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imagine-darksiders · 6 months ago

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Eden's Heir, chapter 4 - The Jump.

I can't believe it's been almost a year since I updated this. A lot has happened recently, not all of it good, but I'm still here, and will continue to be by hook or by crook! I've had to cut it into two chapters because the final fight between the Slag Demon and the Horsemen is taking way too long to write. Good news though, there'll be two chapters in [hopefully] quick succession. Hooray! Hope you like this one, guys, thank you all so much for standing by me and waiting so patiently.. I don't know where I'd be without your support. <3 <3 <3

Summary:

As you grapple with the horrifying, new reality you've found yourself in, Strife continues to torment you in the misguided hope that somehow, you'll spontaneously start to like him. His jokes are terrible. It's just a shame you have a weakness for terrible jokes. War, meanwhile, can't stop his eyes from wandering to your fresh, undeserved scar...

You suppose that when Strife said this would be ‘fun,’ he was only factoring himself into the equation. Because for you, there’s nothing very fun about having your particles ripped apart and rocketed through a portal which, according to modern science, should not and does not exist.

Well, modern science owes you a formal apology.

As it turns out, portals very much do exist, and they’re a lot less fun than the media has led you to believe.

The experience - though you hesitate to give it such a mundane moniker - isn’t… painful, per se, mostly because the whole process is over and done with so quickly that your brain and body aren’t given the time to notice that they’ve been squished through one end of a worm hole, reassembled atom by atom, and then spat out on the other side.

Perhaps more disconcertingly than the feeling itself is the fact that when you’re hanging for that split-second moment in a space outside of existence itself, you notice that the temperature around you inexplicably skyrockets.

And frankly, you’re not sure which is worse… The stale, unwelcoming chill of the Void, or the absolute blistering inferno that greets you within less than a second of leaving it.

Before you can even open your mouth to scream at the unnatural process your very human body is being subjected to, the space around you solidifies and stabilises again, and an unexpected jolt shoots straight through you when Strife’s metal boots collide with a hard, stone surface, jarring your stomach painfully against his shoulder pauldron.

At the same time, a wave of hot, dry air sweeps over you from head to toe, cloaking you in uncomfortable and immediate warmth that’s downright oppressive, thick and inescapable, as if you’ve just been tossed onto the fiery surface of the sun and left to sizzle.

Actually, now that you’ve experienced both extremes, perhaps you are sure which is worse. At least that sinister demon’s Void didn’t make you want to peel yourself out of your own skin.

Groaning miserably, you pick your hazy head up and suck in a breath that goes down about as well as spoiled meat, and then nearly retch at the unpleasant texture of heat sliding down the walls of your oesophagus like something squirming and alive.

Even the metal chain on your bag begins to grow warm against the skin of your neck, dangling down below your head near the Horseman’s holsters.

“Hot damn,” Strife announces, concisely putting a voice to your thoughts.

Your lashes are sticky from leftover tears, clumping together when you squeeze your eyes shut and attempt to pry them apart again. It takes a few arduous blinks before your blurry surroundings bleed into focus.

You rather wish you’d just kept your head down and your eyes firmly shut.

If there were any doubts left in your mind that teleportation really is possible, they swiftly fly out of the proverbial window when you catch your first, proper glimpse of the surroundings.

Wherever you are, it definitely isn’t the same place you were in barely ten seconds ago.

Bracing a palm against Strife’s solidly armoured back, you lever your torso up slightly to give yourself a better view of the world around you.

It seems that the portal – your brain starts to ache as it tries to accept the existence of those – has spat you out underneath the roof of an absolutely gargantuan cavern.

Roving your gaze back and forth, mouth ajar, you notice the walls, floor and ceiling are made entirely of dark, igneous rock, and yet all around you, you start to spot signs of… Well, perhaps not civilisation exactly, but definitely an external presence that gives you the impression that this is a keep of some kind, dug by hand rather than time or nature.

Two, immense pillars stand proudly at the far corners of the enormous chamber, large enough to prop up the roof of a veritable mountain.

Craning your neck back until it twinges, you squint through a haze of simmering air at the ceiling far above you, feeling a trickle of dread creep down into the pit of your stomach.

Bolted into the rock between the stalactites, there are numerous, gigantic chains hanging like eerie sentinel over your heads, so large and heavy that it doesn’t look as though anything short of gale-force winds could cause them to sway. You don’t dare to imagine what purpose they might serve.

Pale, unreachable light trickles lazily down from above, dappling little patches of the grey stone underneath Strife’s boots.

With your heart wedged in your throat, you swallow another curl of heat and let your gaze wander over to the side of the keep to where the ground falls away in a sheer drop several feet from the walls. It’s from the resulting pit that a vivid, orange glow rises, carrying with it the distinct sound of cracking, like glass windows slowly splintering apart, or a lake of ice breaking under a heavily placed boot. And below that sound, a deep, subterranean rumble serves as the background noise to this stifling place, constant and oozing.

Coupled with the acrid stench permeating your nostrils and the sweltering heat, you’re suddenly struck by the very disconcerting but plausible notion that you might have found yourself in the heart a volcano.

As if your day wasn’t horrendous enough.

All of a sudden, your ears are pricked by a low grunt from somewhere just a little too close to you, reminding you of your larger tormentor’s presence with a nauseating pang to the stomach. Consequentially, the unsightly welt on your forearm gives an insistent twinge.

Twisting your head to the left, you nearly jump out of your skin to find War has appeared out of thin air beside you, straightening to his full domineering height that easily clears his brother, and subsequently, you. The hooded behemoth only spares you a disinterested glance before his pale, blue eyes dart away again just as quickly and he stomps around to Strife’s front, out of view.

A breath you didn’t know you were keeping behind your teeth shakes itself loose.

You have to peel your tongue from the roof of your bone-dry mouth like a strip of velcro before you’re able to form a small, hesitant question in a voice baked hoarse and thin. “What is this place?”

No sooner has your meek question faded below the rumble of the cavern’s ambiance than an entirely new and harrowing sound punctures the otherwise quiet air.

Howling along the cavern walls comes a piercing, anguished scream, stemming from a place much deeper than you’ve already seen. It’s a raw sound, broken and terrified and primal, like a man with his humanity stripped and skewed just enough that he can’t quite be called human any longer. It prompts a sharp gasp out of you as the sound ricochets off the rocks, curdling your blood and raising the finer hairs on the back of your neck.

As if he’s entirely unconcerned with such a horrifying occurrence, Strife plants his free hand squarely on a hip and draws in a deep, obnoxious breath through his nose before he sighs it all out again, casting a casual glance around with all the air of a man surveying a pleasant sunrise.

“Ahh~ Screams of suffering, chains hanging from the ceiling, no sign of an exit…” he sighs wistfully, clapping the back of your thigh with his palm and announcing, “Yep! We’re definitely in a dungeon.”

He seems oblivious to your apprehension as you dart your eyes to every darkened corner of the cavern as if you might find the source of the tormented scream, curling your legs up under your dress until your knees bump against the Horseman’s chest. “A-a dungeon!?” you gulp, kneading your fingers between the gaps of Strife’s armoured spine, “A dungeon for what?”

Distracted for a fleeting moment by the foreign sensation of fingertips pressing against his leather under-armour, the Horseman almost forgets to respond.

It isn’t until he notices War’s expectant glare burning a hole into the side of his visor that he gives his head a shake and promptly shrugs his massive shoulders, swinging himself around to face away from his brother, and in doing do, bringing you almost nose to chest with the surly giant.

“Beats me,” he hums, utterly heedless of the fearsome stare-down currently happening just behind his head, “Probably for the poor bastard we just heard screaming... And a few others, to boot.”

Angling your head up, you have to gulp past a rather thick lump in your throat as you peer meekly up at War, who in turn, glares right back down at you, his eyes glinting ominously from within the shadow of his hood.

Reluctant to drop your gaze or even breathe for fear of provoking him by committing some unknowable slight, you shrink against Strife and duck your head, peeping up at him through your lashes as you tap your forefinger against one of the silver armour pieces interlocking across your captor’s back.

“Um,” you start, hearing Strife’s helm brush against your dress when he turns to listen, “C-can you, uh, put me down now…” Then, following a notable stretch of deafening silence, you squeakily tack on a hurried, “Please?”

There’s no guarantee that being on the ground will be any better for you than dangling over an uncomfortable, metal shoulder, but you’re at least willing to entertain the illusion that you’ll be safer on your feet without Strife dictating your every move. A modicum of control is better than none at all.

And truthfully, you’d just like to end the humiliation of being carried around like a sack of distraught potatoes.

Yet for some, inane reason, the armour-clad Horseman doesn’t seem as eager to relinquish you as you are to be relinquished.

“Aw, what’s the matter?” he drawls, bumping his shoulder up and down playfully, no doubt to pull a rise out of you which you frustratingly give him in the form of a gasp before he continues, “You’re not afraid of heights, are you?”

Still glaring down at you, unimpressed, War gives an exasperated huff, blasting a jet of warm air onto the crown of your head.

“Put her down,” he states firmly, lifting his gaze from you at last, “You will need both hands free if we run into trouble.”

Knocking his head back over a shoulder to address you, Strife grins beneath his helm and murmurs, “Ha. You’d be amazed what I can pull off one-handed.”

Trying your best to ignore his boast, you roll your eyes and start to squirm, wriggling around under the weight of his arm. “Ugh,” you complain, “Will you please just put me down?”

“Mmm…” Humming obnoxiously, Strife sucks his teeth and replies, “Depends. You gonna try and run away again?”

That, at least, gives you something to consider. Are you going to try and run again? They certainly haven’t given you much of a reason not to.

The scar War gave you still burns when you bend your arm a certain way and the flesh pulls and stretches beyond the limits of the tissue.

More to the point, how do you really know any of what they’ve told you is true?

How do you know you’re not on Earth right now, somewhere remote, yes, but escapable. Because they told you you’re not?

You don’t know these giants from Adam.

You can’t trust anything they say. You don’t trust anything they say. And while you’ve undeniably found yourself smack-dab in the middle of some seriously unnatural goings on, that doesn’t mean you have to accept everything at face value.

Reality might be breaking apart around you, but you don’t have to join it, tempting though it may be to curl up into a ball and sob until the problem sorts itself out.

Desperate, your brain falls into a tailspin as it tries to rationalise such irrational circumstances.

Outwardly however, you’re aware he’s waiting for a response, so, sweeping your tongue nervously over your bottom lip, you finally croak out a hesitant, “No?”

The silence that follows is damn near chilling.

Twisting your neck up and back over your shoulder, you catch the shine in one of Strife’s luminous eyes peering at you, narrow and thin with obvious scepticism.

“Huh,” he says, clicking his tongue, “That didn’t sound very convincing. I’m not very convinced.” Casting a look over at his brother, he adds, “War, are you very convinced?”

Predictably, War’s only response is to glower down at the shorter Horseman and grumble impatiently at the back of his throat.

Nonplussed, Strife returns his attention to you. “I don’t think he’s very convinced.”

You have to press your lips into a firm, immoveable line and swallow back the vulgar words you’d just love to spew all over his shoulder…. Instead, you heave in a hot, arduous breath and slowly reiterate, “No. I won’t try to run away.” Then for added measure… “Again.”

You loathe that you can feel the scrutiny of not one, but two apocalyptic beings boring into the side of your head with suspicious, calculating glares.

Just as you’re beginning to consider whether pulling his hair will get him to drop you or kill you, Strife suddenly perks up, his sinister doubt disappearing as he raises his chin to pipe, “A’right. Good enough for me.”

Taken wildly aback, you let your mouth hang open whilst Strife simply raises his arms and lays two oversized hands on your hips, causing your jaw to snap shut before you can emit an embarrassing squeak of fright.

With far too much ease, the Horseman lifts you up and off his shoulder.

The moment you lose the stability of his armour under your stomach, you begin to tilt forwards. Choking on a gasp, you throw your hands up and brace them on each of his forearms.

“Don’t worry, I gotcha,” he chuckles brightly, to your immense dismay.

It’s a disconcerting sight. From the tips of your fingers to the heels of your palms, your hands don’t even wrap halfway around his armoured wrists.

Gawking down at your appendages, they seem so lost against the enormity of the arms that lower you gently to the ground.

As soon as the soles of your shoes touch a solid surface again, you waste no time in ripping your hands away from him and staggering backwards, trying but failing to extract yourself from his sturdy grasp.

Before you can get very far at all, fingers of solid steel bury themselves into your dress at the hip and you jerk to an immediate halt for fear of tearing the fabric by struggling. Arms held aloft to avoid touching his own again, you throw a wary look up at Strife’s visor, reluctantly meeting those sharp, alien eyes and finding they’ve narrowed to thin lines of gold, gleaming brightly against the shadows cast by his helm.

“You’re gonna have to get used to sticking close to one of us, kid,” he warns, his tone brooking no argument and devoid of any previous jocularity, “Cause as nasty as you think we are, I guarantee there’re things in here that are a thousand times worse.”

The well you typically draw your courage from ran dry long ago, long before you came here, long before you quietly agreed to marry Cain. So, you aren’t sure where you find the nerve to jut out your chin and bitterly remark, “Worse than trying to slice off my limbs?”

Sudden movement freezes you in your shoes as War emerges from behind his brother, moving to stand at his side and swallowing you up in the egregious shadow he casts across the ground.

Ignoring his approach, the gunslinger continues to hold you still.

“Yeah,” he replies simply, “A lot worse.”

Squeezing your lips into a tight, anxious pout, you swallow, unnerved by the way his gaze instantly dips to watch your throat bob around the undulating motion.

Gradually, you lower your head, losing the defiance of a jutting chin to instead tuck it timidly away against your chest, consumed by the sudden and unwarranted ideas that start to flash in your mind’s eye, showing you gruesome fates that could await you just around the corner.

If two gigantic maniacs wielding guns and a sword aren’t the worst you could face…

Just what the Hell have you walked into?

Regarding you closely for a few more moments, Strife eventually gives his head a satisfied bob, deeming that you’ve read him loud and clear.

Gingerly, he starts to peel his fingers from your dress, wincing when the gaps in his gauntlets pinch the delicate fabric as he returns his hands to his sides. Regardless, all of his muscles remain bunched, ready to spring into action at the first sign that you might go back on your word and attempt to flee after all.

