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wolveria · 1 year

Text

The Raven’s Hymn - Ch 27

Pairing: SCP-049 x Reader

Series Warnings (18+ only): Eventual smut, dubcon, slow burn, violence, horror, death, monsters, human experiments, dark with a happy ending

Chapter Summary: “Why… would you wish to speak about him?”

AO3

You were disappointed to find the bed empty the next morning.

It was unfair, expecting the SCP to be beside you when you awoke. It was a selfish need, one you weren’t entirely ready to examine.

049 wasn’t at his usual spot at his desk, and you nearly set into a panic until you spotted him at one of the lab counters, medical tools spread out before him. He didn’t need to clean them—the anomalous doctor’s bag took care of that—but he did polish the tools one by one, rubbing the scalpels, forceps, and knives until they held a reflective shine.

You watched him in his task as you ate breakfast, the tray of food delivered soon after you woke. Neither of you had spoken beyond a cursory “good morning,” and the silence that stretched between you felt like a delicate thing, too easy to break. You didn’t know how to approach what had occurred the night before, so you let it be. Even though you were tired, your mental state had improved exponentially from the day before. You didn’t know how to tell 049 how grateful you were for what he’d done, so you said nothing at all.

At least, until that night. The day had been peaceful, 049 seeming to understand your need for quiet companionship, but sleep evaded you, and the dark held the promise of monsters.

Without prompting, 049 left his place at his desk and sat at the edge of the bed, moving carefully so as not to startle you. You were easily startled, these days.

“Sorry,” you muttered half into the pillow. “My tossing and turning isn’t disturbing you, is it?”

“No,” he said gently. “But I was hoping to aid you in this restless state.”

Oh, did your mind dance with the possibilities. Possibilities 049 hadn’t meant at all. What would the good doctor think, had he known the depraved corners where your mind strayed.

“What did you have in mind?” you asked, praying your voice betrayed nothing of your thoughts.

“Another tale, perhaps. You appeared to enjoy my other stories. Were there others you wished me to tell?”

There were many, the problem lay in what to choose. It was easier to point out what you didn’t know about 049, rather than topics you’d already covered, but your mind drew back to when he’d spoken about 173 with such disdain. You were curious what 049 thought about other SCPs, especially one in particular.

“What do you know about SCP-035?”

049 went completely still.

“Why… would you wish to speak about him?”

You pressed your lips together to hide a smile. The loathing in 049’s voice was barely disguised, and there was something charming about how he always held his heart on his sleeve. When he spoke of a subject he disliked, it was obvious, as was when he talked about something he enjoyed.

You didn’t linger on the fact that when he spoke about you, it was always with a warmth in his gaze.

“Curiosity,” you said, plainly enough. “In our interviews, he gave the impression he knew you quite well. It wasn’t something we talked about since it wasn’t covered in the interview questions, but… he did like to bring you up whenever he could.”

049 gave a noise that was close to a disgusted groan. You couldn’t remember him making a sound like that before.

“I would not believe a word that comes out of that porcelain mouth,” 049 muttered. “He is prone to tales of fancy rather than those based in fact.”

“He does like to embellish.”

“Embellish would infer there is a grain of truth to begin with.”

Now you did smile, hoping the darkness would keep it hidden from the annoyed SCP.

“It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about him. I won’t push.”

049 released a sigh, but there was a concession in it.

“It is not a matter of want. Although that sac à merde may be a less desirable subject to speak of, I am willing to sate your curiosity.”

Well, when he said it like that.

You sat up further on the pillow, no longer even pretending to attempt sleep. Your eyes had adjusted enough to see the hooded SCP, and you waited for what you were sure would be a fascinating story.

049 began in the most likely place, following a mass Pestilence epidemic across Europe during the 1300. By the sound of it, it was the infamous Black Death, but you didn’t interrupt to confirm, especially since 049 seemed to think all plagues were the Pestilence. Plus, you were too interested in why he was revisiting his earliest memories, not having thought he’d met 035 so early on.

But he had, while visiting one of the many poor villages to help care for their sick. A doctor had already been in town, supposedly healing the sick and miraculously saving the dying.

“I had to meet this skilled physician, of course,” 049 explained. “You can imagine my horror with what I found. The villagers merely saw a masked man, but I sensed something worse. A source of the corrupting influence itself.”

“Wait, wait. 035 has the Pestilence?”

“035 is the Pestilence,” 049 said, his words on the edge of a growl. “Or at least, one outlet for it. You have made note of his black secretions, have you not? Does it not consume and decay all that it touches?”

“Well… yes, but…”

But this was brand new information 049 had never shared before. You were about to warn caution, and then realized, what was the point? The Foundation researchers didn’t take his claims of the Pestilence seriously. Why would they start now?

049 waited for you to finish your thought, but you simply shook your head.

“I’m sorry, I’m still trying to wrap my head around it.”

His gaze softened, taking some of the animosity out of his eyes while speaking of 035.

“That is quite all right. I realize it may come as a shock, learning the true nature of the Pestilence and that it has corrupted other anomalous beings. The mask is not the only one. That which you call 106 also has a festering influence.”

“What? The old man?”

“A rather innocuous name, but yes. He revels in the domain of the Pestilence, rotting everything he touches when he crosses into this world.” 049 shifted on the bed. “I would have thought these traits were self-evident, Doctor.”

In hindsight, they were. Or at least, you could see the similarities between 035’s leaking ooze and the rotten, black rust that 106 left behind. You weren’t quite sold that it was due to any Pestilence, but you weren’t about to tell 049 your doubts.

“It seems I still have much to learn,” you conceded. “Please, continue.”

Avoiding any discussions of the Pestilence would probably be best, and you were relieved to hear him continue, his tone placated and even soft with affection.

“You are a swift learner; I have no doubt you will gain a mastery in recognizing the Pestilence when you come across its stain,” he said, and even that small bit of praise warmed your insides. “But yes, there are beings such as 035 that accelerate the Great Dying in this world. Even without the aid of the Pestilence, 035 was in the midst of ushering along his patients to a grueling, final end. His methods were barbaric, cruel, and unscientific.”

His voice dipped low, heated even after 700 years.

“He subscribed poisons as tinctures, Pestilence-ridden ointment as salves, and useless pieces of glass as healing baubles. He would even drill holes into their skulls, claiming it would let out the demons. The only demon involved was one who wore a mask and called himself a physician.”

049 ended the denouncement with a short, frustrated breath. He seemed to gather himself, smooth the proverbial ruffle feathers that you only saw in your mind’s eye.

“Do you know where your Foundation first discovered the mask?”

It was no longer your Foundation, but you didn’t correct him.

“Yes,” you said, mentally pulling up 035’s file, one you had read many times before. “An abandoned crypt in Venice.”

“Exactly where I left him.”

“You trapped him there?”

You were unable to hide your surprise. Hostility wasn’t in 049’s nature, and you wondered just exactly what 035 had done to garner it.

“Why?” you pressed quietly, once again aware of the camera. “If you can say.”

“I have no qualms with explaining my actions, though I do not happily remember the events leading up to it.” 049 turned his head just enough to stare at you out of the corner of his eye. “I could look past the schemes, the lies, and the cons. The mask is a skilled manipulator and delights in the suffering of others. Choosing to thwart his destructive desires would have been as effective at trying to stem the tides or halt a wildfire in its path. He is not one to be persuaded or reasoned with.

“He stalked me across Europe, sabotaged my good work and turned my patients against me. I do not understand his obsession with me, but I bore it as best I could and ignored his vie for my attention. What I could not ignore was when he set his twisted mind to my students. To… Pernella.”

And now, it all made sense. Considering 049’s protective streak and how much he had clearly cared for the girl, it was a wonder 035 was still alive. Maybe that was further proof that the mask couldn’t be destroyed.

“I see,” you said, looking down at the bedsheet to escape his gaze. “And what did he try to do to them?”

He gave another puff of air in disgust.

“Turn them against me, of course. My students were not weak-willed, but the mask, if given time, can break the resolve of most. Even Pernella would have become vulnerable to his damning allure.” 049 hunched a little further inward, his voice going soft. “She didn’t trust men whose smiles were too wide, and their words too sweet. She saw right through him, and the mask does not appreciate being seen.”

He sat up straighter, once again taking on a tone that was like silken steel, soft but unyielding.

“I did what had to be done, and if given the chance, I would do it again. It was the mask’s own greed and avarice that followed me into that crypt, lured by the opportunity to catch me alone. His goal may have been to dispose of me, or lock me away himself, and become the new shepherd to my flock. When one schemes of betrayal, they often become blind to betrayal at their back. He never saw me coming.”

You didn’t imagine the underlying tone of satisfaction and triumph. No, you thought, 035 wouldn’t have seen the good doctor at all. 049 spoke of the mask’s allure, but you wondered if he at all understood his own. It was a strange thing to consider that you might understand a little bit of what 035 might have been thinking. An immortal mask, able to control the thoughts and actions of others given time, whose intelligence had been charted beyond genius. Perhaps, he had simply been bored, and 049 had been something new. Something different.

A rival. A challenge. A fixation.

Yes, you thought you might understand 035 a little too well, even if you two had never spoken deeply about 049. And you hoped you never would.

049 shifted, perhaps noticing your long silence.

“Barring my dislike of that villain, he is an exceedingly dangerous being.” His head quirked, giving you a puzzling look. “I would not have thought your Foundation would allow you to conduct such interviews.”

There were no longer supposed to be any interviews, especially after Site-19, but the Site Director had allowed you to interview 035 under your former position. Even Dr. Puli had not yet interviewed the mask, and while at the time you hadn’t thought much of it, you did now.

“There were many walls between me and 035, with no direct visual contact. He wore a target dummy, and we communicated via microphones and camera.” You frowned. “Even then, there was a risk of being affected by his abilities, but I don’t recall feeling much of anything. All of the post-psychological evaluations cleared me for duty without a problem.”

049 said nothing, but with the sort of silence that gave you the sense he knew something. As much as you wished to talk about your strange effect on SCPs, you wouldn’t do it in a place Leahy could watch and record.

“Then I am glad you were able to escape the poison of his influence,” 049 finally said, the words holding a tinge of unease.

“As am I.”

Before you could think better, you reached out, squeezing his arm close to his wrist. You didn’t want 049 to worry about you, not when his own life was also on a knife’s edge, dependent on the Site Director’s moods.

You removed your hand before it could linger too long, though 049 watched you retreat with a surprisingly unreadable look, heavy with something you didn’t understand. And then the look was gone, a small, apologetic chuckle in its place.

“I apologize, my dear. Once again, I have shared tales that are not fit for restful sleep.”

“No apologies needed,” you said with a reassuring smile. “I’m the one who asked. Thank you for sharing with me. I’m sure many of your memories are not… pleasant ones.”

“Some,” he admitted, his gaze warm even in the dim light. “But not all.”

He rose from the bed, and you wanted to grab his hand, pull him back to bed properly this time. But you didn’t.

Instead, when he said, “Have a good night, Doctor,” you simply bid him good night in return and curled up under the blanket. His story might not have been a soothing lullaby, but it kept your thoughts turned on something other than your captivity. The more you discovered about 049, the less you realized you knew about him. Your curiosity only burned brighter, and it was a nice distraction from the bleak void that filled the days ahead.

You only hoped that whatever Leahy had planned for you, it wouldn’t involve 049 any more than he already was. And if the worse should happen to you, you hoped 049 would not meet the same fate. He didn’t deserve to get caught up in whatever games the Site Director was playing, and if you ultimately met your death, you didn’t want 049 to be haunted by it. You wanted him to move on, perhaps even escape this place, and not linger on what had become of you.

You had a passing suspicion he would do no such thing.

Next Chapter

#the raven's hymn #scp 049 #scp 035 #scp 049 x reader #scp 049 fanfiction #wolveria writes

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cake-wlk · 1 year

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merbedo... merbedo behavioral hcs or just general things he does? if you don't mind talking about him 🤲

hmmm. mixed in a bit of his brother too to help me come up with some things.

sorry i've written more than i expected, so i hope its what you wanted at the very least

neutral - typical albedo behaviour, quiet and observant. most likely to be resting against the ground, if in the company of other people, because it helps alleviate weight. enjoys listening to people and studying their mannerisms closely, but won't really make any advances to actually touch or get close to someone. just enjoying the peace.

happy - will prop up his torso when he's particularly interested and happy. digging and flexing his claws into the sand. ear fins are more propped up. he tries not to move his tail too much in case he hits something, or someone, but its a good indicator of his mood. it'll grow more restless with a happier mood as his thoughts wander. he loves holding people, especially klee. a guilty pleasure of his to get as close as he can to people he trusts, being able to see and feel everything they do sates his curiosities completely. said curiosity will come out in full bloom if he recognises someone going out of their way to make him happy, but he will typically not go and physically touch someone unless they recognise his reluctance and give him permission of their own volition. *

sad - his fins are going to droop immediately, although it takes a lot to upset him, so it's not a common sight. he isn't one to back away from the situation though, after all he wants to understand humans properly and possibly make amends to the situation as quickly as he can. if he is truly consumed by sorrow, he will probably sink into a corner of his tank in the facility and curl up, or find a nice rocky beach to hide away and recollect himself.

* - its ingrained behaviour from the facility that created and 'cares' for him. none of the personnel are allowed to get close to him, treating him as a mere means to discover the secrets of the ocean. the only kind of contact he gets with humans there is through a thick glass window. rhinedottir and her crew don't exactly... take care of him and dorian very well, her lack of treating dorian as a being with human sentience made him lash out eventually, which in turn made her attempt to dispose of him after multiple casualties occurred... and this would've repeated with albedo too, if klee hadn't befriended him by chance.

extra - being touch-starved is shared between the brothers, albedo will snap up any chance for physical touch. dorian, on the flip-side, is too traumatised to accept it from humans, except for aether and maybe klee. as such, he can come across as particularly possessive with aether, coiling around him like he's going to be taken away at any moment he lets down his guard. albedo very much likes to rest on beaches for the warmth and also being able to draw in the sand. he absolutely adores it when sucrose or klee are there, doing their own things or taking part in whatever he's doing. he takes them for rides out into the water too. conversely, dorian much prefers the depths of the ocean, but will sometimes come up to silently observe, just barely peeking out of the water. klee attempts to get his attention on multiple occasions but it always results in him fleeing. the only one that really gets any success with him is aether... albedo's job primarily is to research the ocean, but he always brings back more samples than needed so he can give them to sucrose, as they both enjoy trading various specimens with sucrose's being from the surface and albedo's being from the sea. it helps lighten up his time at the facility, though they have to be sneaky about it. (rhinedottir eventually finds out, but decides to just stay quiet because of it helping albedo focus on his job, much like his friendship with klee keeping his spirits up) albedo and dorian tolerate each other a lot more than in canon, because dorian recognises that rhinedottir mistreats albedo too. there is a bit more mutual understanding from them because they're the only merfolk to exist. dorian was extremely rough and hurt albedo pretty bad, but he did try to help him when confronting him for the first time, ripping off his tracking collar. though it was a volatile mix of emotions and trauma that made him do it in such a hostile manner.

#don't be afraid to ask about more things if you want ^^#merbedo au #albedo #genshin impact #asks #anon #long post

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ladyvaingloria · 1 year

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Mordekai had seen it all.

Which was a perturbing revelation, to say the least.

He awoke in a familiar bed, to a familiar ceiling, as was only right and proper. The wild times of his youth had come and gone, and in its place was a mattress he knew well, with a small indent that made his existence undeniable. 23 millimeters from the left edge, an unruly wire jutted out, and he moved to avoid it, as he had so many times before. The faint yellow stain on the ceiling seemed today as though it were a duck - and it was tuesday, of course, it always seemed a duck on tuesday. He had many thoughts on the days of the week, but, he stopped himself there. He had already pondered them before, on this very bed, many times. There was no need to walk already trodden ground.

At precisely 7:17 AM (as opposed to FM, the radio type, he mentally quipped to himself, and then remembered he had thought the same joke just last month), Mordekai rose from bed, and, still in his nightgown, went downstairs to break his fast. Mrs. Connell had made her third type of morning-meal, two fried eggs and a slice of tomato on toast. (During Mordekai’s years experimenting with vegetarianism, he had discovered his loathing of tomato manifested only when paired with meat, and without it, he rather favored the fruit.) With a polite nod, he sat down to eat, and they began their conversation.

“How was your weekend?” Ah, Mordekai thought. Conversation number four. ‘Mrs. Connell forgets that monday already happened’. A common breakfast refrain, on days with ducks. He could recite the script by heart.

“Lovely, Mrs. Connell. Though yesterday’s labor drained much of my newfound vigor.”

And then she says, ‘Work on sunday? How blasphemous!’

“Work on sunday? How blasphemous!”

“Blasphemy is intellectually stimulating, Mrs. Connell. But, no. Yesterday was monday.”

‘Ah, quite right.’

“Ah, quite right.”

With the script concluded, the two took a wrap, and continued their breakfast in silence. Mordekai pondered expressing gratitude for the meal, but, the last four times that happened, he knew the precise exchange that would occur. ‘After everything you’ve done for me, this meal is nothing.’ ‘Nonetheless, labor warrants gratitude.’ ‘One good turn for another is no labor at all.’ And then, protracted ideological clash deferred, silence would return again.

Though… a worm of curiosity wriggled its way in, and Mordekai could not help but oblige it. Following curiosity had gotten him where he was today, after all. And he had yet to see something new today. So, he tried again.

