that he didn’t want to hurt your feelings? You weren’t sure what to conclude, and because of that, asked:

“But then, what you said to Miss. Hange-”

“I meant what I said to her. I’m too busy to deal with whatever nonsense she has to show me. Though she does show interesting things, as of right now, I really do have a class to prepare for,” you then bit your cheek, looking away as he continued.

“But, I’m never too busy for you. If you have another novel to share, I’d love to hear about it. I’ve always got time to make for you, and even if I don’t in the moment, I will try my best afterwards,” your cheeks flushed as he smiled. Such an earnest gentleman giving you such gestures, made you melt. You then watched as he grabbed your hand, making you immediately look at him.

“Haha, I was hoping that would work. Now, what is it that you wanted to tell me, Miss. L/n?”

“That I...I um...that that…” you inhaled deeply trying to think straight. It was now or never, and if he rejected you, at least you would be able to move on. Though it might’ve been awkward, at least he would’ve been honest, and you as well.

“Mr. Smith...no, I mean...Erwin Smith,” he seemed shocked as you called his name. You’ve never said it infront of him which he found quite alluring. Though he thought that, seeing his sudden change in reaction, you thought you stepped over a boundary.

“Oh, I’m sorry-”

“No no, you’re more than welcome to call me that. So continue, Y/n.”

“Oh, okay. Erwin...I, I like you. I’ve liked you for a while now and have wanted to tell you...but I was a little scared.”

“What were you scared of?”

“Well...that things would get awkward for us as co-workers-”

“Why would things get awkward?” his tone was sharp as he asked you, seeming as if you were in the middle of an interrogation.

“W-well, since you would’ve rejected me-”

“Who said I would?” he locked his gaze into yours, noticing how fearful you seemed. He then straightened himself, and then squeezed your palm. Ever so soft did the notion feel, as he then stated:

“Y/n...I like you a lot as well. From the first moment I saw you, I was dazed by your presence. You were just so...beautiful...both physically, and well...in general,” you looked at him, now feeling as if he was surprising you. Though Erwin had such a way with words, you never thought he would express them this way...especially to you.

“The way you lit up any room, how you adorably approached me with good taste in texts, and how you’ve made sure to make your students the best they can be. Those few factors made me really look up to you. You give yourself less credit than you deserve, and I hope that after hearing that...well...you try differently,” he then intertwined his hand with yours. His fingers laced tightly, as yours dangeld gently.

“But...why did you never approach me?...If you felt like this, why didn’t you do things first?”

“One being that we need to act professional during school hours. Though I felt like this, I still needed to set some boundaries being that you are also my co-worker, and fellow teacher. Two being that I wanted to see you try yourself. Though you do seem to let yourself down, watching as you approached me, and did your best when doing so...made me glad that you were pushing yourself to keep on going.”

“Also...I got to know a lot about you during our conversations...and secretly wanted to keep on enjoying them without the pressure of my feelings.”

“I see…” you then watched as he pecked your hand, it almost felt as if the motion had come out of a fairy tale, one you’d never think you’d be in. The scene in front of you had you thinking about a happily ever after, one that you would like. Though you wouldn’t know how it would end, you did however know how it would start. This just being the beginning.

“Y/n...would you like to go out to dinner with me?”

“Yes, of course...Erwin,” you’d grin to then hear a commotion swarm into the classroom.

“HAHA THEY DID IT! SEE Y/N, WHAT DID I SAY!?”

“Oi, shut up four eyes. I got the train moving, so where’s my credit?”

“Wait, she actually went for him?-”

“Shut up horse face, no one cares about your opinion-”

“Eren you son of a-”

“Students, I know what you’ve just watched might’ve been...not shocking but rather, nice? Regardless, it’s time for you to get ready for history. Get your materials ready, and we can start.”

“Yes Mr. Smith,” they said in unison heading towards your class (to collect their materials). He then swooped you in, and planted a kiss on your forehead.

“See you later, don’t spend too much time reciting books.”

“I won’t Mr. Smith,” he then eyed for you to chuckle as his reaction.

“You are the history teacher, no?”

“Yes but...I’m Erwin to you, Erwin Smith,” he grinned as you stepped out the door.

“Alright alright, I’ll see you later...Erwin.”

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goldafterglow · 4 years ago

Note

Head canon: MAKING JACK BLUSH. I NEED TO SEE IT. 🥺

Summary: Jack Daniels is a pretty cowboy.

Paring: Jack “Whiskey” Daniels x reader

Word Count: 1.3k+

Warnings: soft!Jack, no sins but they are for sure basking in the post-sin afterglow, a lil bit of blushing for our baby boy, this is not beta read bc i’m impatient

Author’s Note: YESDJHGJFD I LOVED EVERY SECOND OF THIS. This is also my first little like drabble, except it’s too long but ig 1.3k is a drabble for me kids this is the standard.

It’s early in the morning. 1:43 am to be exact. But you can’t bring yourself to end the night; he always make it so hard to sleep. In a good way of course; a really good way.

It’s in the afterglow that his feelings begin to melt, glaciers in his mind turning to liquid as the golden amber spills gently from his lips and over your chest so that it will encapsulate you, dry around you and encase you, keeping his words wrapped around your body forever. Embroidered into the soft chenille of your neck and whispered into the lobes of your ears. He speaks to you in a way that you can feel; it’s a pleasure of its own to feel his lips kiss the dips of your clavicles through his words, his voice low and sending wide vibrations through your sternum. It feels sinful, heavenly, like something too good to be right.

It feels nice.

You’re laid by him on your side, face buried into his bare chest as his thick fingers run along the curve of your spine, re-exploring you with a sense of focused clarity that he doesn’t often get when he’s overwhelmed with lust and passion. His fingers are careful, sensitive, picking up on every bump and blemish until he can paint the perfect picture of you under his closed eyelids, even as the meek moonlight bathes your waist and glimmers against the sheets. Perfect.

He’s resolved to a comfortable state of wordlessness, eyes trained on the top of your head as you bask. There truly is something golden about the afterglow he casts onto you; you always seem to feel like you’re floating, like not even gravity could keep you from ascending to the clouds with him. He makes you feel precious.

With an inhale of his musk, you slowly nudge your chin so that you can look up at him, fingers tracing his jaw. You love to let him shower you in his affection like a delicate hummingbird is kissed by tiny drops of rain, but you rarely take the time to take him in. The bump of his nose is highlighted by the window’s rays, his lips still a little blushed and swollen from the night. The side of your palm runs up along the side of his face before finding his hair; it’s been mussed, disheveled by your greedy fingers. Gorgeous.

“What’s going on in that big beautiful mind of yours, angel?” Jack ponders, prodding you tenderly with his words. He can tell when you’re lost in thought, lost in him. Perhaps he can’t tell when you have no desire to be found, when you want to be left to traverse the tall grass of his forest and hug the applewood in his eyes. What a way to go.

“Nothing, Jack,” you assure. It’s a weak excuse, an almost embarrassing attempt at deflecting his question, but maybe it’s because you want him to ask you again, dig a little deeper into you so he can make a home inside you. Never leave.

“Now, darlin’,” he starts, feigning a little sternness in his tone, “I think you know good and well that ol’ Jack can tell when you’re fibbin’. Ain’t no use lyin’ to me, honey. I’ll catch ya every time.” Your heart swells swells a little at his words, because he’s so honest with you. You know he knows you, sometimes better than you know yourself. He’s made you his hobby, learning you like a subject and studying you like a book. He can always read you.

And yeah; he always catches you.

You take a few diamond-adorned seconds to look at him; his mustache rests right on top of his soft smile, there to accent his words and tickle your neck when he’s feeling playful. His eyes are wide like when a two-month old baby can finally look at its mother in awe, utterly mystified and doe-y. His face is sculpted by the gods, chiseled to magnificence in his charcoal features, and yet he uses it to show you he loves you. He loves you.

“You’re so pretty, Jack,” you whisper. The words barely leave your lips as a noise, traveling to his ears as wisps of the breeze you blow onto him.

Jack Daniels is floored.

It’s not a word he’d ever use to describe himself. Cocky, sure. Sexy, absolutely. Brash, confident, competent; he wasn’t too shy to toot his own horn every once in a while. But pretty? Flowers are pretty; butterflies are pretty. When the sleepy sun yawns and breathes a peach glow onto the front-porch flower bed, that’s pretty. When you step outside to dip yourself in the golden afterglow and he walks out into the backyard to find you sitting on the quaint bench he built just for you. When he drags himself into the kitchen in the morning to find you already there, frying up bacon on his stove in nothing but his unbuttoned flannel and last night’s bra; that is fucking pretty.

But Jack Daniels -- is he pretty? He looks down at you carefully. He can tell when you’re fibbin’, after all.

You don’t look like a dishonest woman to him.

“You’ve already got me in bed with you,” he teases, trying to deflect. He can’t handle the weight of your words, isn’t strong enough to hide what they do to him, and he needs you to take them back before he bursts into a supernova of rouge love. “You don’t need to-”

“I mean it, baby,” you interrupt, tone serious. You can tell he doesn’t want to believe you, doesn’t want to grapple with the intensity of your thoughts. But he needs to know, he has to trust you’re not deceiving him. “You’re beautiful.”

His smirk is gone, his smug, self-assured grin nowhere to be seen. The room is dark; he knows that. But the moonlight hits him just right, at just the right angle that you can see that sweet strawberry syrup tint his cheeks, giving him up. You can’t help but smile a little, like you’ve done something good. He’s good.

Jack’s breathing is a little jagged, his heartbeats a little stuttered. What was it he’d done to deserve you again? Oh right; nothing.

Your hand leaves his hand to cup his red cheek, thumb running right under his big eyes. He leans into it, face turning a little to nuzzle your palm, and the notion makes you giggle. A fierce lion reduced to a whimsical lamb, so gentle under your touch. He is vulnerable when he is with you, especially in these shared moments of solitude, and you wonder if you could look at him like this forever.

Blushing.

“C’mere, pretty boy,” you tease, but you mean it. You mean every word.

You nudge him towards you, his face finding solace in your chest. He shifts down a little, his soft body wrapping around your middle. He can hide in you, feel pretty in your arms. He’s safe in you.

“You think I’m pretty, sugar?” he asks softly. Almost a little timid. He’s embarrassed to need validation like this, ashamed that he’s practically begging you to say those words again, but you make him feel so warm, so secure, and he knows that the last person to leave him for a lapse in strength is you.

You press a kiss to the top of his scalp, his wild hair tickling your nose but you don’t care; you want him close. Closer.

“I know it,” you whisper, throat closing on itself a little because you’re so grateful that you finally get to tell him. That Jack can finally begin to grasp just how much he means to you. There’s so much more you want to say, but you don’t want to overwhelm him with it because you know he loves you with a fury and passion that drowns him without you piling on your love too.

And as Jack closes his eyes, finally ready to let the night end, he thinks he might know it too.

Tags (ik this is a drabble but idk lmao): @gustavos @catfishingmorales @keeper0fthestars @1zashreena1 @blancatobarxoxo @honeyedspace @chaotic-noceur @opheliaelysia @adikaofmandalore @din-damn-djarin @mrsparknuts @girlwithanewplan @mrschiltoncat @buckstaposition @the-feckless-wonder @ergotautology (girl you know what to do)

also im gonna never tag anyone in my headcanons again bc that was embarrassing yikes gjfhdjgd

#iris writes #jack daniels #agent whiskey #agent whiskey x reader #agent whiskey x you #jack daniels x reader #jack daniels x you #drabble #?#soft!Jack #fluff #wgjdfkgj wow y'all really wanted fluff huh #tryna fucking break me down for part 2 i see #it's called astroprojecting luv

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feeling-weirdy · 4 years ago

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Bidding For Attention Pt. 1

AU request from @carouselunique and her friend <3

Tony has a bachelor auction and Hope Van Dyne bids on Vision to upset her dad for fun and then Hope and Vision hit it off and keep hanging out which makes Wanda realize her feelings for him have changed.

Part 2 coming soon <3

"And our next Avenge-A-Bachelor is one I know many a lady have has their eye on...the one, the only, accessories included, The Vision!" Microphone in hand and with a long swipe of his hand, Tony introduced the synthezoid who stood begrudgingly beside him.

Vision stood stale-faced, eager for this night to end. He had unwittingly been roped into this Win A Date With An Avenger charity auction or whatever Mr. Stark had coined the event. He had preferred to skip the experience altogether, but apparently Stark had other ideas. Dressed him head to toe in one of his old suits and placed him in front of this crowd that looked none too pleased or willing to bid on a mechanical man. Had he been human, this little charade would cause embarrassment.

Things had been going well with Wanda, yet despite his desire to move their relationship further, Wanda seemed hesitant. Even in the crowd, she avoided his eye contact, happily keeping her attention glue to Miss Romanoff beside her.

Mr. Stark wouldn’t have heard his pleas even had he tried to explain the situation. It was all “for the children” or whatever creed they had decided on. Vision cared little for this type of charity. They were superheroes, not dolls.

“Oh, come on ladies!” Mr. Stark egged them on. “Who wouldn’t want their own personal vibrator, eh?” He laughed, tightening his face when he glanced over in Vision’s direction who was not amused by the comment. Yet again, his thankfulness for being anything but human knew no bounds.

The crowd was silent, nervous glances shot back and forth. The only chatting came from Wanda’s table, who was still thrilled at the conversation she was sharing with the others who surrounded her.

"$500.” A woman’s voice rang out above the others. The bright lights in his eyes shielded her face, but he was certain her voice sounded familiar.

“Coming in with a bid. Way to go, big guy.” Stark smacked Vision’s shoulder, once again receiving a look in response. “Any others? Once, Twice, sold to Miss Hope Van Dyne, our very own The Wasp. Be careful with him now, might need to keep the oil handy.”

