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neonlight2 · 11 months

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*Nyx Flamel Backstory*

Warning: blood (nothing to graphic) and pregnancy

Masterlist

It was raining…

So hard, that each drop that hit the glass of the many window mimicked that of pebbles falling on steel. The wind had grew ravenous as a starved dog, howling and thrashing against any surface that came within its path. All other life had grown silent, hiding in hopes that the weather would soon pass and leave their homes in some reasonable form.

A man, frail in stature and pale in color, however, was up and about as ever. He had little worry, lost to his youth which had left him many decades ago. Now, with his mostly white, frizzled hair decorated with thin lines of brown, his mind raced faster than his feet. Bare as the day he was born, they touched the cold stone floor in order to keep him awake, for it had been days since he’d slept.

Grabbing the fourth—and seemingly the last— bottle of crushed gold he had in his possession, the man poured the remainder of the shiny dust into the cauldron frothing with fog. There was an intense aroma about the room; one he had become immune to. The smell had numbed his nose the fifth time he’d come across it, yet he knew that all was right just based upon the liquid’s complexion. Rich, and thick— the mixture moved smoothly and gave off a purple hue until faced with natural light. In the suns rays, or in this case, lightening’s flash, it glistened a deep scarlet.

For a moment he could feel his knees buckle; he had been too indecisive with this batch. The alchemist knew he should have made it a week earlier, but he had truly thought of letting go this time. And no matter how much his conscious scolded him, calling out his cowardice to face death, Nicholas Flamel could not help his instincts. Nor could he stop the giddiness bubbling in his stomach as he imagined that same flavor on his tongue. The taste of life.

Moreover, when he went to scoop up the first vial— he’d only made enough for two this time due to his negligence toward his ingredients— he was started by an abnormal banging on his door. At first he merely flinched, believing it to be the storms’ rage, but he could not ignore it after noticing a pattern.

The moment his mind registered the sequence within the dulling taps, he realized what they truly were…

Tap. tap. tap.

Someone was knocking.

He hissed as he felt immeasurable heat seeping into his hand. It would seem the vial was full, now overflowing. Dealing with the feeling a little longer, he sealed the vile tight with a charmed cork to which only he could remove, before he finally set it on his working bench.

Rushing over to the various plants growing in the open, cracked floor in the left corner of the room, he plucked a ripe bud from a vine and squashed its insides onto the inevitable burn. It’s sure to leave a scar, Nicholas thought as he rushed to the door.

Taking a deep breath, the man yanked it open to reveal something— someone he would have never conjured up in his millennia of thoughts.

A woman was crouched against the steps of his home, holding herself up only by the frame. She was wheezing, and soaked in rain and sweat— no doubt from a ruthlessly growing fever—

“Please, help us.” She pleaded, her eyes finally meeting his as she struggled to stand, making Nicolas scramble to her side in order to help. “We have nowhere to go.”

Looking all around them, the awkward man couldn’t help as his voice wavered. “W-we? Is t-there s-someone ac-accompanying you?”

It was only until he had gotten her into the safety of his house that he noticed the way she was still hunched over, and the specks of blood tracing the end of her skirt.

“Have you been h-harmed? Are you injured?”

He was quick to lead her to a chair, ready to access whatever injuries she may have had. Yet, all he found was her belly swollen round and blood trailing down her legs.

“You’re pregnant— I-I mean of course you know that— I meant you’re in labor!” He said with encompassing worry.

“I’m sorry,” the woman whispered before letting out a pained groaned. “No one else would answer and you’re lamp was on—,”

Her words were cut off by her own screams. She gripped the chair arms tightly, clenching her teeth as more color drained from her face and water fell from her eyes.

“No, no, no,” the man repeated before standing up swiftly and moving around his home as fast as he could. “Don’t apologize! Just make sure to breathe! And I’ll…,” his voice trailed as he gathered as much as he could hold, “I’ll try to do my best in taking care of you.”

It’s not like I haven’t done this in a century, he thought to himself as he grabbed more blankets and water.

Flinging the pieces of cloth onto the floor he placed the buckets of water next to where they ended, before going back to the still weeping woman.

“I’m really sorry Mrs— Miss?? Ma’am you have to stand, it will be easier that way, I promise”

The woman nodded, taking his hands in hers in order to leverage herself up. They both took slow, heaved steps until finally reaching the covered ground, giving no thought to the trail she’s left behind. As he got a closer look at her, the woman could only be with the first years of her adulthood. Which only made the wizard’s heart ache more, for she had still not regained any color in her face, and after pressing a hand to her forehead— neither had her fever broke.