“Mrs. Connell, my sincerest thanks for the breakfast. It is delicious.”

“After everything you’ve done for me, this meal is nothing.”

Ah. Oh dear. Inwardly, Mordekai sighed, though expressing his disappointment would be quite impolitic. He went through the motions for a fifth time, again choosing to defer the following clash, and resigned himself to simply enjoying the familiar. The meal, the conversation, the wood grain on the table - he knew it all, but was it so wrong to find some meager comfort in that?

Yet, as he stared his wardrobe down to ponder the day to come, he found the worm had not yet left his side. Though to some eyes his fashion choices were quite garish, bright reds and blues and foreign purples arranged in shawls and bowties and tiny hairclip hats, he found they seemed to have lost their luster, now that he could list each and every one without effort. Perhaps he ought to try a green? He detested green, and yellow with it (with apologies to his bedfellow the duck), and he had spent years exploring the specifics of that detestation, but perhaps an older familiarity would be distinct enough from a newer one?

No, no. The worm was unsatisfied, and the intellectual within Mordekai could not be sated either. Was this not a world of wonders, of boundless possibility and surprises galore? To resign himself to a day of nothing new at all, why, think how disappointed his younger self would be! Whatever happened to his grand adventuring years now? No, he must keep looking.

And yet, the walk to his workplace was similarly lacking. His primary route, his alternate route, each branch on the road was already familiar to him. With each turn, he pondered the way, and just the other week, no, month, no, perhaps longer, he had been down that way, and he could conjure up an image as detailed as if it were right in front of him. In the instances where he confirmed it, hoping for a new storefront, or a different parked car, or perhaps even a weed in the sidewalk cracks, his hopes were dashed. Everything was as he knew it to be.

Perhaps he ought indulge in truancy. He knew full well the script for the tongue-lashing his boss would give him tomorrow, but, today? Today, he could go anywhere! To the east end, which he knew like the back of his hand. To the lake in the south, whose surface he had explored in the years when scuba captured his heart. To the skies above, which he had dutifully charted when aiding a friend’s hair-brained experimentation of a personal helicopter backpack device.

Was he trapped?

How troubling.

He felt a flood of serotonin, among other chemicals he imagined his old professor dutifully listing. Fear. A tinge of panic, too. Calm down, old chap, he muttered to himself, and did not repeat the rest of his personal script - he knew it by heart, after all. It calmed him somewhat, enough to take a more steady eye to his situation. But even this fear was not yet new to him. His urge was unsated.

Firstly, with more clarity, abandoning his work was inexcusable. His coworkers relied heavily on his presence and competence, and without that, they would be well within their rights to hold a grudge. He had no need of more enemies, the taste of rivalry was neither alien nor desirable to him at this time. Simplicity suited him well, so, perhaps, simplicity was what he needed.

He arrived fifteen minutes before opening time, as often happened when his mind was preoccupied. Erebus, the secretary, always let him in early, but with a catch. Erebus always demanded a conversation. Mordekai never quite liked the scripts, but, today, it was a golden opportunity.

“Have you ever feared that you will never see anything new in life?”

Erebus sighed. “This again?”

“Pardon?” “Three years or so ago, you did this before. I hoped it’d stop.” “Do what?” “Have this crisis.”

Mordekai pondered his logs. Ah, yes, there it was. A script he had not dredged up in a while. ‘This again?’ ‘Pardon?’ ‘Three years or so ago…’ Ah, yes. Of course. Erebus had been a confidante for many troubles in his past, and, once upon a time, he had felt a similar terror. Yet, he had been saved from it. How? “How did I escape?”

‘How did I escape?’, the script read. ‘First, you said, you felt true despair. Which was new.’

Troubling.

“First, you said you felt…” Yes, yes. Mordekai tuned him out. He could read the lines faster than Erebus could speak them.

‘Is despair truly an enviable experience?’

‘It was a new one, at least.’

‘And what about when it happened again?’

‘This conversation.’

‘What?’

‘You said this conversation was new, and that could be enough.’

…Ah. So, this lead seemed a dead end.

“This conversation-” Bother. Erebus was lagging that far behind? Mordekai interrupted him immediately.

“Say something new.”

“Excuse me?”

“We’ve had this conversation before. Say something you’ve never said to me before.”

“...I love you?” “Thirteen years ago. Have you already forgotten?” “Maybe if you hadn’t brushed it aside, I wouldn’t have forgotten!” “I brushed nothing aside! It simply did not work out! You can’t-”

‘I brushed nothing aside! It simply did not work out! You can’t blame me for knowing when to quit!’, the script read. ‘You never tried to make it work! You wanted to quit the whole time!’ ‘I tried my damnedest, and the fact that you can’t see that is why it didn’t work!’ ‘It always was about how hard you tried, wasn’t it? Never a thought in the world for anyone else!’ The lines droned on, a heated exchange he hadn’t shared for some time. But he knew it. He knew it so well.

Erebus couldn’t save him.

Mordekai forced himself to stop talking.

“I apologize. Thank you for your time,” he said, in a cold and practiced manner.

Erebus breathed a sigh of relief. It seemed he remembered that script, too.

“Is that all?” “It will be.”

Mordekai turned to the stairs, and resigned himself to the charts. They never surprised him, so there would be no hope here, but, at least, they would leave him time to sort through his thoughts.

Over the past several years, since he first approached Erebus about this, had he experienced anything new? Surely he had to have, no? He had- well, he had worked, in the same place he always had, having set behind his rowdy youth. He had kept in contact with some old friends, exchanging pleasantries back and forth, but is a pleasantry one knows by heart anything meaningful? He had danced in the rain, the same steps as always, and he had scorched in the sun, so strictly speaking some of his flesh was new - but it operated the same as it always did, and it hardly felt much different, either.

That first time, he had tasted despair. It was not a pleasant sensation, though, something of it was captivating, a jolt of caffeine within an overburned roast. It had brought a tear to his eye, then, and, when he focused, it did the same to him now. He charted the course it would take as it dripped down his cheek, and it did not err from his calculation. He understood, as he reminisced on the taste, how it could have kept him going for a few years longer. And yet, in that time, it seemed, his standards had slipped. One conversation, a short exchange of words, words he knew quite well individually, had been enough to stave this off? Truly? How had he not cracked sooner? Had he become so frightfully dull that, for years, that was enough for him? His past aspirations rose up like a flood, threatening to drown what he had become. But Mordekai was no stranger to self-loathing, and so the worm remained unsatisfied.

The charts were done, now. The unpleasing array of numbers had been rearranged to better suit the aesthetic standards of their conglomerate, and the clock allowed him reprieve from this building, to trudge along to supper, and then to home. He chose a restaurant he had not touched in a long while - and yet, he still knew the decor, the layout, the names of the waitstaff, before he stepped foot in the place, and even the daily specials he had eaten many times before. The food was well-crafted, but tasteless. It could not match the flavor of despair, nor the enervation of his tongue. Paprika, parsley, thyme. He detected them, but they had nothing to say to him. They added nothing new.

It was a cold night, in that time when the night comes early, so the stars were out by the time he trudged his way home. The streetlights smothered most of them, but he had seen them from many mountains, from every angle, and superimposed their position on the obscured sky. There, behind that cloud, was arcturus. There, upsilon andromedae, and there, vb 10. He imagined them winking at him, though he knew they did no such thing. He imagined many impossible things, flavors he could not tastes, worlds he could not reach. But this was a meager stopgap, and it could not sate the worm.

He collapsed into bed, in a way he had done many times before. Today had been hard. It had defeated him. He knew not what to do. But his body, weary from walking, knew when to disengage the mind. The scripts and charts and ponderings were useful when there was a world to navigate, but when tiredness came, it insisted that he sleep. The worm slept with him, for it had always been by his side.

In the morning, his bleary eyes opened to a yellowish stain. Today was a wednesday, and that meant it appeared like a pair of scissors.

Tomorrow, he knew, it would be a wolf.

#microfiction

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qucintly · 2 years

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| exuviagnosis inquired: "Do all of you 'Earthlings' have those star-shaped pupils, or is it just you?" Kaeya pointed to his own starry eye, the eyebrow raising as he spoke. "I find it quite interesting if it is simply just you, but if it isn't, then it'd be a rather amusing coincidence." |

Now that a closer look was taken, Alberich seems to have the same shaped pupils Ms. Harris herself has. There is no lack of surprise when it comes to this calvary knight. How amusing..

Yet, the mention of her world's inhabitants, and the lack of oddity in terms of such pupil and pupils, there was only one other who chared the same oddity. Or rather, there was only one other that shared the same oddity. She was gone now, as forgotten as her own faith.

" Now that you mention such a some thing, I do not believe I have seen another Earth pupil that shared the same pupil as I. It is not that I took the possibility out of mind. The doctors who took care of me provided my pupil as a first and odd condition after the incident. "

The very incident, that she neglected to tell. Such as her childhood memories, she wish she could not remember what truly occured. Unlike her childhood memories however, she remembers fully, trailing her hues to the side in an attempt to avoid describing such.

" Of course, the same question applies to you. A coincidence that you and I who share the same shape is as uncanny as your flirtatious desire for the mystery in people and lands. Surely your curiosity of your pupil has not yet been sated? "

#♢ T E L L YOU YOU’RE THE G R E A T E S T ♢ ---> 🔍 IN CHARACTER 🔎#♢ RETURN TO THE EARTH YET IT’S MEANT TO BE ♢ 🔍 ASK ANSWERED 🔎#🪶 BALLAD OF THE WORLD 🪶 GENSHIN IMPACT ISEKAI #exuviagnosis

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thedevillionaire · 3 years

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The Answer

Okay, a bit of soap opera time-travelling here. I've had a couple of asks about this, so...here's a thing. This is Cerberus before he and Kia become a couple, but not far before. He's broken up with his first bonded, Lilith, though only recently. And the omnipowerful Demon king may have pushed his formidable abilities just a little far in the quest to impress his new love interest... ---

Closing the door behind him as quietly as he can, even minor sounds seeming to echo through the escalating dizziness and imbalance now, everything feeling off-kilter, hypersensitive, and just…wrong somehow, Cerberus partially leans back against the reliable solidity of heavy wood as he removes his coat and hangs it on the rack by the entryway, sighing. He’s thankful at least that he’d got through the interview before the stronger repercussions of his actions started to manifest, and that as far as Kia was concerned, his assurance of I’ll be fine had been true enough. Or will be by the time he next sees her. A week should be more than enough.

At the moment, however, his world was viscerally misaligned, and worsening.

He sniffles, rubs his nose briefly against the insistent recurring itch but surrenders in short order, sneezing ferociously, unrestrained.

“HehAHHTSSCHHUUU!”

Lilith, with a startled squeal, peers out at him from behind the door to the library chamber, accusatory. “Gods, Cerbie, some warning?!” She rolls her eyes. “Bless you, I suppose, though you did just give me a heart attack.” She’d been confident that her solitude would not be disturbed, allowing her easy time to gather various bits and pieces, arriving and leaving smoothly, simply, unquestioned. He’s never here this day, this hour. She has almost a decade of precedence, and she’d chosen this time for a reason.

Cerberus, as taken aback by Lilith’s presence as she is by his, and entirely unclear on why it should be incumbent upon him to provide warnings of any sort to unexpected visitors, doesn’t have the luxury of time to process the situation further or, indeed, respond to her, as the sharp frisson of irritation refuses to be sated – although he does make an attempt to temper the inevitable reaction somewhat this time, bringing his elbow to his face in cover. “Hh-TSSCHH-uu! *snf!*” He blinks hazily; the very fabric of the house seems to waver in reality a moment. Ah, gods. Moving to walk through the foyer to the lounge room, he meets Lilith’s gaze momentarily, his focus uncertain. He sniffles again, breath catching.

Tucking the books she’s collected so far under one arm, Lilith exits the library with a sigh. “What are you doing here?”

“HuhTSCHuu! *SNFF!*” Another wave of disorientation ripples through him; he nevertheless manages to gather enough wherewithal to reply. “Sneezing, currently.” He pushes his hair from his face, sniffles again and frowns at her, vaguely wondering why he’s not managed to get the keys changed yet, or hers back, or…something. “I live here. What are you doing here?” Should have put a Barrier up.

Taking a tissue from the box on the coffee table, he wipes his nose and distantly wonders if his hand actually shakes or his perception is just that disordered at the moment. Everything seems shifted, awry, as if he was somehow not quite tuned in to himself, various senses trying to reset but not quite knowing how to do so. Fascinating in its own way, he supposes, though his ability to function as objective observer is proving…erratic.

Lilith regards him warily. “What’s wrong with you? You look dreadful.”

“Mm, I expect so. What are you doing here?”

“Just picking up a few more things,” replies Lilith, indicating the books with a nod and crossing back over to the lounge, their paths temporarily intersecting, “which I’d planned to do uninterrupted, hence why now, since you’re not supposed to be…”

A sudden paroxysm of coughing interrupts her. Cerberus excuses himself reflexively, presses his fingers to throbbing temples, his capacity to concentrate becoming ever more depleted and his interest – or, come to that, ability – in maintaining this conversation lessening by the second; there were more pressing concerns at hand. Another sniffle.

“Ugh, don’t breathe on me.” Lilith shoots him a look of distaste, steps further away. “I do not need a cold right now, thank you very much.”

“It’s not… *snf!* I don’t h-hh…” His breath catching against the buzzing distortion his body cannot yet reconcile, Cerberus knows that sneezing again is hardly going to help the situation but he’s also far past the point of caring, not that he can do much about it anyway. He leans against the back of the couch for support, his equilibrium and balance increasingly tenuous, and with deep inhalation sneezes into crooked elbow once more. “Hh-hh… hhAATSCHH-uu!” With a soft groan, he exhales heavily, tiredly, murmurs an apology through another series of sniffles, knows she won’t believe him. “I don’t have a cold.”

Lilith’s tone confirms his expectation as she regards him with unveiled cynicism. “Well, you could have fooled me,” she says flatly.

He sighs. “It’s aftershock."

Lilith half-laughs, half-scoffs a pointed dismissal. She expects his denial of early-stage illness but he usually has a better line in self-deception. “Don’t be ridiculous. What on earth would you even get aftershock from?”

Cerberus, exhausted and disinclined to elaborate or explain, moves to the staircase. He pauses for a short but necessary moment at its base, resting a hand on the banister, entirely done with the whole situation. “I’m honestly not up to this now, Lilith. If you desperately need anything from upstairs, kindly just…go about your business around me.”

He continues up the staircase.

Frowning in confusion, Lilith recognises the abnormality of this – of him not arguing the point, of him voluntarily admitting dysfunction of any kind, of him even being here at all right now, really. Gods, is he telling the truth? But he never… What could possibly…

“Cerbie,” she says with genuine curiosity now, “Cerbie, are you really…?”

He doesn’t stop nor does he turn to look at her, and she sighs. “Okay, okay, wait. I believe you, okay? Cerbie, wait.”

Again, he doesn’t.

Lilith moves to the staircase also, though she stops at its base. She looks up at him as he takes the few further steps to the master bedroom, still without any acknowledgment that he was even listening to a word she said. “Cerberus! What from?”

Cerberus, his senses disharmonic and finding his surrounds inconstant, opens the bedroom door as if from within a dream, as if experiencing a simulation of himself, and still does not look back towards his ex-bonded. He steps inside and hesitates a moment, gazing with a slight frown at warping, incorrectly angled walls which should be entirely familiar, sniffles sharply as a fresh and sudden vibrating shiver runs through him, triggering a rapid pair of sneezes almost before he entirely registers what’s happening. “HuhTSCHuu! Ah-TSSCH-uu! Oh, gods. *snf!*” The force of it leaves him more than a little lightheaded, and he puts an unsteady hand to his forehead, pushes back disarrayed strands of midnight, takes some time to steady himself – or at least reach the closest approximation of steadiness he can manage – but he finally offers Lilith a murmured reply, rich timbre and diction rather than volume carrying his words.

“Resurrected Sphynx.”

He closes the door behind him moments before collapsing across the bed, unconsciousness following almost immediately; he doesn’t even manage to take so much as his shoes off.

Lilith, stunned, is sure she’s misheard. She knows she hasn’t. She must have, though. She must have.

It’s not possible.

It can’t be done.

It’s simply…it is not possible.

Nobody should be able to… Nobody has that kind of… Nobody would even consider…

Except.

“You WHAT?!”

By the time she finally finds her voice she does not expect an answer; and, indeed, she does not receive one – not to that, nor the other question that enters her mind in short order. A question she doesn’t speak, but perhaps the more important, more interesting of the two: why?

Why would you want to? What reason could you…have for...

Ah. And she shakes her head as it occurs to her: there is only one answer which makes any sense.

She wanders briefly back into the library, writes FYI: Necromancy isn’t flirting xx on the notepad atop the desk there, smiles to herself in wry bemusement, and wonders if Kia has any idea yet.

#any questions please ask #i've hesitated posting this one for ages #supernatural soap opera #cerberus #my writing #snzfic #snz fic #Kia's in love with him at this stage but has no idea he's reciprocal #she doesn't even know he's single yet #all my fics that clarify this are vanilla though

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undertaker1827 · 4 years

Note

Fluff Prompts 15+21 for Claude?

Will do!

Prompts in bold

❗️Warnings; canon-typical violence, a dude gets killed and reader just kind of ignores that?? Not sure what happened there but we’re rolling with it.