Vision quickly disappeared behind the curtain, anxious to be free from the prying eyes of the attendees. He had heard of Miss Van Dyne before, but he was certain they had never interacted before. Mr. Stark kept ample tabs on everyone he deemed entertaining, so he had certainly gone through her file as he studied his comrades.

With a heavy sigh, Vision made his way down the stairs, ignoring the comments thrown his way by those tending the curtain. He just wanted to get this date over with and be done with the whole event.

Hope stood waiting for him in the corner once the bidding came to a close.

“You’re...Vision, right?” Hope trailed off, her eyes narrowing. It had clearly been a formality after spending so much on a date with him. She had to have known exactly who he was.

“Indeed,” Vision answered respectfully. “It’s a pleasure.”

“Great. I hope you don’t mind. I honestly could just use someone to help get back at my dad. Plus you looked upset.” She frowned, pouting playfully up at him as she looked around at the guests that had suddenly started to crowd around them. Several women with their awarded dates had already begun pulling them out the door and none of the Avengers looked all too thrilled by the arrangement that Mr. Stark had set up for them. Even more so as he mysteriously wasn’t on the docket himself.

“Hardly.”

“One word kinda guy, huh? Great...great.” She nodded her head, her eyes scanning the crowd. “Well, I did pay for a date. If you’re happy to go ahead and do that now, that’ll help ease some stress. I don’t know, you just looked like someone I could talk to that wasn’t some stuck-up asshole like your friend over there.”

Hope nodded toward Tony who was shaking hands and continuing his inappropriate comments towards each of the bachelors he had auctioned off. They had put together a solid amount of money, with himself being the lowest bid. The concept being utterly ridiculous seeing as how his pinky finger cost more than 10x times the amount they raised during the event.

“It is interesting that he did not put himself up for auction with his ego. Though I would assume Miss Potts had more to do with that than some may realize,” Vision chuckled. He caught Wanda’s eye as he scanned the room, though she quickly turned away upon the occurrence. Vision frowned, turning his attention back to his supposed date.

“You’re right about that. He seems pretty wrapped around her finger.” Hope folded her arms, her eyes focusing in on the couple who had somehow made their way back onto the stage to perform their next bickering act.

“You have no idea.” Vision took a deep breath, a light chuckle escaping him as he smiled down at her. “Well, Miss Van Dyne, shall we be off?”

“Please call me Hope. That just sounds like a mouthful and it gets old fast,” she scoffed. “I’d much prefer we be on a first name basis with you, if that’s alright.”

“Very well...Hope.“ Sliding her hand into his outstretched arm, she smiled up at him. “This actually gives me the perfect opportunity to pick your mind.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrow raised a grin spreading along her face as he began to pull her down the hallway.

“Your suit is absolutely fascinating. I was told you and your father crafted the shrinking technology used in both your suit and The Ant-Man, is that correct?”

“We certainly did. And here I was worried we’d have nothing to talk about.”

-------

Wanda leaned forward, trying to keep the two in her line of sight for as long as possible. Once they turned the corner, however, Vision and Hope disappeared.

“They hardly know each other and she’s already hanging all over him.” Wanda frowned, turning back around in her seat with a huff.

“Doll, I don’t know what to tell you,” Natasha started, twirling the straw around in her drink. “You could have bid on him if you were going to be this torn up about it.”

“Yeah, but then we’d have to actually go on a date...” Wanda huffed, pushing up against the back of her chair as she nibbled on her bottom lip. She hadn’t expected to be so worried about this. She knew full well this was going to happen the moment Tony brought it up, so what the hell was wrong with her?

“That is kind of the point.” Raising the glass to her lips, Nat tried to hold a steady conversation with her, but even Wanda could see that her mind had been elsewhere.

“It’s just not that simple.”

“Seems simple enough, but that’s on you.” Standing up, Natasha gave Wanda a pat on the shoulder. “You sit here and wallow, I have my own fish to fry.” Wanda watched as she disappeared in the crowd, the swagger in her step telling the young witch all she needed to know. She had her own date.

“Good luck...” She stated reluctantly. Wanda sighed, her eyes peeking back toward the corridor where the pair had disappeared. She hadn’t expected anyone to actually bid on him, hoping desperately that they would go home together and could spend another gabbing about whatever they could think of. It was her own damn fault, really. She could have easily won that time with him and since she hadn’t, she would have to suffer the consequences.

Consequences sucked.

Wanda pushed herself to her feet, taking one last sip of her drink as she turned to make her way out of the event hall. Bidders and their Avenger dates had been paired off, as if she needed anything else to cause her any more pain.

The men had all dressed up nice for their dates, their nerves easily seen even from this distance, but the girls who bid on them didn’t care. It wasn’t every day that they got a date with an Avenger and who could blame them?

“Hey...” Clint stopped her, grabbing her wrist suddenly. “You heading out already? There’s a whole lot of party left.”

“Y-yeah. I should really be getting back. I think I’d just put a damper on the party if I stuck around, so...”

“Well...if that’s what you want. I can walk you back to the compound if you’d like.”

“Pretty sure you have your own date to tend to.” Wanda winked, nodding back towards the table with the brown-headed woman. She seemed eager to have Clint come back to the table as she ran her tongue along the toothpick to the two olives that were speared on the other end. The woman kept constant eye contact with Clint, a move that clearly worked as he found himself unable to look away. “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” Wanda chuckled, leaving him behind to fend for himself.

Wanda walked out, slowly making her way back to the compound on her own two feet. While flying would have been the preferred option, the cool night breeze ran along her skin in a way that teased and clouded her mind. It gave her the perfect opportunity to take her time getting back home, allowing her mind to wander and think about the relationship she had formed with Vision.

Clearly, whatever they shared between the two of them had blossomed in some way, but she was scared, worried that was going on between them would shatter at the first opportunity. Just as it had time and time again throughout her lifetime.

Making her way into the front door, she stopped in the kitchen to pour herself a cup of coffee. Why was she so bothered by the fact that he had a date with her? He didn’t even know her. It wasn’t like they were going to form some romantic connection within the past hour they had spent together. It didn’t make sense. Raising the cup to her lips, she allowed the hot liquid to slide down her throat. Regardless of how she tried to swallow her feelings and push the notion that nothing was going to happen out of her mind, the thought remained.

Vision was charming, sweet, and almost other-worldly in the way he spoke to you…any woman would be a fool to pass up that kind of opportunity.

Her hand fell, resting the cup back on the table as she stared off into the vast windows on the other side of the room. Wanda’s mind had wandered so far off that she didn’t even hear Vision’s light chuckle from the other side of the door. She froze hearing the woman’s laugh following swiftly behind his.

“It’s just absolutely fascinating to me just how much you were able to accomplish,” Vision prattled on, completely engrossed in their conversation.

“Yes well, someone had to pick up the slack from my father. He was certainly able to put together the foundation, but the rest was practically up to me.” Hope genuine excitement seemed to flow out of her as she continued their conversation as they entered the room, the woman still latched onto his arm. Hope’s eyes widened upon catching her standing silently in the bathroom. “Oh, hi there!”

“Hello,” Wanda responded quietly, taking another sip of the cup she daintily held between her fingers. Her eyes unintentionally shot up to Vision, offering him a small smile which he returned wholeheartedly.

“Hi...” Vision’s voice fell, his eyes softening as they locked eyes for the first time since she could remember. She had tried so desperately to stay out of his way during the event, that she had nearly forgotten that they hadn’t spoken.

Rather than answer, Wanda pursed her lips, her eyes falling back down to her cup.

Check out my other drabbles here or feel free to request some!

#scarletvision #wandavision #the vision #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch #hope van dyne #the wasp #natasha romanoff #clint barton #look in my mind clint's not married so I can do whatever I want with him XD #it's just an AU what are you gonna do #no one come for me for how out of character Hope is #I'm a scarletvision writer okay XD #scarletvision AU

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arahul-abyssia · 3 years ago

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Looks like it's September again (already, somehow), so that means that it's Nintember again, which means I'll be writing again! Same dealio as last time, one story per five prompts, up to six writings total. (And I'll be putting most of each under a cut, because mobile users can't skip posts)

And for my first entry for @starprincesshlc and @jklantern 's wonderful little event, I shall once again be attempting to twist some modicum of continuity, characterization, and canon-compliance out of a world that clearly cares scarcely for all three.

The Great Act

~~ Art, Green, Dizzy, Fire, Strength ~~

It was the loud buzzing of his phone’s alarm clock that dragged him from his slumber. He awoke to find himself sprawled across the couch, which was in no way long enough for his lanky body and spindly legs. As he blearily reached out and slapped at the coffee table, hoping to find the rude device by pure luck, he also blearily reached out and slapped at his memories, trying to figure out what series of events had led him there. For a moment, they floated just out of reach, and then suddenly flooded back to him all at once.

Oh. Right. It’s all over.

Another sporting event had come and gone, and as usual, in spite of all the effort he put into training and practice, he had ultimately lost to the same people he always did. No matter the sport, no matter the plan, no matter the time, they always won. And why shouldn’t they? The heroes always win in the end, always securing victory against the villains.

And he was one of them: the purple-clad counterpart, mirror, and supposed rival to one of the land’s most revered figures. Meant to oppose, and meant to lose.

He was Waluigi.

The name still sounded absurd to him. He had no idea how two men whose names were ‘Mario’ and ‘Wario’ and who naturally served as near-perfect foils of each other, had managed to meet and form such a publicizable rivalry without any deliberate effort, but such was the case. However, the notion that the brother of one had his own doppelganger in the brother of the other (or cousin, they never did manage to keep that story straight), with the same dichotomies of name, body, and personality? That was simply and utterly ridiculous, far beyond even the realm of ‘too good to be true’. And yet, if anyone had caught on, they hadn’t made it known to him.

Lost in thought and routine, he realized he had reached and opened his wardrobe, where numerous sets of that purple hat, shirt, and overalls were staring him in the face. In a sickening sense, they were the centerpiece of a great work of art, the fabrication that was his entire public existence, the character that he and Wario had constructed so that he might further be the ‘evil counterpart’ to everyone’s favorite red-clothed fire-throwing hero. Mario was stout and a bit fat, Wario was stouter and fatter; Luigi was tall and a bit thin, so Waluigi was taller and thinner. Mario had an M as his emblem, Wario had an inverted M; Luigi had an L, so Waluigi had an inverted L. To any casual outside observer, it was perfect.

But unlike Mario and Wario, whose rivalry had been formed in their youth, Waluigi had never even met Luigi until Wario had made him his sporting partner. The most he had known of the legendary Mario Brothers was just that: they were legends, for the countless adventures and quests they went on. In truth, despite how much he played it up during each and every game, he bore no true grudge against the man he was supposed to hate; Wario had, for a time, convinced him that Luigi’s presence in the public eye was somehow detracting from his own, but he had long since realized that that wasn’t the case; in fact, it often seemed like Luigi himself was being snubbed by the public, with the vast majority of the glory placed upon Mario, no matter how much Luigi contributed.

And yet, despite his existence being little more than a convenient story, despite the stress that constantly acting like a jerk brought, and despite always losing at the games no matter what, none of it brought him any sadness: for all its ups and downs, he felt himself to be rather good at keeping up the act, and the sports were, at the end of the day, still fun.

So why do I still feel so… bad?

Routine and thought had once more brought Waluigi elsewhere, and he found himself once more on his couch, now dressed in his usual outfit, with some sort of drink in his hands, probably coffee or tea; he didn’t care to determine which at that moment. His eyes casually wandered around the room as he brought the mug to his lips.

Then, just as the liquid touched his tongue--apparently he had managed to make tea out of coffee beans--the answer came to him. All across the room’s walls and shelves was sporting equipment of every sort--tennis racquets, shin-guards, helmets, golf clubs, old kart wheels, giant dice blocks, a probably excessive number of deflated balls--and absolutely no other sort of decoration. He leaned forward to place the mug on the table, and in doing so noticed his gloved hands and violet sleeves. Who wore the outfit of a character that they supposedly were not, every single day? Apparently, him.

He didn’t do anything else. He had let the character that was Waluigi consume his life to the point that had no idea who he was outside of it. He had nothing that he did when sports weren’t involved. Wario didn’t dedicate all his time to his rivalry; he owned an entire video game company--an unstable and poorly-run one, certainly, but it was nevertheless another use of his time. Mario and Luigi had their own grand adventures, of course, which is also what Peach, the Yoshis, Bowser, and his horde of minions were all typically involved in.

They all had lives outside of the games, and what did he do during the interim times? He either tried to practice, on his own, in the few suitable locations that he could find when the world was arranged for adventure, in a vain attempt to not lose as bad when the next game came around, or he wallowed in his home, doing absolutely nothing of any import.

But what could he do? Waluigi was never anything beyond a fabricated counterpart to both Wario and Luigi, but he could not remember, even slightly, what or who he was before he embraced that role. That nearly all of his memories prior to his first meeting with his partner were lost to him, was, he shuddered to admit, rather unsettling. Not even his old name--if he even had had one, he could not recall anymore--would reveal itself to him, and it was not as though he could simply find out through some external means: he was never the best at record-keeping, and to really sell their act, he had had his name legally changed to “Waluigi” and all references to his previous identity erased.

He shook his head, attempting to clear his mind of thoughts. There was little sense in worrying and fretting over who he was in that moment--the chance of any sort of useful epiphany emerging from it was even slimmer than he was.

Ugh… better just try to distract myself…

The first suitable option to catch his eye was the TV remote lying on the table. He quickly grabbed it and flicked on the set, and was immediately assaulted by the cheery enunciation of the Lakitu news anchors on the aptly-named Lakitu News Channel. He recalled that that was the channel he had left the set on last night, after he had gotten quite fed up with the incessant and inane blathering about the events of that day’s final matches, and it took only about five seconds to figure out that they were still on that topic. Scowling, he began flipping through the various channels available, hoping to find something interesting enough to block out the melancholic thoughts that were biting at his mind, like a hundred tiny Muncher and Nipper Plants.