He’s almost more caught off guard when you don’t move.

Instead, you murmur a soft, “Thank you,” which just about smacks the jaw clean off his face. Staring down at you, his lips parted by a fraction, he watches you fiddle with a jewelled band of gold sitting at the base of one of your fingers for several seconds before he remembers to blink.

Indifferent, and admittedly ignorant of his sudden bout of silence, you try to distract yourself by absently brushing the palms of your hands over your dress, tutting softly at the creases and rumples in the tulle.

It’s all you can think to do now that you’ve got a little freedom back.

Nearby, War shifts his immense weight to stand even closer to Strife’s flank, and together, the brothers share a sidelong glance before returning their attention to the fussy, little human in front of them.

Even with the helm obscuring most of Strife’s angular features, War only needs to take one glance at his profile to catch the distinct and unmistakable gleam of fascination bleeding through the cracks in his armour.

Typical Strife, he scoffs to himself. The minute something new and shiny comes along, it’s all he seems to be able to think about. And there are very few things newer and shinier than a lost human dressed from head to toe in sparkling, white garb.

Hauling his eyes up towards the cavernous ceiling, War lets out an exasperated sigh and brusquely elbows Strife aside, sweeping him backwards with the palm of his prosthetic gauntlet, much to his brother’s belligerence.

“Hey!” he barks, though he goes entirely ignored.

Stepping sideways into the spot Strife had once occupied, War places his back to the smaller Nephilim and clears his throat, curious at the way you quickly stiffen like a prey animal and gradually lift your head.

He stands so close that you have to tip it all the way back before you’re even able to meet his eye, reminding him of how much smaller humans are. Smaller, and weaker…

The colossal Horseman almost can’t quite believe that for a member of a species so vulnerable, you don’t seem to possess any weapons. Natural or otherwise.

His eyes drift down to the long, pink line he’d marked you with. You hadn’t tried to claw or bite or do much of anything to stop him, not that it would have made an iota of difference. You were helpless… And he…

A pair of snowy white brows twitch microscopically inwards.

“Do you know how to fight?” he utters at last, lifting his gaze to meet your otherworldly stare. He doesn’t miss how you seem to be fixated on something behind his crimson hood, and if he has to hazard a guess, you’re staring directly at Chaoseater’s hilt.

Pulling a face, you look back at him and croak, “I… I-I’m sorry?”

Briefly wondering why in the nine Hells you’re apologising, he presses, “Have you any weapons training?” When all he receives it a blank stare, he casts his mind about for something primitive you’ll have heard of and adds, “Swords? Axes…? Bows?”

“Guns?” Strife eagerly pipes up from somewhere behind him.

Heaving an irritated sigh, War half turns his head over a shoulder and snaps, “She is a human. She doesn’t know what guns are.”

“I… What?” you peep, wrenched from your stupor by the absurdity of his declaration, “Uh… Yes, I do.”

Bemused, War raises his brow at you and retorts, “No, you do not.”

For a moment, you’re so dumbstruck by his apparent ignorance that you forget how much larger and more dangerous he is, enough that you pluck up the gall to scoff at him and insist, “Uh. I’m pretty sure I do? Humans have been using guns for centuries.”

Raising your hands, you start to knock a list off your fingers, unaware of the behemoth’s eyes growing wide.

“Shotguns, rifles, pistols-“ you state, pausing to throw a hand out and gesture at the guns in Strife’s leather holsters. “Revolvers-!”

You’re unprepared for War to suddenly move forwards, instantly cutting off your rambling list and sending your glimmer of nerve scurrying back down your throat as he leans towards you, filling your field of view with his indomitable, ferocious scowl.

On a reflex, you tilt backwards with a hand on your chest, blinking owlishly up into the depths of his hood.

“How could you possibly know about firearms?” he demands, the sigil on his forehead burning with fiery heat as his temper flares.

Shaking your head rapidly, you stammer out, “I.. I don’t, I’m not-“

“-Hey,” Strife tries to interject, “C’mon, War. You’re scarin’ her.”

Disregarding his brother, the Horseman raises his voice and growls, “Who has been supplying you?! Speak!”

Your hands wring together as you try to form an answer, struggling in the face of someone who has proven they have no qualms about hurting you. But all you can produce is another pitiable whimper. “Nobody! We just-“

Before you can utter another sound, a large, silver hand suddenly appears over War’s shoulder, grabbing the metal pauldron that’s been forged in the likeness of a snarling face and tugging him away from you.

“War!” Strife barks, trying to wrench his brother around to face him, “I said back off.”

Savagely tearing his arm out of his grasp, War rounds on him, nostrils flaring like a raging bull. Flinging his arm out towards you indicatively, he bellows, “If humans are being supplied with weapons-!”

“-Then why’re you takin’ it out on her, and not the asshole trying to arm her species?”

War’s teeth click shut, his shoulders heaving with every breath he pulls into his train carriage chest.

Letting out a sigh, Strife sends a sideways glance at you, lowering his voice to add, “Come on. Look at who you’re trying to intimidate.”

Begrudgingly, War follows his brother’s line of sight.

You’re well aware you aren’t exactly giving humanity a good name right now, shivering like a wet leaf and holding your injured arm guardedly against your chest, all the while stifling a sob and eyeing War as if he’ll draw his sword and run you through at any moment.

For several, terrible seconds, the Horseman’s sneer remains locked in place, rigid and threatening, but as he watches you cower away from him, something in War’s almighty resolve shudders…

And yields.

Slowly, at a pace that would make a glacier yawn, his hard snarl recedes.

“See,” Strife points out, “You just look like a dick.”

The furious expression is back on War’s face in the blink of an eye, but at least this time, he aims it at his brother, opening his mouth to suck down a sharp breath, ready to berate him…

Rocks skitter across the ground somewhere too close for comfort, snatching the attention of your unlikely troop.

As one unit, Strife and War spin towards the far end of the chamber where the noise had come from, reaching for their weapons and placing their broad, armoured backs to you.

It would be the perfect opportunity to make a break for it, if you weren’t frozen solid by the prospect of running into whatever made these juggernauts so jumpy.

The former Horseman draws both of his guns from their holsters so quickly, your eyes can barely keep track of the movement. War, in the meantime, takes a gigantic step backwards as he swings his accursed sword over his shoulder, crowding you into a clumsy retreat to avoid having your toes stepped on.

Frantic, you try to peer through the gap between the titans, scanning the chamber walls for any sign of life.

“What the hell was that?” you can’t help but whisper-shout, hardly daring to breathe.

Neither of them replies for a time, not even Strife, who has his revolvers aimed out at the room, his arms still as statues as if he isn’t even vaguely affected by the weight of his guns.

Seconds tick by at an agonising pace, and the three of you wait, and wait, straining your ears to try and pick up another sound. But aside from the crackle of lava cooling as it hits the air, everything remains perfectly still and silent once more.

After another minute, War grunts, lowering his sword and casting a dark look up at the ceiling. “We’ve lingered here for too long,” he remarks, half turning to peer down at you again, his eyes skimming over you from head to toe.

“So,” he starts, “You’ve handled guns?”

Shaking your head, you hold your hands out helplessly and say, “No, I mean, I know about them, but I-I’ve never actually shot one.”

“I could teach you,” Strife pipes up, thrusting the revolvers back into their holsters with casual ease.

“Now is hardly the time, brother,” War snaps, still eyeing you pensively.

Something very strange has been hovering about you like a miasma ever since you crashed into his brother in the Void. Something unplaceable that he can’t quite put his finger on. You are human, that much is confirmed, but you’re not like any human he’s ever heard of. It’s a troubling notion, that some unseen force might be trying to arm your species. If that’s the case, they’ll need to figure out who. Then why.

But in the meantime, he and Strife have a job to do, here and now.

First thing’s first…

“… Never handled a weapon,” he murmurs aloud.

It makes sense, he concedes. Humans aren’t a war-faring species, so it’s little wonder that you don’t know how to use weapons… For War, however, a Nephilim who has been holding a blade since the day he was risen from dust, the concept seems so alien, not to mention disconcerting.

Inclining his head, he gives you another once-over before turning away, stating matter-of-factly, “You will be a liability.”

It’s such a blasé statement, accusing, as if you’re culpable of something you’ve had no control over thus far. It actually makes you recoil as you draw your head back to fix him with an incredulous frown, lips parted, and your brows furrowed heavily above your eyes.

Despite every fibre of your being telling you that there’s a terrible idea forming at the back of your mind, you take a step away, lean your weight on your heel, and start to size him up.

Now, you’ve picked some battles before, tried to stand up to people you had no business standing up to. Cain and Delilah nipped that streak in the bud back when you thought asserting your opinion on matters of marriage should make a difference. Those battles were wildly different from this one, and you lost, every time, worn down and beaten back from the woman you used to be by wills stronger and more tempered than yours. You used to think you could face the world bravely, and all it took were a few people to show you that you weren’t as strong as you liked to think you were. It humbled you, and over time, you learned an easier life was synonymous with a passive life.

But you’ve been passive a lot lately.

Maybe you’ve been running on cold feet for too long. Maybe this whole, nightmarish interruption to your routine is finally catching up to you and numbing you to sense and logic, but truth be told?

You really don’t like hearing that this is somehow your fault.

Balling your hands into fists, you swallow thickly, and steady yourself with a noisy breath, wondering if this will be the moment you get to learn if there’s a Heaven as well as a Hell.

“Hey! I didn’t ask you to bring me with you, okay?” you say in a wobbly voice, staring at a spot just past his left arm to avoid his glare lest your words fail you completely, “Maybe, if I’m such a liability, you should just leave me to find my own way home!”

His head snaps properly in your direction with such velocity, you let out a gasp, flinching backwards and shrinking in on yourself again, your eyes darting to his lips that curl just the slightest in one corner, and the little bit of gall sitting on your tongue shrivels up and dies at the back of your throat.

Oh well. It was nice to have your guts back while it lasted. Just a pity they’re probably about to get ripped out of you for raising your voice.

For a number of unpleasant seconds, War merely regards you like you’ve just completely thrown him for a loop, neither raising his sword nor his fist to send you spinning off your mortal coil into the aether.

Finally, just as you’re beginning to fidget under his inspection, he quirks his brow at you and slowly states, “If you leave… you will die.”

You were expecting him to lose his temper again, to shout you down or put you down, not remark on your chances of survival.

“Oh, as if you give a shit about that,” you huff guardedly, curling a palm over your marred forearm and eyeing the Horseman like he’ll tear you in half for daring to call attention to the injury he caused.

War’s stance and expression don’t change in the slightest. He only continues to observe you coolly from inside his hood, ignoring the frequent looks Strife keeps flicking between the pair of you.

After a further spell of silence in which you seem to grow impossibly smaller, he at last gives an appraising hum and straightens his shoulders, jerking his head towards his brother and declaring, “You will stay close to Strife.”

Wait… You will?

“I will?” you say aloud, sending the other Horseman a distrustful glance. Strife, for his part, looks conversely pleased with the verdict, his head tipping coltishly to one side as he gives you a little wave.

… Well, you suppose if you have to choose between the two, the less time you spend near War the better. You assume he feels the same about having to be close to you, at least until he adds, “If we run into trouble, his guns allow him range. He will not let anything to get close to you.”

“They’re welcome to try,” his brother says cheerfully, thumbing the stock of a revolver.

Wilting like a helpless flower plucked from its patch of earth, you weakly ask, “Do I have a choice?”

Giving a hearty chuckle, Strife takes an exaggerated step closer to your side and pivots on his heel to face the same direction, cheerfully replying, “Ah, c’mon. Don’t be like that. I thought you humans were social. Safety in numbers, and all that?”

Disconcerted by his proximity, you lean away from him, cupping your elbows. “That’s not true for all of us,” you mumble.

You hear his intake of breath and prepare yourself for yet more inane chatter, but at that moment, you jump as another howl – distant but hair-raising – comes drifting into the chamber from some unknown offshoot deeper in the keep’s depths.

“Fucking hell,” you quake, your voice shaking like glass on the verge of shattering.

At your side, Strife mutters, “My sentiments exactly.”

Raising his head to catch War’s eye, he swings his chin towards the only visible exit; the apex of a wide, stone staircase that winds down away from the chamber, disappearing into a tunnel below. “You wanna take point?”

War’s response is a rich, throaty hum, accompanied by a decisive nod. “Indeed, we have wasted more than enough time here. Let us find Vulgrim’s troubling demon and pry the artifact from its cold, dead hands.”

“Ohho-okay!” Strife grins, suddenly gleeful as he claps his hands together, “Now you’re getting me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, War turns away and makes for the stairs, swinging his arm up to clip Chaoseater into its usual place on his back. Blankly watching him leave, you give a start when something metal and solid nudges at the small of your back, prodding you to stumble forwards awkwardly until Strife’s knuckles drop and he falls into step beside you, one stride for every two and a half of yours.

“I love it when he gets like this,” he remarks.

Begrudgingly, you resign yourself to trail after his brother and ask, “What? Murderous?”

“Oh yeah. Even he can be fun.” Tilting his head to the side in thought, he adds, “On occasion.”

Sweat has been steadily gathering on your forehead, and as you finally begin to move, a tiny droplet breaks free of your brow and trickles slowly down the side of your face. Of all the days to get swept up in a Universe-spanning caper, it would be the day you elected to wear one of the most awkward and cumbersome dresses known to man.

“So far none of this has been fun,” you huff, reaching up to flick the sweat drop away with a finger.

Strife’s boots hit the top step and he twists his helm sideways to shoot you a mock-offended smirk, “Not even me?”

You don’t bother to respond to that, instead throwing nervous glances around the room as you lift the front of your skirts and start to descend the staircase, your heels clacking noisily against the hard stone underfoot and echoing off the high walls. Somewhere nearby, you can hear liquid lava squeaking and splintering as it hits the marginally cooler air, though the heat only seems to grow more stifling the further you venture.

Absently, you wonder if you remembered to put your setting spray in the bag.