Masterlist

Claude’s voice was impassively monotone as ever as he stood with one polished loafer pressing down over another man’s throat, casually threatening him like they were sitting in a café somewhere, not with blood forming rivulets in a cobblestone street. You hardly dared breath as you watched on; this wasn’t what you had been expecting in the slightest. Your lover disappeared off so often and irregularly that you simply had to sate your curiosity and find out what was going on. You had jokingly thought to yourself that he might be in the mafia, but that was suddenly becoming far too real for your liking.

Claude stated calmly the same thing he’d been repeating over the last few minutes, something about information the man owed him. He added in that trying to cross the Trancey’s - that was the name of the boy he worked for. Were they al part of some big organisation? - was quite a terrible mistake. Then, things took a turn you would’ve had no hope of expecting. When the man continued spluttering out garbled nonsense around the pressure being forced down on his neck, the atmosphere surrounding both him and your partner changed markedly.

That was the only way you could describe it, but the whole street seemed to take on an oppressive darkness deeper than the black night you were standing in. It was an old feeling, a frightening one, one that gave of the impression of something isn’t right about this. You swallowed and ensured your hiding place was still serving you well, continuing to watch events play out before you. You were quite enthralled by it all, finding wouldn’t have been able to leave even if you had wanted to. It took you a while to realise, but eventually it occurred to you that this darkness was centred around Claude, almost like it was rolling off of him in waves. The informant who he still had pinned to the ground clearly did as well, starting to thrash around in a weakly futile attempt to get away. Your partner sounded almost bored as he told the man not to bother, that it would do no good. That he could go if he handed over what he knew.

Claude turned slightly then, finally letting you catch a glimpse of his face. It was lucky that you never gasped audibly, you realised in hindsight, as his beautiful golden eyes had been bled to a deep crimson, canines sharpened as he opened his mouth to speak. What was he? While there was a certain sense of an adrenalin rush coursing through your body, you were almost a little surprised to find that you weren’t scared. You had wondered if Claude had anything to do with the darker side of life, what with the way nobody knew anything about his employers and those who claimed to disappeared not long after doing so. Whilst this wasn’t what you had in mind, it was a mystery you were far too invested in.

Your lover finally removed his foot from the informant’s throat, allowing the man to gasp out everything he knew and beg for his life all in a single breath. You winced in preparation for what was to come. Claude was nothing if not unforgiving and you had seen the behaviour he was displaying now before. A watered down version, certainly, but enough to make you believe there was something dangerous about him and if you pushed the matter causing the issue you would come to regret it. You looked away as the knife was driven into his chest. Your partner stood for a moment then, figure tall and silhouetted against the moonlight shining down between the cluster of buildings you were in the middle of.

“Well?” You froze, heart threatening to beat right out from between your ribs and hardly daring to draw breath for fear of letting him hear you. It wasn’t that you were afraid of Claude per se, simply that you didn’t know what he would do given what you had just witnessed, having also lied to him and told him you would stay at home. “You’ve been sitting there this whole time, why don’t you come out here, hm? Tell me who you work for.”

You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment in preparation, then stood and walked out from your hiding place as professionally as possible. Claude stopped short when he turned to face you, unnatural eyes and teeth still present for you to see. He stared at you, unreadable as ever but you knew he hadn’t been expecting this. He said your name, quietly and with less indifference than his tone usually held, but that was it.

“What are you?” You blurted out before you could think better of it, beginning to think you should have done when you saw a fleeting look of genuine surprise cross his features.

“A demon.”

That was as far as he got before you were full of questions, wanting to know everything from how long he had lived to why he was on Earth and just how all of this could be real. Your partner was forced to hold up a hand to stem the onslaught, caught somewhat off guard by a reaction he had never once even considered. That was the reason he had never told you what he was; fear of you deciding to leave him because of it.

“You’re not afraid of me?” You waited a beat, not breaking eye contact with him for a moment.

“You’ve given me no reason to be.” That response gave pause for thought, though mentally he was shaking his head at the astonishing mix of bravery and stupidity that only a human could come up with. A moment later though, he extended a hand to you.

“Come here.”

You did as he asked and wrapped your arms around him immediately, resting your head against his shoulder and noting that the oppressive feeling lingering around him dissipated shortly thereafter. His hands gently came to rest on your back and your marvelled at how gentle he was being, though you couldn’t help but break the silence to ask softly if you could both go home. Claude breathed a silent sigh of relief as he said yes.

#black butler claude x reader #claude faustus x reader #claude faustus #black butler claude #kuroshitsuji claude x reader #kuroshitsuji claude #black butler #black butler x reader #kuroshitsuji #kuroshitsuji x reader #black butler reader inserts

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rapifessor · 2 years

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Project 888 - Day 79

So I finally got around to compiling all the Talent Level-Up Material drop data I’ve collected so far, and I have some basic percentages to work with. I only have 327 runs recorded so far, but it’s enough to give me a general idea of how common certain drop patterns are. I haven’t yet figured out what the exact chances are for certain events to occur in the drop logic.

Getting a drop of two Guides and two Teachings is by far the most common, of course. It’s at the very least 50% of all drops. Some common variations are two Guides and three Teachings, three Guides and two Teachings, and one Philosophies, one Guide, and two Teachings. All of these drops seem to have around an 11-12% rate of occurrence.

Then there are drops of three Guides and three Teachings, one Philosophies, one Guide, and three Teachings, and one Philosophies, two Guides, and two Teachings. These all occur at a rate between 3% and 5%.

Every other possible drop, which would include all the two Philosophies drops, is exceedingly rare. We’re talking less than 1% here, probably no more than 0.5% of all drops. And a drop of two Philosophies, one Guide, and three Teachings, which would be perfect RNG... I wouldn’t be surprised if that’s a 1/1000 drop chance. In all my grinding where I’ve been paying attention to my drops, I have gotten this pattern only once.

With a bit more analysis and time I should be able to piece together a rudimentary representation of the probabilities going on behind the scenes when Genshin Impact determines how many drops it should give you for completing a Domain of Mastery. It’s not something that really benefits me in any way, as community-provided data tells me pretty much everything I need to know for the sake of determining completion time, but it’s something that interests me. It’s to sate my own intellectual curiosity.

#genshin impact #journal #grind #project 888 #nerd shit

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gagmebucky · 5 years

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[steve. breeding kink. baby.]

“Wanna know what makes it worse?” Steve leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent with your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

in which you’re playing with a baby and steve can’t resist himself. (includes steve’s pov, avenger!steve rogers x girlfriend!reader, breeding kink, dirty talk, praise kink, mild daddy kink, unprotected sex.)

do not repost.

—

Procedure requires debriefing at the end of every mission. In this hours-long process, an agent must recap the objectives and the means used to achieve them; deviations to the original plan and why; as well as whether success was gained, and any other pertinent intel possibly acquired.

This routine is mandatory for all those working for and with an organization like S.H.I.E.L.D.; not even the Avengers are exempt from this. Except in this particular case where the titular first of the super-powered team has forgone the professional necessity, and instead, is in search of you.

Normally, America’s golden boy can handle the dangers that occur in such a violent but imperative field. He understands the risks and pressures inherent to his line of duty, and he’s always accepted it, dealt with it because the overall outcome dwarfs the bad.

On this particular assignment, however, the stakes were higher than usual and although the quick snap-quick decisions he made ultimately paid off, it didn’t soften the blow of the sacrifices made. Times like this, he has to wonder if it’s worth it.

The tension weighs on his shoulders and crackles underneath his skin; his synapses are frayed with the memory of each fallen agent, the orders he doled out preambling every one, and the electricity curls his fists and locks his jaw. It’s corrupting that logical part of his brain, and that craving for vengeance can’t be sated with his knuckles breaking a few punching bags.

In rare moments like these, when the serum is pumping through his veins like rabies, there’s one thing to straighten the edges and bring him back from the trenches. That solace is you; your alluring smile and twinkling eyes, the musical carry of your laugh, your seemingly innate ability to figure out what’s wrong and quell the turmoil cycloning inside of him.

So he doesn’t report to Fury like he’s supposed to, doesn’t go over the myriad of errors that only worsened as the mission progressed—no one stops him either.

When employees spot him marching down the corridors, stealth suit still on and rippling across his hulking mass, his strides colliding deafeningly with the floor, handsome and affable features tightened intensely, their only recourse is moved out of the way. Thankfully, they get the hint because if someone hadn’t, he knows he’d snap and do something he might regret.

His senses, formerly haywire in his manic state, have lasered into tunnel focus; his eardrums hone in on the specific sound wave of your crooning voice, and the olfactory nerves in his nostrils guide him in a trail to the source of your intoxicating essence.

Steve slams the door open and storms into the upper, restricted level of the headquarters. His hastened pace slows upon your increased dose, lulling his awareness and distance waning significantly. As his search nears its end, he recognizes where he’s at: the luxurious space designed by and created for Tony Stark.

The doors are open so he doesn’t waste time knocking (not that he possesses the patience to abide by his hundred year old manners). Upon entry, he’s taken the tranquility occupying the atmosphere and the sight of you bathed in the sun’s glow; bright rays beam through the impenetrable windowed wall of the tower while you gently rock the three month old baby perched on your shoulder, probably basking in the dual warmth of you and the star.

From afar, behind you, the brown-eyed girl’s mother stands. With her head tilted and soft gratefulness slanted into her lips, the strawberry blonde’s hip rests against the office’s wet bar and watches fondly as you effortlessly soothe her child’s fussiness into a thumb-sucking slumber.

“Aren’t they cute?” Pepper Potts remarks as he steps beside her. Her gaze maintains on his girlfriend and her daughter. “Morgan would not stop crying for the past few hours, and I did everything to calm her down. I was frazzled and at my wit’s end then I handed her off to her aunt, and now she’s as quiet as a mouse.” She pauses and spares a glance over to his adoration-fixed stare, a slyness twisting into her smile. “I don't know what stage you two are at but she’d make a great mom.”

Steve knows you occasionally babysit for the Starks, but he’s never seen you like this. You’re in your element, swaying back and forth while you hum inaudibly into the infamous delicate baby’s ear. Her small hands are curled around your neck and her face nuzzled into the crease of your shoulder, with the opposing thumb slid between her lips as her big chocolate eyes flutter into a peaceful rest.

Suddenly breathless—but it’s not from the exertion—he has to agree, nodding his head. “Y - yeah,” he answers to both statements because it’s fucking adorable, and while there’s never been a doubt about your caring nature, this cements the fact that you would be an amazing mother. The sensation boils in his gut, and his fingers twitch at his sides. “Has she always been this good with her?”

“Oh, yeah,” Pepper tells him matter-of-factly. “With her, other kids, too. She came with us to the park, and this one kid was screaming his head off and she just went over and poof! He was happy.” Her eyes are back on your slow pacing silhouette. “I would swear she was made for this. I bet she was a nanny in another life.”

His knuckles clench as her words ignite the simmering inferno of his being. Made for this, made for this, echoes in his head and he has to remind himself that he’s in public. But the primal image of you, radiating like an angel with a little piece of him growing inside you, has already carved itself in the forefront of his psyche.

Steve has never been into traditional gender roles, not even when he was in his time and it was the norm (he’s always been a very progressive thinker). But, God, he can’t deny the appeal now that he has you. There’s something so primally satisfying about having you at home, free of any worries that aren’t about your family, potentially—preferably—knocked up.

The carnal urge grips him more intensely than before. Usually, he can suppress that visceral desire to bury himself bare inside you and spill his virility until he further claims you as his. However, receiving a glimpse of you in this maternal state, it has every instinct screaming that you’re irrefutably perfect and primed.

As if on cue, you turn around with the effectively lullabied infant clinging around your neck. After a flicker of surprise, pleasant then concerned, you pad on over to carefully hand over Morgan to her thankful mother. Your attention rivets back to him with a knitted brow gaze.

“Babe, hey,” you greet in a gentle voice. Worry ebbs into your gaze amongst the usual stare of attraction upon dragging across the navy blue material that still clings to his muscular torso. You offer your hand, which he immediately takes, and you guide him out of the office into the hallway. The door shuts behind you, and the sectioned off level is empty, but your voice is still quiet when asking, “What happened?”

You stand barely a breath away, and the proximity pacifies his senses. His stance loosens while a smile upturns a corner of his mouth. “Nothing,” he answers then clarifies, “Nothing that matters anymore, anyway.”

The amendment dwindles your concerned curiosity because it’s honest—he doesn’t need to dwell when you’re standing here—and you can hear it; another lovingly scrutinizing up-and-down glance confirms that his earlier disquietude has settled significantly.

“D’you have fun back there?” he goes onto wonder, eyes flickering over to the closed door. Your earlier titillatingly visage snaps into his brain, and he subconsciously bites down on his bottom lip. “You looked like you were.”

You accept his subject-change with a nonchalant shrug. “Babies like me, and I like them,” you tell him, smiling at the admission. “What can I say?”

“I don’t know. Maybe that you want me to knock you up.” The words fumble out of his mouth before he thinks about it, and while he hadn’t intended on letting it slip, if he did, it would’ve been without the serious fluctuation he blurted it out with.

In a lame attempt to correct his slip of the tongue regarding a topic you both rarely discussed, he quickly adds, “I’m joking.” A surprised expression had crossed your features upon processing his former response, transitioning into something he can’t yet pinpoint if he likes. As if to test the waters—or dig himself into a deeper hole—he says, matter-of-factly, borderline suggestive, “But you know, back in my day, you’d probably already have a few popped out by now.”

“Mr. Rogers!” you gasp in an almost-shocked tone, but your cheeks split with a devious grin. “Are you telling me you want to be a daddy?”

Disheveled by his mission, then upended by your placating presence, he’s more awkward than the day he met you. “Fuck. Look, I’d never pressure you, okay?” For the millionth time, the previous scene plays mentally; he exhales heavily. “It’s just you with her, and I. . . never mind.” He shakes his head, deciding he’s still on the edge from both events today, and dismisses his animalistic inkling. “Act like I didn’t say anything.”

You fold your arms and nod.

“Uh-huh, daddy,” you drawl, scintillating in mischievousness that simultaneously has his heart skipping a beat and his cock jumping. Your smirk widens before disappearing beneath a cascade of feigned innocence. “We can just act like you don’t want me to have your kid.”

His lips part at your teasing twist of his words. “That’s - that’s not what I said.”

“Isn’t it?” You lift a brow. “It is. So, maybe I should find a guy who does. I think any other man would take immense pleasure in going condomless inside of me.” One hand wiggles into your jacket pocket while you peddle away from his orbit; a rectangular plastic ruffles as his reflexes instinctively catch it. “You know, I think Bucky would really appreciate me. I bet he’d have the manners to really wife me up and make me—“

He knows you’re poking fun of him; playfulness alight within your gaze that he usually enjoys. In actuality, he understands there’s zero truth in your jesting and he’d be more amused than jealous. However, currently, the circumstances have corrupted his sensibilities.

“That’s not funny.”

Your laugh echoes musically. “It’s not ‘cause it isn’t a joke,” you say between your giggles, your amusement pardoning your spacial awareness. “I mean—Steve!” Your yelp is louder and even more musical when he surges forth and reigns you in.

Air expels from your chest as his body cages yours against the wall. Using one hand to brace himself above you, his opposing appendage tilts your dazed blinking up. “Now do you really think I don’t want you to carry my kid?” he rumbles. “Because if it were up to me, I would’ve taken claim to your womb the second I saw you.”

Your breathing hitches, and you try to remain unaffected but he’s too keen on your reactions to be fooled. “O - oh?”

“Yeah.” His tongue swipes across his bottom lip. “Wanna know what makes it worse?” He leans in and trails his nose along the inviting curve of your shoulder and neck until his lips are adjacent to your ear. “My sense of smell, it tells me when your body is just ripe for the taking. It’s like you’re fucking calling me every single month—begging me to put your little pussy out of your misery. . . fuck and fuck until you’re milkin’ my kid right outta me.”

A sound, hybrid between a moan and a gasp, escapes your throat; humor eviscerated, desire exudes from you and submerges his senses in a provoking intoxication. The rush sinks into his brain and triggers that visceral frenzy within him but he has no interest in suppressing it anymore.

He releases a guttural groan and grabs your hips. His big hands splay on either side, thumb slightly kneading back and forth, and he draws you in closer. “I can smell you right now, too. Not only how wet you’re gettin’ but that it’s that time for you, isn’t it?” he purrs and nips at your lobe. “You’re mine for the taking.” His teeth catch your pulse, sucking a mark onto the vulnerable skin. “Hm, baby?”

“Y - yes!” you moan wantonly loud as your weight sags into his embrace. “Always.”

“Good—” His hands cinch on your flanks and abruptly hoist you up: prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist and your arms to encircle around his neck. “—cause holding back with you is gonna be impossible.”

With your body clutched around his abdomen, he heads for the closest empty room, scoped out via his enhanced hearing. Unceremoniously, he turns a handle and breaks the lock of the unused office space; two doors down from the main room, it’s smaller but it has a sturdy-looking desk in the center.

He kicks the door shut and sets you down as your lips find his. Although you’re sat down, legs dangling over the wooden edge, you keep your elbows hooked around the nape of his neck and coax a ragged groan out of his chest with the deft stroke of your tongue.

“Shit, baby,” he breathes and parts from you in order to yank your jacket down your shoulders. Tossing it off the side, he reveals a braless tank top and your nipples he can see have pebbled underneath. His imagination takes off once more, envisioning what the already perfect twins will look like in the wake of his seed taking root inside you.

