#its easier to just trust the mouth of god than to inspect his actions

[whatlurksbean]

If Minke was still Alive would she support Thresher during his rule considering the things he did?

I don’t think she would’ve taken a close enough look at his actions to properly judge him. I think she knew he had a hatred ofthe daisys, and that he would defend himself at any cost, but I don’t think she’d ever really be aware of his evil.

if she were to witness what he did to ladybug, she’d be horrified. But im sure anyway thresher would tell his actions to her would make him seem justified.

[theotheroccassionalfanficwriter]

Heyhey! I think the cryo archon chlde one. Sorry for not being specific. Thank you

It's okay anon! No problem! This one has no smut and more murder couple and politics. I had fun writing this, thinking about how could you get kidnapped under lock and key and realized that it could only happen if it was allowed to so ta-da!

CW: descriptions of cruelty and gore.

The curse words, in order, are: bitch and whore

--

In a Quiet Lagoon, Devils Dwell

Summary: It was easy to forget that there was more to the Cryo Archon's face than a besotted husband and loving father. It was easier to forget that the beloved Tsaritsa was a dutiful Harbinger.

For all of Tartaglia’s meticulousness, he was not infallible as his worshippers made him to be. You knew that there were times he could be blindsided by things he didn’t take into consideration. As his wife, you took it upon yourself to ensure to cover for his blind spots, both in the battlefield and in running Snezhnaya. It required meticulous planning from both him and yourself, to ensure that the work would not interfere with your family’s life.

Tartaglia and his harbingers dealt with Snezhnaya’s foreign relations and problems. You dealt with the domestic problems; spies and dissidents that partnered with the Abyss Order, the occasional gods that wanted to dethrone Tartaglia, and on very rare occasions, traitors.

You cocked your head as you observed the room you were held in. Fine furnishings and lavish interior designs that were popular among the upper middle nobility of Snezhnaya. You were glad that your beloved son was with Tartaglia since it meant that you’d be able to get information out of this.

‘Well, at least before this reaches his ears’ You thought as you dreaded the bloodbath that would await you once this was over.

You stood up from the bed, gauging your current strength and frowning at the visible after effects of the drug.

“How troublesome”

You couldn’t locate your vision at your person, you applauded your captors for being thorough in that regard but pitied them for their worthless effort. You wobbled as you slowly walked around the room, inspecting the decors and checking out the windows. The door was locked with magic, you could tell with a cursory glance that the magic was intricate and would result into a backlash if opened with brute force.

‘Smart’ you praised them.

You moved to the windows and found the same magic. You sighed at the minor inconvenience this put you through. You could only forlornly stare at the white expanse of snow that was outside your window. The scenery was familiar to your eyes but its name eluded you.

‘And I wanted to welcome him when he returned.’

You sighed once more. Hoping that your captors would show themselves soon, you wouldn’t want to waste an opportunity to do some spring cleaning after all.

--

The moment Tartaglia returned to Zapolyarny Palace, the entire capital of Snezhnaya had drowned in his frosty wrath. He barely restrained himself from plunging the entire nation into frost, the thought of his darling son fearing him had kept him mostly sane. Pulcinella had taken his son away from the crime scene, a wise choice for the Harbinger if he wanted to keep on breathing.

Tartaglia could tell that the guards and maids stationed in your wing were all shaking. He spared no thought for them, postponing their inevitable demise for the kidnapping of his beloved wife.

“Your majesty” Dottore called from behind him.

Tartaglia kept on investigating the crime scene, scouring every detail so as to not miss any possible leads.

“The maids and guards have been questioned” Dottore reported, steeling himself to the cold hard stare of his Archon. Being subjected to it was suffocating, and he wondered how you could maintain eye contact with the Tsar when he was like this.

“I trust that you’ve brought me good news?”

The calmer Tartaglia was, the more pressure Dottore felt. His archon was fickle at best and volatile at worst. Most myths that surrounded him were almost never far from the truth and Dottore had no want nor need to be used as an example.

“Almost” He answered, “While we’ve yet to determine who is behind this attack we’ve narrowed down the list from the means used and there is ample reason to believe that the Tsaritsa has not been harmed.”

The silence was deafening. Dottore couldn’t wait to get out of Tartaglia’s warpath, seclude himself in his lab and experiment on the fools who had let this happen.

“Throw everyone stationed in this wing in the dungeons. Zapolyarny Palace will be in lock down” Tartaglia ordered as he moved out of your marital room and headed towards his former wing.

Dottore hastened to follow from behind, awaiting further orders now that the Tsar had made his move.

“Bring back everyone who entered and left the Palace. Those foolish nobles must have forgotten their place.”

For all of Tartaglia’s genial smiles and affable personality, it shouldn’t be forgotten that he was a man born to fight. One of the three archons from the original seven. A god who could stand toe to toe in the battlefield with Morax.

“As you command!” Dottore replied, face grim and yet he could not hide the excitement in his eyes. He had heard rumors, stories about the days when the entirety of the Snezhnayan ancient noble houses were almost culled in a blood bath.

There was no clear reason on why it had happened and no one dared to ask. But the one detail that remains in every iteration of the story was that the blood from those nobles were the reason for the odd patterns on the low parts of the wall of old establishments within the capital. Patterns that oddly resembled blood stains when seen from a certain angle.

--

You hummed as you saw the snow storm picking up from outside, a visible sign that Tartaglia had already learned your disappearance. You remained at your position by the window, back turned to the door as you listened to the rushing footsteps that were getting closer.

‘I do hope they can amuse me’ You thought just as the doors banged open behind you.

“How did you contact the Tsar?!”

‘Oh~ so it was them?’ You thought with mild amusement, you didn’t bother turning around to greet them.

“Is that the proper tone to use when speaking to your Tsaritsa?” You mocked them, eyes watching their angry face from the window’s reflection.

Behind you was the Count Potemkin, current head of the ancient noble House of Potemkin. Standing beside him was one of your former fiancé candidates, the heir apparent, Matvei.

“Answer me, you disgusting Сука!” Potemkin cursed making his way towards you.

You slowly turned around, a smile on your face just as he reached out to grab you. Before he could even breach your personal space his hand was pierced by ice protruding from the ground. He screamed in agony, clutching his arms as he squealed like a pig.

“Gosh, would you lower your voice? It’s unbecoming for such an ancient bloodline to act like an animal” You chastised as you took a step back and observed the damage.