The staircase spirals down into the depths of a tunnel, twisting out of view and giving you no concept of what might lay ahead. To your left, you note the presence of tall, metal spikes jutting from a pit that runs alongside the stairs, like a wrought-iron fence whose purpose has been retrofitted into an inefficient and hostile railing. From the corner of an eye, you spot something round and ivory impaled halfway down one of those spikes. A single glimpse is all you need before you immediately avert your gaze to the stairs ahead, heart thumping in your chest. Behind you, a pair of dark, unseeing eye sockets seem to sear into your back as you continue your descent.

As you move lower, more signs start to appear that you aren’t the only visitors to this keep. Sconces line the wall, roaring with open flames that cast the path ahead in an orange glow. Two, iron firepits stand on either side of the staircase at its base, and it’s here that War has paused. It strikes you that in spite of his size, he’s slightly more camouflaged in this place than he was in the void, his scarlet cloak and dark grey armour blending well with the rock and heat around him.

As you and Strife come to a stop behind War, you lean sideways and find yourself peering tentatively into the space beyond his bulk.

The tunnel has opened up into another spacious chamber, and the path beyond the stairs has opened up too, into a vast, circular area with no walls or boundaries, nothing but another deep pit that sweeps around it, carrying a river of flowing, basaltic lava to somewhere further into the - as Strife had called it -‘dungeon.’

Maybe you really are in some kind of volcano. The urge to find a way out of here increases dramatically, but with Strife watching your back a little too closely and War cutting off an escape from the front, your options, at the moment, are quite limited.

At last, War takes a step out onto the level ground, then another and another, stalking forwards with his head on a constant swivel, vigilant. Strife, in the meantime, walks out with a confident swagger, ensuring to walk slightly behind you to keep you moving up in front.

Tearing your eyes off the pit, you focus instead on the behemoth stomping ahead of you. He’s already on the other side by the time you and Strife make it halfway across. For a split second, you almost let yourself feel a pinch of guilt for wearing such inappropriate shoes and slowing the Horsemen down, but you’re just as quick to take the feeling and grind it up under said heels, curling your lip distastefully. You weren’t exactly given a chance to pack for this ‘excursion.’

“Y’know,” Strife says abruptly, breaking you from your thoughts, and just in time too. You glance down and see the lip of the platform’s edge rise up to meet you. It likely would have tripped you if you’d remained lost in your head. “I’ve been thinking…”

“Death will be pleased to hear it,” War remarks from up ahead.

The back of his hood receives a simmering glare, but Strife is quick to brush the dig aside and continue, “If Lucifer is as dangerous as the Council says he is, why’d they send just the two of us?”

If the uneven ground didn’t manage to trip you up, his comment definitely does. Stumbling on the heel of your foot, you hurriedly try to right yourself, swatting irritably at Strife’s hand that reaches out to steady you. There’s that name again. Lucifer. Would it be naïve of you to hope that their ‘mission’ doesn’t somehow involve the Biblical Devil? You’ve managed to survive for the better part of an hour, but you don’t like how the odds are quickly stacking up against you with every step you take.

“Death and Fury attend to other matters,” War responds simply, “It is not our place to question the will of the Council.”

Apparently unable to let his brother’s earlier tease slide after all, Strife rolls his eyes and quips, “It’s not my place to question your wardrobe, but I still think your armour could use some more creepy faces on it.”

You’re not sure how much you like trailing in between the sizeable men, especially when the more sizeable of the two slows his gait to aim a vicious snarl over his shoulder. “Must everything be a joke to you?” War snaps, “The Council-!”

“-Ugh!” Cutting his brother off with a pompous groan, Strife throws his helm back. “You really need to lighten up.” Then, lowering his voice to a deeper pitch, apparently for the sole purpose of mocking the far scarier Horseman, he taunts, “The Council this, and The Council that! You wanna hear an actual joke?”

Facing forwards again, War responds with a firm, flat, “No.”

Strife, of course, doesn’t seem to have the same reservations as you do about antagonising someone with the name ‘War.’

In fact, you carry yourself so rigidly in fear of being caught in the middle of a scrap that you almost have the wind knocked out of you quite literally when Strife chimes in with a phrase so familiar to you, you just about choke on your own spit.

“Knock knock…”

The classic setup, so universally understood that you almost wonder if humans are born with an inbuilt recognition system designed to identify two simple, unassuming words.

The three of you pass beneath an open portcullis, but you barely notice the jagged bars of iron looming above you because you’re so busy trying to pick your jaw up off the ground.

You can’t see Strife’s face, and you don’t dare turn around to gape at him in case you end up taking a painful tumble. Instead, numbly, you continue to stare ahead with unblinking eyes, vaguely taking in the narrow path ahead of you, and the apparent end of it fast approaching.

War makes a dismissive sound, an irked mutter of something too low for you to make out.

Clearing his throat when he doesn’t receive a response, Strife prompts, “You’re supposed to say, ‘who’s there?”

You can’t quite believe you’re hearing this. Perhaps the idea that you’ve been drugged isn’t so unlikely after all because this isn’t something you could ever come up with sober.

Ahead of you, the stone pathway falls away in an abrupt drop, and the ceiling of the tunnel disappears, both opening out into yet another cavern, this one more spacious than the first two.

Or, you continue to muse to yourself, maybe you really did die in that church graveyard, and the chemicals released in your brain have conjured a hallucination of this pair of giants to serve as some unconvincing reapers who will guide you into the afterlife.

War comes to a stop at the edge of the escarpment, and unseen by you or Strife, his expression scrunches up in confusion and he asks, “Why would I give away my location? I would simply smash through the door and face my assailant.”

Oh. Wow. That’s…

“Ugh, you’re hopeless,” Strife complains as he draws to a halt just behind you and his brother on the rocky ledge. For a second, he’s distracted with casting his keen eye over the chamber, so he doesn’t notice you lower your face to the floor, your lips pursed like you’re trying to keep a cough in.

He does, however, notice straight away when, instead of escaping through your mouth, the sound you’re desperately trying to hold in finds its escape through your nose instead, and out jumps a sharp, unbecoming ‘snort!’

It’s unexpected. So much so that you’re just as surprised to hear it as the Horsemen. At once, you slap a palm over the lower half of your face in horror, a cold rush of dread trickling down into your stomach.

Eyes blown wide open, you stare at the ground, only too aware of the heavy silence that settles over you like a blanket, thicker than the heat pressing in all around you. You’re not even willing to raise your head because you can feel two sets of eyes watching you from above.

For too long, all you can hear is the ringing in your ears and your own pulse throbbing just beneath the skin of your temples. The silence swells, tuning up like an orchestra, deafening you to every sound save for that accursed, high-pitched ringing caused by the crushing grit of your teeth.

“Did…?” Strife’s voice cuts through the atmosphere like a headsman’s axe, “Did you just… laugh?”

Your jaw eases apart, and the ringing fades.

The telltale ‘clunk’ of War’s boots alert you to him turning from the ledge, pointing himself in your direction instead.

Suddenly and appropriately alarmed that you just snorted at someone nearly three times your size, you instantly shift from freeze to flight and throw your head up, only to find yourself blinking apprehensively into War’s face, etched with his signature frown.

“I-I wasn’t laughing at you,” you rush out, backing away from the scowling Horseman a little too far and ending up colliding right into Strife’s torso.

With a tiny yelp, you leap forwards again, tossing glances back and forth between them whilst they continue to stare you down. “It’s just-! I haven’t heard a knock-knock joke in so long, it… It just surprised me.”

A pause ensues, and then quietly – eagerly – Strife asks, “You know what knock-knock jokes are?”

Wondering why that’s his first question, you offer him a timid nod. And then you’re immediately flinching away from him when he barks out an abrupt, disbelieving laugh and straightens up, his chest swelling proudly.

“No kidding. Y’know, not to brag,” he brags, jabbing a thumb into his sternum, “But I practically invented knock-knock jokes.”

Well, who are you to argue with the man carrying two guns? “O-oh?”

“Brother,” War complains, “We do not have time for your-“

“-Here! Here, try this one,” Strife rushes out, leaning towards you a little too fast for your liking, “Knock knock.”

You start to get the impression he’s been waiting for an opportunity like this to come along for quite some time. Sparing his brother a nervous glance, you wet your lips and tentatively indulge him, “Uh, okay, who’s there?”

Taking a breath as if he means to brace himself, Strife says, “The interrupting War.”

Oh… Oh, for God’s sake...

You try to steady the muscles in your cheeks, sending another wary look over at the juggernaut clenching his fists by the ledge.

Still, with Strife waiting for an answer, you slowly and dutifully sigh, “The interrupting War wh-“

You knew it was coming. You knew the gist of the punchline if not the punchline itself, but you’re still wholly unprepared when Strife cuts you off by crossing his arms over his chest and letting out a loud, resounding growl.

“Grr! The Council~!”

Squeezing your eyes shut, you immediately purse your lips, your cheeks aching with the effort of keeping a straight face. You wonder if this is the start of another emotional breakdown because the joke isn’t even particularly funny, but there’s just a familiarity to the formula that almost comes as a welcome relief, like Earth isn’t so far away after all.

A brother teasing his sibling… There’s something almost human about it, abating just the tiniest modicum of terror bubbling away inside your stomach.

Clearing your throat, you keep your lips puckered and inhale deeply through your nostrils in an attempt to compose yourself. Perhaps its Strife’s enthusiasm that lends itself to the humour of the situation, or perhaps it’s simply the absurdity of such a large and formidable brute doing something as innocuous as telling you a knock-knock joke at the expense of his brother, but whatever the case may be, when you open your mouth to tell him it wasn’t that funny, your lips spring up at their corners, contradicting you immediately.

“Think it needs some work,” you say, your voice wobbling.

“Needs work?” he parrots, his own mouth quirking into a grin as he clocks your expression, “Then why are you smiling?”

It takes no small amount of effort to wrestle your face back under control. “I’m not smiling,” you insist, “That isn’t how humans smile.”

Strife, naturally, isn’t fooled at all.

“Ah ha! It is! She’s smiling!” he gloats, jabbing his thumbs at his own mask, “I’m funny! And you-!” Swivelling his head up to War, he pokes a finger at his brother’s face and declares, “You were wrong.”

You make the mistake of glimpsing underneath the stoic Horseman’s hood, wincing when you find him sporting an expression of absolute thunder. He glowers down at you as if to say, ‘Now look at what you’ve started.’

Outwardly, he flattens his brows and exhales slowly through his nose, “Yes, you must be very proud that you’ve found the one, sole creature in the Universe who finds you almost as funny as you find yourself.”

Flapping a hand dismissively at his brother’s words, Strife blows a snort through his lips and tuts, “Ah, you’re just jealous she likes me better.”

You decide not to chime in with the fact that you don’t, in fact, particularly like either of them.

Besides, if War is at all concerned with his new ranking, he certainly doesn’t bother to let you know.

“If you are quite finished cheapening our reputation…” he growls, whirling away from Strife and stepping up to the very edge of the platform.

“Oh, I haven’t even gotten started.”

Before you can protest, the masked Horseman lays a hand on your back and nudges you forwards until you’re standing next to his brother, then takes up his own lookout on the escarpment to your left.

Snugly sandwiched between them, you squash your arms into your sides, grimacing at the sharp angles of their armour that threaten to snag your dress as you try to shuffle backwards, but you don’t manage to retreat further than a few inches before you happen to cast a cursory look out at the view ahead and promptly freeze in your tracks.

Eyes bulging, your jaw falls open and you let out a soft, incredulous breath, your brain racing to take stock of what it’s seeing.

“Oh god.”

The path ends abruptly, falling away just a few paces from the toes of your shoes. And waiting beyond the precipice is a rock-walled cavern of absolutely phenomenal scale, far larger than those you’ve already come through. At its centre, rising from a chasm down below, there’s a rocky platform large enough to fit your house within its dimensions several times over. From what you can see, there isn’t any conceivable way to cross over to it, save for sprouting wings and flying. You’re not even confident you could pitch a tennis ball across the gap and have it land on the other side.

Scalding heat prickles your brow, and when you glance down to see where it stems from, you give an audible gasp as you look past the toes of your shoes and over the pathway’s crumbling edge.

Far, far below you, a stomach-churning drop lays in wait.

Thirty… forty-something feet of shimmering air is all that stands between you and a vast lake of red-hot lava.

“Hey, look down there,” Strife’s voice twitches your ear.

At your side, he raises an arm to point at the platform and says, “See that grate?”

With no small effort, you wrench your eyes off the pit of death and lift it to the level of raised stone, blinking your eyes hard to moisten them again after staring at the lava.

At once, you spot what he’s indicating.

Right at the centre of the platform, set into the stone floor itself, is a large, circular grate, vaguely reminiscent of the bars of a prison cell.

From the darkness below it, you can just make out a faint, pink glow seeping through the metal gridiron.

War answers his brother with a hum that vibrates in your chest.

“What’d you think?” Strife prods, “Reckon that’s where they’ve stashed Vulgrim’s artefact?”

Studying it for a few seconds, War eventually nods. “Something is definitely down there…” he murmurs, “No doubt that grate is heavily fortified.”

Shooting him a sly look, the smaller Horseman adds, “Shouldn’t be too much of a problem for you to pick the lock though, right?”

It’s disconcerting to see War with any expression other than a scowl, so to witness him return a smirk over the top of your head sends a veritable shiver right up your spine.

Lifting his arms, he slams his fist into the palm of his gauntlet with a resounding ‘thwack.’

Amused, Strife turns to thrust his chin at the gut-wrenching gap between the path you’re standing on and the edge of the central platform.

“What about that? Think you can make that jump?”

“J-jump!?” you blurt out, whipping your head up to stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

Hell, maybe he has.

Briefly, War’s eyes flit down to you before he returns his gaze to his fellow Horseman, scoffing, “Is that a serious question?”

And without another word, he begins taking several steps backwards, away from the ledge.

“Wait,” you sputter, shooting him an incredulous look as he continues to back up along the path, “You’re not really going to-“

You don’t even get to finish your sentence.

Before you can blink, War pushes off on his back foot and lurches forwards, his boots pounding against the stone hard enough to send powerful quakes all along the path as he charges straight for the edge.

You think you let out an alarmed yelp, but there’s not much else you can do except helplessly gawk as the Horseman, laden down by his heavy, clanking armour, plants his boot centimetres from the crumbling edge of the path and unceremoniously launches himself, his sword, and all of his bulk off solid ground, soaring out over the lava-drowned chasm below.