After a painfully long series of more newsrooms--all talking about the exact same thing, of course--and unappealing shows--Half of these are for children and other half would just make me feel even worse!--he stumbled across some sort of advice segment hosted by a Birdo (was it the Birdo? He couldn’t tell). With absolutely no better options, he resigned himself to sit back and listen halfheartedly to whatever trite tips she tried to provide; maybe they’d be amusing enough to at least give him a small chuckle.

“I hope you all enjoyed our lovely guest! Now, before we move on to the submissions from all you wonderful viewers, I’d like to reiterate some old, but tried and true, advice, which I hold very close to my heart.”

Oh, here we go…

“Something which you probably hear very often is to always be yourself, or to always be true to yourself…”

Feh, I can think of several people who definitely shouldn’t do that…

“But it may be that you don’t like who ‘yourself’ is, or perhaps you don’t know what self you even have to be true to…”

Hah! As if… uh…

“And to that end, I’d like to say that there is always room for change. There’s always a way to make something new of yourself, to alter the parts of you that you want to, to become a different, better person. ‘Yourself’ can be whoever you want it to be; never are you locked along one unending bleak path. Try new things! Experiment! Don’t let yourself be trapped in an endless cycle.

“Believe me when I say I have personal experience with this: I’ve done so many different things over a rather short period of time, trying to find what I wanted to do with myself, who I wanted to be. Even now, I’m still not entirely sure if this is my supposed ‘calling’…! But I never got anywhere by doing nothing: it was on me to break out of my shell and search for myself, and now it’s on you to do the same.

“You don’t have to begin drastically, with a flying leap of faith--I think we’ve all walked over enough cliffs by now to know that!--but, if this is the sort of mindset you find yourself in, why not try taking some small steps today? It could be as simple as wearing a new outfit, or talking to someone new, or partaking in a new pastime.”

Birdo continued to elaborate on her point, but Waluigi--or, whoever he was beneath that--had stopped listening. He wanted to make some snark about what she said; he wanted to rationalize how what she described couldn’t ever apply to him; but, he found that he couldn’t. He had attempted to follow similar advice long in the past, and failed, but something about the way she phrased it, managed to affect him more deeply than he had thought possible. It was as though her words had dug beneath his shields and layers and pierced something somewhere in his core; pulled a lever, turned a handle, flipped a switch.

A strange sensation washed over him, one he could only describe as a blazing fire--nay, an inferno--igniting within him. He had felt the touch of flame countless times over the years, but not even the innumerable rage-fueled volleys he had endured, all combined into a single force, could compare to what now burned in his soul.

He leapt up from the sofa and ran to his bathroom. Staring at him from within the mirror was a character, a costume, a facade. It was not who he was. He grabbed a towel, dampened it, and proceeded to scrub away the pink paint on his nose; Wario and Waluigi’s noses were defined by that bright rosy color, but his was not. He then tore open a cabinet and grabbed his bottle of mustache product; normally, it was used to create the signature angular mustache of Waluigi, but today, it would shape the hairs into something softer and curlier. Whether that was what he would ultimately like did not matter: he was experimenting! He was changing himself!

Though the man that stared back at him from the glass now bore a much different visage, it was still framed by the purple cap and shirt, yellow emblem, and dark indigo overalls. He tore them off, then opened his wardrobe once more and threw all the copies of that same outfit to the ground. Hidden behind them were old clothes that he hadn’t worn for many, many years. He grabbed the first garments he saw--a casual dress shirt and gaudy neon-yellow shorts. Did those go well together? It didn’t matter. Without hesitating, he put them on.

He quickly glanced in the mirror again: the ensemble was nearly complete, but just missing one last touch. He thought on it for a moment, then stricken with brilliance, hurried to his modest backyard, where the roses he performed with in the games grew. He plucked one from its bush and affixed it to his hair, then ran back to the mirror to observe himself one more time.

His mismatched get-up would likely garner many stares from others, though he wouldn’t mind them at all; if he had anything in common with Waluigi, it was that they both loved being the center of attention. Even still, that’s not what mattered. A whole new day lay before him, a whole new day to be someone new, someone different; to move on from the cycle he had been stuck in, to take a whole new step forward.

He returned to the sitting room and turned off the television, then went to the front door. Taking a deep breath, he turned the handle, threw it open, and marched into the daylight, the daylight which felt far fresher and warmer than it had in a long time, though even it held no candle to the flame that continued to blaze within him.

Ready or not, world; here I come!!

#nintember #my writing #godss there were so many directions i thought about taking this #eventually had to just choose and commit to one #straight up wrote a great deal of a different take before scrapping it #writing is... a time

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words-and-coffee · 4 years ago

Quote

My childhood superheroes weren’t Marvel characters,’ Merlin once said to me, ‘they were lichens and fungi. Fungi and lichen annihilate our categories of gender. They reshape our ideas of community and cooperation. They screw up our hereditary model of evolutionary descent. They utterly liquidate our notions of time. Lichens can crumble rocks into dust with terrifying acids. Fungi can exude massively powerful enzymes outside their bodies that dissolve soil. They’re the biggest organisms in the world and among the oldest. They’re world-makers and world-breakers. What’s more superhero than that?

Robert Macfarlane, Underland: A Deep Time Journey

#Robert Macfarlane #Underland #quote #quotes #Underland: A Deep Time Journey #Fungi are so magical

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deathonyourtongue · 4 years ago

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Calling on the Rain

Summary: What’s a first date without an interlude from Mother Nature? Pairing: Henry Cavill x OFC (part of the Yvonne/Ray/Arlo series which I’ve yet to name. 🤦🏽‍♀️) Word Count: 2.1K Warnings: All the fluff! A/N: This was a request from the lovely @livinglifeformemyselfandi ! Enjoy!!

Completing a PhD in clinical psychiatry at Cornell tended to leave one without time for any sort of social life. Lately however, Yvonne had found herself trying to carve out little bits of it here and there. All because of a guy.

Being 26 with an MCAT score in the 500’s, Yvonne had breezed through her undergraduate program, but with her time at med school coming to a close, the pressure was on. She could start applying for her residency positions next year, and while she was beyond excited, the major shift didn’t come without a healthy dose of fear. She needed some time to simply…be, and since she wasn’t a fan of being alone, finally accepting a date from the guy in her neuro class seemed like the best idea.

Arlo was from London, and though he’d explained it more than once, Yvonne still couldn’t fathom why he’d chosen to do his med program in the States. It didn’t matter however; the moment he’d opened his mouth, she was a goner.

The plans for the day were simple. A walk around town, taking in the sites, lunch at a little cafe that had an unbelievable dessert selection, and finally, a late show of a movie they’d both wanted to see.

Putting on a pair of Navy shorts, a cream tank top, and a matching pair of strappy sandals, she checked her hair and makeup one last time before heading out to meet Arlo in the common room. To say she was nervous was an understatement, but Yvonne knew that if she chickened out or cancelled on him again, she’d lose her shot with him and that was the last thing she wanted.

Arlo’s glance up at her put an ear-to-ear smile on Yvonne’s face, flustering her to the point where she had to keep her hand on the railing despite usually being okay without it.

“You look lovely,” he said as he extended his arm to her, Yvonne taking a moment to take him in before linking her arm through his. She was glad she wasn’t over or underdressed, and couldn’t help but smile a little brighter when she realized they matched.

“And you look very handsome,” Yvonne replied, her nerves easing a bit as they got moving.

“How’re you doing on your project?”

“Nope. Don’t wanna talk about it. Any topic other than school,” Yvonne grinned before playfully letting her head fall to his shoulder as though she were going to faint. Arlo laughed warmly, squeezing her hand as he thought about other topics. Never once did he ask her to move her head, and never once did Yvonne entertain the notion. After a few moments, his arm came around her, tucking her in close.

“Any topic other than school. Fair. What’s a movie that you can watch over and over again?”

“The second Mighty Ducks movie,” Yvonne answered sheepishly, pushing her face into Arlo’s chest as her cheeks caught fire.

“Didn’t take you for the sports type. I’ll keep that in mind come winter,” Arlo grinned, giving her a playful wink. It was his words that caught Yvonne’s heart in her chest however, the easy way he promised that they’d still be a thing at least until next winter. It intrigued her and Yvonne couldn’t help the excitement she felt at the prospect of actually having someone to be with.

“What about you?”

“Mine? I’m gonna have to go with...The Professional. Still holds up.”

Arlo held the door for Yvonne as they veered into one of the first shops along their walk, a place that sold a variety of different knick-knacks, from old skeleton keys to little frog statues, and even street signs. Though the aisles were narrow, they manage to stay side by side, Yvonne relaxing more and more into the warmth of his chest as they browsed.

“What’s one dish you’d never stop eating if there was an endless amount of it in front of you?” He asked as they checked out postcards, the majority related to their chosen alma mater.

“Ooh, good question! Fettuccine. Always. So yummy,” Yvonne answered, hoping her stomach wouldn’t growl at the thought of her favorite meal, especially since she’d skipped breakfast on account of nerves.

“Yeah, Fettuccine’s great. Personally, I’d be really sad if the world didn’t have pizza,” Arlo chuckled, letting her lead the way to the back of the store, where they had all sorts of games and toys, a few that harkened back to childhood.

Yvonne couldn’t help but reach for the magic 8 ball as soon as she saw it, her grin turning excited as she shook it.

“Will we enjoy the movie?” She asked, one eyebrow raised as she gazed up at Arlo, giggling when his expression mirrored hers. When the liquid settled, the window read a clear answer.

Outlook good.

“I hope so. Everyone can’t stop talking about it,” Arlo laughed, shaking his head before taking the 8 ball from Yvonne and giving it a shake of his own.

“Will my devastatingly smart and beautiful date find me up to snuff before the night is out?” He asked, making sure to keep his voice soft in the quiet store. Yvonne couldn’t help but cover her mouth to muffle her laughter when he showed her the answer.

My sources say no.

Arlo pouted, giving her his best puppy dog eyes, hunched shoulders and all.

“That’s not true!” Yvonne shook her head, giggling as she reached up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, unable to help the little flutter in her heart when his already ruddy cheeks went a shade pinker. The blush was made even better by his smile, the genuine happiness bringing out a more youthful side to him.

Taking the eight ball back, Yvonne shook it vigorously while she thought of a question to ask. She wanted it to be something outlandish, a prediction that couldn’t be true in a million years. Something that would cement this as the best date she’d ever been on, were it to come true.

“Will it rain on our date? Maybe right at the very end so I don’t have to walk around with frizzy hair all day?” Once more her eyebrow went up, part of her hoping it happened, and part hoping it didn’t, if only because she’d just gotten her hair done two days before and she’d opted for a silk press. As gorgeous as it was, it wasn’t rainproof in the slightest, and Yvonne didn’t want it to get ruined.

Better not tell you now.

Shrugging, she smiled sweetly at Arlo before wiggling her eyebrows, eyes wide. “Guess we’ll have to wait and see.”

“That was…”

“Delicious,” Arlo agreed, taking Yvonne’s hand as they made their way out of the restaurant, having a little time--and a small walk--to the theater.

They’d both chosen the Fettucine--hers with chicken and his with steak--and a glass of wine, and though the cafe was somewhat empty given the time of day, it might as well have been last call, because Yvonne felt like there was no one else in there with her except Arlo and she couldn’t have been happier.

He’d paid without even asking, so as they approached a candy store, Yvonne all but pushed him inside, giggling like a mischievous kid as she did so. “My treat. Can’t go to the movies without a few essentials.”

Shaking his head in amusement, Arlo let her lead him through the aisles, picking out things here and there, wondering how much of it would be used as study fuel later on when they headed back to the reality that was med school.

“So we’ve got Reese’s Pieces, gummy bears, fuzzy peaches, Milk Duds, and of course, Junior Mints.” Yvonne explained her haul as they left the store, carefully putting each candy in her purse and shuffling things around so that nothing bulged inconspicuously.

“I’ll never understand why theaters get upset when people bring their own candy. It’s not as though we haven’t already paid for the tickets,” Arlo mused, gently shifting Yvonne out of the way of a cyclist who was careening down the sidewalk. Startled to be moved so suddenly, Yvonne was about to say something to Arlo when the gust of wind caused by the passing cyclist nearly took her off her feet.

“Thank you,” she whispered, one eye half shut as she tried to blink the dust out of it. Yvonne’s breath caught in her throat when she felt Arlo’s warm hands cup her face. “Open as much as you can, and I’ll try and blow it out,” he explained, keeping her face steady and waiting until he saw her brown eyes fully opened before letting a quick burst of air escape his lips.

“Better?” Arlo asked, ducking his head to meet Yvonne’s gaze.

“Yes, much better, actually. Thank you. Again,” she smirked, leaning up to give him another kiss on the cheek, this time unable to help but smooth her hand over Arlo’s blushing cheek.

Yvonne would later chalk it up to misleading marketing and the exhaustion of med school, but after sitting through the first half of the movie--and half a bag of gummy bears which she shared with Arlo--she found her eyes growing heavy. Before she realized it, she was out like a light. Far from being put off, Arlo carefully lifted the armrest that separated them and tugged her in close, letting her head rest on his chest as his arm cradled her gently. As the credits rolled, he rubbed her back gently to wake her.

“Oh my god, that’s so embarrassing!” Yvonne groaned as she straightened herself out, realizing what she’d done. Arlo couldn’t help his big grin, finding her utterly endearing in her half-awake state.

“You didn’t miss much, believe me. I’ve half a mind to petition the movie studio for my money back, it was so boring.”