“Ah, what a shame, I didn’t break your wrist at all” You commented as if you had not precisely calculated to pierce his hand through the most excruciating way.

“You Блять! Let my father go!” Matvei cursed as he struggled on his restraint “You’re no match for our family’s knights!”

You blinked at his words, tilting your head to the side, as if considering his words. He smirked on seeing your action, “That’s right! Even if you’re a harbinger you’re still just one person!”

“Would you stop squealing like a pig? It’s been minutes now, you should have gotten used to the pain!” You turned around to shut Count Potemkin’s mouth. Ice formed on his mouth, starting from the tongue and making its way outwards.

“Ah~ That’s better!” You ignored the pale looks from the father and son, “If you behave, I might just let you keep your mouth but if your son keeps on pissing me off…”

You trailed off, maintaining eye contact with the Count. Your eyes were filled with malice and sadism, “My hand will slip and blow your brains out~”

You smiled, sweet and disgustingly vile as you made your way to the couch and sat in it. The snow storm outside had turned stronger, hail fell through the skies, mixing with the rapidly falling snow. Just from that alone, you could tell that your time to wring out information from them was running out.

“What reason did you have to attempt something as stupid as this?” You asked as you formed ice shards that floated on top your fingertips.

Matvei remained silent.

“Not talking anymore?” Every move of your body was designed to mock them, a display of power that showed how easy it was for you to trample upon them, “I just remembered, the Count was raising his precious daughter outside wasn’t he? A pretty blonde child with green eyes…”

Matvei flinched and stared at you in horror, dread pooling in the pits of his stomach as you spoke,

“Inessa Yakova Potemkin” You laughed softly, “No wonder the Countess died of anger, her dear stupid husband had acknowledge his bastard child, sent her to the palace to be a handmaiden.”

“Imagine what kind of face the Tsar would make if he knew how the Potemkin family insulted me by sending an illegitimate child as a handmaiden” Your ice changed its shape into a dagger, “Even if House Potemkin is an ancient bloodline, it doesn’t erase that your house is lower than my duchal household.”

Matvei screamed in pain as your dagger cleanly sliced off his left ear. You smiled at them coldly, “Start speaking, you should know by now that any resistance would only lead to a painful death...I can’t guarantee your darling sister would be spared from it either.”

In another life, you wouldn’t threaten another’s family. You would have shown mercy but this wasn’t that life. You were the Tsar’s wife, a Harbinger, and most of all the child of Snezhnaya’s strongest ducal house. A slight against you was a slight against everything you stood for.

“Time’s running” You reminded Matvei.

“We couldn’t let you threaten the Tsar’s power! You’re Lord Pulcinella’s niece, a child of House Yusupov. We needed to remove you from the seat of power, at first we planned to get rid of your child but all of our attempts were foiled.”

Another dagger found its way to his thigh. He screamed in pain, wet stain growing on his crotch and you clicked your tongue in disdain.

“Please that’s all we know!”

This time blood spurted out from his father’s left shoulder, some of it landing on you, some on the table in front of you. You didn’t flinch, merely wiping the blood that landed on your face with your gloved hand.

“Father!”

“Let’s do this again, shall we?” You smiled.

“I-I really don’t-”

Spikes of ice burst out from his right thigh.

“Duke Izmaylov! It was him who planned all of this! Duchess Tolstoy funded the operations! Please spare me!”

“How disappointing” You sighed as you made his father’s eyes burst.

You sneered in disgust as Matvei vomited on the marble tiles in front of him. You looked up as you heard heavy footsteps and the sounds of scream echoing beyond the open doors. Moments later, Tartaglia was visibly walking towards you from the other end of the hallway.

“Ah. Time’s up.”

You stood up from the couch and made your way towards your husband, the Tsar, Tartaglia. His cold eyes melted and looked upon you with relief, his hands patted your body, looking for non-existent injuries. You let him do as he pleased, both of you ignoring the dying count and the vomiting Matvei.

“I came as fast as I could” Tartaglia burrowed his face on your neck, ignoring the discomfort from the height difference between the two of you “I thought I’ve lost you.”

You felt your heart ache at his tone, your arms automatically hugging him in comfort, laying a soft kiss to his cheek as you spoke, “I’ll make sure that will never happen.”

You signaled the Fatui waiting behind him to start rounding up the two.

“We’ll have to clean up Two ducal households and five Countdoms” You reported as you gently and comfortably let Ajax’ hand settle on your waist as he led you out of the mansion.

“I’ll handle that. You should take a rest with Teucer, our son was worried today.” Ajax replied as softly as he could but the tenseness had yet to fade away.

You leaned further into his embrace, “Mhm. By the way, the insider was Inessa, you should get rid of all the staff that had a relationship with her. It wouldn’t do if one of her lovers got the idea to avenge her.”

“As you wish.”

--

Three months later the public bore witness to a new cruelty of the Cryo Archon. At Krasnaya Square, a stage was set up, in it were the shackled and chained members of several noble households. Some from the ancient noble houses, and the others from the new nobles.

Tartaglia had intentionally spread the news of your capture and subsequent rescue. He wanted to make a show of power, one you approved of, if only to ensure that his plans for world domination and eventual downfall of Celestia would run smoothly.

Teucer, your 5 yr old son, sat on your lap watching the proceedings from the balcony area. The two of you were surrounded by Fatui guards, new ones. The entire area was secured and security was tight, there was no way a rescue for the condemned would occur.

Tartaglia had made sure of that.

“Close your eyes, dearest” You whispered to your son’s ears.

From below, all of the traitors had blood bursting out of their heads, spikes protruding from the inside of their brains as Pulcinella finished declaring their crimes and their sentence. You hummed a soft tune as Teucer asked, “Mamochka, can I open my eyes now?”

“Not yet dearest, not until Papa comes back.”

You gazed down at the crowd, watching as they rejoiced at the culling before your eyes were drawn at the corner. You smiled at the familiar blonde hair of Inessa, your eyes merciless as she stared at you with hatred.

'Ah, how she must have looked like once she realize all of it was a sham~'

You waved at the crowd from the balcony, pleased that the nobles would now learn to step back in line. You felt your husband’s stare and gave him a loving look.

“Mamochka?”

You sighed in fond exasperation, you figured that he could look now that the bodies were being carted away, “You can open them now, give Papa and the rest a good wave okay?”

Teucer did as you said, more cheers erupting from the crowd upon seeing their beloved Tsarevich waving at them. From his position below, Ajax smiled warmly at the sight of his family being safe and sound. The sun shined brightly in Snezhnaya’s eternal winter.