With a comically loud gasp, you slap your palms over your eyes, yet you can’t resist peeking through splayed fingers to watch.

Why the Hell would he do that!? There’s no way he’ll make it, you tell yourself, not with all that weight dragging him down.

You wanted to get away from him, yes but… shit. You didn’t want him to get himself killed doing it!

It’s as if you’re staring at a runaway train, waiting in morbid fascination for it to derail. Something in the nature of a disaster unfolding keeps you rooted to the spot, unable to tear your attention away from it.

There’s power and grace in the way War sails over the gap, an impossible feat, further than any Olympic gold medallist would ever hope to achieve. And then, to your utmost astonishment, he makes it.

Metal boots hit the stone platform with an almighty ‘clang’ on the other side, and he dips his knees as he lands to absorb the impact.

You’re almost certain you can see the whole structure quiver from the force.

For several moments, you merely stand there with your mouth hanging ajar whilst War rises to his full height again and turns around, tipping his face up to see you staring back at him, your eyes wide with unconcealed awe.

“How. The fuck…?” you say emphatically, blowing out a disbelieving little whistle. You might not trust the man, but even you can appreciate a good stunt when you see one. Giving your head a shake, you briefly forget you’re supposed to be their kidnappee and gush, “That was incredible!”

Your voice carries easily across the sizeable gap and reaches the Horseman’s ears, erasing the hard line between his brows. Taken aback, War blinks, pressing his lips together bashfully in lieu of a response. ‘Perhaps it was rather impressive,’ he privately concedes, ‘from a human’s perspective…’

Back on the escarpment, Strife’s keen gaze makes out the befuddled expression warping his brother’s typically impassive face, and he sends several glances between you and War, pursing his lips at the glimmer lighting up your eyes.

“Oh yeah?” he huffs, “You think that was impressive?”

A loud clap rings out across the cavern, causing you to jump as Strife smacks his palms together. “Okay, little miss,” he announces behind you, “Your turn.”

Just like that, the colour promptly drains from your face. “My what?”

You don’t have time to spin around and face him, for not a second later, a powerful arm scoops your legs out from underneath you whilst the other snakes around the back of your shoulders, hauling you clean off the floor and pressing you to a hard, armoured chest.

“Oh for-! Stop grabbing me!” you complain, planting your hands on his clavicle and shoving yourself away as best you can, “Are you insane!? I am not jumping over that!”

Cocking his helm at you, he spares you an innocent blink. “You’re not?”

You don’t like how much levity is lacing his tone.

“NO!” you squawk, aghast, “Absolutely not! Let me go!”

One of the Horseman’s eyes narrows to squint at you before he angles his helm very pointedly towards the platform. “You sure?”

Something about his question gives you pause.

Hesitating, you snap your head in the same direction and follow his line of sight. It doesn’t take you more than a second to glean the bastard’s intent.

Now you really don’t like the way he’s looking at you, his upturned eyelids the clearest indication that he’s smiling quite broadly underneath his visor.

Your stomach gives an unpleasant lurch.

“Oh, if you dare…” you hiss.

Daringly, he raises his sizeable shoulders in a shrug and chirps, “Lesson one; Don’t ever dare a Horseman, kid. You’re always bound to lose.”

He wouldn’t…

Flashing you a golden wink, Strife turns his body sideways and swings you to the right, like a rugby player readying a forward pass.

It finally occurs to you that, oh, good god, he would.

“Wait-! WA-WAIT! STRIFE!” Issuing a high-pitched, wordless scream, you start to flail, but his ironclad grip on your legs and shoulders keeps you from launching yourself out of his arms.

Somewhere across the chasm, War’s voice drifts up to you, though you hardly hear it above your undignified shrieks. “Brother?”

The muscles around you bunch up, solidifying as hard as the stone underfoot.

“See you on the other side!” is all the cheery warning you get.

“Don’t you DA---AAAAARRRGGHHH!”

He’s moving before you can think to adhere yourself to his arm.

Sidestepping into a purposeful bound, the Horseman flings his arms to the left, with you in tow, and when they get to the zenith of his reach, they disappear out from under you, letting you go hurtling spine first out over the chasm like a screaming, thrashing blimp, dress and all.

You have several phobias that you were aware of before you fell into this godforsaken place. Phobias that, for the most part, have been quite avoidable in your day-to-day life.

Finding yourself suspended in the air over a pit without a safety net underneath you… add some lava to break your fall, and you suddenly realise as you’re flying through empty space that you’ve just discovered an entirely new phobia to add to the list.

Sailing in a none-too graceful arch, you stare in disbelief back at the silver Horseman on the ledge, your dress billows out behind you and the scorching air whips your veil over your face, tugging at your hair where the grips are heroically keeping it situated. Likewise, some subconscious part of you instructs your toes to grip like vices on the insoles of your heels, valiantly trying to stop them from plummeting off your feet.

Inevitably, as is the case with the laws of physics, you reach the height of your curve, and that’s when gravity seizes you by the heart and starts to drag you back down, sending your stomach crashing up into your diaphragm.

Time seems to slow as you descend, reaching back for Strife as if he could somehow stretch across the gap and catch you. You can’t see behind yourself, and it’s all you can do to hope that you pass out on the way down, so you don’t have to feel your body melt into a puddle in the hungry maw of the lava below.

It hurts your chest something fierce to think that the last anyone will see of you is your terror-stricken face and your raised hand closing into a fist, bar one choicely extended finger.

The hot wind screams past your ears and you screw your eyes shut tight, squeezing out the last tears you’re ever going to cry. Your father’s face flashes in your mind’s eye, and you wonder what you did to set off this chain of events.

Strife said he wouldn’t hurt you…

What a joke.

‘WHAM!’

Your mouth jerks open, wheezing out a gasp as something suddenly slams into you from behind, knocking the air violently from your lungs. Or rather, you crash into something with the force of a white, ruffled meteorite and nearly lose your heart through your open mouth.

At first, you assume you must have smacked into the hard side of the platform, but then the Something you’ve collided with grunts, and you hurriedly wrench your eyes open, coming to focus on a monstrous, metal gauntlet that’s secured itself under your knees, crushing your dress between prodigious fingers whilst something equally large presses across your shoulder blades.

With a kick in the guts, you realise you’re being held aloft in much the same way Strife had been holding you mere moments ago.

He caught you… War caught you.

Finally, you remember to gulp in a noisy breath to refill your desperate lungs.

You’re not dead.

But you are, in fact, shaking.

And as the revelation that you’re still alive sets in, your limbs start to wobble in earnest.

“STRIFE!” You visibly flinch when War’s terrible, wonderful, abrasive, beautiful voice booms like a claxon right above your head. “You fool!”

Even through layers of solid metal and leather padding, the Horseman can feel you trembling under his palms. Propping your neck in the crook of his elbow, he lifts his head to level a snarl up at where Strife still stands on the escarpment whilst you unclench your fists from your lap, heaving air in and out of your lungs in hysterical little bursts.

“What were you thinking!?” he bellows.

Leaning over the side to look down at you and your unwitting saviour, Strife throws his arms out wide and argues, “She said to let her go!”

“You knew what she meant!” A deep thrum rolls around in his chest, spreading up his throat and spilling out in another growl so deep it rattles the teeth in your skull. “You could have damaged her!”

“Oh relax, I wouldn’t have tossed her if I didn’t think you’d catch her.”

War slides his lips back to reveal his inhumanly sharp canines, but at that moment, something tugs very lightly at the fabric of his cowl.

Faltering, he angles his chin down and nearly gives a start.

Tiny hands have wandered towards him, found the scarlet material hanging from around his neck and latched onto it with possessive intent, fingers twisting themselves into his cowl and getting lost amongst the folds, as if you fully expect him to toss you over the side as well. The strange, white veneer lays draped across your face, so he can’t see your expression when you unexpectedly twist about in his arms and pull yourself a little closer to his chest.

Caught off guard, War remains stock-still, seriously contemplating whether or not he should drop you right then and there to spare himself from Strife’s potential teasing.

His bulging arms give a twitch, which in turn causes you to cringe, letting out a quiet bleat and further entangling your fingers around his cowl.

This, War decides, was not in the job description when the Charred Council made him a Horseman. Still, whatever he might think of you, he can’t bring himself to drop you in a heap on the ground.

For once, he might be out of his depth.

As soon as the notion occurs to him, he brusquely flicks it away with a toss of his head.

Taking a large step back, he slowly ambles himself about until he’s facing away from Strife and the platform’s edge, then stomps several paces towards the central grate, only stopping once he hears the loud clang of metallic boots hitting the stone behind him as his fellow Horseman leaps to the lower level.

Gingerly, almost as though he expects you to shatter if he moves too quickly, War bends down until he’s almost on a knee and starts to withdraw the arm that’s wrapped around your legs, a stoic frown tugging his brows towards the centre of his forehead when you refuse to let go of his hood.

Grumbling, he lowers you until your shoes click on the stone floor, and then he slips his hand out from under your knees, moving it up and taking both of your wrists between his gauntlet’s fingertips and thumb, mindful of the delicate limbs he’s handling.

He can still recall how you’d nearly crumpled to your knees when he got a little heavy handed trying to apply the poultice to your arm. He truly thought he had been correct in gauging the pressure he needed to apply to your flesh to draw blood. He’d only meant to take a little. Just enough to prove the validity of your claim. What an idea that had turned out to be. If War were being honest with himself, he’d been outright startled when your skin peeled open so readily to admit Chaoseater’s blade.

So, if he’s a little more careful in prying your hands off his cowl than he ought to be, well, that’s his own business.

It doesn’t take much coaxing before you seem to come back into yourself.

With a sudden jolt, you wrench your hands away from his hood and start to struggle valiantly with the veil on your face, flipping it back over your head and choking on a sob as your knees start to buckle.

Planting both of his palms on your shoulders, War hauls you upright again.

“Steady,” he murmurs as if he’s addressing a wounded soldier, not a frightened human, “On your feet.”

The sound of clanking boots drifts closer, approaching from his rear.

War bristles, but he’s not the only one who heard Strife’s footsteps.

“You okay, kid?” the gunslinger’s voice drifts over to you, and War watches your jaw cinch shut, the hands at your sides curling into fists as you attempt to stop them from shaking.

Whirling around, you tear yourself from the Horseman’s gauntlets, your dress twirling gracefully around your ankles to find Strife standing a few paces behind you, paused halfway between one step and the next.

Blurting out a delirious laugh, you shoot him a bloodshot stare, half tempted to rip your bag off and lob it at his head.

“Am I okay?!” you echo, “Have you completely lost your mind!?”

Peering down at you appraisingly, War makes a sound that might be affirming, and even his brother lifts a hand to tilt it back and forth in a ‘so-so’ motion.

Breathing hard, you resist the urge to scream and instead lower your head, massaging at your throbbing temples.

Slowly, through gritted teeth, you seethe, “I am trapped… inside a volcano… with two of the scariest people I’ve ever met…”

Strife shares a look with War, the former’s frame wilting as if he’s put out, while the latter, by contrast, almost seems proud of the achievement.

“I,” you continue, a humourless grin straining at your lips, “Just found out that demons exist! I also found out that Lucifer is apparently real…! It is my fucking wedding day!” Vitriol drips from your teeth like venom, and with each passing word, your voice grows louder and louder. “And! I just got chucked! Like a… like a fucking pigskin over a river! Of LAVA!”

All around you, the cavern echoes with the throes of your furious shout, bouncing off the rock walls and coming back to you ten times over before it fades into an uneasy silence.

Lungs heaving with the effort of raising your voice, you stop to breathe, finding, to your dismay, that tears are spilling onto your cheeks, only to start evaporating on your skin in the smouldering heat.

Clearing your throat, you sweep a few fingertips delicately beneath your eyes and wipe away the lingering evidence of moisture cutting tracks through your blusher. “So, no,” you sniffle, “For your information, I am not o-fucking-kay… I think I’m about as far from okay as it gets.”

It’s almost satisfying that the gung-ho Horseman can in fact be made to shut up.

Fidgeting idly with the gauntlet on his left hand, Strife shoots several glances at War, but finds no source of assistance in his fellow Nephilim’s cold, critical glare.

“Uh,” he starts, clenching his hands into fists and opening them again, “I mean… it was kind of funny, right?” He lets out a chuckle that falls painfully flat. “You should’ve seen your face.”

Your jaw begins to ache from grinding your teeth together like you’re trying to crush coal into diamonds.

“Knock-knock jokes are funny,” you say stiffly, turning away from him to scowl at the ground, “People don’t get hurt.”

Draping a hand over his hip, Strife lowers his voice and asks, “Come on, you really thought I’d let you get hurt?”

“OF COURSE I DID!” you suddenly bellow so loudly your voice cracks, “You threw me over a lava pit!”

“War caught you, didn’t he?”

“What if he hadn’t!?”

Strife doesn’t even hesitate before he offers his palms to the ceiling and says, “Then I wouldn’t’ve done it.”

“Why the hell would you-!? Why even take the risk!?”

“There never was any risk,” he shrugs far too nonchalantly, sending his brother a knowing look, “Besides, this is a good thing, right? Now you know you can trust War to keep you alive.”

Pulling a face, you allow a spiteful scoff to burst out of your mouth, arms folding sternly across your chest. “Oh, so that was all so you could prove some point to me, was it? Jesus, what is wrong with you?!”

“Now there’s a door best left unopened,” War chimes in.

At last recognising that there’s some, invisible line he’s crossed, Strife holds his hands up placatingly. “Look,” he concedes, scratching at the back of his head and disturbing the thick spines of ebony hair growing behind his helm, “After what happened back in the Void, I just thought, if we proved we could keep you safe, you’d… maybe start to trust us a little more, y’know?”

You have to take a moment to stare at him, waiting for his words to sink in for you, and hopefully for him as well. “So… you thought you’d show me you can keep me safe by… launching me over a lava pit, and expecting me to know your brother would catch me?”

The Horseman doesn’t speak for several seconds. When he eventually does, he crosses his arms over his chest and huffs, “I mean, if you’re only gonna focus on the first part, sure the plan had holes.”