“Okay, so it wasn’t just me. Good. That makes me feel a little better,” she shook her head, remembering what little she’d seen of the movie and how she kept waiting for the action to begin.

“Ah, well, two out of three isn’t bad. Overall I think we did alright, no? As far as first dates go?” The anxiety and hope in his facial expression made Yvonne smile, knowing full well he was wishing on every last star in the sky that she would feel the same.

“I think we did more than alright. I think there’s second and third date potential there, mister.”

This time, Arlo blushed hard enough that he had to look away, though there was no missing the big, bright grin and the excitement in his eyes. Yvonne held him a little closer as they walked through the theater’s lobby, her own smile unwavering until she took a look outside.

“Oh my!” Arlo exclaimed, his expression a mix between true shock and more than a little amusement.

“Guess the 8 ball was right,” Yvonne answered, cringing momentarily before dissolving into giggles. “I just had to ask about rain, huh?”

“That just means you’re magic, love. True magic,” Arlo’s laughter sobered as he spoke, his blue eyes softening as he gazed down at Yvonne, looking for all the world like a man head-over-heels in love.

Pausing to think for a moment, Yvonne weighed their options; a taxi back to student housing (which would cost a fortune) or ruining her hair (which would also cost a pretty penny) on the first date with the first guy she’d truly been interested in since her childhood crush on her brother’s friend. Taking a deep breath, she took Arlo’s hand and tugged him through the door, knowing they were both about to get soaked to the bone.

“Love, what are you doing!?” Arlo called over the pouring rain, squinting against the drops and trying his best to pull Yvonne back into the building.

“Come on! I’ve always wanted to dance under the rain!” Yvonne answered, beaming at Arlo despite the drops that battered down on them.

Though he couldn’t hear it at first, when Arlo finally reached Yvonne, the soft sounds of music coming from a nearby restaurant were clear. Pulling her flush to his chest, Arlo took her hand in his and slipped the other around her waist.

Time ground to a halt as they slow danced, forgetting the rain, the cars going by, or even the people watching from inside the stores. There was only the rain, the stars, and the other person.

Their eyes met as the rain began to slow from a downpour to a sprinkle, and without a moment’s hesitation, Yvonne reached up on her tip toes and pressed a sweet, gentle kiss to Arlo’s lips, capping off the best date she’d ever had, ever.

Two things were certain to Yvonne as she and Arlo slowly parted from their kiss; she’d have to make more time to simply be, with Arlo, and she’d have to go back for that Magic 8 Ball soon.

#henry cavill #henry cavill x ofc #deathonyourtongueoriginals

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halfway-happyyy · 5 years ago

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I Put a Spell on You

AN: This is SMUTTY beyond belief, just as a general warning. Alexander is a daddy whose been pushed to his limits, and he’s about to let his lady know. Trigger warnings include: daddy!kink, choking, spanking, praise, etc. Go forth at your own discretion.

Word count: 3660

You couldn’t say for sure where the sudden burst of rebellion had come from, and you certainly couldn’t fathom the consequences awaiting you because of it.

It had started well before the event had even begun, if you were honest with yourself. Alexander had offered you a tequila shot which you happily accepted- poured a miniscule pile of salt onto the back of your hand and grasped the wedge of a lime in the other. Both trivialities were unnecessary as the brand of tequila he favored was as smooth as anything you’d ever had. But old habits die hard, you supposed. You tossed back the liquid, set the shot glass back on the marble countertop and slid it back to where he stood in a silent gesture for one more, if you please.

Alexander uncorked the bottle and let it hover over the rim of the shot glass. He cocked an eyebrow at you in silent suspicion. “Have you had anything to eat today darling?”

“Of course, I have. I’ll make sure to video chat you the next time to be sure, though.” Despite the fact that he hadn’t meant it to, the question irritated you to no end, and your answer came out a tad more venomous than either of you had expected.

Alexander filled your glass wordlessly, cheers’ you and tipped the rest of the tequila into his open mouth, eyeing you the entire time. He grabbed your empty glass, walked the few feet over to the sink and rinsed them out. When he turned back to you, his arms were crossed firmly against his chest, his lips set in a firm line. He cocked his head to the side, his blue orbs clouded over and glittering in the low light of his kitchen. “Mustn’t forget that daddy bites harder than that tone of yours ever could, hmm?” You were silent as you regarded each other, hoping that it was dim enough in the room to disguise the blush creeping steadily into the apples of your cheeks and up your neck. “Nothing to say now?”

“No daddy.” You murmured.

Alexander pushed himself from the edge of the sink to caress an impossibly warm palm against your cheek. “There’s my good girl. You’re going to behave for me tonight, aren’t you?”

“Yes daddy.”

He pressed a chaste kiss to the tip of your nose. “Because what happens to little girls who don’t behave?”

You trembled at the mere inflection of his voice; could feel yourself growing ever more aroused the longer he spoke to you like this. “They get punished.”

“Mm, that’s right,” He simpered. “They get punished.” He leaned ever closer to you; lips ghosting across the sensitive skin of your neck, causing the breath to hitch in your throat. “You know all too well about that, don’t you?” His large hand traversed the dips and valleys of your back with precision, stopping only to settle against the rounded curve of your ass where he squeezed rather harshly.

“Yes daddy.”

“Very good. Are you ready to go? The limousine is here.”

It had been easy to get lost in the throng of people once you had arrived at the venue. Normally you felt most comfortable next to Alexander; there was a certain ease in having him speak first. He was painfully adept in a room full of people; utterly charismatic and humorous and wholly on- all the things you simply weren’t tonight. This was a newer element to your relationship. It had slipped out one evening whilst he was particularly deep inside of you- really, truly hitting that one spot over again, the pure shock of it sending ripples of pleasure throughout your entire body. He had wanted to talk about it the moment he’d finished, pulling you into the strength and warmth of his chest, lips hardly straying from your temple. “Talk to me baby… is this what you want?” And of course, the answer had been a resounding yes.

He tried to catch your eye multiple times throughout the evening. At one point, a waitress approached you, a single cocktail quavered perilously on her tray. “That man would like to buy you a drink,” She turned to the right and gestured with a gloved hand to Alexander through the crowd.

You raised the drink in your hand in toast, secretly hoping he’d catch your eye. “You can send it back, I’m already all set.”

Towards the end of the evening he had succeeded in finding you knee-deep in conversation with the casting director on one of his latest shoots. Ever the gentleman, he waited for you patiently, only clearing his throat when the conversation had begun to wrap up.

“My love, our car is here.”

You could feel the strength of his grip around your elbow, the pure heat emanating from his hand radiated pleasantly up your arm and caused you to shiver involuntarily into the touch.

You bid your new friend goodbye and headed to the coat-check with Alexander not much farther in tow. Once outside, the wind whipped violently around you causing you to hug your arms tighter to your frame. You ignored the fact that Alexander had failed to offer up his own jacket, a sentiment he was known for on previous occasions.

Once inside the comfort of the vehicle, you tilted your head back against the soft leather of the seat behind you. Stars swam past the lids of your closed eyes, and you smiled softly to yourself when you felt Alexander’s feather-light touch on the inside of your thigh.

“You disobeyed me this evening.” The statement had been a quiet one, you almost asked him to repeat it. “I thought we already talked about little girls who purposely disobeyed their daddies.”

His gaze was distant; trained on something unseen outside the window of the speeding vehicle. Alexander leaned over and wordlessly pressed the button that closed the partition separating you from the prying eyes of the driver. “Come here.” He patted the lap of his black dress pants twice; and you knew by the tone of his voice that he was far past the point of asking you again. You knew instantly what he wanted from you and you obliged him without fuss. You settled yourself over his lap, your clothed ass raised high in air before him. “We did discuss consequences tonight, didn’t we?”

Alexander snaked a warm hand under the hem of your dress and hooked a finger inside the lining of your tights, yanking them down over your ass in one swift motion. He rubbed his hand in soothing circles over your soft skin, marveling at the sudden appearance of goosebumps. Without word, he lifted a hand high in the air and let it land with a loud thwack against the rounded curve of your ass cheek. “We did, daddy.” You murmured, using every ounce of self-restraint you owned not to wiggle your ass in anticipation for the next one.

“We sure did baby-doll… And what did we say happened to little girls who disobeyed their daddies?” He let loose another hard smack against you, causing you to buck involuntarily against him. You tried in vain to ignore the subtle throbbing in your pussy.

“They get punished, daddy.”

Alexander began to alternate between ass cheeks, the subtle pang of fiery pain caused you to suck your bottom lip into your mouth, and whine shamelessly into the sensation. “That is right my sweet girl. They get punished.” He continued to spank you, and when he thought you’d had just about enough, he teased a long fingertip down the front of your panties, noticing the moisture that had collected there since he’d began his tirade on your ass. “So wet for me, aren’t you?” You wanted so badly for him to slip a fingertip past the flimsy material of your underwear into your warm wetness, though you stayed silent. “Of course, you are.” Another loud slap against your ass caused you to groan out loudly into the muddled air before you. “I must confess… I’m starting to think you enjoy misbehaving for me,”

At that point the limousine rolled to a halt and you sat bolt upright, fixing the front of your dress as you did so. Alexander lowered the partition, passed the driver a crisp fifty-dollar bill and exited the vehicle to his left. You followed suit after him, pathetically grateful for the impossibly chilly air around you. He was wordless as he fit the key into the lock and pushed the front door open, allowing you to move past as he did so. He stocked silently to the bedroom at the end of the hall and waited for you to join him, arms crossed over his chest, expression expectant. “Where was I doll?”

You stood in the dimly lit doorway of your bedroom, head resting lazily against the wooden, paint-chipped doorframe. “You mentioned something about me enjoying misbehaving for you.”

Alexander lifted his head an inch, eyeing you directly now. “Ah yes. I’m still not one hundred percent convinced on that to be honest with you.”

“I don’t blame you…”

Alexander cocked his head to the side. “Beg your pardon?” You leveled your gaze with his; blue orbs alight with a blaze you’d never seen before. “What do you think your punishment should be tonight, sweet girl?”

You swallowed hard, trying your absolute hardest to appear nonchalant. “I couldn’t begin to guess, daddy.”

“Come here.”

You obeyed him without question. He towered over you in almost every conceivable way and this notion did nothing to quell the arousal swirling wildly in the pit of your belly. You sighed heavily when you noticed the erection straining hard against the crotch of his trousers. He placed two fingertips underneath your chin and raised your face to meet his gaze. “What do you think your punishment should be?”

“Whatever you see fit, daddy.”

Alexander shook his head, letting out a puff of air as he did so. “Are you sure about that?”

“Yes daddy.” You nodded your head, your eyes wide.

He dropped to his knees, wordlessly tugging your panties and tights along with him. You grabbed onto his shoulder for support as he pulled the material from your legs and tossed them somewhere to the side. He rose slowly, lifting the hem of your dress as he did so and pulling it over your head. It always shocked you how comfortable it was to be entirely bare in front of him. Alexander never once treated viewing you in your most natural way like anything less than seeing a priceless work of art for the first time. It was overwhelming if you were honest with yourself. “Turn around.” He murmured.

You did as you were told and leant over the foot of the bed for him. Again, he passed the palm of his hand over the still-sensitive flesh of your ass cheeks. He leant forward and pressed a slow, open-mouthed kiss to the taut skin there, causing you to gasp at the sensation of his wet tongue. He pulled back to blow a steady stream of cool air over the spit, causing you to tremble violently beneath his touch. Without warning, he let loose an open-handed smack against you, alternating between cheeks like he did in the limo on the way home. “Fuck,” You cursed under your breath as tears prickled threateningly in the depths of your eyes.

Alexander ceased his merciless attack on your ass to spread your cheeks wide open, marveling silently at the sight before him. “You know I adore you like this, don’t you? Wide open, trembling, and utterly soaked for me?” He teased two fingers up and down the length of your slit, causing you to wiggle your ass headily in his direction. “But you need to be taught a lesson little girl.” He leaned forward, his subtle facial stubble tickling the most sensitive part of your inner thighs and only enhancing the pleasure of the situation that much more. He licked a long stripe up the length of you, parting your inner lips as he did so. He worked his way to your clit slowly and methodically, and when he got there, sucked the swollen bud into his mouth and applied just the perfect amount of pressure to have you moaning loudly into the still air before you. He began to fuck you with his tongue, periodically throwing in a few hard slaps to your ass as he did so. You could feel yourself start to unravel beneath him; it was the searing pain mixed with the all-encompassing pleasure, the innate push and pull of conflicting sensations sending your body into full-on meltdown mode. He pulled away without warning, the sudden loss detrimental to the orgasm that had been gradually building up inside of you. Alexander chuckled heartily and rose to his feet, shaking his head in disbelief as he did so. “Oh, sweet girl… you honestly didn’t think it would be that easy, did you?” You opened your mouth to protest, but he shook his head again, stopping you in your tracks. He slowly worked himself out of his crisp, white button up and un-looped the belt from his pants, tossing that aside as well. You briefly wondered if he was going to use that on you tonight, though the thought was quashed when he noticed you eyeing it and shook his head with a sly grin. “Not to worry baby girl, we won’t be needing that tonight.” He pulled his underwear and pants from his legs and stepped out of the pooled material wordlessly. “That is unless you want me to?”

“No thank you, daddy.” You hadn’t even had to think about it.

Alexander stepped behind you, lining the head of his cock at the front of your entrance. You wanted nothing more than to push your hips back, feel him inside you, though you stopped yourself. You could only imagine the consequences born from that foolish decision. He leaned forward above you, placing soft kisses up and down the length of your spine. “You think bad girls get to come whenever they feel like it?” His lips left a wake of fire everywhere they touched. “You think that’s a suitable reward for bad behavior?”

“No, daddy.”