His blood pumps viciously, flowing downward and flooding his cock to strain beneath the oppressive stealth-suit fabric. Like you’re reading his mind, you unhook the utility belt and similarly shove it off somewhere on the side.

Something rustles, and it’s the condom you’d thrown at him. Absentmindedly tucked under the cinch of the belt previously, it falls into your undressing hands. Your eyes rivet up to him, lashes fluttering big, as you hold it between two fingers: halfway offering. “What are you gonna do, daddy?”

At that particular moment, it occurs to him that you’re doubting his seriousness. While abundantly clear you want this, you’re dubious on whether he’s going through it. Which is preposterous, but he figures that the look on your face when he spills inside you bareback will only further his orgasm, consequently heightening the odds of his end-goal.

He plucks the packaging from of your grip, holds it up as your gazes clash and makes a show out of discarding it out of reach. Then he seizes your knees and slides your ass to the edge so your center is flushed against him, rocking into his hardened imprint.

“You,” he answers your query, tone a growl, as he peels your jeans off. He continues on just to shred your panties. “I’m doing you. With nothing to separate me from you, nothing to keep you from your rightful destiny: knocked up with our baby.”

“Please,” is all you utter, but the room’s thick with sensory evidence of your essence.

Spreading your thighs as far as possible, he glances down to spit lewdly on your glistening mound; a long dribble of saliva coating your eager button and slit. He uses his thumb to smear it all over, mixing with the puddle you’re creating, dipping into your sticky folds with his middle finger.

The whole time, you’re choking with these hungry and appreciative little noises. Likewise, you’re watching as he prepares you thoroughly and roughly to wring the cum out of him. “S - Steve,” you mewl coherently and buck into his messy caress. Your fingers are tugging pleading on the lower half of his uniform. “I need you. Please!”

It is about damn time.

His control has been witting away since the first time you called him daddy. He swiftly wrenches the suit down and exposes his leaking, throbbing cock to your tunnel of relief. His size always dwarfs your kempt triangle; an initial observation one might come to is the improbability he won’t fit. But he does, every single time, and in this special instance, he’s going to ensure all of his formidable length is buried in your fertile heat.

He rasps his tip over your clit, plastering his translucent white pre-cum over the engorged nub, then traces down the crease of your slit. As he prods in, his hands span your thighs and help open up your elastic entrance for his ravenous cock. He stretches your tightness slow but unyieldingly while you both watch with labored breathing, transfixed by the sight of your dripping core enveloping his veined and tanned angry stalk until he’s nudging your cervix.

“Good girl,” he grits out, strangled by the electricity prickling his nerves. He slips support underneath your ass, intertwining from the inner to the outer so when he hauls you up, your knees are bent over his elbows. “You ready to make me a daddy, baby?”

“Yes!” You nod quickly with a moan. “Shit, you’re big—and deep. Really fucking deep.”

He chuckles huskily because if you think that now, he can’t wait to see you once he’s truly plundered new depths. “Now, you just hold on tight and let me do all the work. I only want you to focus on givin’ me a baby, okay?”

In the middle of an abandoned office room—possibly a storage area—he heaves you up and drops you back down. Your arms curl around his neck, hands twisting into his suit, while he alters between gravity and his hips jutting forth to drill inside you.

Without any mind to those around you—just you and him—he fucks you with every ounce of strength coiled into his super-charged build. Ignoring the fact that door is unlocked, broken more specifically, and the possibility that there’s likely high quality surveillance cameras watching, your shared sounds of carnality fills the room in between the harsh collision of skin.

Each propelling thrust seems to jostle further than further, carving himself into your inner walls. Like he said before, he handles all the work, effortlessly bouncing your sporadically clenching channel with his inhuman strength and stamina; leaving you to accept and bask in the stimulation his cock is providing and the gift he’ll be depositing inside of you any time now.

Your lips are breathless in his ear, gasping, “Daddy, please,” that has him climbing the rope faster. The beg pours gasoline on an already roaring fire, igniting wildly to burn up his legs then his stomach and on its way to take him under.

“Y’gonna make me a daddy, baby? You’re gonna be a pretty lil’ mommy and take care of us? Is that what you want?” he croons, identifying the way you tighten as your steadily approaching orgasm. “Y’gonna have your pretty pussy squeeze me until I’m shooting my load and knocking you up?”

He’s pretty sure your nails have punctured the suit’s resilient material. “S - Steve, fuck! Please. Yes! Cum inside me—cum inside me—“ you cry out with genuine desperation that his limbs tingling numbly. “I want it. I want you. Please. I wanna feel you!”

His jaw locks and works you somehow even harder. The room is completely engulfed with you, your arousal, the potency of your ovulation, and your future with him; once he releases, it’ll only seal the fact that you’re his and belong to him (as well as vice versa).

“Who’s gonna be a daddy, baby? Who are you making a daddy, baby?” His words are practically slurred while fever coalesces across his entirety. “Who owns your pretty little pussy and your womb?”

“You—Steve—daddy,” you sob as your orgasm seizes up around his cock, giving him no other choice other than to: “Cum inside me, daddy—!”

Something beastly rips out of his chest, and without protest, he gifts you exactly what you want. He burrows into the absolute hilt and fires inside you for what feels like forever. Spurts of ooze finally wane, nudging your fruitful cervix, but even then, he doesn’t dare retreat from your heavenly depths.

The aftershocks force him to set you back down on the desk, still buried and keeping you stuffed. His face nuzzles the junction between your neck and shoulder languorously, and you lazily run your fingers through his hair, walls periodically pulsating.

When he regains the energy, he straightens and pulls out of you until his bulbous head is blocking your entrance; he stops there because he realizes something. “It’s gonna leak, and as hot as that is, I need to keep you full, baby.” Abruptly, he hauls you up and shuffles the position so that he’s sitting on the desk, and you’re sitting on his cock.

Your sensitivity flares around him, and you squeal. “F - fuck!” But you adjust to comfortability, blinking at him. “For how long?”

A smile curls into his lips, and he strokes your cheek while his other hand lays on your belly. “For as long as it takes.”

[masterlist / feedback]

#steve rogers x you smut #steve rogers imagines #steve x reader #captain america x reader #steve rogers smut #marvel reader insert #marvel smut imagines #my writing #marvel imagines #my fics #mANY ERRORS

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ddarker-dreams · 5 years

Text

Cult Leader Chrollo - Part Two

collab with @ramwrites ♡

click for part one!

That was the smile of a monster, not a human.

At that moment, it didn’t really matter what he was, all that mattered was getting out of this surreal nightmare. Thoughts ranging from escape to calling for help flood your mind, dulling your ability to make a proper decision. Chest constricting and dizziness rising, your eyes desperately searching for any way out.

Did the sanctuary always feel this small? It felt as if the walls were closing in on you as you realize that all the exits had people standing by, most likely for a situation like this. For someone to so confidently commit murder in front of a large crowd, they must be trusting that the information won’t leave these walls. That means no one will help you, you’re on your own.

The numerous pairs of eyes staring at you, unblinking, doesn’t help your panic. How this many people were numb to the horror unfolding in front of them was beyond you.

You need to run. There is no other option here, no other way out.

From the entrance, you notice that there were only two unremarkable looking guards. They had patted you down when you walked in, and unless they were concealing a weapon, you couldn’t spot one. Any other exits from this room were guarded with more people, who definitely weren’t there before.

These fanatics must not have wanted to alert your suspicion by having too many guards at first.

Without another moment to waste, your adrenaline filled body turns to make a run for the exit. The girl next to you breaks out of her trance like state at this, immediately springing up from her chair to stop you.

In a string of luck, her initial grip was on your coat; not you. She pulled back on it, taking only the jacket but failing to capture you. The fabric slips away in a minor victory, and she flails backwards, no longer being held upright by your weight.

All you felt was the sudden chill of winter air against your skin, but it wasn’t enough to keep you distracted. Running forward towards the exit, horror overwhelms you as the formally seated congregation has also gotten up. Hands desperately attempt to grasp at you from both sides of the pews.

It didn’t matter how much you tried to dodge all of them, every one that missed you would be remedied by two more reaching out. You made it a few, pitiful inches away from your seat, before you’re no longer able to move. They only hold you in place, the strangers uncaring of your crazed thrashing.

It didn’t matter if it was accomplishing anything, it felt like you were at least offering some resistance. Unfortunately, your movements only further served to exhaust you, your energy slowly depleting with each tug.

Footsteps echo behind you, the only other noise reverberating in the hall aside from your cries. As a sign of respect, the people next to you straightened up as the figure behind you approaches. A shadow looms over you, and a cold hand touches your shoulder.

“Let her go,” The voice from before commands. “You all know her significance, do you not?”

He wasn’t making any sense to you before, but now, you felt confused to a dizzying degree. Your significance? What did he mean by that?

The moment the words left his lips, you were freed from the constraint of their hands.

“Come. Let me see your face.”

Biting your lip, you silently debate your options. Maybe, just maybe, if you were lucky, you can bide your time. Look for some way to escape. That was what you wanted to believe, but it was also possible that they planned on killing you on the stage as well; in some fucked up ritual.

The hand on your shoulder squeezes, gently yet firm. You realize he was prompting you to do as he said. Not wanting to be killed for your disobedience, you hesitantly turn around.

Your head is hanging down low, as you’re unable to muster the courage to look him in the eye. He hums, seemingly pleased with your actions. His eyes focus on each of your features, as if hoping to confirm something. Finally, his hand leaves your shoulder, gently trailing towards your shaking hand.

He begins to move forward, towards the platform. A piercing ringing begins in your ears as you’re crippled with anxiety, breathing labored and uneven. There was no doubt in your mind now, that he was going to kill you next to Leslie.

You didn’t want to see her corpse, you wanted to look anywhere but at her paling skin. But it felt impossible to rip your eyes away from the macabre scene, her face peaceful despite the cruel action that was performed on her. Why didn’t she struggle? It felt as if she were content with what was in store for her.

The platform grows closer, as the reality of the situation finally kicks in. Breaking out of your stupor, you resume your resistance; but you were met with even less success than before. Whoever this person was, he was insanely strong. His grip on your hand grows tighter, and you’re forced to follow behind him or risk falling.

Now walking the few stairs up to the platform, you feel that your own body would soon be laying down next to Leslie. But much to your surprise, the man in front of you doesn’t stop. He continues on towards the door, where he had entered from before.

Should you feel relief? Was he going to spare your life? Or could this be a cruel trick, lulling you into a false sense of security before murdering you nonetheless?

None of your questions were going to be answered anytime soon, it seems like. All you focus on is the blank walls around you, forming a long hallway. Numerous doors lined the halls, but none of them seemed to be your destination.

Finally, with his free hand, he opens the door at the end of the hall. It’s dimly lit, with similar aesthetics from the room before. You take note of the desk in front of you, a variety of candles arranged on the dark wood. Among an assortment of religious items, a name plate with the name Chrollo Lucilfer catches your eye.

In comparison to the room you were in before, dark aesthetics were more prominent here. The one occurring the most being the black silhouette of a spider.

“I’m sure you have a lot of questions.” he begins, loosening his grip on your wrist. When you were eyeing your surroundings, he went behind you, locking the door with an ominous click. The noise brings with it a fresh wave of adrenaline, your body wanting nothing more than to run far from this situation.

But that wasn’t an option now. All you can do is straighten your back, in a sorrowful attempt to appear less meek. Your face flushes as his eyes soften at your movement, as if he found it cute. How demeaning.

“It’d only be polite to introduce myself, right? I’m Chrollo. Would you tell me your name?”

While speaking to you, Chrollo returns to his former place by your side. With the door locked, you assume he no longer sees reason to detain you with his hand. Much to your dismay, nothing in the room would serve for a proper weapon to fend him off if need be.

“I-I don’t need to tell you anything,” you speak up, your voice shakier than you wanted it to be. “Whatever you plan on doing, it’ll be a mistake. My family -- they’ll know I’m missing. I don’t know about Leslie, but, I would definitely be reported missing-”

You cut yourself off at the lack of reaction. Chrollo takes in your words without a hint of concern. Instead, much to your embarrassment, he smiles. He wasn’t taking you seriously. He was letting you say your piece, patiently waiting without interjecting. It felt unnerving how little control you have.

“You think I’m going to kill you?”

He was ignoring your previous threat, presenting you with an alarming question. Any confident facade you had before melts at the chilling proposition, as you mentally picture yourself in the same, horrific position as Leslie. Your legs feel weak, but you force yourself to respond.

“I… I don’t know.” you murmur, your answer painfully honest. Chrollo

“It’s your choice whether or not you believe me, but I have no intention to kill you,” he explains, speaking the words as if they were common. “What you witnessed out there was your entrance into our family. Into the spider.”

“Then why am I here?”

You blurt it out, without much thought. A part of you feels like it would be better if you remain ignorant to that, if he even did respond with the truth. Overwhelming curiosity is impossible to sate, and you find yourself hoping for a less vague explanation.

“To marry me.” Chrollo responds in earnest, the affectionate declaration contrasting his relaxed visage.

You blink. Once, twice. Your lips part as you attempt to release a noise, only to find your vocal chords incapable of doing so. Any sorry attempts you previously made to control your breathing slip away, your chest once again heaving for air. This can’t be right, this had to be a joke, right? None of this makes sense.

“You’re insane.” you murmur, stumbling backwards to produce distance between him. Your sweaty palms desperately lunge behind yourself, towards the doorknob, shakily attempting to twist it. None of your attempts are successful, match to your inner despair. You realize he must’ve used a key.

‘Fuck, fuck, fuck--’

A cruel chuckle leaves his lips. “It makes sense you’d think that way. That’s what you’ve been led to believe your entire life, isn’t it? You think that everything that happens is coincidence, that your fate isn’t predetermined… that it’s all random.”

He walks towards you, confidently, a few ebony strands of his hair framing his face. You press your back against the wall, gritting your teeth. He has to have the key somewhere on his person, if you could overpower him, then maybe there’s still a chance you can get away.

Chrollo continues his eerie lecture. “I don’t think that way. Our fates were intertwined before you even walked through the door. It’s been too many years to count, but, I know your face. It came to me in a vision -- the day I first realized my true purpose in life. It was blurry, but the message was clear.”

He reaches into his pocket, and for a moment, your heart stops as he takes out a syringe.

Before you could even scream, he injects the contents into the side of your neck; your eyes growing heavy from the unknown contents. With all your remaining strength, you will yourself to stay standing for a few more seconds, as your knees buckle underneath you.

Chrollo places his lips to your ear, securing you in his arms so you wouldn’t fall against the ground. You feel all your ability to stay awake slipping from your fingers, as your heart goes from a rapid beat to a much slower rhythm. All panicked thoughts cease, you’re incapable of doing more than breathing.

Black spots appear in your vision, taunting you as you succumb to whatever was injected in your body. The beginning of your nightmare is accentuated by Chrollo’s last words to you before you pass out, a prophecy that would bring you nothing but misfortune.

“The message that you’ll spend eternity with me.”

#chrollo lucilfer #chrollo #chrollo imagine #chrollo x reader #hunter x hunter imagines #hunter x hunter #hunter x hunter imagine #yandere hunter x hunter #hxh imagines #yandere hxh #hxh #hxh imagine #hxh x reader #yandere #yandere x reader #yandere imagine #yandere scenario

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morganaseren · 4 years

Text

Human/Goddess AU

I swear, I’ll think of a better title later, but guess who thought of a new AU about Leliana and her female Cousland?! I ended up writing like 24 pages this time around because I have absolutely no self-control over my creativity anymore. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Things to know:

The premise was originally based off this short comic.

No Darkspawn or Blight threat.

Maker and Chantry don’t exist due to polytheistic God/Goddess system (with some inspiration taken from both Greek and Irish mythology). It’s broken down further into a multi-tiered structure of major and minor deities—a ranking determined by power essentially—but all the human and elf deities tend to get along fairly well with one another. Dwarves don’t have deities as they still worship The Stone, which they don’t consider a god, and Qunari don’t have them either since the Qun is more of a philosophy than a religion that follows any god.

The Evanuris don’t exist as we know of them canonically in-game, so Egghead never tore the Veil apart, and none of the Exalted Marches ever happened. Elves are still long-lived and have complete access to the Dales, which is essentially their kingdom of sorts.

No huge racial divides exist, but the dwarves (outside of surface dwarves) and qunari (outside of Tal-Vashoth and Vashoth) still tend to be rather reclusive.

Class stratification, however, still exists between the rich and the poor of Thedas.

Gods play a fairly active role on Thedas for those pious enough to worship them, but their work—stemming anywhere from simply helping crops to grow or even helping to turn the tides of a war—is often unseen. Very few among the faithful rarely ever get to see a deity in person.

Relationships with mortals and gods do occur—and children are born through such unions—but it isn’t considered official unless a courtship ritual is completed, where the mortal partner would be granted the same divine protection of the god and allowed access into the immortal world. That becomes relevant much later in the story.

In this AU, Leliana’s human (she’s 15 when she first meets Niamh, but nothing intimate between them happens until she’s well above age) while Niamh’s a goddess.

Like all my other AUs, this isn’t finished yet. There is a small intimate scene way down beneath the cut, but it’s nothing explicit. Still, if you’re interested so far, check out the additional content below!

Leliana had always been blessed, others had said, but it was not by simple chance.

She was born to a widowed mother—Oisine—who worked to provide for her child’s happiness so that she might one day have a better life than her. For such love and care, however, Leliana wanted to be able to return it one day. Perhaps beyond their quaint cottage by the sea, she could someday buy her mother the riches and luxury she so clearly deserved.