An auspicious sign from their Cryo Archon.

[kentuckywrites]

You And I, We Are Matter, And It Matters

Part 3 to And I Will Proclaim The End. Shulk encounters Malos and Pneuma, who promise to restore Alvis and his world - a world without gods. 

It didn’t take long for Shulk to realize that his Monado was weaker than before. The light in its warped cyan blade had faded, though there was still power in every swing he took. In the heat of the battle Shulk could only harbor a guess that Alvis was somehow weakening it himself, whether through his manipulation of ether or through other means. 

What surprised him considerably more was how tired his party had become. Reyn had darted in front of Shulk to block Alvis’s attack, and in seconds he was tossed to the side like a ragdoll. Reyn’s strength was always something to behold, but now Shulk realized it was failing him, and not because Reyn was giving up. In the bit of reprieve Alvis gave them as he turned his attention towards Dunban, Reyn sat himself up, gritting his teeth, forcing himself to stand by pushing down on the weight of his scrap driver. Shulk could see the fire in Reyn’s eyes even from a distance, a rage that was fueled by the need to succeed, to push his friends to victory. 

A sudden pulse of ether erupted into Reyn’s side, and Shulk almost panicked thinking it was an attack from Alvis. But Reyn began to right himself, and Shulk saw Sharla with her ether rifle not far behind him. She was usually composed, level headed despite the constant chaos of battle. But her hair was disheveled, her gaze unfocused. She’d been tossed around already, and she wasn’t going to hold out for much longer. Even with her healing bullets, the clouds of ether that patched up their wounds, ether couldn’t erase their fatigue.

As Shulk regained his bearings, he saw Dunban, who had locked blades with Alvis. Alvis’s piercing smile, so reminiscent of the god they’d defeated mere minutes beforehand, clearly unnerved the Monado’s former wielder. Dunban was pushed back with ease, quickly dodging Meyneth’s Monado as it swung over his head, grazing his hair. A blast of fire ether shot out from behind him, cast from Melia’s staff. She looked battered, almost hiding behind Dunban as if he were her shield. 

And then there was Fiora, dashing around Alvis with an uncanny speed. To Shulk’s surprise Riki was on her back, and the two quickly coordinated an attack from behind. Fiora leapt into the air, the empty chest piece that had housed Meyneth’s spirit igniting in a show of red lights. Riki jumped off of her as she worked to absorb Alvis’s ether, forming a large chunk of ice that he propelled at Alvis’s shoulder. Alvis grunted, taking the impact of Fiora, Melia, and Riki’s attacks, but it was hard to tell if they were effective. His grin, demented, almost masochistic, suddenly turned towards Shulk.

“So you’ve realized the nature of your Monado,” Alvis cooed, “It holds no power unless I will it to be. This was a power Zanza could not wield, but it was a power Zanza had befriended.”

“But that’s Shulk’s Monado,” Fiora landed, one knee on the ground and a hand in front to help her balance, “Shulk’s the one powering it, isn’t he?”

“Fiora’s right!” Shulk pointed his Monado at Alvis, the light of the blade swirling around his fingertips, “This sword was created with my own will - it’s not just powered by me, but by my friends!”

Alvis chuckled. “Every Monado in existence has a physical source. Your will does not constitute that - I do.”

Another round of laughter echoed from Alvis’s mouth as Shulk’s eyes widened. He wasn’t sure what exactly Alvis meant, but he knew now that his earlier theory was correct. Alvis was tampering with his Monado’s power. Shulk felt his anger boiling deep in his heart, his frustration that fate had escaped his grasp again, that despite everything Zanza was still finding ways to stay two steps ahead.

He was about to charge forward when a hand clamped down on his shoulder. Sharla and Reyn were standing behind him, and though Shulk didn’t turn, he could hear from Sharla’s voice that she was tired.

“Shulk, we need to think about this. Charging in without a plan isn’t smart, especially now.”

“Then what do you suggest?” Shulk didn’t mean to sound snappy, but his frustrations had boiled up from his soul and made itself known through his voice.

“He’s bound ta be gettin’ tired after all our attacks,” Reyn suggested, “He’ll be lettin’ his guard down, so we can find a place ta strike, a weak point o’ some kind.”

“I’m not sure he’s got a weak point,” Shulk said, “And I’m not even sure if he’s tired. He’s...he’s not Alvis, right now. He’s something Zanza - a god - created.”

“But he’s not a god himself,” Sharla continued, “And we defeated an actual god without knowing his true weakness. This should’ve been an easier fight…”

“You’re underestimating him,” Dunban had approached from the side, panting as he scanned over the three for visible wounds. “If we were truly fighting Alvis, this fight would already be over. But whatever Zanza did to him…”

“He’s stronger,” Reyn finished, his shoulders slumping, “Can he even die? If he’s got no weak points an’ two Monados, an’ if he’s affecting Shulk’s Monado, that doesn’t spell anything good out for us.”

Shulk was about to answer, about to offer some kind of reassurance that they’d be able to win, but nothing came out of his open mouth. Instead of his own voice, he heard Alvis’s. Instead of his own words, he heard Alvis grunt. He looked to Fiora, to Riki, to Melia. None of them were close enough to have been the cause, and all three appeared confused at Alvis’s sudden change in temperament. Behind him, Sharla’s ether rifle clicked, and a bullet whizzed past his head and straight at Alvis. He swat the bullet aside like it was a pesky fly before the same arm, the same hand, went to clutch his chest. Another groan slipped through his teeth, and that was when Shulk saw the light emanating from his necklace, red and dramatic and pulsating. 

Before he could find time to question this new development, Alvis lurched forward, swinging wildly at the form closest to him: Melia. She held up her staff to counter the blow, but to Shulk’s horror, Meyneth’s Monado sliced right through the metal, separating the staff into two clean pieces. The weight of the attack sent Melia flying backwards onto her rear, and her sudden cry of surprise propelled Shulk into action. With a scream, a promise of future pain and retribution, he charged ahead and planned to swing at Alvis’s arm, planned to try and knock one of the Monados from his grip.

But he never reached Alvis. Time suddenly slowed, Shulk’s footsteps hardly registering on the floor, and when everything stopped completely he found himself floating in the abyss Alvis had created. All of space, the dark and infinite cosmos, seemed to wither and die, and soon a bright expanse of white covered its fresh carcass. Blinded, Shulk raised a hand to block his eyes, adjust to the change. When he got his bearings again he looked around, realizing that all of his friends had vanished, and that he and Alvis were the only ones in this new realm. 