He pushed himself inside of you, not as far in as you wanted him to be, but you would take what you could get. He rested his head against your lower back, both hands grasped either side of your hips possessively. “You are going to come for me, only when I say you can. Do you understand?” He pushed himself the rest of the way in, hitting your spot almost instantly, the pleasure causing hundreds of stars to bloom behind your closed eyes. “Tell me that you understand, sweet girl.”

He rocked against you rather roughly, causing you to tug your bottom lip between your teeth and bite down. “I understand, daddy.”

“What a good girl you’re being for me…” His movements were merciless now; he angled his hips in such a way that when he thrust into you, he was hitting your G-spot every single time. You reached for the pillow in front of you, wanting to use it to stifle the screams that were falling from your mouth at break-neck speeds. “Don’t you dare try and keep quiet…” The voice exiting his mouth was gruff, and wrecked, and his movements stilled slightly as he bent over you to toss the pillow from the bed. “Oh, my fucking god baby, you feel so good…”

He pulled himself from your warmth, groaning loudly as he did so.

“Turn around for me.” You inhaled deeply and rolled onto your back as you were told. The urge to snake a fingertip down to your near-painfully swollen clit was overpowering, though by some stretch of a miracle you managed to ignore it for the time being. Alexander made his way to your side of the bed and reached into the drawer next to it, pulling out your vibrator. He was back at your side within seconds and turning it on to its lowest vibration. “Sit up please. Now, would you like me to use this on you, sweet girl?”

You nodded your head emphatically. “More than anything, please.”

Alexander smiled softly and bent his head towards you, placing a series of kisses up your neck and jaw. You spread your legs for him and waited with bated breath as he placed the vibrator against your clit, moving it in slow, hard circles. He dropped his head to your shoulder, his lips close enough to ear that you could hear his hitched breath, could hear exactly how much this was affecting him. “Shall I bump the strength up a notch?”

You trembled helplessly beneath him. “Yes please,”

He did as you asked and began to press ever harder against your swollen clit. You dropped your head back, your eyes shut tight. Never had you ever wanted him more than you did at this exact moment. Alexander had moved his lips to your collarbone and was murmuring nonsensical things, you could hear that he was stroking himself off by the periodic moans from his mouth.

“Fuck, daddy…” Your voice wavered; the familiar coil of pressure began to build in the depths of your belly.

Alexander turned the vibrator to full strength, stilled the circles, and let it rage against you for a good minute before shutting it off with a soft sigh. “You were close weren’t you baby doll?”

“So fucking close…” You whimpered helplessly.

Alexander clicked his tongue in sympathy. “I know baby. I could feel it. I bet if I touched you right now, right how you are, I could you have you coming apart for me in seconds.” He stood up from where you were, spit into the palm of his hand, stroked himself off momentarily and then gestured for you to lie down. “I need to be inside you again, I can’t help it.” Within seconds he was there, buried to the hilt and stretching you out in the most wonderful way possible. You couldn’t explain it properly if you tried, but when he was inside of you like this… there was a fullness to it. A weight. A security. You fit together like two perfect puzzle pieces. His hand roamed up your body, stopping momentarily at your breast. He rolled a pert nipple between his thumb and forefinger, earning him a long, low moan and an involuntary cock squeeze. It was his turn to throw back his head in ecstasy, his mouth hung open in a slack ‘o’. “I so love the way you squeeze my cock like that,” His hand travelled to the base of your neck, where he began to place some pressure.

You were close now; it was going to happen whether he wanted it to or not. “Daddy, I…”

Alexander rolled his hips against you in a circular motion, all the while applying more pressure to the hand around your neck. You began to feel lightheaded, both with the choking and with the waves of pleasure roiling around inside of you. “Would you like to touch yourself sweet girl? Make yourself come all over my cock?” His voice was low and utterly wrecked.

“Y-yes… yes please daddy.”

Alexander released his hold on your neck and beamed down at you. “Go on then.”

He never let up fucking you; he was relentless about it in every conceivable way. You wound your hand down between you and began to apply just the right amount of pressure to your clit before you began to unravel beneath him. “Oh fuck…” It really hadn’t taken long. You were right there and then-

“Look at me baby,” Alexander’s tone had grown stern and you were immediately filled with panic at the thought of not being allowed release. You forced your eyes open. He caressed an arm to your cheek and simply murmured, “You can come, sweet girl. Come for me as hard as you fucking can…”

And since you weren’t in any position to deny yourself such pleasures, you did exactly as you were told. His name rushed out of your mouth as a shattered scream, you stilled against his flush body, arched your back against the sheets beneath you and came harder than you though you ever had before. Your orgasms always had a way of spurring on his own, and as your body winded down from the high, he reached his. His hips stilled against your own, he threw his head back and let out a low, primal groan, spilling his warm seed deep inside of you. He peppered your lips and nose with kisses and begrudgingly pulled himself from you, sighing heavily and dropping onto his side.

You inhaled deeply, turning on your side to face him fully. There had never been a time where he wasn’t attractive to you, but viewing him up close? It took your breath away. You traced a soft fingertip over his nose, and around the delicate wrinkles next to his eyes. Your heart ached as he smiled sleepily into your touch. “Come here,” He murmured and gestured for you to curl into him, which you happily obliged.

Your eyes drifted shut at the sensation of his warm, measured breaths fanning out over the top of your head. “Are you alright, my love?” His voice bared the subtle weight of unsurety.

You lifted his wrist so that you could kiss the warm skin there. “Yeah Alex, I’m fine.”

“I wasn’t too… harsh on you?”

You nestled back against him, head resting easily in the crook of his neck. “No, you were good. You’d have to know that I’d let you know if there was something I was uncomfortable with or didn’t want.”

Alexander hummed softly against you. “I do love you endlessly.”

Your eyelids had grown heavy, sleep loomed close in the distance. “I love you too, Alex.”

#alexander skarsgard #alexander skarsgard x reader #alexander skarsgard smut #alexander skarsgard oneshot #alexander skarsgard imagines #writing #hooo boy #tw: daddy kink #alex sstuff

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eliasblaque · 4 years ago

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50\50

the train across the face sucker punch of contaminants crash,

as if the beginning of the cosmos, liquid star and void space fused dueling biomes.

Welded by hands of at one moment or another a great distance, of time and experience, beat & drum,

heavy the bass

heavy the bass.

Resonated knowledge rippled across this perfect temporal vector reaching my line,

my birth path into this reality we have lost one another in.

Before my decent into mothers womb your synapse fired telegraph, made sure of our paths smack hit touch, a meet cute of such. Some remote when, some separated where

down on the planet.

Message of urgency

telegraph of the mind imprinted with your regale ruby seal of heat, valor, sin and in the cards drenched energies, a scent I'd follow subconsciously until the wise tarot counseled me into change. You spoke of your heightened favor of life and lust, that you breathed and exhaled good fortune how pleasant and strange.

That you would explore high and low for blues clues path back to your cherished golden hearted, armored creature. Fired back I did before going ghost and continued decent into corporeal physical feature.

Before what would possibly be a lifetime until I'd lay my gaze upon your soul property, post divine organic housing. I beamed the message your way, sealed by kings crest tagged with scent of lust and werewolf life force, it spent no time browsing and charged ahead. Dodged and weaved it did through countless galaxy & quasar. Singularity nor new star could keep my soul byte from breaching your 2 shot par.

Magically etched words of my energy properties entwined via the sisters of fate. I told you how much I cared how much I'd miss you, that I'd follow your scent of valor, lust and sin. Oh how long it has been, oh how damn long it has been, many years decades centuries, oh ill fated mugen your spell finally broken. Utterly Obliterated, cast aside by our tethers of promise. Nightly in the midst of maddening insomnia, in my google of questions & quest of answer I call out in thought, inquiring whilst you rest fast asleep on my chest.

This native pondering, this lovely shard of thought, poem and light embedded in my soul next to your framed red telegraph, this almost chicken or the egg puzzling answer that will elude for all my days.

Which is it,

which is it.

Was it your energies of luck and fortune that I met you?! was it my energies of fate that you met me?!

Round and round mind all a carousel, clockwise tornado winds furious a blow like hell.

Highlighted beacon in my life, bringer of warm liquid gush, how did you find my ships pirate bay.

Which magical grimoire brought you to me so abruptly, exist half a world away.

Each night I beat myself rid of these questions and fantasies seeking the morning sun caressing your face.

Premeditated love, aforethought feels, I checked myself I wrecked myself after this nights batch of sleepless, heart beat now slow of pace. After the shores tide out calm, after my catalytic decent, loss of my cherished midnight blue wings and black regale charm. I clung to my ascension of the bed like my last ration in a desert of fruitless waterless disappointment. I'd Found my place next to you upon casting out my night demons. You cast your voluptuous spell of polyjuice potion.

I drank you dry

We blended until the rising sun and breakfast notion.

Inhale}}}} {{{{{exhale{{{{ }}}} smile and sigh,

never more alone never more alone to simply hope and die.

#writing #writer #writeblr #author #read this #trending #follow #rainforest #edm girls #lovely #artsy

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marvelhead17 · 5 years ago

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Of Tater Tots and Tiny Tots

(Eddie/Venom) Symbrock x Reader

Summary: Venom and Eddie can't wait for their sweetling to give birth to their baby, and they take pride in caring for both you and their little one as you're due any day now.

Rating: Mature, as there is a birth scene mentioned.

Word Count: 2275

“Good morning sweetling,” you heard the familiar soft growl say as you open your eyes.

“Morning Venom,” you smiled before you turned over slowly in the bed.

“Oh hey, morning sweetheart,” Eddie spoke up suddenly, rubbing his eyes sleepily; he leaned over and kissed you on the lips softly, making you smile.

You placed your hand on his cheek and pulled him closer, he moved himself over you and hovered a slight distance away so as not to squish you, you felt a small movement from your stomach and grinned.

You pulled away and looked down to your stomach, “Boys, the baby is kicking again,”

Eddie eagerly placed his hand to your belly and rubbed his thumb gently over the area where he could see the baby kicking, Venom was quick to extend himself out from Eddie’s hand and he spread himself across your belly, and settled himself around it as if to protect it like an egg.

“Good morning to you too little one,” he chuckled in delight.

“Our little one is very strong, we can feel it,” Venom practically purred.

“Are we amusing you sweetling?” Venom’s form across your stomach extended out to form a smaller version of his head.

You smiled at the pair in front of you, seeing how excited they were to be fathers made your heart feel all warm and fuzzy, they both felt you staring and turned their attention back to you.

“Very much,” you propped yourself on your elbows before moving yourself to sit upright on the bed, your stomach grumbled and your cheeks turned pink. “So, uh, what’s for breakfast?”

“Anything you want Y/N, whatever you’re craving, we’re cooking,” Eddie smiled lopsidedly in that way that you loved, and your mind instantly told you that something sweet and unhealthy was on the menu today seeing as how you had managed to stay on your diet for some time.

“Tater tots and chocolate sounds pretty good right about now,”

When you had first heard from Eddie that this was Venom’s favourite treat you were initially disgusted at the notion, but as soon as your pregnancy really kicked in then you had scoffed them down without regret.

“Of course I do, I have you boys don’t I?” you grinned and Eddie chuckled before getting up from the bed.

“Our sweetling has good taste,” Venom grinned making you laugh, you felt another kick run through you and then you rubbed your belly where Venom gave you room to, he curled around your belly and then your hand making a deep purring sound all the while.

“C’mon V, Y/N’s breakfast isn’t going to make itself,”

“Just one more minute, please?” he pleaded.

“Fine,” Eddie sighed and stood near the edge of the bed.

“When is our little one due?”

“Any day now,” you patted your belly and felt a responding kick, “But the doctor said if nothing happens in the next two weeks he’ll have to induce the labour process,” you scrunched your nose at the thought.

“V, c’mon, let Y/N rest for a bit,” Eddie tugged at the tendril that extended from him.

As much as you were excited about being a mother you were still annoyed by the fact that for a few months now, you couldn’t see your own feet, your stomach swelled out so much and if it weren’t for that then it would have been your bust blocking your view.

After some time passed and a good few cursing and clanging sounds later, you decided that you needed to go help them, you swivelled your feet over to the edge and pushed yourself up slowly and stood up.

Not that any of this bothered Eddie or Venom, in fact they’d been even hornier since you discovered your pregnancy all those months ago, you often had to slap a roaming tendril or finger away for the first few months, other times you caught them staring at your belly, or watched you as you waddled around the apartment.

You waddled to the kitchen without having to pause once, somewhat of an achievement for you, and coughed from the smoke that filled the room. You waved your hand in front of your face in an attempt to clear the air around you.

Eddie turned to you and immediately glared at the little black head hovering above his shoulder, “Venom insisted he could do it himself this time,” the symbiote grinned, in what you assumed was meant to be in a sheepish manner, though it didn’t show through his sharp teeth.

“What the hell is going on here guys?”

Eddie managed to place the pan of tater tots on the stove top and threw the kitchen glove to the side, sighing as he looked down at the charcoal like treats, before returning his attention back to you.

“Sorry Y/N that was the last box, unless you’re willing to wait for us to get some more?” he asked with soft eyes as he walked over to you and cupped your stomach in his hands, rubbing the sides gently, in the way that made your heart melt.

“I can wait,” you smiled, until a sharp kick and a popping sensation happened all too quickly inside, you felt a little liquid trickle down your thighs and you looked to Eddie with concern, “I don’t think the baby can wait though,”

He chuckled, “Why, did your water break?” then the information registered in his head, “Oh my God - your water broke!” he put his hands on his face.

“Water breaking? I don’t understand, why do we not just call a plumber?”

You chuckled and gently patted the symbiote’s head, “No silly, it means that the baby is coming,”

“Then why are we still standing here? We must take you to the hospital,” he cocked his head before his form disappeared back into Eddie, then Eddie’s arms unwillingly moved to your backside and under your knees to scoop you into his arms.