Although, he noticed that before he could say a word about remaining on her feet during the process, she had already squatted down as he would have instructed.

“Are you comfortable— I mean of course you’re not, what I mean is—,”

“I’m not laying on my back!” She wailed as more blood pooled below her. “It was a cruel custom made by a king who only wished women to suffer! And I will have no part in it.”

She breathed steadily after feeling the cool water against her temple, looking over to see the man dabbing her face with a cloth.

“Thank you,” she whimpered.

“You’re losing a lot of blood Miss.” Nicholas stated, knowing very well that the woman knew.

Her lip shook as she nodded, getting herself ready to push again. “She can’t die. She can’t—,”

“Okay, okay,” he soothed, “do what feels right, I’ll get something to help the pain alright? Or would you rather I stay here?”

Shaking her head, she pulled away from his grasp and leaned forward. “No, I’m okay!”

He wasted no time, scatting numerous bags, baskets, and vials. Until his eyes spotted that familiar sparkle, lit by the crackle of a fresh lightening bolt. Without a second thought, he grabbed it, yanked out the cork, and placed it inches from her face so she could see it clearly.

“It should save you both,” he said, words honestly unsure.

“Should?” She asked with a small scoff.

Letting a small smile adorn his face he nodded. “You’ll just have to trust me…more.”

Her eyes flickered, blinking instinctively as another bolt hit the ground not too far from the pair. And for a moment, she swore it changed into a color she had seen only once before; it’s complexion reminding her of something magical.

“Brilliant,” she simply said with a short nod, opening her mouth in compliance.

In any other instance, the alchemist would have wavered in his decision. Normally he’d be particular, perhaps even greedy with his creation, but this time… it was as if he need not think at all.

He simply watched as it poured into her mouth until gone, and then as a smile prickled at the woman’s now, red cheeks.

She let out a small laugh, taking Nicolas aback.

“It tastes of chocolate.”

Tilting his head to the side, he stared at her with confusion and amazement. If it weren’t for her swift change in composure, returning to a pained cry, he would have corrected her. For that was nowhere close to what he had tasted over the centuries of curating it.

They would stay in that position for what felt like hours, truly only being thirty minutes. The man did what he could, trying to ease her pain by whispering incantations under his breath, while holding his hands under in order to catch the precious cargo the woman held so dear. Just enough to give her strength. Just enough to help. Just till she arrived.

Surely enough, the moment the woman’s arms went limp, letting her body fall back with no care, the baby had come. Laying in the wizard’s hands, quiet as the night had become.

The storm had passed. And the baby wasn’t crying.

This cause the mother to spout more tears of her own, sobbing and reaching out for her child. He did not deny her, delicately placing the newborn into its mother’s hands.

Everything suddenly became so dark. The night outside was chilling and bare of light. And the mothers rejuvenation seemed to grow weaker by the second. Her dark hair now dry and dull with sullen cheeks accompanied by pail skin. She’d looked like a corpse if it weren’t for those purple hued eyes, which were brown at first if Nicolas’ memory ran true.

“Oh please baby, you have to live. Please.please.please.please. Merlin let her live.”

Eyes practically popping out of his scull, he stared at her in disbelief and sympathies. “Are you..?”

Shaking her head vigorously, the woman’s gaze flickered about the room, landing on a pair of scissors on the floor. “Could you please..?” She asked, a small sob leaving her lips as she caressed her child’s stomach.

Furrowing his eyebrows, he follows her gaze before understanding. “Oh! Oh, yes of course.” He scampered over, retrieving the tool.

He glanced over at her tired figure, treading lightly toward her. “Would you like to, or would you rather I?”

All she said in return was please. And the alchemist couldn’t help but feel his heart drop. Gently, he pulled on the cord and cut it clean.

At that very moment, he watched as light peered through his window, and he saw a twinkle of red flicker below him. The babies eyes fluttered open, and in the light of an unveiled moon, one shined a bright red while the other a deep brown.

He had grown absolutely elated in those few seconds. Laughing out loud to himself in disbelief, as he stared at the child who still refused to cry. He felt as if he had just witnessed a real miracle. Real magic.

But all magic has a price.