Alvis seemed just as surprised as Shulk, spinning around, trying to identify some kind of source for the change. When his gaze met Shulk, his eyes widened. It took Shulk a moment to eventually realize that he wasn’t even looking at him, but something behind. Shulk turned around tentatively, still gripping his worthless shell of a sword as if it would save him. There stood two unfamiliar figures, donning strange armor that Shulk could only call “futuristic”, with glowing pieces and smooth connected fragments. The first figure, a dark skinned man dressed in blacks and purples, had a silver gaze capable of shattering glass. The second figure was nearly his opposite, a girl dressed in greens with a sad and gentle expression upon a sad and gentle face. 

“So you’re Ontos - I mean, Alvis’s driver,” The dark skinned man crossed his arms, gave Shulk a lookover. Shulk frowned, unsure if he should be confused or on guard or terrified or all three at once. 

“Alvis’s...driver?” Shulk dared to clarify, and the man sighed.

“Right. Different world, different rules. How do I...okay, you’ve got a Monado and you can control its power.”

Shulk glanced down at the blue twisted blade in his hand, shoulders slumping. “I’m not quite sure about that last part. Up until now I’ve -”

“That’s probably because Alvis cut off your access to it, right?” The dark skinned man interrupted, “Pfft, whatever. He must’ve trusted you enough to use it before all this shit went down, and that’s what matters most.”

“I don’t...who are you?”

“My name is Pneuma,” The green haired woman introduced herself before beckoning to the man, “And this is Malos. We are, in a sense, Alvis’s siblings.”

Shulk frowned, turning around to look at Alvis - or rather, where he had been standing previously. He’d taken a mental note that he’d gone quiet since the scenery changed, but when he turned he was surprised to see that it was because Alvis wasn’t there at all. Instead, there was a circle of heavenly light, visible even amongst the blinding white landscape. In that circle, a crystal floated peacefully, one that was familiar to Shulk. It was the crystal Alvis wore on his choker, a vibrant ruby gemstone shaped like a cross. Upon closer inspection, however, the crystal was cracked and fragmented in several places, only remaining together based on will and will alone. 

Shulk returned his focus to Pneuma and Malos, eyes widening once he realized that they both harbored similar crystals on their persons. Malos’s was a deep purple, nestled in a golden plate on his chest, a singular large crack dividing it vertically. Pneuma’s was green and in perfect condition, no scratches or cracks to speak of. Both of their crystals seemed like a part of themselves, integrated into their very being, and yet Alvis had worn his like a decoration, a common item of common origin. It gave Shulk pause, wondering what else Alvis had hidden so carefully and so carelessly.

“Klaus - or as you knew him, Zanza - had rewritten Alvis’s coding to obey him in the instance that he was defeated,” Pneuma explained, “And only our combined efforts could restore him to his default settings. Thankfully, Alvis was able to reach out to Malos and warn him in time for us to arrive and help.”

“You’re speaking as if Alvis is a machine,” Shulk noted.

“He’s an artificial intelligence,” Malos said, “And so are we. The whole ‘siblings’ thing is because we all have the same core, figuratively speaking. Aside from that initial programming, we’re basically real, living beings.”

“And since it was the initial programming that was rewritten, what we’ll be doing is...well, it may change some things about the Alvis you knew,” Pneuma bowed her head, her hands folding together in front of her, “We don’t know how far this new program has reached into his mind. It’s possible that it overwrote key parts of his initial setup, including his memory database.”

“So to restore him back to the way he was, you basically need to rewire him,” Shulk tried his best to understand, slowly making sense of what these two strangers were telling him, “And that might mean he’ll have no memories when he wakes up.”

“Ding ding ding! This kid’s smarter than Rex,” Malos chuckled, “Here I thought we’d have to hold his hand through the whole explanation.”

Pneuma rolled her eyes. “Shulk is not a kid. Rex is far younger and has less experience. It’s wrong to judge him like that, Malos.”

“Shulk, how old are you? I wanna prove a point here.”

“Eighteen,” Shulk stammered.

Malos smirked. “Barely an adult, then.”

“I don’t think that’s any reason to smile,” Pneuma sighed, “You and Rex, you’re both young. You still have full lives to lead…”

“Wait a minute,” Shulk exclaimed, “What’s going to happen to Bionis and Mechonis now? If Zanza’s dead and Alvis is gone, then...then the Bionis -”

“Oh, right, your Titans,” Malos said slowly, “Well, Pneuma? Don’t see any reason not to lend a hand.”

“Well, I don’t think it’s in our power to restore everything to the way it was,” Pneuma said, “Rest assured, you and your friends will return to your world safe and sound. It will not be the world you’re used to. Your Titans...they’re dead. But they haven’t been fully destroyed. You can still rebuild what you once had, and create a new life for yourselves. A world without gods.”

“And when will I see Alvis again?”

Pneuma was quiet. Malos cocked an eyebrow at her, suspicious, while Shulk was doing his best to stand tall. However, it was becoming harder and harder to hide just how much his knees were shaking, threatening to buckle under the weight of all he’d been told. The world he loved was gone, but at what cost? Zanza had been defeated, he’d no longer control their fates or the land they walked upon. Was Alvis the price he had to pay for that control? 

He turned to look at the floating red crystal behind him, the only remaining piece of Alvis left in this strange dimension. It must’ve sparked something, because it began to float slowly towards Shulk, hovering at chest level. He glanced towards Pneuma and Malos, who were both staring, waiting for his response. When he gave none, Pneuma spoke up.

“It’s too much to explain now, but that crystal harbors Alvis’s essence. It’s his core. He’s recovering in there, and once he comes to full strength, he’ll return to you. I ah...I actually had to go through this too, so I know he’s not dead. Just healing.”

“Because you’re...rewriting him,” Shulk pieced more things together, his hands fluttering near the core. His fingertips brushed the cool crystalline surface, as gentle as a kiss, but he didn’t commit to taking it fully in his grasp yet. If he was too harsh, too strong, he feared the crystal would shatter.

“Basically,” Malos confirmed, “And we don’t really know how long that’ll take. Klaus - Zanza - did more of a number on him than I realized when I first talked with him. But hey, I’m fucking dead, so I can dedicate a good chunk o’ time getting him fixed up.”

“You’re dead?!”

“Long story. Thank Miss Minty Fresh over here.”