Instantly Venom left Eddie to reach his full form, being attached only by a tiny tendril, his large hands cupping around your belly tenderly.

“Easy there big guy,” you laughed and patted Eddie’s chest, “I don’t have to go anywhere until my contractions are at least five minutes apart,”

“Contractions?” Eddie’s head cocked to the side now.

“Did you even try to pay attention at the birthing classes V?” you asked.

“No,” he admitted.

You shook your head and smiled, “Can you put me down now?” you asked, he obliged and you wobbled slightly, their arm moving protectively around you. “All we can do is wait for now.”

They let out a deep sigh, “It’s going to be forever,” you smiled sweetly and sat on the couch, patting the space next to you for them to join.

* * *

A sharp pain moved from your lower back all the way up your spine and you closed your eyes and cried out, trying to focus on the breathing techniques you learned from the classes, you cursed under your breath about how stupid they were for not being much help with the pain.

You were still seated on the couch, now hunched over your huge belly, breathing through yet another contraction. They still weren’t close enough, and this made them anxious. They were pacing around the apartment as you waited for another contraction, each time you moaned from a contraction they snapped back to reality and kneeled to your side, rubbing your back soothingly.

“Sweetling, we must take you to a hospital-” Venom insisted.

“And I keep telling you that the hospital is only going to take me in once my contractions are five minutes apa- AHH,” you clutched at your belly, “Fuck, shit, fuck,” those were the only words you could remember to say out loud in the moment.

They cocked their head and stared at you, “That was only two minutes,” you gave them a look before another shockwave of pain rushed through you.

“Oh shit- shit!” you yelled out again, “I think the- I think the baby is coming, now,” you looked to them with wide eyes.

“Our little one’s head is definitely pointed downwards, and they are kicking violently,”

They kneeled in front of you and cupped your stomach, Venom’s tendrils moving over it, he stayed this way for a while before he retracted himself.

“Yeah, no shit,” you say as you struggle to take in deep breaths, then it dawns on you that the baby is coming now, and that you needed to guide them through the birth. “Boys, I need you to listen to everything I have to say alright? It’s important,”

“Of course,” Eddie nodded, still kneeled by your stomach.

You were utterly uncomfortable as they examined between your legs, trying to get an idea of how far the baby was along, you didn’t wish for either of them to see you so vulnerable, nor did you wish for them to see you give birth like an animal in front of them. But you had no other options, as an ambulance would take too long and a taxi cab would never dream of picking you up to take you to a hospital in your state.

You quickly listed the things that you needed, and then he disappeared from the room while you tried to breathe through yet another searing contraction, and within minutes he was back and scooping you into his arms, before taking you to the bedroom and lying you down on the soft mattress, he removed your pyjama pants and underwear before gently spreading your legs.

“Oh God, that means I have to start pushing,” you propped yourself onto your elbows and immediately they sat on their knees next to you and touched your shoulder softly, it was meant to comfort you but you still looked at them worriedly. “I-I don’t know if I can do this,”

“We can see the top of a head,” they informed you.

The fear suddenly hits you- what if you’re not strong enough to push the baby or what if the baby unexpectedly got stuck? You weren’t anywhere near a hospital and neither Eddie nor Venom knew what they were doing, scratch that, none of you knew what you were doing. You were going on a limb from the vague details you remembered from your birthing classes and hoping that everything would turn out okay.

I should have just gone to the hospital when Venom told me to, you thought irritably.

“Hey, hey it’s alright Y/N, just breathe,” Eddie’s voice came out clearer to you, bringing you back to the present moment, you only looked up to him and nodded quickly.

You took a few deep breaths before the next contraction came in, Venom curled himself around your belly which comforted you somewhat and Eddie grabbed your hand and let you squeeze it tightly, you closed your eyes and focused all your energy on pushing the baby out.

* * *

“Are you comfortable sweetling?” the soft rumble drew your attention away from Eddie, you could only manage a nod in response. “You must rest sweetling, Eddie is taking good care of our little one, do not worry,”

Within the next hour you had managed to push out the baby, you breathed rather shakily while Eddie cleaned the baby, Venom’s form draped itself around you and you felt soothed, he gently tugged you backwards so that you rested against some pillows in an upright position.

“I know, I know,” you mumbled, half closing your eyes as you returned your gaze back to Eddie, the baby was still crying loudly and had it not been for your body feeling so exhausted and Venom holding you down you would’ve jumped out to comfort them.

“It’s okay see, here’s mama, don’t cry,” your eyes opened wide when you realised Eddie was bringing the small bundle to you, you eagerly reached out your arms as he placed the baby slowly down, your arms instinctively curling protectively around them.

Eddie couldn’t contain himself, his smile was as big as Venom’s as he sat down next to you and wrapped his arms around you to hold you, he nuzzled his face next to yours and spoke softly, “Isn’t she just gorgeous?”

“She?” you looked to Eddie and he nodded eagerly, “You are so gorgeous,” you gently stroked a finger on the side of her little cheek and she squirmed at the touch. “You’re just the most beautiful baby girl in the world,”

“Our little one takes after her mother,” Venom agreed, his tendrils moving to rest on your arms, his head hovering on the opposite side like Eddie’s.

“I could just eat you up,” you gushed at the baby.

“Eat? Why would we eat something so beautiful?” Venom asked worriedly, “Our little one is perfect we can’t-”

“V- V, calm down man, it’s just an expression,”

“Oh, I see,” he didn’t seem very impressed, “Well it’s not a very nice one, very misleading,”

“I love you boys so much, you know that?” you smiled at them with watery eyes.

You laughed, shaking your head slightly, knowing the two beings you loved were by your side as you held your baby that you had made and brought into this world, and you knew things could only get better for you all.

“We love you too sweetling,” they purred, you leaned back into Eddie’s arms, your daughter already dozing peacefully safely in the three pairs of arms holding her. You smiled at her, your heart feeling so full that it might explode, before closing your eyes and letting the tiredness you were feeling take over.

_________

#eddie brock #veddie #Venom Symbiote #symbiote #venom #eddie venom #reader #pregnancy #domestic #fluff #birth #cute #marvel #mcu #home birth #cooking fails

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ebbforeman · 5 years ago

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The Court of Fen’Harel

(Just a little something that I started working on to pass the time until DA4. Bioware is seriously killing me with the lack of updates...I’ve had to start new play-throughs to satisfy my needs!!)

Full Story: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24574054

The Court of Fen'Harel

Chp. 1 King of Old & New

It was decided long ago that the place where he would settle would be that of the Elven Ruins from the time of Elvhenan. He would restore what was old in addition to adding some new. It was necessary, he deemed, while molding and shaping all that it would become. He had grown accustomed to certain comforts during his travels and adventures, things he never truly cared for or dwelled on prior to his time among the humans, children of the stone, and the qunari. At first, when he stood on the overgrown path, feeling the breath of wind mix with the will of magic and observing the subtle changes of nature; he realized ironically that he would miss the world he vowed to destroy in order to restore what was lost.

He realized within those brief, calm moments, before he summoned the divine power of the ancient magics to break down the very fabric of the veil, that he in truth would reshape some aspects out of necessity and not selfishness.

The foundation of the world shook and he watched, as promised, as all that had risen in place of the old burned in the chaos. With the flick of his wrist he destroyed the shrine, unbothered by the crumbling of the wolven status or the cracks that webbed along the painted frescos, and in its stead erected a castle to call home. His desire to create a haven for the Elvhen people manifested itself in the shape of the stone fortress nestled in the rocky cliffs just beyond the long bridge.

It wasn't difficult, or at least no more so than reconnecting the eluvians had been. The magic flowed through him like air in his lungs, swiftly, easily, and naturally. His agents across Thedas, under his instruction, knew how to protect themselves. He'd sent scouts long before the veil began to pull against reality. They fanned out across the land with a message and small bundle for each of the elven faction leaders on where to go and how to survive. They gathered like lost sheep in the grey mists of the crossroads, the only place shielded from the uncontrollable madness that raged just beyond the protection of mirrors.

He watched as wild and willful spirits eagerly took to their new home. Much like the elves, they pressed together to learn of the world they once seemed no more than a dream or a reflection of their own reality. New and old magic blended beautifully. He often found himself speechless and surprised by the glimpses of forgotten dreams and dreamers lost to time.

One piece, one small piece of that world he refused to surrender. For a time he foolishly convinced himself that he could. Naive and childish notions of longing and need fueled him, and after a time that need grew and proved stronger than anything he'd ever felt. Go to her, he had commanded Briala, You are a familiar face and will bring a welcomed comfort that I will not be able to give at this time. While Felassan paid with his life for his error and failure, Briala had been more willing to obey. He allowed her to live, knowing or perhaps hoping that doing prove to be useful later. The truth had revealed itself like a glimmering gift. Her role would be to serve, not as a slave, but as a handmaiden. Briala's skills as a spy and assassin in addition to her history with the human empress made her the logical, if not perfect choice for this task.

"What makes you think she will come willingly." She asked, as she stood under the stone arch of what would become his throne room. "Last we met, she and I did not part on the greatest of terms."

He cared little for her doubts and only desired compliance. "She will come. She has a strong heart, and is determined and thoughtful. She will be unable to accept death and she deserves more than the world she was born into." he waved his hand across an eluvian and the glassy surface rippled as if water. "Go by way of Vir Tanadahl. The foliage and trees will shield you and hide your intent, be swift for we are running out of time. You will find her near Skyhold and at the edge of the Frostbacks."

He thought of that day often. It plagued his dreams more so than any of his misgivings and deeds throughout the years. He rose from his bed, moving silently so not to disturb the sleeping form beside him, and crossed the room to the open balcony window. The moon had long since risen casting a bright, pure white glow along the marble railing and tiles that decorated the balcony. He peered beyond the towers and walls of stone to the crystal spires that floated in the distance. He had missed them and it wasn't until now that he knew how much. The marvelous craftsmanship of his people, the wonder and beauty of the infinite potential of the imagination - it was all breathtaking. Imbued with ancient magicks, that were long thought lost and forgotten, he found whispering at the edge of the broken veil searching for an amenable host to pass the knowledge on to. And even now, such knowledge still lingered flittering aimlessly in the world. He alone was up for the task of collecting them all - that and ensuring it was utilized correctly.

He sighed, utterly frustrated. There was still much to be done. This new, old world was still incomplete. The Tevinter Imperium refused to collapse and somehow, either by the use of blood magic or stolen elven artifacts, survived the shattering of the veil. It was a surprising and unforeseen act that would be rectified in due time. He allowed the waterfall below the balcony to cleanse his mind. It was a peaceful sound and absolute peace was something the world was in short supply of - that too would change before his time was done.

The night air swirled around him causing goosebumps to break out across his skin. He stood there, face the dark, naked and his mind restless. "There is so much to be done," he mused, his tone flat. He felt smaller somehow as all of his plan came rushing to him unbidden and all at once. It made him feel oddly vulnerable, something he was not accustomed to. He peered over his shoulder and watched the rise and fall of the sleeping figure's chest and smiled - well, almost not accustomed to.

He turned back, focusing on his duty once more. While he was no god, he was indeed prideful and hotheaded, maybe even cocky in his belief that alone could purge the world of injustice and evil. He shook his head, no, no, that was merely doubt. He was certain of his purpose. Actions and consequences. Cause and Effect. These were the black and white dichotomies of life.

"Solas?" a voice from within the bedchamber called, thick with sleep. "Is something wrong?"

She was up and moving before he could reach her and he cursed himself for being so selfish and causing her undo worry. She shuffled awkwardly toward him, her silver white curling hair spilling across her shoulders like liquid starlight.

"Vhenan," he breathed, wrapping his arms around her. "I am sorry, did I wake you? I did not mean to. You should be resting and enjoying your sleep."

She hummed thoughtfully and inhaled his scent. "Vir sumeil, I could sense something was wrong through our bond."

He smiled down at her, kissed her head and nodded. "Yes, of course. Forgive me, I continue to underestimate your sensitivity to such things."

Her sleeping silks clung to the curves of her body, the fabric so thin and transparent it looked to be flesh. He could feel her full and heavy breast pressed against his chest and the swell of her budding belly touching his own stomach. "You are beautiful."

She laughed softly, the sound so lovely and feminine it seized his heart. "Really? I feel rather like a druffalo, minus the rather intimidating horns."

"Ma vhenan, I could hardly agree with that sentiment, given you are carrying our child within you."

He remembered their time together before, when he led her to the cove near Crestwood and offered to reveal the truth of the vallaslin to her. She had balked at the idea of marking herself as a slave, as he knew he would, but what he was unprepared for was the visceral pain it caused her to know how fragmented her knowledge of her history was. He wanted to tell her then, the truth of his intentions, and lose himself in his love for her, but….

"Yes, our child. Abelas believes I am carrying a girl, though why he would wish that on me…" Her ears flattened slightly at the idea. "I wouldn't know where to begin with a girl."

This time he laughed and brought his lips down to meet her's. Guileless emerald green blinked back at him, dazed and hungry. There was lust hidden within her weary eyes and he felt his manhood swelling and grow stiff the more his hands roamed her body.

"You will be a wonderful mother, Ashalle. Should we have a daughter, I believe she could find nor possess no better mother than you."

"I never knew my own mother, or father. I'm not sure I really know how to care for a child."

"You will take to it naturally, as you do with most things."

She scoffed. "You have more assurance than I do."

"Come, vhenan." he said, offering her his hand. "Let us go back to bed."

She had become his distraction, his weakness. He soon learned after that orchestrated meeting in this very place five years ago, that he would betray himself for her. To be with her. To see her. To smell her scent and feel her warmth. He resolved himself to save her, for a life without her in existence would be hollow and dull in comparison.