“Well,” you say haughtily, “No offence, but I trust you two about as far as I could throw you. Which, you’ll be shocked to hear, isn’t very far at all. And unlike you-“ Here, you jab a finger up at his silver visor. “- I’m not strong enough to go around throwing people off the edge of cliffs!”

Once again, Strife remains silent, rapping his fingertips on a metal bicep. Soon enough however, he lowers his head and peers up at you from beneath the lip of his helm’s sockets, prodding, “It was a pretty good throw though, huh?”

“It was a very good throw!” you agree sharply, blowing out a rough exhale as your heartbeat finally begins to ease off the throttle, “Neither of you even had a run up. You two are like something straight out of a comic book… Except without the charisma… and altruism...”

“Comic…?” War asks, frowning, “Then… you are amused?”

“No, not comic like-…” You inhale. You exhale. “Never mind. Weren’t you guys supposed to be looking for something?”

Just like that, the pair of titans straighten up with a start, and you wonder if their ‘mission’ really had slipped their minds for a while.

Rolling his shoulders back, War just grumbles something inaudible and begins moving purposefully towards the grate.

You stand back to let him pass, chewing thoughtfully on your bottom lip as you mull over what you’re about to say.

“Hey, big guy?”

At once, War stops and swivels his head sideways, silver hair spilling out from underneath his hood.

Shuffling awkwardly on your feet, you avoid the pale, unblinking eye that’s trained on your face and call, “Thanks…. For catching me.”

You won’t thank him for healing your arm when he was the one who cut it in the first place. But this? You can swallow your grudge for this. At least for a little while.

Several seconds tick by without a response, and the only sound you can hear is the heavy clanking of boots on stone as Strife ventures up behind you.

And then at last, War’s head falls and rises in an almost imperceptible nod.

When he turns away, you suddenly feel like you can breathe again.

How can one man be so intimidating just by standing still and saying nothing?

You’ve already deduced that the two Horsemen are like chalk and cheese, with one half of the duo serving as the strong, silent type, and the other, a smart-mouthed chatterbox.

… Speaking of whom.

Just as you start to trail after War towards the centre of the platform, an enormous shape sidles up next to you, easily keeping pace with your diminutive gait.

“Hey…” Strife tries, actually sounding hesitant for a change, “Knock-knock.”

Ah. There it is.

“Strife…” His name still sounds foreign on your tongue. “I’m… look, I’m not in the mood, okay?”

“…”

Scoffing quietly, you give your head a defeated shake and sigh, “Fine… Who’s there?”

“Eyes wear.”

… Okay?

“…Eyes wear who?” you venture, hesitant.

Swivelling his helm towards you, Strife bends his neck down, chasing after your face even as you try to ignore him by staring straight ahead.

“Eyes wear to… never throw you across any more chasms,” he offers, tipping his helm upright again, “Lava filled or otherwise. How’s that sound?”

Your lips quiver. “Wow,” you drawl, “I think that was even worse than the last one.”

“Oh yeah?” he replies coyly, “Then why’re you smiling?”

You jerk to a halt mid stride, taking stock of your expression.

Damnit. You are smiling.

You’re a little too slow to force the corners of your lips back down into a straight line, and of course, Strife sees it, tipping his chin back to peer at you triumphantly. You may not be able to see his mouth beneath the visor but judging by the upturned curve of his golden eyes, you just know the smug son of a bitch is grinning from ear to ear.

“I was not smiling,” you insist.

Quick as a whip, he retorts, “Well now you’re lying.”

Stuffing your teeth into your bottom lip, you kick yourself into gear and speed up, marching up to where War has stopped by the grate. “I am not lying, I’m leaving.”

The Horseman’s chuckle haunts you all the way across the platform.

#darksiders #darksiders genesis #strife x reader #war x reader #bride reader #fluff #angst #hurt/comfort #Strife being Strife #Fear #Bad Knock knock jokes #Reader has had enough

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s-awturn · 2 months ago

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Moon Spell || CS55

summary: They were fated to love someone they hated. There was no spell, no grudge, no curse that could break the bond that united them, doomed to die in the feelings they fiercely nurtured. The Moon had determined it and there was nothing they could do to stop it.

“These violent pleasures have violent ends, and die in their triumph, like fire and gunpowder, which, when they kiss, consume each other. The sweetest honey is disgusting in its own sweetness, and its taste confuses the palate.”

cw: Violence, conflict, soulmates, blood, magic, alternate universe, obscenity, pure filth, chaos, fighting, swearing, intense hatred, love, mention of death, blood.

a/n: I'm excited about this story because I love werewolves and witches so I can't stop reading it. This will be the last one posted until I update Underworld Sun, because I've been owing this update for a few days.

starring: werewolf!Carlos x witch!Fem reader

1. we were born to die;

Part Two: Monsters

One misstep, you're mine And you better stay clever if you wanna survive

Her breath caught in her chest as she saw the massive beast emerging from the bushes, its fangs as big as the blade of her dagger, its eyes gleaming like molten gold and stared at him with nothing but murderous fury. Being the first night of the full moon, Y/N could feel the deep magic of lycanthropy within him, vibrating the beast's solid muscles and teasing his senses, making it tastier prey than any animal in the forest.

It was a bad day to be with your magic so weak.

The werewolf began to surround her and Y/N did the same, she couldn't give him a chance to attack from behind, dying wasn't in her plans. Whether from angry villagers or from that hungry werewolf. Her eyes remained glued to the massive creature in front of her, she couldn't take her eyes off the wolf's dangerous fangs; her fingers pressed the dagger and she took a deep breath, asking for wisdom and strength to get out of that situation.

“I’m not going to die tonight, beast, so I hope you don’t mind when I use your fur as a blanket,” she said. Y/N knew how to poke a mindless beast with twice her strength and huge teeth were dangerous, but she had never been a sensible witch, and now was not the time to start being one.

The moon shone even brighter in the sky and an ancient shiver ran down her spine. At that moment, the wind carried whispers in an ancient voice to her. Whispers that she didn't like to hear and Before she could think, her magic core was gone and her body lost its strength. She fainted, dropping her dagger, dropping her bag; the black kitten purred, ignoring the werewolf standing there, much more concerned about his owner. Spix pressed his feline snout to the witch's face, waiting for her to wake up.

Trapped in her subconscious, Y/N looked around, recognizing the tiny kitchen of the cottage she shared with her parents, the smell of her mother's familiar herbal tea made the girl whimper. She missed her mother so much, her advice and love, and that smell made things less unbearable to deal with.

She heard light, rhythmic footsteps and saw her mother enter the room, wearing the raw cotton dress and white stone necklace, so characteristic that they made her eyes burn.

“Would you like some tea, dear? You look hungry,” she heard her mother say. “The rye bread is fresh, have a piece, will you?”

"Mommy?” She spoke softly, approaching fearfully and touching the woman's face, and when she felt the soft texture of the older woman's cheek, Y/N finally gave in to tears. “I missed you, mommy!”

The older one hugged her before Y/N fell to her knees on the floor, the younger witch felt herself being dragged to a chair.

“I missed you too my little sunshine, don't cry anymore, your dad and I are fine, glad you're safe”

“This is so unfair, you didn't deserve to die like this, I w-wanted to help...” she sobbed, her face hidden in her mother's shoulder.

“Shhhh it's okay, there's nothing you could do dear, and I honestly don't regret saving your life, I didn't give birth to you to watch you die, dear, stop crying over things that are beyond your reach,” she said, making the girl look at her and wiped her tears. “Let's not waste this precious time we have with complaints and tears, I need to tell you something... Something important that will change your future”

The young witch's still tearful face contorted in confusion and she saw her mother smile, stroking her damp cheeks.

“W-what do you mean?”

Y/N saw her mother sigh loudly “After tonight, nothing will be the same, my love, it's time to stop the killing between our people and the lycanthropes”

“M-Me?” she laughed in disbelief “I can barely keep my magic core stable, how can I stop something that has been going on for centuries?!”

“You young people are so impatient, let me explain, we don’t have much time, so be quiet,” her mother scolded. “There are few things in the world that are truly unbreakable, the bond of partnership between a werewolf and his destined one is one of those things and you are on the other end of the cord, my dear.”

S/N stood up, her mother couldn't be serious, it could only be a joke in bad taste.

“I can’t mate with a werewolf! I’m a witch.”

“But you are, and that will change the history of our people, S/N,” the older witch said seriously. “We are being persecuted and killed by madmen who use the name of God to justify their sins” She paused for a few seconds, reinforcing her speech “We cannot protect ourselves on both fronts, my little sun, we need to choose our battles and it is time to stop fighting with the wolves”

“But why me?! I’m not the best option to negotiate peace in a thousand-year-old war!”

“But you will, I can't give you any more details, I know you will do the right thing, just follow your heart, it always knows the right direction” the woman said, getting up to get some tea.

“Then I will have to kill him, because that is where my heart is going.”

Y/N grumbled in disbelief. As if her life wasn't already busy enough.

“Don’t be petulant, girl, and accept the goddess’s designs, she knows what she’s doing and I know you’ll be happy.”

Y/N sighed, feeling like she was waking up, so her time with her mother was close to ending.

“I don’t want to say goodbye, take me with you”

“I would never do that to you, my love... You have a beautiful life ahead of you and I know you will be happy, trust me, okay?”

The little witch sniffed and nodded.

“You are never alone, and live your life the best way you can, your father and I love you, dear.” Y/N felt a kiss on her forehead and saw everything fade before her eyes.

— ☽ —

The werewolf watched the witch fall to the ground unconscious. It was a strange thing, because he hadn't even intended to attack her—yet. In other times he would have taken advantage and satisfied his hunger, but his instincts told him otherwise. The werewolf approached slowly, but stopped when he saw the cat bristle and growl in his direction. That cat was a totem linked to the unconscious witch, and if he tried to attack her, he would probably have to deal with that stupid cat.

The wolf licked his teeth, he couldn't kill the witch, but he couldn't retreat either, his paws kept moving forward even though the cat was ready to scratch his snout. The moon grew brighter and a bit of rationality came to the werewolf's mind, the creature poked the witch's cheek, receiving no response.

As delicately as he could, he gathered the belongings that had fallen out of the bag with his nose and teeth and thought of a way to put it on his back. The cat watched the whole process and He gave a meow that, to the werewolf's ears, sounded like mockery, and before he could grab the kitten, the werewolf saw the cat digging in the ground near the witch and understood what the little animal wanted. Within minutes a large hole next to the witch's unconscious body was opened, the werewolf entered the hole and pulled the witch by the cape with his teeth, making her fall onto her back. With the girl unconscious, the wolf jumped until he was out of the hole, being careful not to knock her over and shouted carefully, being closely followed by the black cat, the moonlight flickered slightly before hiding behind a cloud.

The werewolf kept his pace short until he reached his small village, only children, some pregnant women and elderly people were present, all the rest spread out into the forest to hunt and give in to instincts. He entered the furthest cabin from the village, and laid the witch on the bed, she remained unconscious and he left, leaving the cat at the door. He wasn't happy about having a witch so close to his people, but his instincts screamed to catch her and keep her close.

He left the unconscious witch there and ran back into the woods, he needed to eat and he needed to stay away from her, or he would end up killing the girl and something in his bones told him to keep her alive.

— ☽ —

The sun was rising when she finally woke up. She knew that experiences like this were possible, but she never expected to experience one in person. Y/N she felt the fluffy weight on her abdomen and ran her fingers through Spix's silky fur, the kitten purred, rubbing his little face against her hand, clearly relieved that she had woken up; Y/N blinked slowly, catching glimpses of a wooden and straw roof above her, only to snap up, she was no longer in the forest, she was in an unfamiliar cabin. Alone with her cat.

She looked around, finding her things thrown in a corner, stained with diluted blood.

“By the grace of the Goddess, what happened last night?” she muttered to herself, looking at her things, the candles were broken, but the rest seemed intact thankfully. None of her grimoires had been lost. Little by little, memories of last night came back to her mind, the escape from her home, the search for shelter in the woods, the werewolf in her path and the strange conversation with her mother... Y/N rubbed the back of her neck, feeling strangely tired, even though she slept through the night. She looked around, trying to figure out where she was, but nothing gave away who the cabin belonged to or who had brought her there. but if Spix was cool with it, it must be a good sign.

She avoided thinking as much as she could about the conversation with her mother as she rummaged through her belongings in the cabin, she could never be a werewolf's mate. They had been enemy races for so many years that she didn't even know the reason for the enmity, and she didn't even mention that her insides were turning over at the idea, no, her mother was delirious. She was sure of it.

She found some still-good bread and a canteen of beer, it wasn't the best breakfast, but she was starving and couldn't afford to refuse food; S/N devoured the bread in three bites and She downed her beer in one gulp. Maybe now she could leave, pretending her mother hadn't said anything as absurd as that. It would never work, she was a witch, that bond was unnatural, it couldn't happen.

Quickly, she gathered her things and picked up Spix, but the cat jumped off her lap and remained on the bed.

“Let’s go, Spix, we don’t know whose house this is, we’re not going to stay to find out” she said as she reached out her hands to grab the feline, but Spix jumped away, making Y/N frown in confusion. “Now, don’t be like that, Spix! I know this bed is comfortable, but we’re not staying here! It’s dangerous!”

The kitten meowed in protest and Y/N asked the heavens for patience, or she would take the cat by the tail. “Come on Spix, I'm in charge!”

She couldn't be ignored any more than that, the black cat raised his own magic and became invisible, making Y/N curse. Y/N felt around on the bed, finding the cat among the woolen blankets and before it could get loose, she put it in the leather bag and ran out of the cabin, she couldn't stay there, he didn't know who might arrive and he wouldn't risk himself like that and it wouldn't be a cat that would dictate her actions.

As morning arrived, Carlos breathed a sigh of relief when the beast allowed him to control his body again, he had few memories of last night, but he knew there was a girl lying in his bed, a girl who was probably his companion.

A witch.