It was also—were she to admit it to herself—a wish of her own desires, for she had always yearned for more than just a simple life.

One day, Leliana wandered into the nearby forest out of simple boredom. She had played amongst its trees for as long as she could remember, and she knew the winding paths of it like the back of her hand. By chance, however, she came across a pair of black-furred wolves who stood upon a trail she had never seen before. The animals didn’t seem at all skittish, and as they turned to travel further into the woods, they looked over as if to beckon her into following. Leliana did, and she eventually found herself before an old, cliffside altar overlooking the sea.

It was remarkably humble in its appearance, Leliana admitted. Strangely enough, she felt more of a… presence to it than any of the ostentatious buildings of worship she had seen in the nearby city. The altar before her barely stood at chest-level, and beneath the light of the full moon, she realized the stone of its structure had been worn smooth by time and the elements.

She frowned when she saw the multitude of dead leaves and dirt gathered around the altar, however, and she wondered when the caretaker of such a monument had last seen to it. Leliana looked over at her two wayward companions, but one was already lazing about on its back in a nap while the other simply sat on its rump, revealing a maw full of pearl-white fangs as it yawned at her in boredom.

“Well, you two will clearly be of no help,” she murmured to herself before proceeding to clean up the various bits of debris around the altar. She began scrubbing at the top slab with a cloth to clean the dirt stain upon it, but she heard something akin to the sound of wind shifting followed by a person’s shadow falling across the stone surface.

Leliana looked up abruptly to see a dark-haired woman standing opposite of her and stumbled back in shock, especially given the path beyond the altar led to nothing but a sheer drop into the sea. There was no possible way someone else could have walked past her without her notice, so how had she gotten there?

Nothing in the woman’s posture indicated she meant her any harm. If anything, she seemed largely curious as she gazed upon the now clean altar while slowly walking around it to meet her.

Leliana saw that she wore an impressive silvery-white pelt over the shoulders of her cloak—a shade so dark that she couldn’t see any of the individual folds in the fabric. It seemed to simply absorb any light that dared shed itself upon it. To her continued amazement, the woman’s eyes were also gently aglow, and for a moment, she wondered if she had trespassed upon a ghostly specter with that pale grey gaze quietly regarding her.

For even with all the tales she’s heard and even told herself, the utter truth of the matter seemed far too outlandish even to her.

“It’s been quite some time since someone last visited my altar.”

The accent was one that Leliana couldn’t readily place. It certainly wasn’t Orlesian, Neverran, or Antivan. The woman’s tongue didn’t linger on the vowels and consonants in quite the same way, but the intonation wasn’t quite Free Marcher in origin either. Still, there was a calm, soft-spoken nature to it—calling forth the mental image of a downy feather drifting along the sea breeze—that she found soothing.

“This altar…” Leliana swallowed hard to gather the courage to speak her thoughts. “It is yours then? I-I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to intrude—”

But the woman gently waved off her apology.

“Had my familiars found you unworthy, you would not have been able to find the path here at all.”

At the title, both wolves behind Leliana immediately jumped up at the woman—no, the goddess—and proceeded to nuzzle at her face. They whined insistently for her attention, which only caused her to laugh. On their hind legs, the beasts simply towered over her apparently immortal guest, but she held their combined weight easily against her as she ran her hands through thick fur.

“I’m afraid I don’t know what to call you. I didn’t see a name upon the altar when I was cleaning it,” Leliana admitted.

“Hm?” Luminous silver eyes returned to her before glancing briefly at the stone monument. “Ah. Time tends to pass rather differently in your world. As such, I shouldn’t be surprised to see the text long eroded. If it pleases you to call me something, however, then you may call me Niamh.”

Leliana’s brows furrowed as she tried to place the name from the multitude of deities she had learned about over the years. “You’re the goddess of storms and the night sky, yes?”

Niamh seemed pleased at her knowledge, emphasized by the smile she gifted her. “Indeed I am. In any case, as you were kind enough to clean my altar, you are welcome to ask a favor of me.”

“Can it be anything?”

The goddess’ smile turned a tad more enigmatic then. “So long as the request is of equal value, then yes.”

‘Equal value?’ Ah.

Her mother had once told her to be wary of asking gods for favors, as they would always ask for something in return. It was their Law of Equivalent Exchange. If one didn’t word their wish carefully, a person could end up losing more than they gained, especially if the deity in question felt a mortal’s request wasn’t worth what was offered.

Leliana bit her lip. It would have been far too easy to ask for the riches to bestow upon her mother, but she couldn’t deny that she was curious about the woman before her. She’d likely never get a chance like this again, so she asked for something more manageable. Something that wouldn’t leave her with regret.

“Then, can I ask about you? About where you come from, and what all your powers are?” she asked, excitement soon superseding any apprehension she might have felt. “Are you the only goddess in the area right now, o-or are there more like you?” When those glowing, wintry-grey eyes simply blinked at her, she couldn’t help but blush, wondering if perhaps her usual curiosity and enthusiasm was too much for such an ageless being.

A dark head canted itself. “Just so I’m not mistaken, you desire nothing material for the task of cleaning my altar? You merely wish for my company so that you might ask your questions?” When Leliana nodded earnestly in response, Niamh released a small huff of laughter. “Well, this is certainly a first for me. As you wish then.” She briefly looked over her own shoulder, focusing on a point beyond the horizon, where it seemed impossible to determine where the night sky ended and the starlit sea began. “You have until the sun rises to sate your curiosity. Mind you, I might not be able to answer every question you have.”

Leliana nodded, understanding there might be secrets that needed to be kept.

Niamh then gently pushed one of her familiars away from her. The wolf—a male from what she could readily determine—had been resting his front paws on her shoulder to better lave his tongue over the woman’s cheek in continual affection. At being deterred, however, he uttered a low huff of disapproval before grumpily brushing his side against Niamh’s leg. He circled once around her form after she gave him a few solid pats before he slowly trotted back to Leliana’s side.

At such a close distance, she was better able to tell the difference between him and his female counterpart. While they both predominantly had black fur all over their bodies, the underside of his chin held silver coloring that trailed down to his chest whereas the other wolf’s grey patterning extended from chest to belly. Both seemed remarkably intelligent as they regarded her with aurulent eyes.

Niamh motioned for her to sit, and she did so without question. Leliana gasped softly when the wolf near her immediately laid himself down so that he could curl himself around her body, likely as a way to keep her warm from the cold sea breeze. His counterpart did the same for Niamh, who then began answering a few of the questions she asked earlier.

Apparently, some of the tales Leliana had been told as a child were true.

Niamh was one of three children sired by a mortal warrior that her mother Eleanor—one of the most renowned sea goddesses—had fallen in love with. Her brother Fergus was the eldest and was a god of protection, and her older sister Saoirse was a goddess of victory. Niamh then went on to explain it was entirely possible for there to be multiple deities with the same responsibilities in a given area.

“Even for us, it is impossible to be in two places at once,” she further explained with laughter in her voice—the sound of it as ethereal as moonlight shimmering across the sea. “If one mortal has need of us somewhere, then it’s simply more efficient for there to have other colleagues of similar gifts nearby on the off chance a similar request is made.”

“And there’s never been an issue with sharing an area like that?”

“It happens on occasion. A stronger god might be able to force others out to establish a claim over territory, but it’s generally considered… uncouth to do so, especially if it was done without provocation.”

Leliana frowned. “Then why risk doing so?”

“To gain more worshippers essentially. I’m sure you’ve realized that it’s rare for any one of us to be seen these days, yes? Our ability to linger within this world stagnates the longer we go without worship. If there is no one to remember or believe in us, then we lack… presence here for lack of a better word. Eventually, it means the end of our time here on your world. Some of us might choose to stay here for whatever time we are allotted and simply fade into the ether, or we return home from whence we came.”

“Does this have to do with your Law of Equivalent Exchange?”

Niamh tipped her head, impressed. “You’re well-learned. Yes. As powerful as we are, for us to be here, we need you just as much as the opposite might be true.”

Leliana hummed thoughtfully. “There are still people who pray to gods of the sea and sky for a safe voyage through turbulent seas. I can’t imagine you’d be in danger of being forgotten anytime soon.”

“For the time being. That might fade eventually. While the requests I receive aren’t fleeting, they are made with hollowed hearts. The sailors I help guide may yet one day feel they have no need of me—that my name is merely superstition.”

“Surely not!” She felt indignation rise within her on the woman’s behalf, but Niamh merely chuckled.

“Your world changes at so rapid a pace that it even takes us by surprise.”

“Does it? Is it so different on yours?”

“It… is something I cannot reveal to you unfortunately.”

Leliana had expected as much, but she found another subject to latch on to easily enough. “Well, you also mentioned there were stronger gods before, yes? Is that a common matter?”

“Not entirely. We have a tiered system to judge our respective power, and it’s largely determined by how much we can affect the world around us. Imagine Thedas as a leaf resting atop a pond, and then consider the water’s surface area to be the power of a Sixth Tier god. By that same principle, a Fifth Tier god would be synonymous to a lake while a Fourth Tier would be more akin to a sea, and a Third Tier would be an entire ocean.”

“Then the first two tiers…?”

Niamh briefly pressed a tongue against her cheek in thought. “Hm. It gets a tad more complicated after that. Essentially, a Second Tier would be any combination of seas and oceans, but a First Tier would encompass every body of water mentioned. Again, this is all an extremely simplified explanation of our system.”

“And which tier are you then?”

Surprisingly, the goddess seemed reluctant to state her rank. “Let’s just say I… can’t readily determine the difference in power between a Fourth, Fifth, or Sixth Tier deity.”

Leliana’s eyes widened. “Truly?”

Niamh shrugged with a sheepish smile. “Yes. The power discrepancy between them all is too subtle for me to notice.”

Leliana was stunned at such a revelation, for save for the glowing eyes and a presence that exuded gentle, soothing power, Niamh seemed like any other woman. She was calm, self-assured, and—she waited until Niamh turned her attention down to her wolf companion and began petting it before finishing her thought—wonderfully attractive.

But Leliana chided herself for admitting the latter fact.

What goddess would be interested in a mere slip of a girl after all? Leliana had only lived a fraction of Niamh’s entire life. Surely someone of Niamh’s status would have her pick of any suitor—mortal or otherwise—over such a long lifespan. She was thankful Niamh was kind enough to indulge her with her questions, and she did have many of them.

As expected of her title, Leliana got to experience how the goddess could manage to change the weather around them to her whims. With a simple wave of a hand, Niamh effortlessly wreathed them all in warmth when a stronger gust of wind blew in from the sea, never once pausing in her explanation regarding her other abilities. She could switch between them with nary a thought, allowing ice to gather at her fingertips like icy talons before a simple flex caused them to shatter, allowing lightning to dance between them instead—a living cat’s cradle.

“They also call you the goddess of the night sky, don’t they? Are you only capable of appearing during the evening then?”

“It’s more personal preference. I like the quiet the night affords me; there is a different beauty to be found under the cover of it. When mortals originally saw me in the past, it was always in the evenings, so I suppose the assumption remained, but nothing prevents me from appearing during the day should I wish it. Ah.” Niamh turned to look back out to the sea. “And it appears our exchange has run its course.”

Leliana turned her attention to the horizon as well, and was surprised to see daybreak just barely beginning to crest it. She had been enjoying Niamh’s attention so much that she hadn’t realized so much time had passed.

“I’ll have Eimear—” The female wolf rose to her feet just as Niamh did. “—and Cillian escort you home, young one.” (Note: Eimear is pronounced “ee-mur” and Cillian is pronounced “kill-ee-an”)

“Leliana.”

“Hm?”

“My name.” She smiled as she pulled her shawl closer around her shoulders. “It’s Leliana.”

“Ah.” Niamh nodded in acknowledgement. “Take care then, Leliana. I don’t think I’ve ever had a conversation this long with a mortal. It was a new but enjoyable experience.” From her smile, Leliana could see that she was sincere in her words, and she felt wonderfully dazed at the fact.

“Likewise, my lady.” She had the sense to curtsy gracefully before the goddess. “Will… Will I be able to find you here again?”

Niamh blinked. “Perhaps,” she replied, raising a brow at her curiously. “You would have to give something in return again however.”

“Would you be opposed to exchanging stories then?”

“Stories?”

“Yes, you mentioned how much Thedas changes each time you return. I could tell you stories of things that might have occurred while you’ve been away, and perhaps you might tell me stories of your own—the ones that might have been lost through the ages.”

Her request seemed to interest Niamh, for her lips turned up into a smile. “A sensible exchange. Very well. Should you wish to see me again, travel upon the path to this altar and press your hand atop its stone. I will know to meet you here.”

And once a week, Leliana returns to the cliff and that altar—always escorted by the guardian wolf pair—to meet the goddess who has very much become her friend.

As promised, they exchange stories and even songs—much to Leliana’s endless delight—but sometimes their evenings together are simply spent having meals together.

Niamh had confessed that foods of the mortal world provided no real sustenance for her, but she could still taste them all the same. As such, Leliana makes it a point to find new things for her to try, and she discovers the woman liked sweets the best. She can always tell by the way those luminous eyes widen by the barest fraction each time she samples something of interest.

The exchanges rarely last as long as that first night they met, but Leliana doesn’t mind. She enjoys Niamh’s company, and—from those little smiles that always send her heart aflutter—she thinks the reverse might also be true.

A year later, Leliana turned 16, and she went to Niamh one night in excitement. Her mother’s employer was taking them to Val Royeaux for a soiree!

“Can you believe it? Oh, it will be my first one ever!” Utterly filled with glee, she did a little twirl in place, and Niamh was the epitome of patience as Leliana explained how fortuitous an opportunity this was. “Val Royeaux is the crown jewel of Orlais, and there will no doubt be so many people there! Mother says there are always patrons milling about, looking for new talent. Perhaps I might be lucky enough to meet one, and I’d be able to sing for them and tell them tales, but…Oh. ” Her excitement then dimmed somewhat as her voice trailed off, something that Niamh noticed immediately.

“But what?” she asked, beckoning her to continue.

“But there must already be some aspiring minstrels there, those who have lived there their whole lives! How could I ever possibly hope to make myself noticed among them?” she asked plaintively, and she momentarily began pouting when Niamh laughed in gentle amusement.

“Leliana, your songs and your stories are wonderful. I have no doubt a true patron of the arts would appreciate your talents,” she reassured, but when Leliana tried to protest, the woman merely arched a brow. “A false sincerity—no matter how honeyed—is still a lie, and I would never be so crass as to do such a thing to you. However, if you feel that you truly need to give others further incentive to listen to you…”

Niamh paused as she reached into her cloak, and Leliana could faintly hear the jingling of metal before the woman pulled out a brooch so beautiful that it took her very breath way.

Multiple pearls of varying size were inlaid into a sharply-curved bed of obsidian, which emphasized the opalescence of the gems arranged artistically into the shape of a crescent moon. Tiny diamonds decorated the scalloped edge as they hugged each pearl, and bisecting the widest part of the brooch’s arch was a simple silver pin. When the goddess proceeded to hold the piece of jewelry out for her to take, Leliana was taken aback.

“But I can’t possibly take this!”

Niamh merely smiled. “I can always make another like it. When you wear this, simply run a finger across each of the pearls, and its magic will take effect. As you perform, those within hearing distance of you will have no choice but to have their eyes drawn upon you. I have blessed this brooch sparingly, however, so while it may help to draw an audience, it is up to your own skill to further keep them there, Little Bird. Do you understand?”

“Yes, but I didn’t even offer anything in exchange,” she said worriedly.

“When you return from this soiree of yours, tell me of it, and I will consider that payment enough.” The cold winds shifted then, and Leliana found that Niamh’s brows had knitted together in consternation. When she turned to her again, those glowing grey eyes were apologetic. “I am beckoned elsewhere, but I have faith that you’ll be able to be able to succeed in your endeavors. Farewell for now, Leliana.”

When Leliana returned to Niamh’s altar several weeks later, she was fresh-faced and beaming with delight, dancing in a gown of absolute finery. It was a gift from her patron Marjolaine—a wealthy, widowed woman, who had taken quite a fancy to her talents.

“Isn’t it beautiful? Oh, Lady Marjolaine is so generous! She’s been all over Thedas, and she knows so many things! She’s even teaching me how to use a bow!”

“‘A bow,’ you say?” Niamh frowned. “Any particular reason why?”

“For bard training.” When that only drew a further look of confusion, she hastened to explain. “It’s like… being both a minstrel and a bodyguard to your patron. Still, the world can be a dangerous place at times, no? Marjolaine wanted me to also learn how to defend myself.”

“I see.” If Niamh had any concerns, she didn’t voice them. “I imagine such training would take place away from here.”

“Yes,” she admitted, and an ache filled her then, causing her to slowly wring her hands together. “It is a wonderful opportunity. It is probably more than I could have ever hoped for, but it will also mean that I may not return here again for quite some time.”

“As expected.”

“You’re not... upset?”

“You are a young woman of incredible talent and determination, Leliana. I doubt there is much that even I could say that might deter you even had I wished to. Perhaps it was well past time you spread your wings from here and find what awaits you beyond the horizon. I will not keep you from it. Still…” She turned her gaze upon her altar. “I feel I must at least offer you a parting gift.”

The goddess flexed a hand, and Leliana was shocked to see that a broken corner of the altar’s foundation flew directly into Niamh’s palm. As pale fingers closed around it, energies of black and silver—the night and the stars made tangible—twined around the woman’s fist before disappearing moments later into the ether as she revealed her handiwork.