And so, Briala brought Ashalle to him. Regrettably a fight had ensued and the now ex-inquisitor refused to be drawn back into any game involving the Dread Wolf. The resistance was inevitable, it was, after all, who she was and what she represented. A hero who rose to stand against evil, a shining light to fight the darkness from swallowing the world whole. Sleep magic was required, something that even Briala, who possessed no innate magical gifts, was able to perform without harming Ashalle.

The slumber was not unlike the one he experienced after banishing the Evanuris into the beyond. It was careful, well practiced and formulated magic, that would retain all that she was but make her more….amenable to his intentions. She woke, confused and frantic and he would never forget the shrill sound of terror when she realized her left arm was fully restored.

Ashalle kissed his neck and pressed herself against the hard mold of his body. She was rather good at distracting him. She ran a hot tongue down his neck and whispered sweet words of love to him as her hand reached for his length.

"You should be sleeping." he moaned, struggling to fight against his own lust.

This was not the first time. He once swore he would never lie with her under false pretenses; however, back then his tenacity, his sheer strength of will and character seemed stronger. The barriers he created as he walled off his heart and the distance he placed between them assisted with alleviating his emotional entanglement to her, if only for a while. Soon, he could no longer bear the thought of being separated from her or her dying by his hands.

"I will sleep after, my love."

He could not keep himself from reaching down between her thighs and exploring the wet folds that lay at the center of them. He pulled his face down to a round supple breast, took the peaked nipple in his mouth and sucked at it. His manhood throbbed with longing, an ache that begged to be satisfied whenever he laid eyes on her.

Ashalle's mouth was sweeter than the deepest dream, than any dream he ever experienced both in and out of the Fade. He plunged himself inside of her, ravenous for her flesh and the sweetness of her. A moan escaped her swollen lips as glittering strands of hair fell in front of her eyes.

"Oh vhenan…"

She was everything that was beautiful in the world. Though the Evanuris hindered his perfect dream, of a life with his love and their child, here and now, in this moment nothing could pull him from her.

Ashalle was honey and sweet cakes, she was the finest wine and warmed spiced rum, she was the very air that filled his lungs and the food that nourished his body. Small shuddering gasps of pleasure echoed throughout the bedchamber and mingled with the stillness of the night.

They both reached their climax, the world exploded before their eyes in swirling shades of color and light. He ran nimble fingers across the tender taut skin of her belly, feeling the warmth and surge of life and magic within, as she lay quietly in his arms. A soft kick, a subtle movement, reached out toward. His child, a kindred spirit filled with old and new magic.

An heir. A queen. And he, now a king. He would rule this world, correcting the actions of those who came before to ensure a brighter, better future than the one the Evanuris sought to create. His child would be born never knowing fear, hardship, or pain. The corrections, so easy and precise, like the blossoming fruit of a tree, would take more time. Dissent within his court needed to be eliminated otherwise the transition could be hindered further. He was nothing if not efficient. It could be done.

Sleep, he thought, for the dawn comes soon and only you are prepared to greet it.

#solas x inquisitor #dragon age #dragon age inquisition #lavellan #fanfic #tresspasser #solavellan #solavellen hell #inquistor lavellan #dread wolf #fen'an lavellan #fen'harel

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rustdream · 5 years ago

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@joeyydrawss

This is based off of one line about the dark clone gang being villains in cragtworld.

First, as a writing warm up, a shart drabble)

"But, why DO we have have names like that?" The pale Cyclops spoke up, as she tightened the ropes around Sack thing. Her question was met with an awkward silence, before Dark!Rain wandered. "What do you mean? What's wrong with 'fe names, Ima?" Her cracked eye met the her colleague's leaking black ones, a small feeling of confusion placed in her mind. After all, she hadn't anticipated having to explain her question. She had only snapped out of her thoughts as she tried to walk towards the brown cloaked girl, before noticing that she had tied her hands to the ropes. How embarrassing. The two others in the room didn't seem to judge though, as their hostage was rightfully afraid. Why their leader suggested this was beyond her. "Well, I mean, it seems weird to call ourselves. Well, now that I say it it sounds like something to tell Joey about." She finally got free, though her hands hurt from tugging on the ropes so hard. Before DRain could speak up, DIma continued, "C-cause, it's understandable that YOU would calk yourself Rain, cause you ARE her!" DRain nodded in agreement, a smug smirk worming its way into her face. "And me, Ima is technically my name, all that I remember from my legal name. But what about Joey? He utterly HATES his other self, so it seems weird."

"Well...ah, ya got me here. If ya want, we can go ask him."

"What if he gets angry?"

"Ill take tha fall for it. Even then it's just a question. How bad can that be?"

And so the two left the room, as Sack thing noticed that the ropes have become looser from the tugging. Now all they had to do was plan an escape.

Real story under here/

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

|another random one: context, what if ADITLOF was affect by the dark clone crew|

The gang could only stare in confusion as Rain and Ima struggled to get out of the guards grasp, while Newton was talking to strange man with some fish on his head. Bill almost chuckled at hearing Wheatley comment on this. "Well, this trip could have gone better." "I don't see how it can. I'd love to hear Rain use her 'freindly charm' on this." He was shot a mean glare, which was meet with an eye roll. He decided to look away from Rain desperately explaining herself, as he overheard Mewton's conversation with the man.

"I can't believe you've associated with criminals now, first the titans now this-."

"I-its not like that. Papa! I-"

"Well the way you've avoided us I doubt you was bringing them in."

"Because they haven't done anything wrong, they don't deserve prison!"

"While I can't say the same about the rest of them, THOSE two," He shot a horrid glare directly at Ima, how got as close to Rain as she could, who was speaking, while tearing something off her shirt," are wanted criminals. Thousands of crimes are on their hands, Newton. How can you defend them?"

"Rain and Ima, they would never do this! They're my friends, Papa, a-at least let them prove that they didn't do anythin-"

"THE ONE EYED ONE HAS A WEAPON!" The two guards bellowed, pulling everyone's attention to Ima, who had a pin in her hand. "T-this isn't a weapon, just a pin that was picking my skin! Also," she put it in her pocket, a look of what Bill could only place as offended unamesment. "why are we being accused of something that we didn't even do, if this is our first time coming here?" Rain added on, "Not to mention...what DID we do?" A long pause, as Newton gestures, a brief look of triumph in his eyes. Until he saw the stern, angered look in his father's face. The older sackperson slowly walked towards the girl, the guards letting her go. "Oh, I'm sorry, but you've been here before." Rain backed away, Ima still standing there, silent.

Compared to her, he was really tall. To tell you the truth, Ima sort of regretted saying that now. "Ima, is it? Let's see, you've destroyed many, many cities and towns in Craftworld, terrorized Bunkum, KIDNAPPED and endangered a CREATIR CURATOR, and that's only before you've meet you ACCOMPLICE Rain. Who is the reason Manglewood is stuck in a large area of tar, endangered MILLIONS in the act- MAY I GO ON!?" His tone reached a new level that Newton hadn't though of before. In fact, he even had to be held back by the younger man to prevent him from pummeling the girl into the ground. The two girls were taken aback- the whole group was. Rain, a villain? She's a hero, the kindest person ever! Even if it annoyed Bill to no end. And Ima... actually, Both Bill and Ima seemed to consider the notion that she might have done those things before. It was nigh improbable, but still.

"but, we didn't do those things." Was all Rain could muster, still shocked at the man sudden change in behavior. Newton was pushed away as the two guards were attempted to pull him back as Newton had. "DO YOU REALLY THINK," The two friends now where close together, unsure of why this was happening, they haven't done anything wrong, "I'M STUPID ENOUGH TO ACTUALLY BELIEVE ANY WORD YOU SA-" Suddenly, an explosion could be heard, as a piece of debris came between the man and the two girls, causing him to stop, and the group to panic. Almost stumbling to the ground, Bill managed to get a glance at the three people through the smoke. The first thing he could notice, where how two of them had an almost likeness to Rain and Ima, the only differences were Tue Rain clones black eyes and brown jacket, and the how the air around the other clone seemed off. Dark, suffocating cold. As it would sometimes become when Ima entered. Though her skin was a sickly pale, and her screen was cracked. Before he could even look at the third one, they closed in, the other Rain holding the odd man by the throat with a black liquid, and another one, a person he had never seen before, pinning him against a wall, with weapons threatening another group of people.

That only left the third one, who seems to have closed off all entrances and exits, before staying the the middle of the building, keeping an eye on every panicked person. The man struggled, as his son screamed. "Papa no-" thrown into a wall by the other Ima. "Listen up you fucking shits," the boy, who held his weapons tight, his red eyes scanning the room, started, "This. Is a holdup. And from now on, you're staying here until those hero twats come to rescue you. And if you try to leave, my freinds over there will kill you." He gestured to the two, who had tied most of the people in tar, with the other Ima looking over the rest, before Rain spoke up. "Wait a minute, bad language aside, WHI ARE YOU?" The boy threw a knife at Rain, cutting her cheek in the process, and cracking the glass floor it landing in. Storm seems to become uncomfortable in her reflection, as the cracks ran a little. The boy smirked. "I guess an introduction is only complimentary. I'm Joey. Or Dark Joey of you prefer, I dont really care." Joey smirked as he pointed at the other two. "The one with the tar is Dark Rain, and the other is Ima."

Rain immediately answered. "Hey wait a minute, you. Is your name Rain N Thirteen?" The clone frowned. "Yeah, why ya askin'?"

"Cause that's MY name."

"Wot?" The clone looked rain up and down, her frown only growing. "Huh, I didn't know I had a fan, a little tip lady. I ditched tha blue coat long ago. Got real bloody."

"No, you don't understand. My legal name 's Rain. So what your saying isn't true."

"O ho! Look Joey, A've got meself a faker, just like tha blue spiked dork."

"If anything your the faker."

"No, you."

Joey scoffed at his comrades stupid quarrel with this weirdo. Though, something about her reflection, the black soulless stare in them. It intrigued him. As he stomped on the yellow hair dweeb's chest to stop him from moving, he looked at Ima. "And what about You? Next ill be hearing that 'yoir the real Ima!'" The girl stood a few feet from her double, who seemed to be almost crestfallen when their eyes locked. Almost as if she was remembering something. Suddenly, the double started to glitch in and out of reality, as it started to attempt to attack her. At least until a sharp object almost hit her square in the head. "Get your head in the fucking game. Come on, I'm holding these people at gunpoint here. Stop your childish squabbling and tie the rest up!"

After a good hour of fighting and bruises, they actually did it. What mad it harder was that Rain fakers apparent ability in fighting, and that other girl's freakish body manipulation. Seriously, seeing her body contrite under her skin, to grow two more grotesque arms, seeing her muscle tissue stretch and bleed to make weapons,, it was going to give Dark Rain nightmares! And not to mention Ima seemed to get more emotional in the presence of that other Ima, more evident in the way she flung her around while tied up. How she occasional kicked the other just for talking. Though, she couldn't blame her, she tied up her copy's mouth for god sake. As Joey was making his grand hammy speech as always, Rain put a hand on Ima's shoulder as she kicked the pink wearing double. "Ay. You alright there?" The other twitched as she turned to her, almost crying now. "I just want to tear her apart, she's not me, she can't be, he said that there wasn't any other-" Muffled by a hug, Rain's other arm shrugged. "Ay know, but she could be a faker, ah mean, we've got a faker over there." The clones muffled complaints went unheard. "Yeah..yeah! Y-you're right Rain! Your right. A faker..." The glitches girl was patted on the back. "Exactly! Come one, we've got a show to but on."

The two left the room, not noticing the claws breaking through the one eyed clones restraint. The duo walked out onto a platform, Joey making his evil hammy speech to his own faker, and the gang of Craftworld's hero's. "...And we will be victorious. For we are the Dark Heart Gang!"

"Wait a minute, that's a crappy name tho-"

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the-truth-will-light-the-sky · 6 years ago

Text

Valses and Wine

Summary: The young prince of Tenebrae finds himself alone in the middle of an auspicious ball at Fenestala Manor which he quite enjoys the solitude, mind. Yet his supposed alone time was disturbed by a rather drunk marshal and his partner, Veritas Lux Seculum, who seems to have quite an effect on Ravus Nox Fleuret. Pairing: Ravus Nox Fleuret x Veritas Lux Seculum (OC) One shot

Ravus Nox Fleuret watched as black and white fabric whirled around in a haze in front of him, the rising and falling of orchestral notes ringing in his ears.

Tenebraens and Lucians in their most prized gowns and uniforms, laughter and jeers echoing shamelessly and spilling out the corridors, their lovingly polished weapons deposited outside the ballroom. Tonight was no room for military accoutrements.

Everyone smiled as they ate famous Tenebraen cuisine and enjoyed the best wines Fenestala Manor has to offer.

And yet here he was, feet solidly planted on the marble floor, hands plastered on his back as he observed the curious scenery, solitary and to be quite frank, a bit bored.

One would think he was sour or bitter just by standing there, but no. He was quite content, thank you very much.

He’d rather watch them all as they twirled around in the twelfth dance that night, the celebration seemingly extending way past midnight.

His feet took him to the direction of the dessert table, fingers hovering over a plate of lemon madeleines, lips curving at the side as he nibbled away on his seventeenth piece of biscuit.

The prospect of a hot cup of tea as he sat in front of the fire in his bedroom was thrilling, even more than the merry happenings in the grand ballroom of white, blue and silver reminiscent of snowflakes. He shoved another piece into his mouth and almost choked on it the moment he was sent sprawling forward, barely in time to catch his person.

Hurried apologies spilled through guilty lips.

“Oh I am so sorry! I hope I didn’t — oh for goodness sake, marshal, let go of that bloody cup! It’s not poisonous!”