He could feel her scent impregnated on his body, it was a cruel joke of fate, the Moon could not unite him with a witch. It was absurd that he wanted to laugh, as if his life wasn't troubled enough, he still had to deal with a damn witch in his house, a witch who was his predestined. He was on his way home when the scent of lavender and lemon reached his nose and it wasn't long before he heard quick footsteps breaking branches on the ground. Before he could understand, Carlos ran in the direction of the scent, his body transforming mid-run, he could see the witch's thick cloak fluttering in the air as she walked away; It wasn't as if the little witch could run faster than him and in a short time, Carlos was just a few meters away from her. His muscles tensed and he leapt at her, knocking her to the muddy ground until they ended up rolling down a local ravine. She screamed in fright, trying to pull away from him, but she was trapped between him and the ground.

Carlos growled, holding the witch under his body, was she leaving? How dare she?!

She began to punch and kick the wolf above her, but he growled, leaving his teeth exposed, making the smaller girl retreat as far as she could on the ground.

“Get off me, help! Help, someone help me!” she screamed, but all she heard was the birds squawking and the trees crashing against each other. The werewolf got off her and grabbed the witch's ankle, dragging her back to the cabin. "Let go of me!" she tried to kick the creature, but it sank its teeth into her skin, making her scream.

Behind them, Spix trotted along leisurely, dragging his leather bag carefully as he followed.

Carlos wondered if it was really the right thing to drag that witch back to his house, she was a witch, she could kill his entire family, he gave up.He didn't understand why the Moon had chosen a witch to be her companion, this couldn't be serious, it had to be a joke.

She kept struggling and kicking, trying to get free, which made Carlos grunt with laughter, her efforts were laughable and it was clear she didn't have enough magic to break free, otherwise he would have already been thrown against a tree.

It wasn't enough to be a witch, she was also useless.

As soon as they arrived at the cabin, Carlos let go of her ankle and walked around the house, the girl didn't need to see him naked, he transformed and picked up a pair of pants hanging on the clothesline next door, listening to her whine about the bruises on her ankle. When he came back inside, the witch was rubbing her ankle, muttering a strange chant that he didn't understand.

“This wouldn’t have happened if you had stayed here until I got back,” he said, surprising the girl, the witch screamed in fright, throwing a broken candle at him, which he dodged without any further problems.

“I have no reason to stay here!” she scolded, trying to stand, ignoring her sore ankle.

“You have nowhere to go, girl, or you wouldn’t be running through the woods in the middle of the night.” He landed a wound on the witch, who took a deep breath, trying not to think about what she had lost in such a short time.

“That’s none of your business, mutt,” she retorted rudely and Carlos clenched his jaw, irritated by the insult.

“That became my business from the moment you became my companion!”

“I AM NOT YOUR MATE!” she screamed and the rafters of the hut shook, her magic gradually returning.

Carlos looked at her even more stressed, this really shouldn't be happening, he should be connected to a wolf from his pack, following the natural course of things. But no, he was there, destined for a witch.

"You can scream all you want, little witch, you are my companion, whether you like it or not, and you will stay here.”

“Never! I’d rather die!” She marched towards him so determinedly that she didn't even groan in pain and stared at him without fear. “You'll have to tie me up!”

He tilted his head back, laughing deeply at the girl in front of him. “That’s not a problem, little witch, I’m very good with ropes.”

She screamed in anger and backed away from him, feeling her body tremble, abruptly her magical core had completely restored itself and she refused to believe that this was due to the bond with the werewolf.

“Even though I haven’t marked you yet, we’re united, little witch,” he said mockingly, “there’s no way you can leave here, because listen carefully...” he approached her, feeling the angry vibration that the witch emanated so strongly. “I don't care if our races have hated each other for centuries, I don't care if you want to disembowel me now, the Moon has decided that you would be mine, and that's what you are from now on, so don't even think about running away from me, witch, because I'll hunt you down to the end of the world”

Neither of them even realized that they were inches away from each other, Carlos only noticed when the scent of lavender and lemon disoriented his senses.

“There’s no point in running away, you’re mine now and you’re going to stay here”

“I don’t belong to anyone! Much less to a mutt like you!”

In one quick movement, Carlos wrapped his arms around the witch's throat and they both fell onto the bed.

“Don’t call me a mutt, you filthy little witch.”

He felt her swallow hard and take a deep breath, struggling to get away from him, but Carlos pressed harder on the girl's throat, seeing her choke a little, but that didn't last long, because he was thrown against the wall, knocking over some shelves.

“I’ll kill you!” they shouted together.

#taglist: @barcelonaloverf1life

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#Spotify #f1 imagine #sawturn #carlos sainz x reader #Carlos Sainz's birthday #werewolf!carlos #werewolf x witch #werewolf #formula 1 smut

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homelanderbutbig · 7 months ago

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The Milk Box (G/T Homelander x Reader)

1270 words. Pure fluff. Homelander is 8 feet tall. Reader is non-descriptive. Established relationship.

You and Homelander share some milk. Inspired by a conversation with @sehtoast, and a suggestion by @slasher-smasher.

It started out as a joke gift for Homelander, a subscription to 'The Milk Box' where every month he would be shipped a crate of specialty milk. Initially, he took one look at this box and scoffed, rolling his eyes at this silly present you got for him. However, it did not take long for the monthly milk arrival to become an anticipated event.

Today's the day the next shipment is set to be delivered, and Homelander is stressed. The waiting is the hardest part for the man who can have anything at the snap of his fingers, but he displays a high level of restraint from flying to the post office and retrieving the box himself, because he knows how annoyed you'd be with him. Instead, he's pestering Ashley every five minutes for an update on the box's tracking location. Yelling at her to keep him informed every second, while he's pacing back and forth in an attempt to stay grounded.

And then, the moment finally comes. The second the mailman enters Vought Tower with the package, Homelander is rushing to your office, practically bulldozing through your door. It doesn't even matter to him that you are in the middle of a meeting, this is more important.

You barely have time to understand what is happening before you are yanked away from your computer, held close against his chest with one of his immovable hands. He whisks you into the nearest elevator, giving its occupants just enough time to run out, before he hits the button to take you both up to his penthouse. Yet, it can't move fast enough as he bounces in anticipation.

The instant the elevator dings, he moves so fast into the penthouse he practically flies to the dining room, taking his seat while keeping you propped up on his lap. He's left a knife out on the table for you to open the package, as it's become tradition during these unboxing days. With a large hand on your shoulder, he watches intently as you slice along the packing tape. Even though the scent of dairy is overtaking his sense of smell, he suppresses his X-ray vision to not spoil the surprise of this shipment's contents.

Finally, the suspension is relieved as you open the box, unveiling the twelve glass bottles of specialty milk. They are chilled to a perfect temperature thanks to the dry ice packed around each bottle. Homelander is fixated on your hands as you carefully remove each bottle from the box, lining them up in front of the both of you. This month's crate comes from a local farm, featuring 1% milk, 2% milk, whole milk, chocolate milk, and unhomogenized milk.

Grabbing two bottles of the unhomogenized milk, Homelander's favourite, you pass one to him as you both unscrew your lids. He takes the time to deeply inhale through his nose, closing his eyes as the intoxicating dairy scent floods into his lungs.

You both take a sip of the milk, though your reaction is a lot more subdued than Homelander's. What you taste is very similar to the regular milk you drink. For him, it's a feast for his taste buds. The low-fat milk bottom portion dances between textures of smooth, creamy, and silky; the high-fat cream top portion coats his tongue with consistencies of sweet, foamy, and rich. He can perceive the faint tones of grass from the cow's diet, and the freshness of the farmer's harvest.

Regardless, it's not just about the taste of the milk. As a child created in a lab, he never had the opportunity to know his real mother, or be raised by an actual family. He was never able to relate to your childhood memories, having a cold glass of milk every day after school. In a way, drinking milk is the closest thing he has to connect to the childhood he missed out on, and nothing makes it better than being able to share this comforting experience with you, a person who truly cares for him.

"Mmm…" he mumbles, tipping his head back with his eyes still closed. His tense shoulders are now totally slack, letting go of the stress he's been holding onto all day, solely waiting for this moment.

"You like it?" you ask him, stroking his hand that is still on your shoulder.

"Yeah. They got a good batch this time," he remarks, licking his lips before downing the rest of the bottle. It leaves a delectable aftertaste on his tongue.

"What do you mean? Is unhomogenized milk not the same each time?" you ponder. To you, it tastes the same every month.

"Really?" he huffs in disbelief. Homelander takes his hand from your shoulder to start listing off on his fingers. "There's… there's so much that can effect the taste of milk! If there are preservatives or additives, what temperature it's pasteurized at, what the cow is eating… D-do you even know how the differences of the fat content can change the taste?"

You look up at him silently, grinning as he goes off on a tangent about the history of milk pasteurization and homogenization. Your innocent question about one of his passions has very easily gotten him riled up, although it doesn't take much to get him going on topics he loves. He's like a walking encyclopedia, and you cherish seeing him so invested in his hobby of learning new things.

"I love you, you know," you chuckle, leaning your head back onto his pecs. You catch a glimpse of Homelander's brain shutting down from your sudden praise. You took him right out of the middle of a rant, and instantly flustered him with your honest affection.

Putting your bottle down on the table, you turn around and kneel on his thighs so your face is up to his own. You giggle as he tries to angle away from you, hiding that his cheeks have turned red. However, he doesn't fight when you place your hands on his jaw and coax his face back towards you. His eyes are big blue windows into his soul, exposing how easily you overwhelm his emotions with the little ways you love him. But you can just as easily settle him down with those same little ways.

You lean in for a kiss, and bring your hands up to run them through his undercut. Almost immediately, Homelander sighs and closes his eyes, placing his hands on your back so he can sink into you. He purrs from the way your nails scratch his scalp, quickly letting go of that self-consciousness he felt from you bamboozling his train of thought with a simple 'I love you'.

When you break from your kiss, you keep your foreheads pressed together. His eyes open to gaze directly at you, now so serene. It's like you know how to flip the switch in his brain when he needs to calm down.

"You wanna have another bottle of milk? I'd love for you to tell me more about the different kinds," you say softly, caressing his cheek. A sneaky smile slowly spreads across his face.

"I haven't even gotten to modern milk production techniques yet," he chuckles, nuzzling into your nose. You can't help but laugh, but you know he's serious.

And you look forward to it, just to let Homelander have a chance to partake in something he wasn't permitted to enjoy when he was young. Just to allow him to get in touch with his inner child he neglects so heavily. Just to see that childlike innocence buried within himself have a chance to shine.

#the boys #the boys tv #homelander #homelander x reader #g/t #size difference #my writing #i am lactose intolerant so i have no idea what i'm writing lmao

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simaddix · 2 months ago

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Still working on armory stuff...

This set by far has been the biggest challenge I've had... working with multiple bones, premium items and functional items has been a trip, but SO. WORTH. IT. Gah! A quick update into the vault of wips I've got going on... enjoy a peek into my project!

For years (years) I've wanted to take on the store's archery item, and... I did. To my absolute surprise, I got this bad boy working. The middle targets swing, the shots hit the upper targets instead of landing in midair, I scared my children half to death with dinosaur sounds, it was a complete success, and I'm so stoked! This one needs a couple of cosmetic tweaks to the image files, and I want to test the pathing to make it a bit more friendly in close environments, but otherwise it's in game and working!

Next up, my precious... old hay bales, working as archery targets. Y'all don't know the WILLPOWER it took to stay on this current project when these hit my game... I almost bailed off to start a farm set, but I stayed on track! (claps self on the back, I'm so proud lol) These have the same issue as other custom targets; without the frame, the shots/arrows currently follow the same path of the store item, but they do function.

Hopefully if I can fix the pathing issues, the other targets will work along with the frame. Otherwise, I'll make deco versions as well so they don't battle for the same space/footprint, and will look something like this ^

I've played with several target stands, both 3D models I downloaded and from Skyrim, and I wound up modeling a few myself. I have one up and running in game already, and will be testing the textures before getting the other two up and running. These are also functional, the arrows will just follow the same path as the store item again. I'm trying to figure out how to fix that issue for all the targets, but one thing at a time.

Next we have more deco items, including crossbows (loaded, and unloaded, ha ), archery stands for bows and arrows, and a ballista.... of all things.. lol

I have a few more items I want to add into the mix, but I'm making progress. I can't wait to get this out to y'all! Enjoy the view!

#ts3wip #ts3medieval

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grunklejam · 22 days ago

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BYEEE Production Update #2!

As promised, we're hard at work progressing the collection behind the scenes, and we've just got our first render of Brass Tacks Stan! This is the very first 3D capture of our beloved Grunkle, and while a few changes are required, we're sure you'll agree he's already looking incredible.

So, what's going to change?

We can see clearly now the rain is gone... We're going to be reworking Stan's glasses to be more accurate to his series design - we should have seen this coming really, as lineart and 'actually this is just a black frame' is always a little difficult to communicate with 3D renders. This will also make the arms of his specs much less intrusive on the lenses and frame his stubble more accurately to the show.

Who gave him toothpaste? Stan doesn't have shiny white gnashers. Very important to get that natural Grunkle-Stank, even in his own image. Fans will know we're working off of Stan's fantasy of himself in Land Before Swine so we're using this as a basis throughout!

Stan, your tattoo is leaking. There's a couple of texture errors on his torso, particularly on those GLISTENING ABS. This is super rudimentary and will not be present on the finished figure, so don't worry. We're working on tight deadlines and none more so than our amazing independent art team.

What's staying the same?

G I R T H Remember - Stanley is a full 8" tall, and is going to be one broad-shouldered fella. We plan to keep those glistening, adonis-esque proportions so he's perfectly in scale with his dorky brother.

Now we've got a full view of how Stan will look, we can finalise his design. The changes we need for him are incredibly minor and don't include any complicated things like Infinity Mirrors and totally-not-real-portals-to-other-dimensions, so we expect this to be a pretty smooth journey to completion.

Never say never, though. Plenty can happen once these babies hit the factory, and we'll be sure to update you of any further changes.

Our amazing 3D Modeller Kelly is being pushed to the limits and we hope you're all as in love with her work as we are. We can't wait to see this man stand before us in the flesh.

...And it's a lot of flesh.

Remember, Brass Tacks Stan is available NOW to preorder, but you only have a few more days to pick him up! At $180USD, we're content he's plenty of man for your money.

...And what a man.