The stone had been reduced to the size of a coin, and upon its face was the image of a wolf’s head—noble and proud—set against the background of a raging storm. It was an icon often associated with Niamh, who wore two silver medallions of the same imagery on her cloak, which were connected by layered chains, fastening the fabric around her securely.

“Keep this upon your person, and should you find yourself in immediate danger, simply think of me, and you shall be protected,” Niamh said, presenting the gift to her.

“And…” She looked to her curiously. “What would you want for this in return?”

The corners of her lips turned up. “Clever girl… I don’t think I’ve ever had anyone ask me that outright before. Well. Would you be opposed to offering me a memory of yours?”

“‘A memory?’”

“Yes. I suspect you’ll make many more away from here, so I merely ask for one of your most cherished moments thus far. Would you find that acceptable?”

“Yes. What would I have to do?”

“Nothing on your end. Simply hold still…” Niamh reached out to press two fingertips gently against Leliana’s forehead, and she felt the warmth of a summer’s kiss gathered there for a brief moment before the woman then pulled away, blinking consecutively several times.

“Did you get it?” she asked.

“Yes,” Niamh said, looking at her with seeming consideration.

“Oh.” She didn’t feel like anything was amiss. “Which memory was it?”

Those lips parted briefly in an attempt to form an answer, but she soon shook her head, an enigmatic smile burnishing her features—one warm enough to ward Leliana against the cold of the winter sea. “It is irrelevant. Here.” She pressed the stone coin into her palm. “I thank you for the memory, and I wish you well on your journey.”

“I…” Leliana wet her lips as she clasped a hand against her chest. “I will miss you.”

“Likewise. Safe travels to you always, Little Bird.”

The woman turned on her heel and walked toward the edge of the cliff, and as she made to step off of it, her form simply dispersed like stardust scattering across the night breeze before simply fading before Leliana’s eyes.

Leliana learned and experienced much under her patron’s tutelage over the years, traveling from one corner of Thedas to the other, ever a faithful shadow. Beneath Marjolaine’s eye, her skills as a bard grew, honed well upon the battlefield and also in the depths of more private chambers.

Although she travels far at times, Leliana cannot keep her mind from the woman who is the night sky and storms made flesh. She dreams of eyes like moonlight—calm and ancient—watching her with warmth and then a smoldering fire of passion she wishes were true.

It’s a yearning that lingers in the back of her mind, and she finds that even with her growing infamy and riches, they bring her little joy. She begins to re-evaluate her life and proceeds to slowly distance herself from the Game—a fact that Marjolaine is too keenly aware of.

And from there, she learns of her lover’s final lesson: betrayal.

She returned to the stone altar by the sea a decade after she saw it last. Niamh appeared as promptly as always whenever she pressed a hand upon its stone, and Leliana saw those dark brows raised minutely in surprise upon seeing her, and she can’t help but smile.

Leliana was indeed much older than when they last saw one another although she feared she hadn’t grown quite as wise as she had hoped. Had that been the case, surely she would have learned of Marjolaine’s treachery much sooner. She explained as much to Niamh, who listened with quiet concern, as she detailed how everything went so terribly wrong.

“It was your coin that saved me,” Leliana revealed gratefully. “Without it, I would have been imprisoned and framed for treason by Marjolaine. If she is capable of committing such misdeeds against me—someone who she once saw as an ally—then she is capable to doing so to others. I cannot allow it to happen again. She will be brought to justice for her crimes.”

Niamh nodded in understanding. “And you came to me for help. Very well. Hold out your hands.”

Leliana did as instructed, and she saw Niamh’s dual-toned energy of black and silver forming before her, weighing down her palms. She kept them steady, and when the magic finally vanished, she found she was holding a new quiver full of arrows and a bow.

The latter was a thing of beauty, carved from ironbark so that it was lightweight but strong as steel. The grip of it appeared to have been made of white halla leather to contrast against the dark color of the weapon’s frame, and upon the widest part of the bow’s upper limb was Niamh’s personal icon engraved in silverite.

“Whisper my name upon the wind, and there shall be no manner of armor that your arrows cannot penetrate.”

“And in exchange?”

“A song sung under the night sky—one for every time you use the bow’s secondary ability.”

Leliana blinked. “Just songs then?”

“Yes.” Niamh smiled then. “I’ve found that I have missed them in all the time you’ve been away. Good hunting to you, Leliana.”

Leliana returns to Denerim to confront Marjolaine once more, and—with the blessings of a goddess on her side—she emerges victorious.

She takes a ship back to Orlais that very evening. While Marjolaine stews in fury below decks, Leliana is alone at the prow, quietly singing over a dozen songs up to the night sky. As the wind stirs to tousle her hair, she smiles, feeling like Niamh is there with her, listening in approval for the promise kept.

When she drags Marjolaine to the Orlesian embassy, Leliana informs them all of her former lover’s treason with evidence to back her claims. Marjolaine is consequently imprisoned—all titles and lands stripped from her name—and Leliana is hailed as a heroine. Empress Celene raises her name to nobility and grants her the title of Nightingale of the Imperial Court as her lead reconnaissance expert.

With the act, it becomes abundantly clear to the nobles of Orlais that while Marjolaine had once proven herself a consummate player of the Great Game, Leliana had bested her utterly. Some fear her skill while others hope to ride on the coat tails of her success, but whatever the case, Leliana is simply happy that everything is right with the world for once.

With her new title and riches, Leliana buys a new villa by the Waking Sea—closer to Niamh’s altar—and ensures her mother never has to work another day in her life ever again. Although her new profession involves a bit of underhandedness here and there, she does what she can to help and donate to various charities.

Even with such a busy schedule, she always finds time to visit Niamh, and they reconnect, establishing an old friendship between stories, songs, and meals.

Five years after revealing Marjolaine’s treachery, Leliana’s mother falls terribly ill. A combination of wasting sickness and cholera, the healers say. While Leliana assures them that money is no issue for any treatment they suggest, they regretfully inform her that with Oisine’s advancing age, there is little they can do other than to try and keep her comfortable over the next few weeks.

Distraught, Leliana turns to the one person she knows can help.

“And you understand the type of exchange this requires?” Niamh asked once more.

“Yes.”

Leliana had just neglected to inform the goddess she didn’t see herself finding another mortal to complete such a task. While she regretted her soon-to-be proposition hadn’t been made under better circumstances, she’d be lying if she said she hadn’t thought about something similar over the years. Even after a decade and a half after they first met, Leliana still found Niamh to be as enchanting as ever. She was intelligent, gifted in more than magical ability, and was remarkably sweet and kind.

Surely, with such coveted traits, she wouldn’t object to siring the firstborn the Law of Equivalent Exchange required?

“Very well,” Niamh said, unaware of Leliana’s thoughts. “When you return home tonight, your mother will be in pristine health once more. It will be like she never fell ill at all, and even the memory of her suffering will fade along with the memories of those who had interacted with her since then.”

Leliana sighed in relief. “Thank you so much. She means everything to me.”

“I’m aware.” The woman’s glowing eyes turned apologetic then. “I only hope you won’t find the price of this all too steep, but I suppose only time will tell. Again, you needn’t begin this process right away. As the matter regarding your mother was quite serious, you’re welcome to see for yourself over the next few days that I spoke true in keeping my end of the bargain.”

“I know you wouldn’t betray me,” Leliana reassured, smiling, before mischief filled her. “So when do we begin?”

Luminous grey eyes blinked. “Pardon?”

“You said you wanted my firstborn, no?”

“Yes, and you agreed, did you not?”

“I did,” she reiterated, her smile still present. “As I’ve said, when do we begin?”

Leliana watched—amusement suffusing her—as realization then dawned over the goddess, causing those pale eyes to widen comically.

“Oh,” she uttered, baffled. “I—This was not…I don’t think…!”

Leliana had to bite her lip to keep her laughter from spilling out. In all the years they had known one another, this was perhaps the first time she had seen the otherwise unflappable goddess at such a loss for words. “Is there a problem?”

“Not necessarily…” Niamh grimaced, trying to regain her composure. “This is admittedly quite the first for me. As such, I need some time to prepare. I’ve every intention of keeping my word, but I want to be absolutely certain I won’t somehow hurt you in the process. Would you be willing to meet me in the forest tomorrow evening?”

“Of course.” This was an odd situation for them both after all. If Niamh needed time to assuage her own concerns, who was she to stop her?

“Thank you. Eimear and Cillian will escort you to my desired location for this once you enter the forest. I will see you then.”

Niamh’s siblings found out about her latest plight the moment she returned home.

“Can you believe it, Fergus? Why, I never thought I’d see the day!” Saoirse crowed smugly while her little sister glared balefully between her and their brother.

“Indeed!” Fergus reached out to tousle Niamh’s hair playfully. “A human woman managed to outsmart our usually quick-witted sister! And here I thought the mortals figuring out how to cultivate seedless grapes would be the last thing to surprise me.”

Niamh rolled her eyes when both her siblings guffawed heavily at that, and she ducked between them both to speak with Morrigan—the only person she had actually given permission to be in her quarters with her regarding this.

“You’re certain this is safe then? I won’t somehow manage to hurt her with my powers?”

“Yes, yes. ‘Tis a simple enough matter,” she drawled for the third time. “I fail to see your concern regarding this. You have exceptional control over your abilities after all.”

“I’ve never laid with a mortal before, Morrigan,” she deadpanned. “Pardon my concern over potentially breaching the terms of an exchange by accidentally killing the other party involved.”

“So long as you remember mortals do not have the same amount of endurance as we do, and you allow her to catch a breath every few interludes during the act, I cannot foresee any issue that might occur.” She sniffed dismissively, continuing to sift through the many tomes Niamh kept in her private collection. “Truly, given how fondly you speak of this Leliana, I doubt you would be able to do wrong by her.”

Niamh immediately winced at Morrigan’s statement, knowing the reaction it would have drawn from her siblings, and she was rarely ever proven wrong when it came to them.

“Wait, wait! It’s that human then? The very one she’s been talking about for the past five years?” Saoirse grinned, turning to her older brother. “Fergus, did you hear that?!”

Niamh sighed, rubbing the bridge of her nose with irritation as another round of teasing ensued. It was during such moments that she wondered—as she often did—why their mother couldn’t have just made her an only child.

The following night, Leliana’s wolf companions led her to a clearing deep within the woods, where Niamh was already waiting for her. Eimear and Cillian made themselves scarce once she had been delivered safely, but Leliana barely paid them any mind.

It seemed that Niamh had her comfort in mind, for in the middle of the clearing was a simple bedding of luxurious furs to lay upon, surrounded by gentle firelight. Bowls of fruits and other simple snacks laid off to the side along with bottles of various drinks to be sampled before or after the act. As she eyed the goddess standing in the midst of it all, Leliana was determined it would indeed be after as she took the hand offered to her.

Beneath the moonlight, they patiently explored one another upon disrobing together before proceeding to lay upon the furs and establish the beginning of their exchange.

Leliana was no the longer the bumbling, inexperienced child when they had first met. She had laid with others before in the type of hedonism that could only be experienced in a place like Val Royeaux, but as Niamh hovered over her, gently rolling her hips into hers, eyes aglow with such reverence like the full moon overhead, it was like she was experiencing such intimacy for the first time again. This time, however, it was with the woman—the goddess—she had always desired, who willingly worshipped her with caresses and kisses to flushed skin so sweet that it made her heart ache.

Her back arched as Niamh slipped inside her in gentle exploration. Like a musician, she expertly tuned herself to Leliana, testing rhythms and speeds to determine her preference, and when she discovered the perfect tempo, it was almost too much pleasure to bear.

She came undone beneath her, and Niamh swallowed her cries beneath tender kisses. As she was coaxed back down from her climax, all Leliana could wonder was, “How in the world am I ever supposed to let you go once the exchange is completed?”

Niamh proved quite the attentive lover.

Every few rounds, the goddess made certain Leliana kept herself hydrated and had a few bites to eat before continuing on. It was a long night of pleasure, however, and Leliana soon couldn’t discern whether the sweetness on her tongue was from food, drink, or more intimate flesh. For all of Leliana’s experience in intimacy, however, she couldn’t hope to match the immortal stamina of a goddess, but Niamh didn’t fault her need to rest. She merely encouraged her to curl against her side, which she did without complaint, resting her head on a slim shoulder. As she played with the pale collarbone beneath her fingertips, she sighed contentedly as lips pressed themselves against the crown of her head before one of the furs of their bedding was drawn up around them to ward off against the cold.

It had been a memorable night, and she had been sated, so she allowed Niamh’s warmth and the gentle crackling of the fire around them to lull her to sleep.

The light of morning washed over her, and as a warm beam of it crossed her face, her nose wrinkled with displeasure. She reached out beside her, but it isn’t fur, grass, or even another warm body that she felt.

No, it was cold sheets.

Leliana’s eyes snapped open, and she sat up abruptly to find that she was at home and in bed.

Alone.

Something within her proceeded to slowly break in painful increments, confused and bereft by such knowledge. Had last night been nothing more than an elaborate dream? She hissed gently as she shifted atop the sheets, attempting to rise from bed, and the sweet aching of her loins told her the prior evening had been no mere fantasy.

But then why had she been left?

For as much as she had heard about Niamh’s parents over the years, her mother Eleanor had elected to stay on Thedas for a time to raise her children with the man she loved. Was that not the standard among the gods at all then? Or did the exchange require a different perspective of what was to be expected of her?

“Lady Leliana?” a voice called from behind the door. One of her servants. “Will you not be joining Lady Oisine for breakfast this morning?”

She swallowed the lump down in her throat and wet her lips before attempting to speak, carefully making certain her voice didn’t shake. “No, I’m fine, Lydia. I’ve reports to finish. Please give my mother my apologies and have a plate brought to me later this afternoon.”

“Yes, m’lady.”

Leliana heard the footsteps retreating, and she immediately wanted to bury herself in the sheets, but before she could begin to wallow in despair, she heard a caw at the window. She almost dismissed the sound. Ravens weren’t uncommon around the villa after all, but when she turned to shoo it away after another pointed cry, she paused immediately upon seeing the silver eyes on the bird.

It crooked its head, looking at her curiously. Whatever the raven was searching for, she didn’t know. It simply blinked once at her before turning toward the door, and—seemingly satisfied they wouldn’t be disturbed—it flapped its wings and proceeded to fly slowly toward her. As it did, Leliana watched in amazement as the bird shifted—the image of multiple animals flashing across her vision—before coalescing into the form of the goddess she knew.

Intimately now in fact.

Who was looking down at her in concern.

“Are you alright?” Niamh asked.

“You’re…” Leliana’s lips parted. “You’re still here.”

“Of course.” Dark brows furrowed, but she hardly seemed offended. Merely confused. “I wouldn’t have left you alone to carry our child for the next nine months without aid.”

“When I woke up, and you weren’t here with in bed with me after last night, I assumed…” she trailed off, remembering the dread she felt in her heart mere moments ago, wondering if she had perhaps been abandoned to carry the burden alone.

“Ah.” Niamh rubbed the back of her neck sheepishly. “I returned you to your villa just before the sun rose, and then I simply sat at your desk afterward, waiting for you to wake.”

“My desk?” she asked, voice raising incredulously.

“Yes.” Niamh seemed uncertain as she continued speaking. “When we made the deal for the exchange, it was agreed we would lay together to consummate the agreement. Nothing within our verbal contract stated that I would be allowed to lay in your bed, and I didn’t wish to seem rude by presuming otherwise, so I elected to just sit and read until you awoke. When I heard one of the other mortals come up the stairs toward your door, however, I made myself scarce so as to not be found.”

Leliana said nothing at first, her mind still trying to wipe the cobwebs of sleep from it amidst the rush of earlier fear, but Niamh seemed to take her silence as disapproval.

“I’m sorry,” Niamh said. “After so many Ages, it’s simply an ingrained instinct at this point. I normally don’t interact with mortals this close to their homestead, so I immediately just thought to hide myself.”

With belated shock, Leliana realized the other woman’s eyes weren’t glowing anymore in the daylight, but they were still such an amazingly pale shade of grey, which were filled with utmost sincerity. Leliana didn’t move when the woman reached out to cup her face, and when a thumb went to sweep itself across her cheek, she was surprised to see it come away wet.

She hadn’t even realized she’d been crying mere moments ago.

“I am new to relationships such as this,” Niamh continued, “but my need to prevent unwanted questions shouldn’t have superseded your comfort. I apologize. I won’t hurt you like this again. I cannot promise I’ll be perfect in every aspect of this, but I will do my utmost to do right by you.”

So—as expected—Leliana became pregnant after their night together, and Niamh inevitably gets pulled into Orlesian society while trying to keep the mother of her child safe. Every day seems to offer its own lesson as the goddess seeks to adapt to society without giving away what she is.

Thankfully, everyone tends to assume she is a woman of foreign nobility given how she dresses and carries herself, and Leliana doesn’t do much to dissuade such rumors. That those very rumors also pair the other woman with her in more romantic a fashion is much its own bittersweet pain, but if Niamh had ever been aware of them, she doesn’t voice them to her.

For beyond that first night, they hadn’t been to bed together. Niamh would hold her when she slept after discussing their respective days together, yes, and she’d still be there the morning after, but nothing intimate ever occurred between those moments. It’s... a comfortable enough routine, but Leliana always longs for more.