Pneuma didn’t meet Malos’s gaze, looking down at her spiked shoes as her bangs hid her eyes. Malos chuckled at her sheepishness. “We should talk about that later too, huh? For now, let’s fix things here.”

“R-Right.”

Pneuma composed herself, straightening her spine. “I know this wasn’t much, Shulk, but just know this: everything is going to be okay. Your determination and resolve will make this new world just as beautiful as the last. And Alvis will return one day. We can’t tell you when, but he will. That much, we can both promise.”

“Yeah. We need ourselves a family reunion, after all,” Malos folded his arms over his chest, blocking his crystal, “We can all bond over near-death and death experiences.”

“Malos.”

“What? I bet it’d be a good conversation starter, you can’t tell me you’re not the least bit curious how he got to this state -”

“Malos.”

“Fine, fine, shutting up, I get the hint.”

Shulk opened his mouth, but he held back most of his questions and opted for silent confusion. This whole thing was going way over his head. All he wanted to do now was make sure his friends were okay, and asking too many questions would delay their reunion. 

“Well, it was wonderful meeting you, Shulk,” Pneuma grinned, “Now we’ll send you back to your world to be with your friends and family. Thank you for being there for him.”

“Yeah, bet he appreciated having you while it lasted,” Malos agreed, “Now run along, try not to aggravate any big monkeys out there, okay?”

Shulk giggled at that. “I’ll try.”

And the world went bright and blinding again, obscuring Pneuma and Malos from view, even erasing his newly formed Monado from his vision. All he could see was the vibrant red of the cross-shaped crystal, Alvis’s core.

~

When the light diminished, Shulk felt grass underneath his left hand. His right hand was clenched, surrounding something small and cold. He sat himself up before unfurling his fingers, peering at what he held. Alvis’s crystal - his core. It flickered between a dead gray and a lively ruby, dancing between life and death, finicky about which side to commit to. 

He looked up, the bright sky compelling him to observe this new location. It was a familiar sight, the Bionis head, though partially submerged in the deep ocean, it now seemed a shell of its former self. There was no god to control it, no higher entity to command its form. Perhaps it was truly a shell, an empty husk that would once again pave the way for new life to blossom. Shulk inhaled deeply, the air salty yet oddly sweet with prospects of new beginnings.

“Augggghhhh…”

Shulk spun and found Reyn stretching his arms outwards sitting a couple feet away. “Reyn!”

“Oi, Shulk, what the hell happened back there?” His best friend asked, scratching the back of his head, “I remember somethin’ about Alvis lookin’ rough, then this big white light...we’re not dead, are we Shulk?”

“No, I don’t think so,” Shulk affirmed, “I mean, I feel pretty alive right now.”

“I think we’d know if we were dead,” Fiora’s voice came from behind, and she ended up standing just to Shulk’s left looking over the new horizon. “The Bionis, though…”

“Oh yeah, definitely dead.” Reyn nodded, “Probably for the best now, innit? We don’ have ta be scared of it movin’ around anymore.”

“Mm.”

Shulk gazed back down at the core in his hand. It had finally decided upon a new natural state: cracked, dead, gray. Where there had been brief flickers of warmth before, now it felt cold and lifeless in his hands. It scared him, even though the explanation was fresh in his mind. Alvis wasn’t dead. Alvis wasn’t dead. He was just healing. He needed time.

“Oi, what’s that?” Reyn looked over Shulk’s shoulder, peering down at the core. “That...that ain’t Alvis’s choker, is it? Why’s it all gray now?”

“Yeah, I remember Alvis wearing that,” Fiora noted, “Actually, where is he? Did he...did he die back there?”

Shulk looked behind him, harboring an unspoken and disproven hope that the seer would be alive and well. Melia was groaning, sitting herself up and shaking her head. Riki was bouncing around and noticed Dunban on the ground before Shulk did, resorting to checking to make sure he was okay. He soon flagged down Sharla, who quickly came to his aid and helped sit him up as he tried to shake off the residual fatigue from the fight. All his friends, shaken from the encounter but otherwise safe. Shulk started coming to terms with just how exhausted his own body felt, how heavy his muscles were. He should’ve been happy they escaped, he should’ve been happy they won. And yet...

The core in his hand flickered one more time, one last push. It was if Alvis was trying to reassure Shulk, trying to encourage him to believe. Malos and Pneuma had no reason to lie about their brother or the new state of the world. He grinned to himself, a sad but hopeful turn of the lips, before answering Fiora’s question.

“He’s not dead,” Shulk promised, “It’s going to be hard explaining what happened, but I know one thing for sure. Alvis is going to be okay. He’s just resting right now.”

Fiora looked to Reyn, and Reyn looked to Fiora. She ended up sighing. “You’re gonna have to tell us at one point, then. That whole thing was confusing beyond belief.”

“Yeah, Alvis was talkin’ as if he were a machine,” Reyn said, “It was creepy as hell. But I’m not too pressed about the details, I’m just happy we’re home - or at least, we’re not in that weird space dimension anymore.”

“Right,” Shulk agreed, staring out into the open expanse of ocean and crumbled Bionis. It wasn’t much, but Reyn was right. It was their home. Shulk made a promise to himself in that moment that he would do whatever it took to see their world restored to its former glory. A world without gods, but a world with friends by his side. He couldn’t ask for more.

And one day, when Alvis had the strength to return, Shulk would welcome him to this world with open arms.

[syriul]

Amara - p.1

Request: Can you please do Ivar and oc; where the Oc is from the Middle East and is a Muslim. But she’s very beautiful and smart and rather than becoming a slave is able to gain attention from many people. And a happy ending with Ivar thanx -  @angelinaburns  

“Amara! Are you deaf?” The slave trader was losing patience with me, yet I still refused to step out of the line of slaves being paraded around the throne room. 

Although the burly man’s rising anger made the hair on the back of my neck rise on end, I knew that I had a point to make: I was not an easily subdued woman, not even when facing slavery. 

Was it foolish? Maybe to someone who couldn’t make calculated moves. 

“Amara!”.” The slaver’s tone was deadly. 

I knew I was pushing my luck. Still, I remained where I stood with my chin up in the air defiantly.  The other slaves in the throne room must have thought my actions seemed foolishly brave; I tired my hardest to conceal the sense of fear was beginning to grow in the pit of my stomach. 