#gravity falls #studio bad egg #studiobadegg #byeee multiverse collection #grunkle stan #hunkle stan #stanley pines #stan pines #gravity falls merch #richmond parakhen #kyri45 #last goldfish toys #grunkle jam #indiegogo

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patibato · 2 months ago

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[Ushio SSR] Hell's Tormenting Amanojaku - Night Owl Student and Night Worker Teacher

Part 1

Ushio: Seven seconds to midnight… six…

Here it is… the latest news from Web Dive's midnight update is…

… ……

A… A PATIBATO COLLAB CAFEEE!?!?

(Shit, I yelled on impulse, is Muuchan—)

Muneuji: Zzz… zzz…

Ushio: (—No, I didn't wake him. Thank god he's a deep sleeper…)

Sigh… so? When is it? Where? What new merch will there be? Why is that info always released later? No, maybe just a little bit at a time is better for my heart…?

… Well, all I can do now is spam my priv.

(Though, if I had any fellow otaku to talk about it with…)

(No, most people aren't as into it as I am. And it'd be a pain for our relationship to sour from different interpretations.)

Phew… my throat's all dry from excitement. I'll go grab a drink.

Ushio: (…? The lights are still on. Is someone here?)

*fwip*

Sakujiro: Do this here, a little bit there, thread through like this, nfufufufu…

Ushio: (K-Karigane-san…? It looks like he's making costumes again, but his hands are moving so fast that the afterimages make him look like an Ashura*… that's so uncanny, I'll just slide on by…)

Sakujiro: Hm… I fear this fabric may be rather chilly when worn.

What do you think, Kurama-kun?

Ushio: Nyah!? You noticed so quickly… also, the fact you knew it was me without even looking gives me the creeps…

Sakujiro: It may not be exam season, but staying up without reason is poison for your body.

Ushio: …I was doing something important to me. Also, midnight doesn't count as "late".

Sakujiro: Excuse me then. Do forgive my needless concern.

Ushio: Well, I don't expect you to get it, so I'll just drop by the kitchen and head back to my room.

Sakujiro: Is that so? How about taking a breather here for a late-night change of pace? I was just thinking of having a small break myself.

Ushio: Sigh…

(I can't tell what this guy's intentions are, so I'd rather keep my distance… but, the costume he's making right now is…)

Um, is this… a character from that super famous TCG? "Malice of the Guardians**"… I think it was.

Sakujiro: Oh my, are you familiar with it?

Ushio: The popular rare cards go for so much that collectors started keeping them in safes… …or something like that, I think I might've seen it on SpiNet.

Sakujiro: Indeed. This is a cosplay of the "Crying Red Demon" that appears in MotG… a red demon with striking tears of blood.

Ushio: Huh… the resemblance is so good that even someone who doesn't know it that well like me could recognise it.

Sakujiro: Thank you. However, I fear I may have chosen fabric that's too thin.

Though I suppose it can't be helped, as I split the budget to accomodate the weapon.

Ushio: Wha… you made this weapon yourself too? It's a metal club, but this… isn't real metal, is it…?

Sakujiro: Oh! You can tell? Replicating the texture was my biggest fixation this time. Those who aren't familiar with cosplay tend to look only at the costume, but you—

Ushio: No… it just happened to catch my eye…

(Shit, I'll out myself as an otaku if I say too much…! I've gotta change the subject…)

Anyway, why are you making a costume like this? Has the subject come up with Hama Tours or something…?

Sakujiro: Not at all. This is something I'm creating for personal use.

Ushio: !

(Making a cosplay of a TCG character for personal use…? No way…)

Um… Karigane-san—

Sakujiro: Yes?

Ushio: Are you… an otaku…?

*Ashura are demons with multiple faces and arms

**"Malice of the Guardians" is the card game Yukikaze likes

Part 2

Ushio: Are you… an otaku…?

Sakujiro: Yes. I am indeed.

Ushio: Wh…!

(He's coming out with it so openly…!?)

(No, wait, calm down. It's possible he's a casual who's just acting like an otaku for fashion*…)

Sakujiro: I am… yes, I suppose you could say I'm an otaku for fashion.

Ushio: Huh.

Sakujiro: As you know, Kurama-kun, I make the stage costumes for the Hospitality Lives, but I also sew more practical items… the Young Master's suits, for example.

Anime and game cosplays, such as what I'm making now, are primarily requests from acquaintances. I'm an all-accepting all-rounder clothing otaku.

Ushio: Aah… so it's like that. You don't stan any particular work, you just like the act of making and wearing costumes itself… is what you're saying?

Sakujiro: Precisely.

Ushio: (An otaku's an otaku, but he's a different type to me… his enthusiasm's the real deal, though. You can tell just by looking at what he's making.)

(I only really saw him as a bizarre teacher who acts strange sometimes, but it's been fun hearing about a different kind of interest… I feel a little closer to him, maybe.)

…

Sakujiro: Do you not have much interest in this yourself, Kurama-kun?

Ushio: I mean, I wouldn't… say I don't…

Sakujiro: Hoho! Wouldn't you, now!!

Yes, in light of your reactions thus far, it is clear that you have great potential sleeping within you!

Ushio: Huh? What do you…

Sakujiro: Would you like to try making one? Wearing one, perhaps? Ah, since it's you, I found some costumes that would suit you perfectly when I was organising my cabinet the other day, but if there are any designs in particular you desire, then by all means, tell me every little detail and—

Ushio: H-hold on. Why is this the direction the conversation's going?

Sakujiro: No need to hold back. It's just right for a young person to be shameless.

Ushio: No, this is just what you want to do! I didn't get it until now, but you're the one behind those weird clothes Fuefuki-san sometimes wears, aren't you? Could you not treat me the same way?

Sakujiro: Oh my, I see… Well then, it's getting late, so on some other day…

Ushio: No, what exactly did that "I see" mean!? Maybe sew your eardrums up before sewing more clothes?

Agh~~~ damnit… You weren't kidding when you said staying up late is bad for you. Thanks for proving it, I'm going to bed now!!

*running*

Sakujiro: …Hm. He's missing out, leaving without even giving it a go.

Ushio: Haa, haa… what was with that strong pressure. Like I thought, there's something wrong with that guy… Though, the quality of his costumes is legit…

He was essentially asking what design I'd like, but I don't have any costumes I'd want to… ……

(…If I stayed, could I have gotten a costume of my oshi?)

He said he took requests from acquaintances… so then, a replication of my oshi—

—No, there isn't anyone to wear it in the first place. And I wouldn't be able to display it without revealing that I'm an otaku.

……

I don't think I've… missed out on anything at all…

*"ファッションオタク" (fashion otaku) refers to either "fake" otaku who only "act the part", or otaku who are into fashion

#some teacher-student bonding time for sakujiros birthday <3 #18tlip #18trip #18trip translation #ushio kurama #sakujiro karigane

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rosedere · 4 months ago

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The Liyue Lotus and the Merchant from Snezhnaya

(Pantalone x Fem! Reader)

MDNI +18

Cw: kidnapping, Stalking, non con elements, Graphic violence (later chapters), Yandere content *will update as the series goes

Cross posted on AO3

Part 1 , Part 2, Part 3 , Part 4, Chapter 5. Communication lost in the mountains, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, Part 9, Part 10~

Synopsis: Unfortunately, The Regerator develops a fixation with you while you are working undercover for Yelan. And there’s no one who can get in his way of his prized Lotus.

The parts of me buried underneath

They're glowing, do you see?

I know that you feel me now

No I'm never going down

You didn't hear from Yelan again.

…

It was total static from everyone.

A few weeks into your stay in your pagoda tower was when you had any sort of noteworthy event. Basking in the pouring sunlight from the opening of the balcony from the canopy bed, you only realized you were drifting off to sleep when the soft footsteps from the hallway began to grow louder in volume.

“Lián”

You felt something paper-textured land on your bloated stomach.

Eyes still closed in annoyance, you lifted your arm to shoo Galina away.

“Its from Your beloved~” she added as she sat besides you, pulling away at the curtain to allow more light in.

You only stayed silent, trying to relax into the cool silk pillow you were currently resting on.

“Lián, you've been sleeping a lot lately.”

Galina sighed, holding the back of her hand to your forehead. “Hopefully you didn't catch a cold when you went swimming,” she muttered to herself as she leaned back onto the bed, laying near your feet.

“Fine— let me see.”

Unfurling yourself from the confines of the sheets, you sat up to see a medium-sized box now toppled over onto your side of the bed.

The wrapping on the package was an intricate iridescent blue and white tissue paper encasing the box, topped with a small paper lily.

Carefully unwrapping the top of the bow, the rest of the package fell apart, revealing the contents inside the dark blue box. You reached for the envelope before observing the contents of the delicately wrapped items; the letter was a familiar Snezhnaya envelope you had handled in the past during missions.Delicate as you opened the envelope with your name written on it with a golden fountain dip pen, Piercing the letter with your sharpest nail.

The parchment was cold to the touch, several pages from first glance.

“So what is it, my lady?" Galina perched her hand under her chin.

"Unfortunately, I don't read as fast as Pantalone”

“Lián,

I have finally made it to Snezhnaya. By the time this letter should reach you, I'd have been here already for several weeks.

Thankfully, the… unfriendly gathering has ended sooner than I anticipated. I am currently catching up on certain duties I neglected before I came home.

In the meantime, until I have a certain day of arrival, I sent you some items that reminded me of you, hopefully reaching you along with this letter.

Every day I've been thinking about you, Lián; hopefully Galina and Fedor have been treating you well in my absence. I can't resist letting my mind wander to our first night together.

I can't wait until we are united again so we can share a few more nights like that one, my rooted lotus.

I have more to say and share with you about Snezhnaya, but I have been alerted to some issues involving one of my underlings that I must take care of, so I will leave the rest to your imagination until we both can come together.

The Regerator

You looked over at the gently wrapped items stacked neatly in a pile.

“Hmm, so it appears he could arrive any day now,” Galina mindlessly replied, now propped up on one of the smaller pillows on the bed.

“Any day? How did you get that from the letter?” you asked.

“I just know him; last time he said that he returned a week later,” she turned lying in the bed.

"Hey, did he also leave an extra envelope in there by any chance?”

You carefully laid the blue ink letter on the bedspread as you pulled the items out of the box; some you could immediately guess were clothes, while others felt like they were wrapped in a sturdy paper box.

Thinking that was it, two envelopes slipped out from the bottom.

One was on dark sapphire blue paper, and the other was a dusty violet color.

“Oh! That's it,” she reached over energetically for the dusty violet color before pocketing the other one in her hood pocket.

A smile graced her face as she eagerly opened the letter.

Humming as she read her letter, you noticed the back of the letter had a photograph of something—a few pictures from the thickness you could tell from the shape.

You didn't want to pry, so you returned your attention to the items strewn about now on the bed.

Reaching for a small rectangular one carelessly thrown on top of the several items now forming a small mountain, a silver ink print was on top as you further inspected the gift.

“To moma”

You were about to speak up, but Galina read your mind, grabbing a hold of the box in your hand.

"Sorry, my lady, you had to grab that~ hehe He must have packed them altogether,” she bashfully apologized.

“Ah no, its on me; I shouldn't have just assumed it was mine,” you smiled back at her, watching her handle the gift.

The photos on the back of the letter are now laying facing up on top of the letter as she unwrapped the gift eagerly.

You watched as she pulled the expensive wrapping off, again her mask concealing her face, but you could tell her mood instantly lightened as she held the now unwrapped gift.

“Is that?”

Galina nodded, holding the small statue.

You knew it was an ice creation—some vision holders becoming sculptors using their vision to create material.

But the place that was sculpted was somewhere you had never seen before.

The tall dome-like roofs and a small miniature garden with a snowy lake in front of the palace-like place.

The amount of detail was truly inspiring.

“My daughter... finally got a vision while I was away." Galina smiled, holding the small miniature in her gloved hand.

"She had desperately wanted to become one so she could serve the Tsaritsa”

She held the minature to her chest.

“I miss her so much.”

Galina's finger traced around the little pond that was sculpted into the side of the castle.

“The last time I saw her was when she was only a small toddler, barely able to stand,” she chuckled to herself.

Rolling on her stomach, she placed the minature on the wrapping, looking closer at it from behind.

“She told me in her letter that she will try to become an ice maiden under the tsaritsa as soon as her birthday comes next month.”

She glanced back up at you.

“ah— this might be a bit boring to you, my lady; I apologize once more.”

“No, it's alright, it's just-”

This is going to be awkward…

“Are you really a mother?” You blurted.

Startled by your blunt tone, you covered your mouth as you searched for any amount of offense in your words on her face.

Galina smiled mischievously at you before she rewrapped the small sculpture.

“Three”

“Including my younger sisters, so...”

Ten

Your eyes widen in surprise,thanking your hand for covering your mouth, as it was probably hanging down in shock.

“Its a long story, but im all they have; its why im here with Fedor,” she sighed, reaching for the photographs.

She grabbed the last photo from the back, placing it on your covered lap.

The photo showed three girls in some sort of igloo in the wilderness; the oldest sitting on the left of the embankment looked to be at least sixteen—a young teen—while the other two sitting in the poorly constructed igloo looked to be no older than six.

Galina placed a finger on the oldest one.

“That one is my Victoria,” she pointed to the girl. “She looks more like her… father than I, but she is such a sweet girl.”

She then pointed to the two girls inside the igloo.

“These two are my twins, Brki and Ivanna.”

You looked closer inside the igloo to see the two smiling girls more in detail; their eyes, hair, and body structure were identical.

“I was so lucky to have them; I'm sure they're probably impatiently waiting for my return again,” she smiled, looking back down at the picture.

You watched her fondly touch the small photograph of her children; absorbed in her world that was depicted in the photo.

“I certainly hope I'm not overstepping since... "I'm not a mother and all.” You looked down at your hands before you laid on your side, facing Galina on the bed.

“Why don't you work closer to Snezhnaya instead of being so far from them?”

“If I had my babies somewhere in a region all by themselves, I'd probably lose sleep knowing I was doing such a dangerous job.”

Galina's smile softened as she carefully laid the photo next to the minature.

“I would if I could, Lián.”

“I thought this might have been the trip my Lord Pantalone would have offered to take me and Fedor along back home,” she exhaled.