Before her pregnancy begins to show, she requests some needed vacation time from Empress Celene, who approves it without question, citing that while she appreciated her dedication to the empire, she worked far too much at times.

Leliana returns back to her villa by the Waking Sea before long, intending that to be where she eventually gives birth. Niamh, of course, is ever present at her side. Unfortunately, while the Imperial Court remained oblivious to the woman’s actual identity, her mother is not so keen to let the matter go…

“That woman…” Oisine began, looking at her daughter over the rim of her tea cup, “She isn’t what she appears to be, is she?”

Leliana’s first instinct was to lie, but her mother was always clever. Leliana had inherited the same brilliance after all. Still, she sighed.

“Her name is Niamh; that much is true. She is technically nobility—just not in the same way you and I would think of it.”

“What are you saying?”

“She’s the goddess of storms and the night sky, Mother, and she’s quite powerful even among her kind. She’s here to look over me since I made a deal with her.”

Oisine’s features immediately paled. “What? Leliana, I told you the dangers of entering into such things with them!”

“I didn’t have the choice!”

“Did she force you into this?”

“Mother, no!” Niamh was far too considerate a person—too tender a lover—to ever consider something so underhanded, but she could see that her mother couldn’t be readily convinced without more of an explanation. “I did it because you were dying, and there was no other option to save your life!”

“What?”

When she saw that she was only succeeding in confusing her mother, Leliana sighed, and did her best to explain the circumstances surrounding the relationship between her and Niamh, such as how long they actually knew one another, how the goddess had helped her over the years, and why she helped her again when she found her mother likely wouldn’t recover from her illness.

All factors that led to the culmination of her bearing the child of a deity.

“You’re with child,” Oisine breathed in shock.

“Yes.”

“And Lady Niamh…?”

“Is the other parent, yes.”

“Oh, Leliana…” Guilt filled the other woman’s eyes, but Leliana didn’t want it. She would have gladly made the offer again in a heartbeat to save her. “You could have lain with anyone else to have a child, and the exchange would have still been fulfilled. Why do it in such a way?”

“Because it has always been her, Mother. I wanted to know her in such a way even if it was only once, but I’m still mortal. No matter what else I am, no matter my accomplishments, she wouldn’t be able to stay with me forever. I’m under no illusions that when the baby is born, she may very well just leave with them once the promise has been seen through.”

Disapproval was evident on Oisine’s features. “Surely you don’t believe that. Mind you, I may have been curious as to her actual identity, but have you not seen how that woman dotes upon you? How her eyes search for you as soon as you enter a room? She would give you anything you desire if you’d but ask her to stay.”

Leliana turned her head away. “Mother, please!”

She couldn’t afford to hope for this.

It would hurt too much if it didn’t come true.

Of course, as Leliana and Niamh adapt to the idea of being parents together, they realize their feelings for one another may not be as one-sided as they both initially believed.

They catch feelings is what I’m saying here, y’all.

Their relationship, however, isn’t considered official until a proper courtship ritual is done. Niamh’s not allowed to say what that all entails due to some old laws on her world, but Leliana figures it out anyway due to some old story she dug up thanks to her spy network and because she’s simply brilliant.

There’s also some political intrigue back in the world of the gods who want to close off their world from Thedas entirely, which makes Niamh super unhappy. She’ll have to do something regarding that obviously. Who are they to keep her from her beloved Leliana after all?

Then, some other issues might also occur when some individuals in the Imperial Court learn that Leliana’s pregnant. Players in the Great Game can be merciless.

So there’s action, but there’s also plenty of romantic fluff to round it out. The important thing is that Niamh and Leliana work through it together, and they have a healthy baby, and they all get to live happily ever after for a very long time!

So that’s basically it.

Again, like my other AUs, this isn’t as polished as I would like it to be, but your thoughts regarding it are always appreciated! Like it? Hate it? Think I can improve upon it? Is this something you’d like to see me write along with all my other AUs eventually? Let me know!

Seriously, just leave a like, a comment, drop a message in my inbox or the Tumblr messenger, or simply just let me know in an AO3 review. Until next time, guys!

#dragon age #leliana #female cousland/leliana #lee's AU ideas #OTP: What If We Rewrite the Stars?#My writing #fanfic

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crimson-snowfall · 5 years

Note

Hello ! I absolutely love your headcanons, so when I saw your askbox was open I jumped in. I wanted to Ask a headcanon for the ikevamp suitors (if you can't do all of them I really love Mozart, Napoléon, Vincent and Arthur... But I must admit that if you could do all of them it would be fantastic :)) ) with a MC with an eating disorder ? Because this was not really common during their Time and I Wonder how they would react ? Thank you so much and continue with the good work !)

Hey there sorry for the wait, I tried to do all characters but I’m simply running out of time (there are still 7 requests after this and I might close my ask box once uni starts again), so I did 8 of them… which is 2/3 of them all so I hope that’s fine with you too.

A little disclaimer, this topic kinda scared me at first because gone are the days of the internet where people don’t get offended by literally anything. Anyway MC’s eating disorder here is nothing too extreme, she just eats way too little to the point that the suitors can’t help but worry over how unhealthy it is sometimes.

Ikevamp HC request: Reacting to MC with eating disorder (Napoleon, Leo, Arthur, Vincent, Theo, Isaac, Dazai, Comte)

Napoleon

Napoleon is notably bewildered since he has ruled an empire in a time where famine is still a common occurrence. He asked you if famine occurs as often in the modern world, to which you reply that it doesn’t.

He genuinely wonders what could’ve brought about such condition in a time where food is abundant, so he turns to Sebastian for further enlightenment and advice.

As soon as Napoleon gained a deeper understanding about your condition and how certain standards from the society you came from might’ve had brought it about, he wrote down a list, which includes his favorite dishes, as well as the particularly scrumptious foreign dishes he had tasted in his human life.

Napoleon makes good use of his culinary talent, and uses your curiosity over the variety of dishes you’ve never seen in your life as a motivation to discover more recipes so he can keep on feeding you new things and keep you healthy.

Leo

At some point in his life, Leo was a vegetarian, so he knew what it’s like to have people questioning your choices in food. Thus, it comes naturally that he out of all the residents in the mansion would understand you the most.

However, he acknowledges the fact that you’re eating way too less than you should, so he has found a way to subtly make sure you’re still getting enough nutrients from what little you eat.

Leo has put his genius mind into work by extracting essential nutrients from natural ingredients and somehow converted them into spices. He has discretely asked Sebastian to put them in your meals. The rich taste enhanced your appetite and improved your preference for certain meals.

Arthur

Upon hearing about your condition, Arthur takes it as a challenge to keep you healthy without overstepping your boundaries, and without you realizing that he’s began to give you some special treatment.

Your dates became more often and Arthur has kept a watchful eye on you every time you eat, rigorously taking a mental note on your eating habits and compiling this data so he can better deduce what foods you prefer from the rest.

Once Arthur has completed this period of initial observation, he immediately puts his plan into action. Every other day, Arthur would bring you breakfast in bed, where he would serve you the dishes he figured you like the most.

At first his cooking is average, but as he continued observing you, in several months he managed to perfect the array of meals that gives you a well-balanced diet.

Vincent

Vincent grew very concerned upon learning about your condition and tries to find out more about it. In fact, he’s become so pre-occupied with the thought as to what food you may like that he subconsciously ended up painting a lot of portraits of food.

The food in his paintings looked insanely mouthwatering to you, and you ended up having cravings for those foods. Once Vincent had realized this, he asked Sebastian for the list of dishes that would be served for the next few days, and painted them.

Your appetite has considerably improved in the following days and overtime has gradually approached satisfactory levels of normal food intake. Thankfully, Theo doesn’t seem to mind his brother had developed a habit of painting food every other day.

Theo

One time, you fainted from eating so little, which earned you a severe scolding from Theo. The two of you got into a heated argument, and it is only when you explained to Theo about your condition did he calm down.

Theo apologized to you the next day, but told you that you can’t keep doing that to yourself and he will definitely figure out a way to keep the incident of you fainting from happening again.

Theo doesn’t want to be forceful about it, so he takes it slowly but surely. One day he told you that he believes that “Food becomes more enjoyable when you share it with your loved ones,” and asked you if you would like to eat his pancakes with him.

With his method, you eventually acquired his addiction for pancakes, but Theo knows you need more than pancakes to stay healthy. That’s how Theo began making his own pancakes for you with secret ingredients he researched himself that will provide you with all your other basic nutritional needs.

Isaac

As a vampire with an unusual condition that gives him an extraordinary appetite, Isaac can relate to you one way or another.

Isaac thinks of your condition in a similar way he thinks of his, that you have no control over it and thus you can expect him to be the last person who’s going to tell you that it’s your choice to be like that.

However, Isaac still feels bad for you because on the other hand, he has you to satisfy his hunger. So he thought that the least he could do for you is to give you something in return for always sating his hunger.

It surprised you when Isaac suddenly got into cooking. While the meals he prepares for you certainly does end up tasting strange, you just can’t have enough of his cooking after seeing him put in the effort and the embarrassed expression he makes when he asks if you if it even tastes edible.

Dazai

Dazai listens attentively to you as you explain your condition to him. He looked like his usual whimsical self as he offered you some words of comfort about it.

Unbeknownst to you, Dazai was already coming up with an idea on how he could possibly help you with your condition as you told him about it.

Every now and then, you would find a neatly wrapped box of bento on your bed. Being stuck in 19th century France, you couldn’t help but miss Japanese food so you end up having a feast to yourself every time this happens. Not to mention how ridiculously good the dishes taste.

Dazai skillfully dodges any confrontation about it but that unmistakable genuine smile of contentment you rarely see on his face afterwards confirms your suspicions. You’re curious whether Dazai prepares these dishes himself, but knowing that he goes to such lengths to keep you healthy deeply warms your heart.

Comte

Comte’s expression didn’t show it, but he was a bit horrified to hear about your eating disorder (mainly because he feels like he can’t spoil you that much on your fancy dates with him). The next time the door to the modern time opened, he didn’t return for at least three days.

In the time that he spent in the modern world, Comte got in touch with a team of health and diet experts and sought advice on how to deal with your condition. Of course, he hasn’t told you about this.

The changes were not abrupt, so you didn’t notice how the meals being prepared for you changed in variety and nature overtime, but whatever it is, it was doing a good job of promoting your appetite.

You also noticed new dishes in the menu of the fancy restaurants he often takes you to, which reminds you of the unique assortment of ingredients in the meals you usually have in the mansion.

Next HC request will be up in a few hours or so because I got busy with enrollment yesterday and couldn’t post one for yesterday, thanks for being patient with me~

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winetae · 4 years

Text

:: modern loneliness

⇨ prompt : android!hoseok x reader. 2205 words. drabble with a possible follow-up. it’s been 38 days since you’ve last seen and interacted with a living, breathing person and you’re slowly going insane.

[Week 1 of lock down.]

At first, you’re optimistic.

Working from home comes with its own set of non-negligeable perks. Notably, no more commute time! No more squeezing in between sweaty men on the subway during rush hour just to get home. The new arrangement means that you’re no longer obliged to wake up at the ass crack of dawn to blow-dry your hair or meticulously put on makeup while stuffing a bagel into your mouth because you’re short on time.

On Day 1 of quarantine, you roll out of bed and don’t even bother to change out of your pajamas. It’s quite the sight. Not that you care whether or not your hair looks like a bird’s nest or if there’s a small hole in your shirt. You’d gladly take your flannel pants and old university sweatshirt with the coffee stain by the collar over the rigid pencil skirt and stupid obligatory heels they force you to wear to the office. Ironing? You don’t know her.

That’s not to say there aren't any inconveniences but as of now, the pros outweigh the cons. For one, you’re now allowed to add as much sugar into your coffee without susciting your coworkers’ judgement. You can blast angry rap songs while finishing your reports and no one will stop you. The list goes on.

With all this newfound time on your hands, you have no more valid reasons to procrastinate. You start off by cleaning out the kitchen cabinets you’d been meaning to re-organize for months. Then you rearrange your wardrobe, dust off the top shelves of your bookcase that you usually skip over because no one can see them, and water the potted plants you’d been neglecting.

It feels great to be so productive. Your friends tell you via FaceConnect that your productivity streak won’t last long, but you’re quick to shake off their doubts.

“I’m a new me!” You insist when Mia’s laughter echoes around your empty apartment. “My life is back on track. I feel like a proper adult now that I’m not struggling so much to get everything done.”

“Sure,” she humors you. “Just don’t get upset when I tell you I told you so.”

[Day 8 of lockdown.]

Now that your apartment is cleaner than it’s ever been, you need to find other means of entertainment. According to the internet, now is the ideal time to learn a new language or acquire a new hobby, like crocheting or playing the guitar. But while it might be technically possible to learn a language, you’re definitely not an overachiever. You’re aware of your own limits.

Today you try your hand at baking. To some it might not seem like a big deal. But for someone like you who solely uses the kitchen to boil ramyeon packets and chop the occasional vegetable, today’s venture into the world of cooking is the equivalent of a quantum leap.

The molten lava cakes that come out of the oven 15 minutes later don’t look like the picture advertised in the online recipe. They don’t taste like how you’d expected, either.

You try not to be too disappointed with your failed attempt. After all, it’s only your first try. Dry cakes aren’t that bad in comparison to the horrors that could have occurred. At least nothing is burnt and your oven is still intact. You’ll try again tomorrow with hopefully a little more success.

[Day 16 of lockdown.]

It turns out that baking is not for you. After numerous trials and errors you learn a few days later that you have no vacation to be a baker. You end up abandoning all attempts to acquire a new hobby and instead look for new ways to pass the time.

Thankfully, your home server is offering free VOD for a limited amount of time, so you’re not short on distractions. You consume around half a dozen cult movies, the kind people always reference and quote without actually watching, before you finally begin crossing TV series off your to-watch list.

You yawn. It’s 9 PM on a Saturday night and you’ve just finished binging the entire season of Tiger King. It’s the third show you’ve watched from start to finish since quarantine began and now you’re wondering whether you should start a fourth.

“Well, it’s not like I have anything better to do,” you say before a grimace crosses your face. “Oh great... Now I’m talking to myself.”

That can’t be a good sign, you think to yourself. How long has it been since you’ve last talked to someone? You used to call your parents every day but when there’s nothing new to report, the conversations become repetitive and dull.

You should call Mia. Just to see how she’s doing.

[Day 24 of lockdown.]

YOUR WEEKLY BASKET FROM FOODCONNECT HAS ARRIVED. ALL PURCHASES WILL BE ADDED TO YOUR MONTHLY EXPENSES CARD. REMINDER THAT DUE TO THE EXCEPTIONAL CIRCUMSTANCES, CONNECT CARDS ARE ALLOWED A 5000 EXCESS OVER FIXED LIMIT. TOTAL EXCESS HAS NOT YET BEEN REACHED.

[Day 38 of lockdown.]

You’re browsing BH, hoping to restock your vitamins. Lately you’ve been feeling tired and mentally drained, despite your workload not being what it used to be. Why you’re so exhausted is a mystery you’ve yet to solve. In all logic, your energy level should be at an all time high now that you’re working less and spending all your free time lounging on the couch surfing the internet.

According to the national health guideline, you’re supposed to be exercising an hour a day minimum in order for your body to remain in good condition. Your BODYCONNECT watch monitor beeps every hour to remind you that you haven’t completed the suggested activity.

Ugh.

You press the button on the side of the watch to turn the reminder off. It’s the fifth time you’ve had to silence it today but you can’t bring yourself to work up a sweat right this minute. You keep telling yourself that you’ll exercise later but like all things lately, later ends up being never.

Come to think of it, this isn’t the first time you’ve caught yourself slacking off. Where did all your motivation during week 1 of lockdown go? You don’t even have the strength to do ten jumping jacks anymore; it’s like your bones belong to a person three times your age - feeble and brittle and threatening to break at a moment’s notice.

LOW ON SEROTONIN? WE’VE GOT YOU COVERED. Flash promo over in 00:32:43! Limited offer while supplies last.

A bright yellow advertisement flashes on the top right corner of your screen. Intrigued, you follow the link without expecting much. The last thing you expect is to be brought directly to BH LAB’s homepage.

“Um… I don’t think I have the budget for this…” You mutter under your breath and prepare to exit out of the page.

Androids are usually employed by the government but the ones for sale to the general public are known to be exorbitantly expensive.

A message reads: EXCLUSIVE 1 HOUR PROMO, 40% OFF YOUR FIRST PURCHASE. Click here for more details. Offer valid for new customers only.

You pause and decide to click on the link. Looking around won’t hurt anyone, right? It’s not like you’ve decided to buy anything yet.

The seven Dwellers available for sale are just as good looking as you expected them to be. Their unnaturally good looks and vibrant green eyes are what makes them easy to pick out from the crowd.

You skim through each Dweller’s description. It seems that apart from the physical differences like their facial features and build, they each have their own specialty and characteristics. One of the best-selling models boasts the cooking ability of a 5-star chef, which you admit sounds very tempting since your skills with a knife are pathetic enough to make Gordon Ramsey cry.

Another best-selling model specializes in...sex. You blink, your cheeks warming as you read over the model’s description (the “thick, vibrating cock that guarantees an orgasm every time!” comment makes you choke on your saliva). You can understand straight away why this particular model would be so popular. All of the models are pretty, but this one’s face doesn’t look like it’s from this world. Confinement would make anyone horny, and when promised a godly sex bot equipped with a vibrating dick, well…

Too bad you’re too tired these days to even think about having “mind-blowing sex for 5 hours straight.” Having such intense intercourse would probably make you pass out on the Dweller’s artificial cock, and there’s no way in hell you would want someone from CONNECT to intervene after receiving distressed signals from your body monitor. That would just be embarrassing.