Strong yet small hands hoisted him upwards amidst the conundrum before him, his eyes immediately darting to gaze at brown eyes that seemed conflicted at the moment.

At one second they were filled with concern, the next completely and utterly annoyed…at him?

Or not.

The figure turned fiercely at a man who looked to have been carved from a marble boulder, her finger wagging authoritatively at him.

“Cor, even for just one bloody second could you at least spare me your neurotic episodes? I’ve checked those wine bottles and THOSE cups. They’re not in any way, poisoned as you assumed them to be for the tenth time today. If they were, which they are certainly not, everyone would have dropped unconscious in the ballroom. Do you think they are?”

Ravus listened as he watched the famous and equally feared Cor Leonis grudgingly placing back the crystalline cup over the table. He doesn’t seem all too pleased with the prospect of being told off.

The lady who single-handedly told off the captain of the famous Lucian Crownsguard turned around to face him, her smile appearing just as her eyes alighted with an apologetic sheen.

“Pardon for the kerfuffle, young lord. We were just…inspecting. Were you hurt?”

Ravus shook his head, yet his hands shook somewhat. Odd. That never happened. Well, only during times when he discovered some new species or learning, of course. But was she a new discovery of his?

Pushing himself to reply for courtesy’s sake and for the hope of not looking like a complete dolt, he smiled.

“I am fine, you are quick on your senses, catching me quite on time. I assure you and the marshal, there is nothing that would incapacitate any of us here, for sure. Unless the wine had gotten bad for some reason.”

The lady chuckled, making a quick studying look on her partner to make sure he wasn’t about to do another inspection.

“Well, speaking of incapacitating, if the marshal does not stop taste testing every bloody wine or liquor for poison, the item in question would surely be the way to his own incapacitation should he drink another one — Cor! I swear if you lift another cup…are you drunk?!”

Hastily adding an excuse, the lady pushed the marshal away from the liquor stand, her short stature against his six foot three frame an odd sight in the ballroom.

Odd.

That word seemed to be a favorite of his quite recently, hasn’t it?

Out of the blue and seemingly in character with the recent oddness of things, Ravus found himself walking towards where the lady was sitting, her eyes peering into the marshal who seemed to wave her off with an annoyed look. Defeated and slightly ruffled, she took a sip from a tea cup.

With just one studying look, Ravus knew she was drinking tea. Odd. Not even champagne?

The lady immediately saw him, her eyes taking on that bright sheen again.

Without sparing a moment, Ravus held out his hand.

Could you spare me a moment for a dance?

The young lady took his hand without question and they danced in the ballroom as if no one was watching. But everyone was indeed watching. Anyone who had charmed the young but snobbish prince for a dance was worth the attention.

The lord in question thanked himself for taking those dancing lessons albeit begrudgingly. At least he did not step on her feet.

Curious and ever observant, Ravus noticed how petite she truly was and how small her feet looked, too.

His thoughts were rattled for a bit as the dance took on a quicker pace, and his heart pounded as he heard her laughter pleasantly landing on his ears. She missed a couple of steps, chuckling at herself for almost tripping over her dark, flowing dress fashioned in the Lucian tradition.

“Have you never danced a polka before?” he asked.

Her breathing was laboured, yet she was still able to laugh at her mistakes.

“Not on many occasions. Lucis prefer a more somber tone to their music. Valses, to be precise.”

“Ah. And are you fond of valses?”

“Yes, I am. Not only are they soothing, they’re also quite easy to practice when a dance is in the occasion. And you?”

“I am rather quite fond of them myself.”

The young woman tripped on herself yet the lord of Tenebrae was able to catch her, whirling her around to disguise their near tripping experience.

“Nice save, young lord.”

“I was trained to save myself from embarrassment, certainly.”

“I can’t keep this up!”

“Well you have to. Finish off what you start, that’s what my father told me.”

Ravus caught himself before he could say anything more. His father had been gone and buried beneath an altar in front of the Tenebraen oak for four years now and yet here he was, babbling on about him as if he was still here, whirling his mother in a dance or joking with his sister or drinking champagne in secret with him.

Odd, why had he thought of him at this very instant?

Taking him away from his reverie, the young woman replied after much scrutiny of his expression. She seem to be quite good at sensing emotions, Ravus thought.

“He’s right. Perhaps we should. Oh quickly! They’re all turning that way!”

“Oh!”

Ravus led her towards the dancing group and were now in sync with their ecstatic steps and delighted jeers.

Too soon, the dance ended. As quickly as it did, the young woman thanked him for the time and he escorted her back to the table.

King Regis sat watching, his dark eyes glinting in mirth. Beside him is Ravus’ own mother, the Oracle, Queen Sylva.

“Tea?”

The young woman offered to which he gratefully accepted.

Ravus happily sat down beside her, watching her carefully pouring him a cup of tea.

“I can assure you, it is not poisoned.”

Ravus laughed as he took a sip, his lips curling at the side in amusement.

Clarus curiously peered at the liquid slowly pouring into cups.

“Tea? At a ball? Tenebraen customs are very different than Lucian ones.”

“In Lucis, we drink wine at celebrations,” King Regis added.

“Well, we do prefer champagne during occasions, but I assure you, this is for the benefit of our younger company,” one of the Tenebraen nobles commented with a laugh.

“Speaking of liquids, Veritas, you told me Cor was sampling the liquor for poison.”

Ravus’ ears perked up, catching her name and memorising it fervently.

“Yes, your majesty.”

Her head perked up, eyes looking for the person in question.

“Oh I sent him off to bed. He’s completely and utterly —”

“Smashed,” Veritas replied. Concern then etched lines on her forehead, hoping her partner is able to sober up for the next day.

The Oracle, radiant in her delicately coifed hair and clad in her dress of white chiffon, laughed comfortably, her fingers reaching for the dessert plate.

“Oh that word does fit the marshal. I wonder how he is? Oh --” the Oracle noticed the way her son’s neck was craning over the table. “There are more lemon madeleines arriving shortly, my dear Ravus. I do know how much you care for them.”

In an instant, the young lady grew rigid. Achingly slow, she turned towards Ravus.

“Lord Ravus?”

“Yes?”

If blood was visible beneath the skin, then certainly Veritas was full of it, especially on the cheeks.

“Ah, forgive me! Where are my manners? Lord Ravus, I —”

“A little too late for that, do you think? It doesn’t matter. We have been introduced amidst a rather amusing…kerfuffle. I’m delighted we met that way. Better than being all stiff and rigid at a ceremony,” Ravus replied, tilting his head to Veritas’ direction and watched in amusement as she shifted in her seat.

“My goodness, your honesty truly is a characteristic present only in the young lord of Tenebrae!” King Regis laughed, raising his wine cup for another sip.

“Indeed. He’s rather proud of it,” said the Oracle as she sipped her champagne, eyes alight in mirth.

“Oh, that is a rather more pleasant, albeit comfortable way of introduction.”

“Emperor’s demise, is that how you both see the notion of pleasant and comfortable? How odd you are both!” Clarus chuckled, observing his fellow King’s Man (Woman) and the young lord.

“Surely, you will both assure us you are not, in fact….awkward?”

“Oh they are both awkward, no doubt about that.”

“I believe awkwardness is a rather precious trait. Better than being too…uptight, eh, Clarus?” Veritas retorted, feeling her small triumph giving herself a well deserved piece of Sylleblossom cake.

King Regis nearly spurted his drink, his eyes glistening, a warning of the bout of laughter that is about to erupt.

And sure enough, the King of Lucis, even for a moment, forgot that he was king and started laughing to no end, accompanied by the teasings of the Oracle who forgot that she was supposed to be quite meek by the dining table.

Ravus stood up, amused by the fact that none had even noticed how he lured Veritas away from the table and out to the veranda.

“Well, aren’t they having fun?” Ravus said as they maneuvered their way in the bustling crowd.

“Oh believe me, the king has his bouts of laughter. Who would deny him that?”

“Ah, well he deserves some respite from being king. After all, being royalty isn’t as golden as they think.”

“Speaking from experience, young lord?”

“Yes. It is rather irritating. But royalty by appointment is my predicament.”

“By blood you mean.”

“Ah, well, we all know how that all started, don’t we? Let’s not talk about such boring things.”

“True enough.”

The two settled by the railings, the wind gently caressing their cheeks, stars alight in the night sky. Before they could strike up any sort of conversation, however, a rather ecstatic voice came about.

“Veritas, look!”

Dark hair dishevelled like a mop of black mess, eyes glistening in mirth and face full of crumbs, young Prince Noctis came running towards her, holding a book that looked heavier than he weighed.

“Well, well, what have we nicked this time from the library, Prince Mischief?” Veritas teased affectionately, combing his unruly hair back into place with her hands. Only, the strands have now become more unruly than before. Veritas gave up and stared expectantly at the young Prince of Lucis.

“A book of Eos’ Wildlife!”

Ravus’ eyes opened wider at the realisation that the young prince had been running around Tenebrae with his precious book.

“Luna let me borrow it! Look!” Noctis gingerly placed the book on the veranda’s ledge, equally lifting the pages with care.

The pages stopped at the image of a garula. Noctis’ finger pointed excitedly at it and as if revealing the most astounding revelation in all of wildlife studies, whole-heartedly said out loud:

“This is Luna!”

Veritas’ hands immediately clasped around the prince’s mouth, yet he still continued to say that the garula in the book is indeed the Princess Lunafreya of Tenebrae, pure and beautiful.

“Shush, Noctis! That’s not very kind!”

His tongue darted across her hand, eliciting a gasp from his captor.

“Eww! Noctis!”

Veritas wiped her hand on her black garb, thankful for the fact that it will contain no stains from the prince’s princely saliva.

Meanwhile, she realized that Ravus was chuckling to himself.

“You find it funny?” Veritas mused.

“Hilarious, yes. Oh, if only Lunafreya was here. My, she called me a garula once, you know. I’d like to see how she’d react if she realises she’s a garula, too! Well, apples don’t fall far from the trees, as they say.”

“I am not a garula!�� Lunafreya’s voice echoed in the halls as she chased Noctis down. The prince ran as if hordes of garula were after him, his squeals of delight echoing louder than the young girl’s screams of protests.

“I am being chased by a garula!”

Noctis unashamedly screamed as he clutched the book to his chest possessively, cutting through the crowd dancing in the middle of the hall, with Lunafreya trying her best to catch him.

“Come back here, you, you…. you stinky Catoblepas!”

Maria had to run around in circles in order to catch the agile princess, finally able to coax her to sit beside her mother with the prospect of freshly made desserts of cream and fruit.

Lunafreya sat down primly, looking truly well-behaved with only her sweaty hair a quick giveaway of her previous mischief.

The ruckus ended when King Regis took Noctis’ hand, trapping him in an embrace.

Noctis and Lunafreya sat beside one another, the next bout of childish insults starting again without end.

Ravus ran his fingers through his hair, amused at the display of familiarity between his sister and the prince.

“They get along quite well, don’t they?”

“They do indeed.”

From across the hall, Noctis evidently sat still when Cor Leonis had re-entered the room. Lunafreya seemed pleased with the marshal’s presence. The captain of the Lucian Crownsguard was sober, as if he wasn’t testing the drinks for poison half an hour ago.

He looked for his partner and lo, he caught her sharing a nice chat with the young lord of Tenebrae. He sank in his chair, contently listening to Clarus as he discussed the details of the next day’s security plans. He felt like he needed another drink, though Cor Leonis was never one for liquor, so he asked for some coffee. It’s going to be a long night, anyway.

Suddenly, the crowd in the great hall awed as King Regis and Lady Sylva took to the floor, the Oracle’s shining robe of lapis lazuli shining magnificently in the now dimmed light.

Veritas craned her neck and watched in content as she saw the king, the once adventurous friend of hers smiling beautifully again, guard down and being in the moment of sheer bliss.

She turned her gaze from the Oracle who was truly elegant, to her son who stood beside his observer.

Blue eyes softened to the sight of his mother dancing, water threatening to spill in the edges.

Ravus caught Veritas watching him intently.

Odd.

He wanted to tell her everything.

And it all came spilling forth from his usually sealed lips.

“She used to dance with Father all the time, even without music. They’d twirl around, content in their own bubble as the rest of the world drifted away. In their arms they found solace, if only for a time. I’ve never seen her truly smile, not even now.”

Veritas watched the Oracle as she gracefully glided on the dance floor with King Regis delicately holding her hand and waist.

“If only you could have seen them, Veritas. You would think you’d find no one else to be as happy as they were when…when he was alive.”

Veritas felt her hand reach for Ravus’ hand, feeling his clammy skin against hers.

“The halls were always filled with his music and his carefree laughter. Not a day goes by that I do not think of him. I miss him terribly so.”

“Seeing how she is happy with you and your sister shows how much she loves your father, Ravus. She’s happy to have both her children with her. Memories of your father remain with you both, I’m certain.”

“You believe so?”

“Yes, I do.”

“Have you ever felt the same way with anyone, Veritas?”

Ravus caught a bitter smile quirking the side of her lip before he even noticed that she did.

“No. Not really.”

Memories of the past that were supposed to be kept locked away threatened to burst out of their confinement.

Only….

Ravus’ hand presented itself in front of her, his eyes, if it were possible at all, became a softer, albeit warmer shade of blue.

“Shall we dance?”

His voice carried a strong and determined resolve but only too quickly, as it shifted into one filled with his usual tone used in his curious observations.

“This song has healing attributes, mind.”

The music did shift into a slower valse, the violins softer than anything Veritas has ever heard of before, not even in Lucis.

Smiling brightly as she tucked away the memories back kicking and screaming inside her mind, she accepted his hand.

“I believe you, Ravus.”

Hands clasped around each others’, together they drifted away slowly into the dim light of the great hall, melting into the crowd of partners equally trying to either reminisce or forget things.

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