The truth was that I didn’t know the man who’d taken me from my home and therefore had no clue as to how far he would go when anger overtook him. Would he merely strike me down with the palm of his hand, or would he gut me like an animal in front of everyone? The only thing that kept the fear from bubbling out of me and taking over was the constant reminder that calculated risks were needed if I was ever to find my way home. 

I took a deep breath, slowly turned my head towards the slaver, and locked eyes with him. I narrowed my gaze, as if daring him to speak my name once more.

 A stunned expression grazed his face for a second before a deep scowl took over. He began to make his way towards me, his heavy steps made the bare floorboards of the throne room bang like thunder. My heart began to race faster and faster with his every move. 

I instinctively knew what was going to happen the second the slave trader reached me, so I did the one thing I could think of: I stepped out of the slave line-up like I had originally been instructed to do. The slaver stopped in his tracks, I could see he was fuming with anger that threatened to erupt; I let a pleased smile spread across my face. 

“I don’t know,” a voice spoke from a few feet ahead of me, “she seems like trouble.” 

My silent confrontation with the slaver had left me to forget that I, along with seven other slaves, was being presented to the ruling family of the place I’d come to know as Kattegat. 

“Yes,” the slaver responded through clenched teeth, “but she is worth the trouble.” The slaver took hold of my face with his dirty hand and squeezed, he was putting my features on display. “Have you ever seen such a beauty? Her eyes as black as the night sky, her lips as sweet as berries, her skin so clearly kissed by the sun goddess, Sol, herself.” 

I rolled my eyes at his every word.  From a young age people had made it known that I possessed the gift of beauty, and it was true that it made my life easier than that of most, but still it had ceased to be a source of pride for me a long time ago. Now it was nothing more than an everyday fact, like the sky being blue or water being wet. 

The slaver released his hold on my face and stepped closer to the man before continuing to talk. “Bjorn, your father and step mother bought slaves from me for decades and not once did they have any complains. Why would I ruin my business relationship with your family now?” 

The man who I now knew to be Bjorn thought over the slaver’s words. A long silence filled the room before he spoke. “Very well, I trust that you will take her back if she happens to be more trouble than she’s worth.” His words were calm, but his voice held a hint of warning. 

The slaver nodded rapidly, from the looks of it he was eager to get rid of me. “Can I expect the usual twenty pieces of gold?” He held out his hand before Bjorn could even answer. 

Bjorn scoffed at the man’s obvious impatience. “Ten gold pieces.” He corrected as he removed a small coin purse from his belt. 

“Of course,” the slaver’s nostrils flared, “my mistake.” 

Bjorn tossed the slaver the coin purse and waited for him to make sure that all ten gold pieces were accounted for before dismissing him. 

Within second I was the only person left in the throne room with Bjorn. I could feel his gaze running me up and down, inspecting me to make sure I was whole. 

I couldn’t believe that I’d been unable to keep myself from being sold. I’d hoped that bad behavior would allow me to remain in the slaver’s care at least until he ran out of trading posts to visit and was forced to circle back to where I’d been taken from, there I would have made my escape; this unexpected turn of events meant I now had to reassess my escape plan.  

“Your name is Amara?” Bjorn spoke to me in my native tongue, as he’d done so with the slaver. 

I nodded in response. 

“How long have you been a slave?” 

“Two, maybe three months.” 

Bjorn nodded in understanding. “Then you are inexperienced with slave life, correct?”

Again, I nodded. 

He looked me up and down once more before speaking again. “It isn’t an easy life. There are a few rules you should always remember. First, you are never to harm a free person, it will end badly for you. Second, you will follow every instruction given to you, no matter what it is,  if not it will end badly for you. And lastly, you will work quickly and quietly, if not -” 

“It will end badly for me.” I finished for him. 

Bjorn stifled a gruff laugh. “You’ll be sleeping in the barn, with all the other slaves.” He walked past me and made his way towards the  throne room’s entrance. 

“May I ask you something?” I spoke to his back.

His footsteps halted and he turned to face me. “What?” 

“How can you and that slave keeper speak Arabic?” My tone was audibly curious but my face was as void of emotion as a rock, just as I intended it to be, 

Bjorn rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearly growing exasperated and in a hurry to leave, before answering. “I’ve been to a few Caliphates, and we sometimes do business there.” 

And with that a new plan of escape began to form in my mind’s eye. Here he was, a man who’d been to my part of the world, who I knew came from a people who tended to explore lands. I knew this meant that sooner or later he would be going back to the land where I could easily escape; I had to make sure I was part of the journey. 

Without saying another word, Bjor turned to leave while a slave woman who’d remained in the shadows urged me towards the kitchens. 

The sound of men drinking, shouting, and doing a poor job at singing filled the throne room. Off in a corner a few men were betting on an arm wrestling match, in the center of the room a group of women danced in the most crazed way I’d ever seen, and there were many new faces. 

It had been well over a over a month since I’d been bough by Bjorn Ironside and I’d begun to grow accustomed to the monotonous life that  seemed to befall the city of Kattegat; tonight’s celebration was a welcomed change. 

I wasn’t exactly sure what the celebration was for; although I’d made significant progress, I was still in the beginning stages of learning to speak Norse and the only people who could speak Arabic were Bjorn and his younger brother, Hvitserk. 

I was standing off to the side holding a platter of meats and waiting on the men as the party around me took on a life of its own. If I were home, I would have been the one being served; the irony of my situation was not lost on me. 

“Here he comes. Move aside! He’s coming in!.” The voices of the attendees merged together in a low murmur as  the front doors swung open and the commotion died down. 

I placed the platter I’d been holding down on a nearby table and slowly wove through the crowd of people that had formed between the doors and the throne itself. I stood on my toes trying to catch a glimpse of whoever it was that the people were excited to see. 

That’s when I saw him, the king I’d heard so much about in the last month. He was dragging himself across the floor, between the horde of people. Every few feet he stopped, shook someone’s hand, and flashed a proud smile. Everyone’s eyes were on him until he reached his throne and hoisted himself on to it. 

Ivar waited for everyone in the room to stop their excited whispering before he started talking. “Today,” he began in a slightly authoritative tone, “we celebrate our return form England, where my brother, Ubbe,” he motion towards the man that stood to his right holding a cup of ale, “and I, along with  our fellow vikings, took gold, land, and the lives of  Christians.” He motioned for a near by slave to hand him a cup of ale. “The Gods smiled down upon us this raiding season! Tonight we celebrate not only the Gods, but ourselves as well!” As if on cue, three bearlike men appeared, each holding an open trunk of golden artifacts. The crowd cheered as the young king raised his cup and shouted, “Skål!”