You’re about to exit out of the page, curiosity sated, when the last model catches your eye.

SEROTONIN BOOSTER. Low on energy? Feeling sad or depressed? Need a companion?

This model is perfect for you! Model JHS is equipped with emotion sensors. They will fulfill your every need even when you’re not able to vocalize them. Stressed? They specialize in massages and are proficient in: Swedish massages, Aromatherapy, Shiatsu massages, Reflexology, among others.

Personality : This model is energetic. They are very active and therefore requires a minimum 6 hours to recharge. They are extremely tactile and will easily engage in skinship such as hugs or holding hands. They are talkative and will hold passionate conversations with you about almost any subject.

Likes : cleaning, working out

Dislikes : horror movies, strong smells

When reading the description, it feels they’re talking about a person rather than an android. You’re surprised to see that the Dwellers are programmed to have a certain personality that caters to specific needs because the only androids you’ve ever come across before are the government ones, and they’ve always been stoic and devoid of any distinguishing characteristic.

It would be nice, you think, to have a companion. Someone you could talk to for real instead of through a pixelated hologram. As much as you enjoy your time alone, each passing day locked in your apartment makes you realize how much you long for a hug. You miss holding someone in your arms, feeling their heartbeat against your cheek and the rise and fall of their chest as they squeeze you back.

Model JHS looks like he could fill that vacancy. Their smile is blinding, like they’re physically radiating sunshine through their expression alone. You don’t doubt their capacity to bring positive energy into your life.

Before you can think twice about it you’re adding the model to your shopping cart. The site asks you if you want to pay more in order to customize them. For an additional fee, you’re able to tweak the Dweller’s personality or modify their physical attributes to your liking. You skip over the option. For one, you don’t have the funds to afford a vibrating dick enhancement and two, you’re more than satisfied with your Dweller as they are.

It’s not until you finish supplying all your information including your Connect Card details and shipping address that you realize what a monumental purchase you’re about to make and how empty your account will be by the end of it.

You stare at the price listed at the bottom of the screen and weigh your options. Even with the 40% reduction, it’s not a negligible sum. You could buy several models of the new Birkin bag you’d been saving up for with this money.

Why purchase designer bags when you can’t even go out and use them? a voice argues. And - uh. Fair point.

In any case, you’d have to stop shopping, eating out all the time and going on frivolous trips overseas. Not that you really have a choice, given the circumstances.

You look at the laptop screen again. Are you seriously so touch-deprived that you’re willing to fork over that much money for a live-at-home android? Really?

Fuck it.

You click on [VALIDATE PAYMENT] before rationality has time to kick in and you change your mind again. Just as the screen changes and the new page loads, you feel your heart leap to your throat but it’s too late to back out now.

PROCESSING ORDER …

...

CONGRATULATIONS!

YOU HAVE SUCCESSFULLY ORDERED (1) DWELLER - JHS MODEL. WE THANK YOU FOR YOUR PURCHASE.

(!) Your order is eligible for Instant Shipping (delivered to your door in 24 hours or less).

(!!) Due to exception circumstances, your order might encounter delays. We are taking multiple steps to ensure the safety and hygiene of all products and shipments. For more information click here.

(!) All BH products are covered by a limited two-year warranty. Please refer to warranty details regarding your product in the Dweller E-HandBook, free for download here. Please register your product after purchase in order to qualify for future claims, returns, and support.

You expel the breath you’d been holding. Your father will throw a fit once he finds out you’ve blown all your money on a bot. The criticism is warranted.

What are you even supposed to say to defend yourself? You’ve bought a Dweller on a whim while browsing for Vitamin C supplements.

Quarantine is really making you lose your goddamn mind, huh.

#blurb.txt #idk what to think of this tbh so i guess i'm just testing the waters?? if it's not too weird i'll write the rest #i really hesitated btwn jimin and hoseok dflkdjf it was a hard decision #drabble named after that lauv song

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komahinasecretexchange · 5 years

Text

Title: Don’t Get Tangled Up

Author: @collegiate-trash

For: @sawitart

Rating/Warnings: T but with mentions of death and dismemberment, nothing graphic though. Just a mention.

Prompt: Rapunzel AU

Author’s notes: I’m pretty sure this is not what first comes to mind when thinking of Rapunzel but the fic kinda wrote itself so– I made sure to keep its base elements though so this’ll definitely have that infamous tower, a damsel in distress, and someone with a really long hair! I’m sorry in advance if the ending feels a bit rushed and some things may not make much sense. I just have so many plans for this but life decided to interfere. I’ll definitely write more for this verse when I have more free time. That said, I hope you enjoy it! :’D

At the edge of the kingdom stands a tower, tall and true. It has been a thing of legends; with it being older than anyone in the continent, many heroes are tempted see what lies on top of it. But that is all they are - tempted.

You see, it was not hidden knowledge that many heroes, all brave and strong and mighty in their own ways, have fallen to the tower’s might. They all succumbed to its mystic ways and none ever came back the same way again. There have been many stories of some returning; however, their accounts of what it was they have seen vary far too wildly to be considered true. Some spoke of a deadly spider, spinning their web and trapping the rest of their party. Others spoke of being granted mercy by the fae themselves. And some, spoke of dead bodies hanging in the walls, faces eternally stuck in a perpetual scream.

Of course, that wasn’t all that attracted people to this particular tower. Oh no. Some would even try and climb it for the loot, for the treasures told to be housed within its tallest peaks. But most importantly, some scale it for honor, and for a chance to catch a glimpse of the famous ill-fated beauty.

A long long time ago, when the world was still young and magic run rampant in the land, the elders told stories of a princess so pure and sweet. She brought joy to the land and love poured out of her in waves. She was beautiful in ways no mere man could ever comprehend, and kind to a fault that the gods themselves could only hope to be. Fate smiles down upon her and lavished her with gifts. She was loved and adored by all who knew her.

And perhaps, that was the reason that life made her the star of this tragedy.

The legends spoke of a poor young man entering her palace one day. Given her unassuming nature, the princess welcomed him with opened arms and treated him as an honored guest. Despite everyone’s clear suspicion of him, she ignored their words and allowed him to stay. The longer the young man stayed, the more the people could see a change in their beloved princess. Her smiles appeared less and her eyes shone of great sadness, the bounce in her steps have ceased and her tinkling laughter has disappeared completely. The people knew then what has occurred: her brilliance has faded and they all knew just who to blame. Lead by the king and queen, the people rallied to the young man’s room.

An intervention was needed, and he must now go.

Imagine their surprise when they opened the door and saw him with his hands around her waist and lips on her neck. It all made sense then and there. The man’s aversion to sunlight, his love of the dark, and the princess’ deteriorating health ever since he arrived. With a cry, the people made a mad dash towards the two to no avail. The young man has finally revealed his true colors: a soul-sucking parasite who was well-versed in the use of magic.

He raised his hand towards them; a dark swirling void appearing on his palm as he held the princess closer to him in another. The people were frantic, aware that this may be the last time they would ever see their shining star should they fail. They screamed her name till their voices grew hoarse as her parents begged and cried for her to wake up.

Alas, it was all for naught.

The devil’s magic has been left alone for far too long, and the princess has no way of breaking free from the spell. The whole kingdom mourned when she was taken.

Everyone searched high and low for the two for years in vain. They disappeared without a trace, vanishing into the abyss the young man has summoned. It was only when the king and queen grew old with age and weary with heartbreak did they found an indication of where they could be: the far off tower standing at the edge of the kingdom.

They sent countless expeditions, hired mercenaries, and even called out to the unsung heroes of distanced lands, all in the name of bringing home their lost child. And yet, despite doing everything they could, all of them returned the same way: a corpse to be added to the kingdom’s growing cemetery, all bearing the message of leaving the tower alone lest the kingdom and all its populace find themselves facing god’s wrath itself.

There were many stories regarding the tower’s origins, but none were as well known as those of the stolen princess. And Hinata, cynic that he was, never truly believed them until this fated day.

“You have to stop doing this, Kamukura-kun!”

Hinata froze at the words, holding bated breath as he tried in vain to contain his shakes. They knew of the stories. Heck, they grew up hearing them from the elders to scare them straight. But did they listen? Did they try to heed their warnings? Nope. They all decided to be the dumb teenagers they were and scaled the infamous haunted tower. Hinata would have laughed if the situation wasn’t so fucking terrifying.

They should have accepted that maybe going up the tower was a bad idea when the crows started flocking around, descending on them, eager to peck the hell out of all of their eyes the longer they held on with the sheer power of will to the tower’s edges. And they definitely should have stopped when they realized they have been climbing for hours with no end in sight, and turned back around when they reached the dangled corpses. Gods, what were they thinking?!

It was a good thing the voices have receded down the hall because Hinata couldn’t stop shaking from the things he saw earlier.

A woman wrapped in the same silver web as the corpses they passed by was suspended in the center of the room. After many attempts, they have managed to bring her down and confirmed that she was already dead. They decided they might as well bring her back since no one else in the group truly wanted to stay in the tower longer than they should have. Their curiosities were already sated. There was no point in dawdling.

In hindsight, they should have known better than to think that nothing was wrong.

A dead woman, with no signs of decay when rumored to have been in there for hundred of years, really should have tipped them off that something was wrong. As they were about to head back, the woman disappeared from his friend’s arms and hell descended upon them.

Everything happened far too fast after that.

Hinata remembered hearing pained screaming, rushed footsteps, and in the end of it all, the deafening silence. It was mere chance that he found himself hidden from sight when the bloodbath happened. From the safety of his alcove, he witnessed his friends get torn limb from limb as the beautiful damsel they once thought of as the kind princess from the stories, easily turned against them and used the silver webs littered around to end them all.

He didn’t know what happened exactly, but before long, the walls felt like they were closing in on him as his breathing got worse and worse. Soon, his vision blurred and all he knew of was darkness.

“Hey, can you hear me?”

In his weakened state, he heard someone call out to him in worry. He would swat them away but his body refuses to listen. It couldn’t be helped, he was lying down on what could possibly be the softest mattress he has ever known.

Wait a minute–

Hinata blearily opened his eyes and was astounded by the sight. Snow white locks curled around a pretty face like a halo.

Tinkling laughter reached his ears as the stranger asked, ��You’re staring. Are you feeling better now?”

He opened his mouth to answer but it felt as dry as the desert sands. His companion laughed at this and left, shortly handing him a glass of water. Hinata nodded his thanks and drank it all. “What’s going on…?”

The stranger blinked, sending him a smile that he doesn’t know to interpret before answering. “I saw you unconscious in that corner over there, so I dragged you in here. That wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep in here you know. Nor is this place the best place for a nap for someone like you.”

Someone like…

In a flash, Hinata remembered where was and reeled back.

“Well, that is quite rude. I did just help you, no need to act scared all of the sudden…” He pouted and if Hinata wasn’t too concerned with their well-being, he would have found it cute.

“Never mind that. We need to get out of here,” he said in a panicked tone as he scrambles off the bed, brows furrowed as he thought of a plan to do just that.

“I’m sorry, we…?”

“Yes, we.” Hinata sends him a stern look as he said the word. “We need to get out of here. This place is dangerous! Honestly. Climbing this tower is a bad decision - who knows what else sort of monster lurks in here.”

The other merely shook his head with a sheepish smile.

“Ah… I figured something like this would have happened. I do wonder, is this how he feels with all of life’s repetitions? No wonder he’s always so bored.” He sighs, shoulders slumping before sending Hinata a grin so bright and happy. “I have to admit though, this is the first time someone told me to join them in leaving this tower. Truly, thank you so much! To have met someone as kind you is blessing enough, however…

You see, leaving this tower is out of the question for me. This is where I belong and so I shall stay. You should too, if you can see reason. Staying here is the best course of action for the both of us.”

“Wh-what do you mean?” Hinata was at lost for words at what the other said. “Stay here? Are you out of your mind?!”

“On the contrary,” he said with a smile on his lips. “I think it is you, who is out of your mind.” He laughed then, as if sharing a joke with him. A joke that Hinata was very much ignorant of.

“I don’t understand…”

“Don’t you feel it? The static in the air? The sense of something not quite right?”

Hinata heard a sigh from behind him. “Leaving this tower is not an option. Not for you anyway.”

“Kamukura-kun!” The stranger perked up and ran pass him, tackling a mess of black by the doorway. “Mou…! You ruined it! He was supposed to guess it,” he whined but that was not Hinata’s main concern right now.

“Not leave…?”

“You’re a dense one,” Kamukura, Hinata supposed, remarked, a frown marring his pretty face as he runs a hand through the cloud-like hair of the other.

“Only because you people refuse to explain anything.” Hinata would have raised his voice in a normal setting, as was his nature. However, given the circumstances he found himself in with these two, even he could tell that would be a bad idea. “Look. I appreciate that you two haven’t killed me yet–”

“No killing!” The still unnamed stranger chirped, eyes bright and smile as wide as earlier.

“Y-yeah, sure,” he grumbled, looking away in order to continue. “No killing. Fine. But that doesn’t explain what happened down there. My friends are dead due to some weird spider lady and you say that leaving isn’t an option, so what? Are you keeping me here to be her food then? Is that it? And what of him?” He nods towards the first face he saw upon waking up. “Is he here to be food too but ended up with Stockholm Syndrome? Is that what’s going?”

Hinata wasn’t proud at the hysteria making itself more and more evident at his tone but it was taking all he had not to collapse right then and there. It was simply too much! All he wanted was to find out the truth of this tower - not have all his friends dead and become potential spider-lady chow!

“Stockholm Syndrome…?”

“Uh… yeah…? Isn’t that why you’re acting all…” Hinata does a gesture with his hands and hopes that it would be enough to get his point across. Based on their shared blank looks, probably not.

“This one is a lost cause,” Kamukura said, turning around to leave the room, only to be stopped by a pair of hands entwining with his.

“Don’t be like that, we do owe him an explanation.” Hinata watched him tuck a piece of dark hair behind Kamukura’s ear. He felt like a pervert, imposing on their domestic yet intimate moment like this. “And besides, I know how draining using that spell is. Whether you like it or not, he’ll be staying with us for now.”

Kamukura sighed, eyes closed as he leaned towards the hand cradling his face. Come to think of it, that was probably the first time he wasn’t showing a poker face ever since he entered the room. “Very well. Three questions, then we’re done.”

Hinata crossed his arms. Odds were he would die here anyway, why not push as much as he could. This was what he wanted, right? To find out the truth?

“Only three? Why not explain all of it? What is this place? Who are you guys?”

A blank look answered him, courtesy of Kamukura. “Who we are shouldn’t be of importance to you - you would be gone soon enough. As for the rest, figure it out yourself.” With that, he turned towards the door, his long black cloak billowing behind him as he paused to look over his shoulder. “I cannot assure your safety outside of these four walls. You will stay put if you know what is good for you.”

“Ah…” The white-haired stranger hummed as soon as the other was gone. “Kamukura-kun likes you!”

“Excuse me?” Hinata was pretty sure they didn’t see the same scene back there. “I think you’re seeing things.”

“He does! Trust me, Kamukura-kun definitely likes you!”

Yeah, no. Hinata doesn’t believe that, not even for a bit.

It must have shown in his face because the other was looked away with a wiry smile. “I understand that you can’t bring yourself to accept my words, but I assure you, they are true. Kamukura-kun, he…” He paused, biting his pink lips that Hinata was most definitely not looking at while listening. “He doesn’t trust others much, but for him to warn you of what lurks outside this room speaks volumes.”

“…Alright then.” He still doesn’t buy it, but he does feel inclined to accept his words. Huh. Wonder why. "What exactly is outside this room?“

"Magic.”

Answer faster. Please. As if he wasn’t already having a hard time believing anything.

“Ah… I know you just woke up, but you probably need some rest now. It couldn’t be helped, you did have an eventful day I suppose.” He laughed. Then, as if knowing exactly what to say to calm him, he added, “Believe me when I say this, your friends are all alright. They’re not harmed other than a few scrapes here and there. Rest well knowing that they are safe, dear honored guest. I’ll bring you your meal later when you awake!”

And just like that, he left as he appeared - with Hinata not knowing a thing of what just happened.

He considered going outside the room and leaving, but ultimately, was it worth the risk? These people, despite their oddity, have so far been hospitable to him. Except for the whole debacle with that spider-lady and their avoidance of answering anything but…

As Hinata lied back down on the bed to rest, countless thought ran through his head.

There were many stories regarding the tower’s origins, but none were as well known as those of the stolen princess. It spoke of how a naive and beautiful princess was whisked away to some haunted tower by a heartless conniving demon who wanted her brilliance for only himself. And yet, so far, all Hinata saw in this tower was a helpful, carefree guy with hair like dandelion puffs, and a snobby, deadpan emo edgelord who both seem to act as if this place was their home.

Things were hella weird and fucking scary as shit, and he was pretty sure he lost his sanity along the way. Yet, as much as he hates to admit it, despite everything that has happened so far, Hinata found himself looking forward to what tomorrow would bring him.

(Especially since that cute cloud-haired guy promised to bring him food, and he really wanted to have a name to call that pretty face. Plus, who knows, maybe they’ll decide to start answering his questions if he decide to be cooperative. For now though, all he could so is hope.)

#komahina #komahina secret exchange #fanfiction

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