“But I guess I signed up a week too late to stay; now I work for the Regerator.”

She tucked the letter and photographs inside the wrappings.

“I guess better this way; I'd probably be dead if I worked for the home harbingers like Il Dottore or Coloumbina…” she chuckled half-heartedly. "Ah, you haven't met them yet, but they certainly... are strange,” she smiled to herself.

You smiled back at Galina as she tucked her gifts in her opposite coat pocket.

“I must write my babies a letter before the day ends,” she stretched out onto your bed.

“Hey—can I see what your beloved brought for you this time?”

“Please~” she asked, propping her head up with her hands.

“Sounds fair to me since you shared what you were sent in the mail,” you sluggishly moved back up in a sitting position.

Checking to make sure nothing else was mixed up.

You grabbed the top item; wrapped in a very sturdy tissue-like paper. Gingerly pulled the ribbon on top, making the whole wrapping come off.

“Oh wow, miss Lián! Its so beautiful,” her eyes lit up.

“Err.. but what is it?” You tilted your head.

The sheer cloth was so long that you had to keep unrolling the dark sapphire material at least 30 times until you could observe the full tapestry of cloth.

A white-tinsel lotus design ebbed all around the sheer fabric, reaching the ends of the ground. The horizontals had a very expensive tassel and metal accessories hanging low on the bottom all the way to the top.

"Ah, Miss Lián, that's a...”

Galina stroked her chin in thought for a moment.

“Oh! I remember the Liyue word for it… A veil”

“Like for….” You swallowed thickly. “A bride?”

“Oh no, at least not in our culture it isnt— women of high status wear them to mimic the Tsaritsa's own veil to shield her innocence,” Galina pointed at the fabric.

“If I wasn't so lazy, I'd show you right now how it's worn, but I have a feeling I might know what at least two of the other packages entail.” She glanced over towards the uneven mountain of gifts.

“It certainly is beautiful, but I don't know if I'll be able to wear it in our humid climate,” you sighed.

“You can always weave it into your hair like some of the previous Harbingers and some Harbinger spouses do,” she smiled. "But, to be honest with you, I think he mostly got it for you to wear as a shawl like the ones you adore so much.” Galina lowered her voice.

Letting curiosity get the best of you, the decision to wear the veil was all your brain was telling you to do as you carefully slid out of bed, standing on bare feet as you wrapped the fabric around your gown.

“So it just goes over me?” You questioned now standing next to the long fabric.

"Yup,” Galina quickly responded, looking over at you.

You began to unwrap the veil, opening it up like a bedsheet before placing it on top of your messy hair.

Dropping the veil to the ground, it laid around your feet gracefully, catching the light from outside as you twirled underneath the long fabric.

“Its beautiful.” You touched the inside of the veil, really feeling the soft netted material.

"Oh, but wait until you see the second piece that goes with it,” she chuckled, her belly crawling towards the mountain of presents laying where you had previously disturbed.

She began sorting through the gifts before she settled on the largest one, nestled underneath a few other items.

“Here, try this one.”

You approached with the veil still over your head, grabbing the package, now intrigued.“Id offer to unwrap it for you, my lady, but Id rather not get caught by Fedor,” she scratched the back of her head.

“If you want to, you can,” you held the gift back towards her. “You can be my assistant,” Your veil unintentionally jingled as you held it out to her.

Galina nodded before opening the carefully wrapped present for you.

She went quickly to work as she unwrapped the tightly bound package.

Another heavy-looking garment tightly folded; the white fur was mostly what you identified until you looked closer, realizing it was another long item of fabric.

“This part I'll let you unwrap,” she handed the item to you.

unfolding the very tightly packed item, watching a cascade of snow whites and icy blues sparkle and twinkle back at you.

The top silmy mantle around the collar reminds you of an artic fox; the fur is a second layer underneath the thick peacoat material; the tulle layer underneath acting like a long dress as it also pooled and complimented the robe part of the long splits that rain besides the ribs of the coat.

"Normally, women in snezhnaya also wear a layered robe underneath this coat, just like the Tsaritsa” Galina pointed to the sleeves.

“Im surprised why he bought you these specifically since normally that particular outfit is worn for special occasions.”

“special meaning?” You trailed.

“Like an engagement or being pinned as a harbinger is the one I can think of at the top of my head,” she flicked her eyes towards the wardrobe on the opposite side of the room.

“I would show you Pantalone's, but it seems he took his winter formal coat on business with him,” she looked back at the coat still in your hand.

“He has one identical to that one, but it seems he custom ordered it while he was over there,” Galina sighed, “which is something not anyone is honored to receive from Snezhnayans.”

Astonished, you took a step back as you looked closer at the coat. You realized initially that what seemed to be sleeves was actually more of a split poncho with a lack of a better term. Deciding to try it as well, you opened the front of the insulated coat. The soft mink feeling inside was very warm, and of course it had the quality of something you have never been blessed to wear.

“It's kind of heavy.” You walked towards the end of the ornate gateway leading to the bedroom door, the crystal material catching more light than your veil.

“They certainly are; the more layers, the better, my lady,” Galina watched as you carefully walked back towards the bed.

Sighing, you sat on the edge of the bed before lying back on the bed.

“My lady? Are you okay?” Galina sat up, sitting besides you, where the material cascaded down the tall bed.

“Just a bit winded—I think I just haven't been sleeping well,” you murmured before removing your arms from the sleeves. “I'll be alright once I close my eyes for a moment,” you replied, burying your face into the covers.

“Ah— but do you want to unwrap the rest of your gifts first? It seems there are about four more.” Galina began to neatly stack the few items left on the bed.

“Maybe later—” you yawned.

“My lady, at least let me take your jacket off of you.” Galina fussed as she began to carefully lift you up.

“My lord would kill me if he found out I let you roll around in them,” she began to carefully begin the process of undressing and disasembling your outfit.

“Galina? Are you in here?” Fedor's voice boomed from the walkway outside.

Your cheery guard looked towards the balcony outside; the pyro energy radiating around where Fedor had teleported.

"Ah, one moment—Im undressing our lords, beloved,” she finished unrolling the veil into a neat square on the bed.

“This is an urgent matter, my comrade; a crane has been spotted.”

Galina froze before dropping the fabric on the bed.

She quickly removed your long jacket and laid it on top of the bed, where the items were stacked, before she laid you back into one of the larger pillows on your bed.

“I'm sorry, my lady; I'll dress you properly later.”

“Please stay in your bedroom and do not open any doors until we arrive,” Galina calmly told you.

Your eyes, however, were already closing as you heard Galina and Fedor hurry out of the room before they closed the gate to the balcony.

Silence except for the occasional bird call or sway of wind passing through the bedroom.

As much as your body was dragging you down, however, you knew you had to continue your real mission.

Especially since Pantalone was already getting ready to come back.

Pulling yourself up, you looked around the room you had become accustomed to for the several days you lived here.

Unfortunately, you didn't find much in his various drawers, desks, and vases of scrolls; seemingly, he took everything with him on his business in the ever-frozen wasteland.

Walking over to the bedroom door unshockingly, it was very obviously locked from the outside.

No way out

Leaning against the door, you lazily looked over towards the bathroom.

On one of these absentee days at Pantalones Estate, you were tasked with washing yourself while Galina stepped away to figure out where the smoke in the lower kitchen was from.

You would have started by yourself drying your body off, but you noticed only a few washcloths left.

Sighing to yourself as you sat on the edge of the stone ledge that formed the natural tub, you felt one that was… out of place.

Not in appearance, but the large section of stone was loose.

Assuming it was just a loose stone, you pulled at the slate. A rumble occurred, and a wall was revealed below your feet.

A passage.

You carefully lowered yourself into the earthy passage, leaving barely enough room for one person to squeeze through. Wherever you landed, you were extremely unsure as you reached the end of your descent. The walls were tall; you could feel a draft, but there was no light at all in the room. You cursed yourself for not having a pyro vision as you felt and touched everything until you ran your hands on a switch, the handle protruding in front of you.

Pulling it revealed a network.

Tunnels.

Each leading deeper into the mountain.

Only before you were about to decide which mossy-covered entrance to take, you were alerted by Galina's sing song voice from above.

Today was going to be different.

Grabbing a large stick that was lying in one of the various vases in the restroom, you began your descent once more.

Climbing down, you noticed the lights had been turned off once more. Doing the same as you did the first time you felt up against the natural wall of the cave before you hit the switch from the walls.

The light turning on revealed a much more disturbing scene from the last time you were down.

Dried blood.

Everywhere.

The rusty smell disguises itself under the moist and earthy scent of the cave.

It seemed something got attacked down here.

You carefully tread with bare feet on the earthy stone around the scene before you.

Most of the blood was concentrated in the middle of the cavernous area before a trail led to the utmost left cavern.

Maneuvering quietly, you thanked the archons. Your nausea was at bay for the first time all day, or you'd have surely vomited in the humid cavern.

Thankfully, it seemed the switch's power extended to the cavern, really illuminating the long trail as whoever or whatever carried itself this way.

Finally reaching the back of the long cavern, you found nothing.

Literally, not even a trail of blood remained in the area. no corpse or sign of the person left.

The iron bars surrounded the area.

A makeshift prison.

Chilled, you kept your investigation mode on, examining every rock and iron bar.

But nothing came of the cavern.

Or the one next to it.

It wasn't until you wandered to the last worn path that you heard the familiar breeze of the mountain create a draft as you walked further inside.

Eventually, you took a windy path before the natural sunlight of the sky poured into the passage.

Practically running, you raced towards the opening of the cave. cautiously approaching the edge of the cave, listening for any suspicious sounds. Cursing yourself for the lack of elemental energy, you armed yourself with the stick before you stepped one foot out.

Entering the sunlight by yourself was a right you took for granted.

Overwhelmed by the familiar image of the mountain ranges and various wooden bridges in the distance, you knew.

"It finally took you long enough.”

At first, you thought an annoying mirage had formed above you. Craning your neck up with your stick, you pointed up at your possible threat.

Her mauve lips only upturned in an amused smile as she giggled behind her hands.

“I knew it was bad, but not this bad; my last subordinate would threaten me with a stick." She brushed her hair behind her ear from her spot on the tall tree branch above.

Patting on the tall branch as an invitation for you to come join her only made you scowl in response.

"Fine, stay down there, but those two annoyances are going to spot you and blow your cover.” Yelan pointed to the downward natural path beside you.

Lunging with your stick, you reached the tree branch with no hesitation, perching in a squat beside Yelan.

“Why are you here?” You asked, crossing your arms.

“Same reason you're here." She stretched her arms above her head briefly.

“I wanted to see if you took the Regerator down or if that blood was from you,” she quietly laughed.

“So you're saying the blood wasn't from you murdering all of the fatui down there?” You rolled your eyes.

“Not yet,” she smiled as she poked your nose.

Flicking her hand in retaliation, you both paused as you looked down the mountain path.

Eventually the laugh slipped from your mouth, leading Yelan to follow in your footsteps. Her infectious laugh a comforting sound, reminding you of the time before being undercover.

when you and Yelan were just subordinates.

“So I'm going to assume then you don't know what occurred down there either.”

You nodded, only shrugging.

“I can't be a useful source since when I first stumbled upon the passage leading to that makeshift prison, I couldn't wander further inside, but I do recall no blood was in there yet.”

“It may be a good sign." Yelan interjected, “The passage you just came out of was manmade,” her finger pointed at the jagged edges the entrance had, “the prisoner escaped down the cliff to down the mountain.”

“They must have had a vision,” you deduced as you looked down the misty mountain range below.

It was Yelan's turn to nod in silent acknowledgement.

“Hang on, how did you find this place? I don't even know where I am,” you exclaimed.

Yelan only raised a perfect brow.

“Im not kidding, I snuck into the prison from the bathroom in Pantalones master bedroom looking for an escape.”

Yelan looked back at the cavern opening once more in thought.

“We found Dan, but he was dead at the base of this mountain, concealed in the amber." Yelan shrugged before looking down at the base of the mountain.

“I decided to scout the area to see if any activity would occur when I found camps of fatui surrounding this entire mountain.”

You leaned in, listening intently with interest as Yelan looked cautiously around.

“Following a few of them led me to halfway to the mountain before I was somehow spotted, and now I'm here,” she pursed her lip.

“So what's the next step? I haven't gotten any word from inside the Fatui about what's going on or if they're involved as well,” you murmured. “Im essentially being watched everywhere I go inside his residence,” scratching your wrist out of nerves.

“Your my Fatui informant; despite what it seems like, you have a lot of value out of everyone right now,” Yelan placed a firm hand on your shoulder. “Trust me, I'll treat you to the best Liyue beer in the harbor once we catch The Regerator,” Yelan smiled.

“For now, you need to keep gaining all of their trust, no matter what it is, until you have definitive evidence and a plan. We can avenge our fallen and bring Pantalone to justice,” she passionately assured you.

For a moment, it grew silent. The mountains natural sound being amplified around the both of you.

“I have to head back, Yelan," you said as you stood up on top of the tall limb.

“As do I as well; I'm sure they assumed I slid all the way down the mountain by now at this point.”

You both laughed, Yelan rising to her feet as well, both being at eye level.

“Since I know now where you are, we can both converge higher up from here near the amber on the next waning moon this month,” she said, pointing at a small landing above the manmade mountain.

“Sounds good to me.”

“Until then, (name)”

Note: Bad news and Good news:

Bad news: Im apart of the Boycotting Hoyo which means besides not playing the game and review bombing I will not be continuing this story until Hoyo stops pretending dark skin tones dont exists :D I will not argue about it as im firm on my stance and I hope everyone respects my choice and hopefully I can continue my genshin/and honkai stories once more as I really love the characters and such!

Good news: I wont be a complete asshole and since I have the rest of the 6 chapters written I will begin editing and posting those but I will not update anymore after the six one has been posted!

Again im sad I have to say all of this but I was already angry at genshin because of sumeru and then for them to do the same thing again to a group that already get talked over and their concerns and issues ignored makes me dislike them even more...

Petition + Review bomb tf out of the games on the app store btw

#yandere pantalone #yandere genshin x reader #Yandere pantalone x reader #reader insert #yandere x you #yandere content #genshin x reader

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