My eyebrows furrowed. I knew Vikings survived on raiding, but I’d never imagined they’d be so open to brag about it. And I most certainly had no idea that they carried so much animosity towards Christians. It made me wonder if they, too, celebrated after their every attack on my home. 

I was so deep in thought that I had failed to hear someone calling out to me. It wasn’t until an unknown hand landed gently on my shoulder that I was pried lose from my thoughts. 

“I’m sorry, what was it you asked?” I asked in heavy accented Norse.

Ubbe, the young kings brother, stood in front of me. His hand remained on my shoulder as he spoke. “I asked, who might you be?” 

“A new slave.” Bjorn, who I’d failed to notice, answered before I even had the chance to open my mouth. 

Around us the celebration had resumed. People were once more laughing and enjoying themselves. 

“I think she’s far too pretty to be a slave.” I heard Hvitserk’s voice, but I could not see him. It wasn’t until I turned somewhat to the left that he came into view. 

The three brothers began to talk about me as if I was not there. I remained silent, intent on assessing the situation. Why were they not ordering me back to waiting on the men and women? Were they being kind? Did they want something from me?

“What’s going on here?” Ivar’s voice was the force that finally halted the talking. 

Ubbe took a step aside, allowing Ivar to drag himself in between him and Bjorn. 

“There’s a new slave.” Ubbe rustled his brother’s hair as he spoke; Ivar swatted his hand away. 

“Why is that special?”

“Because,” Hvitserk pushed Ubbe out of the way, “look at her.” He held out his hand as if to present me. 

I felt Ivar’s eyes roam from my legs, to my torso, and finally rest on my face. I felt my cheeks grow hot with embarrassment; I was being presented to a king as nothing more than a pretty face. 

“What is your name?” Ivar used the same authoritative tone he had used on the crowd, only now it was much quieter.

“Amara.” I bowed my head in respect. 

“You are not from here, are you?”

I shook my head. 

He inspected my clothing; I’d been lucky enough to keep the veil that covered my hair, but my normal attire, what I would have worn back home, was long gone. These days, I wore a dark, mossy green dress that was practically falling apart at the seams. 

“You are from the sunny, warm lands my brother talks about, are you not?” Ivar spoke as if he’d solved an impossible riddle.

“Yes.” Again, I bowed my head. 

Without saying a word, Ivar gave me a sly smile and began to drag himself back towards his throne. Once he was seated, he called out for everyone’s attention. “Among us lies a foreigner. A foreigner from far, far away.” 

I began to question the situation. Ivar was clearly talking about me, but why? What had I done that earned so much attention?

“And she,” he continued, “would like to show us a bit of where she comes from. Amara, dance for us!” 

By the time he’d stopped talking, the entire room had caught on that it was me he was talking about. everyone’s glare burned into me. Now I was the center of attention. I had to do some quick thinking. 

Woah, I know this is long. I got carried away; I tend to get carried away with my writing sometimes. There will definitely be a part 2. 

[wayward-hell]

Just The Beginning Part 2

Just the beginning part 2

Pairings: Lucifer x Reader

Word count: 2185

Warning: Bit of wing kink, (and i think I’ve made Lucifer a bit out of character later on in the writing)

Note: (Reader is female) Part 1 Here 

Sam, Dean, Castiel, Chuck, and Crowley all talked. About what you had no idea, but thankfully neither you nor Lucifer spoke, so it made it easier on your nerves. You started to relax as you occasionally stole glances at everyone from over Lucifer’s shoulder. Lucifer seemed interested in you and any time you stole a glance at everyone you caught him looking at you. You would dip back behind him and cling to his shirt not wanting him to move.

Calming your mind a little you started to take in the little details about everyone as you stole glances. Sam, seemed tired, but too invested in the conversation to fall asleep, his brown eyes and soft features giving you the impression that if he ever gave you a puppy dog pout you would cave into whatever it was. Dean, although rough around the edges you could see that in his eyes, as you’d noticed before, he was conflicted inside, tortured even, but still caring. Dean had short hair compared to Sam. Dean’s eyes were green, the type of green you’d read about in fictional stories. Both the brothers were well built, tall, and handsome, but somehow you got the impression that Dean was the older brother.

Chuck was maybe a bit shorter than you, his curly brown hair was a bit tangled, but his beard was well kept. He had blue eyes when they weren’t glowing gold, but they were a soft grey-blue. Castiel had a bit of a baby face, soft looking, well rounded, but his eyes were heavy as if he’d seen too much, been though too much. Castiel was a bit shorter then Dean, but not by much his hair was a messy black, his eyes much like Chuck’s were blue eyes, but they were more of an ocean blue, again when they weren’t glowing. You started to notice that whenever they got overly emotional that’s when you saw them.

When Crowley’s eyes calmed down, from a literal demonic black to a solid brownish grey color, you were able to see the pain in his eyes and in his features. When he stood or moved around the room he moved as if he owned it all. Then there was Lucifer. Messy sandy blonde hair, Icy blue eyes that flashed red when he was angered, strong build much like the brothers, but not exactly as cut. He held himself as if he didn’t care, and quite frankly you really didn’t think he cared much for the situation at all.

Lucifer grinned as he caught you staring at him. You started to blush as you hid behind his back and put your head between his shoulder blades. He moved one of his wings to lightly hit your side making you bite back a giggle as it tickled your side. You came back up and looked over his shoulder casually as if you weren’t planning anything. He looked at you then went back to listening to the conversation. Your heart started racing realizing that your next planned moved could have a very bad outcome.

Without any more thought you did it. You lightly smacked the back of Lucifer’s head, messing up a section of hair. He turned his head to look at you with red eyes, but a massive grin on his face. You couldn’t help but smile into his shoulder. Your actions caught Chuck’s eye and you noticed before Lucifer did that Chuck saw so you disappeared behind Lucifer again.

“Son is there something wrong?” Chuck spoke firmly to Lucifer. You saw the twitch in Lucifer’s wings as God addressed him.

“Nothing.” You could hear and almost feel the ice in his voice, he hated his father and you could clearly hear it in his voice.

“Alright, well it’s decided then. We’ll deal with [Y/N]’s sudden appearance later. Sam, Dean you know what to do.” You heard Sam and Dean agree with Chuck. “Crowley, you know how to get a hold of your mother, and you will relay the information back to her.” Chuck sounded indifferent towards Crowley.

“Of course.” Crowley’s thick accent sent a shiver of fear through you making you grip Lucifer’s shirt a little tighter.

“Castiel I trust you to gather the some of the angels and tell them.” You heard yet another sound of agreement. Then as you looked over Lucifer’s shoulder you noticed Crowley and Castiel were gone and you watched Sam and Dean leave the room. Leaving Chuck, Lucifer, and you.

“[Y/n]. I need you to do something for me.” You looked at him a little startled. The thought that God needed you to do something shocked you a little. You came to rest your chin on Lucifer’s shoulder looking at Chuck. “Yes Chuck?” Your smile formed a line as you waited for instructions. Chuck cleared his throat and looked at Lucifer. Who glared at his father and left the room. You were left standing there with Chuck.

“I need you to keep an eye on my son.” He smiled at you as if he was asking the world of you.

“Which one?” You laughed a little at the joke you’d made.

He came up to you and grabbed your shoulders, still smiling as he got the joke, “I need you to stay here and watch over Lucifer. He can’t hurt you, but that means he also can’t hurt anyone else and I don’t want him getting hurt. I need you to stay here at the bunker and watch over him.”

Your mouth hung open slightly at the seriousness of the situation.

“I know you only just met everyone, but we are on a tight schedule and I need you to watch over him. Please.” The thought that God had basically just begged you to watch over his son baffled you. However you gave in, even though you had no idea what the hell was happening you agreed silently. He thanked you and lightly hugged you.

“I owe you one. Thank you.” Then with the snap of his fingers he was gone. You took a moment to process what just happened then immediately ran your hands through your hair. You moved to the doorway of the hall that Lucifer had disappeared to.

“Lucifer!” You shouted as you came around the corner. You bumped into something solid and almost fell to the floor. A quick cold hand snaked around your waist and caught you.

“I’m right here, no need to shout.” His eyes flashed red as he pulled you upright, arm still around your waist.

“Oh-um so you heard that I have to watch you while they’re all gone?” You pulled out of his grasp and took a step back.

“Yeah I heard [Y/n].” The way he said your name it sent a shiver through you. There was a deep silence between you two as you thought and he looked over you, like a predator looks over its prey. You looked into his eyes and saw the hunger in them. To dispel the hungry look you grabbed his hand and pulled him back into the large room. He followed letting you guide him.

You sat down on the couch you hadn’t noticed before, pulling him down with you. He obliged and sat down next to you.

“I have a few questions.” He looked over you waiting for you to continue. “Is there any kind of etiquette I need to know about an angel’s wings?” You went right to the point, you’d been thinking about it for some time now. A look of shock crossed his face for a moment as if it was something everyone should know.

“Yes. Don’t touch them unless you have permission.” He paused letting it set in that he wasn’t happy you’d touched his wing. You could feel your face turn a little pink, “Sorry.” You whispered as you dropped you head to look at your hands in your lap. “An angel’s wings are extremely sensitive, and touching them can be either very painful or very intimate.” You could hear a smug expression grow on his face.

It turned out that Chuck and the others were taking a really long time, as it had been now a few hours since they all left. So as the night went on you kept asking questions and he kept giving you straight answers.

You tried to never ask anything personal so as to not get him angry. Even though Chuck said he couldn’t hurt you, you still didn’t want to take that chance. You’d started to create a fairly playful relationship with him, to the point where you would exchange playful flirts with each other. 

Lucifer got up and you jokingly stretched over the length of the couch effectively taking over his spot. When he came back he looked at you then at your legs and he moved to sit down. Not wanting him to sit on your legs you moved them to accommodate him. He turned his back to you spread his wings out and lay down on your chest. His feet hung over the end of the couch a little, and his head rest just below your breasts.

A little startled at what he decided to do you pulled your arms out from under his wings, careful not to touch them. “Um…” You started, but didn’t know what to say. He tilted his head up to look at you, raising his eyebrows a little.

“Yes?” He looked at you playfully curious. You realized that you just had to go with it because he was more than likely teasing you. You shook your head, “Nothin’.” You smiled and rested one arm across his chest while the other played with his soft hair. He moved his head back to a more comfortable position and let you play with his hair. You started to study his wings as you got used to having them there.

His wings were a gorgeous white, but they looked as if they’d been through a lot. Many of his feathers were out of place and you longed to just reach out and fix them. He took your hand from his chest and started to play, moving your fingers in different ways, pointing to things, inspecting each finger. It was cute how playful he was. You went back to looking at his wings as your other hand moved through his hair.

One wing was stretched over the top of couch and rested against the wall, the other lay spread out across the floor occasionally twitching or stretching. His wings were almost double the size of Castiel’s. Finally your need to straighten them took hold of you.

“Can I fix them?” You said looking down at Lucifer. He looked up at you curious. “You have some feathers out of place. Can I fix them?” He smiled a little, taking it as a yes you moved your hand out of his grasp and towards one wing. Without explanation he grabbed you wrist squeezing it tight.

“You sure you want to do that?” His voice was serious, and without even looking at his face you could tell he wasn’t being playful anymore.

“Mhm, I’m sure.” You replied mimicking the same seriousness in his voice. He let go and moved his wing off the floor towards your hand. At first you just fixed the feathers, but once you’d felt how soft they were you couldn’t help, but run your hand through as many feathers as you could reach. They were so soft, and fluffy too which you hadn’t expected.

You saw his wing twitch and fluff up slightly, then you looked down to see him biting his lower lip, eyes shut. You pulled your hand back to his chest and he let his wing relax onto the floor again. You switched hands. The one that had worked on his wing moved to his hair, while the one that had been in his hair moved to the other wing against the wall. This wing was easier to reach and he didn’t have to move it.

You fixed the out of place feathers then ran your fingers through the feathers making the wing twitch. Then out of curiosity you ran a finger down the bone of the wing to his shoulder blade. When you reached him you heard a faint groan of appreciation escape the devil’s lips. Then you remembered what he’d said about touching an angel’s wings, it either hurt or it was… your mind trailed off, racing, as you started blushing realizing what you’d just done to him.

You brought your hand back to his hair and started playing with his hair once more to try and distract yourself from what you’d just done. Still blushing you rested both of your hands on his chest and leaned your head back onto the arm of the couch. You started drifting asleep as you tried to clam your mind. Just when you thought you’d finally fall asleep it felt like he grabbed your hand and laced his fingers in yours. You were asleep before you could decide on what had happened.