“Look! Look! She’s awake—,” he throat got tight as he choked on his words, seeing that now the woman’s eyes were indeed brown, staring right back at him as her head laid limp from her body. It was a wonder that the child hadn’t slipped off her breast, yet there she lay. Totally unaware. And so quiet.

Suddenly, Nicholas could not see, for water had purged his eyes. Welling up until a flood of tears streamed down his face, the man felt a wave of sorrow overcome him.

“Oh, you poor thing.” He whimpered, closing the woman’s eyes, and picking up the child who was staring at him with curiosity beyond any of his comprehension. “I’ll take it from here, you can rest.”

Sniffling, he cradled the child to his chest with one arm as he used the other to cast a spell— cleaning both the baby and the woman’s body before wrapping it in fresh linen. He had no idea what he should do with the body. Bury it? Burn it? What would she have preferred? Did she have family? Likely not the good kind.

Should he call the minister of magic? Definitely not.

The baby cooed, apparently entertained by something behind him. When he turned he practically jumped at the sight. Her hand was stretched out, and everything in front of them now that the moons light touch was dancing through the air.

He marveled at the child’s abilities, watching as she twirled her fingers in order to make the plants he had grow and dance with one another.

That very moment, as he stared at her, and she stared at the moon, Nicholas Flamel made a decision he would never regret.

He took the ladle resting in his cauldron, not bothering with the manners of a vial and drank from it. He felt as his joints loosened, how strength returned to his arms and legs, and new warmth was brought to his body.

And sure enough, it still tasted of lemons.

***

The girl know as abnormal in every sense would grow, learn, and adapt faster than any child Flamel had ever know. For a moment he worried that putting her in Hogwarts when she came of age would bore her, for she had practically learned everything on her own, or through his stories of history, and the never ending amount of books he had in his possession. But he gave in quickly after she begged him to allow her to go.

He never denied her.

So she went to Hogwarts, in 1892, for the first time, and made friends that would go down in history. Two of which she thought to be her kindred spirits.

Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore

And

Gellert Grindelwald

But that was before they grew up, and she stopped.

Her soul and mind may have changed, but her body stayed for same. Trapped in time. In youth…

Until 1976 that is.

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a-edgar-allan-hoe · 2 years

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With Fire and Blood, and the Darkness in Between

Darkling/General Kirigan/Aleksander Morozova x Targaryen!Reader

Part 1

Shadow and Bone and Game of Thrones crossover

Part 2

A/N: My new story is finally released y’all! Sorry if it took a while but this semester has me in a chokehold. 😖 I will be publishing it as a series so I hope you lovelies enjoy! And as always feedback and reblogs are much appreciated and let me know if you would like to be added to the taglist! Have a beautiful day! 💕

Summary: Imagine being the youngest Targaryen and the half-sister of Daenerys. You had lived most of your life in captivity, shut off from the world after your brother Viserys married you off to an old lord at the age of 12 as means to get rid of you for being a half-breed. You used to be a bright and free-spirited child who saw nothing but the goodness in those around you, but the experiences you faced made you grow cold and distant with a lack of remorse for the wicked. Not wanting to live the life your brother had chained you to, you ran away and finally reunited with your sister and helped her win back the throne. (Season 8 never happened) Wanting to build a life of your own, you set sail across the seas with your dragons and army, traveling far and wide before venturing into foreign land in a place called Ravka where you stumble upon a kingdom with a king who you loathe, believing him undeserving of rule. During your stay there, you cross paths with a certain raven-haired general with aspirations of his own. Will you stand alongside him in his mission, or will you take the throne for your own and rule as Y/N Targaryen, the Dragon Witch Queen of Ravka?

Warnings: vulgar language, mentions of rape and abuse and suicide, mentions of abuse against a minor, mentions of incestuous themes, violence and gore, sexual themes. This series will have some dark themes so please read at your own risk.

Notes: slow burn, angst, enemies to lovers trope. Flashbacks are in italics.

Flashback takes place in Pentos 4 years before Daenerys's marriage to Khal Drogo. Reader is 12 while Daenerys is 13.

"Something doesn't seem right.” You muttered out in a faint voice. A frown was painted on your features as you stood by the balcony overlooking the sea that touched the coast of Pentos, watching the small waves caress the sandy shores while your fingers traced along the cracks and grooves that lined the stone handrail.

"Whatever do you mean?" Your sister Daenerys asked from behind you while she brushed through your hair.

"Why is Viserys having us dress up?"

"Well he said we're having important guests."

"Yes but I don’t understand what that has to do with us.”

"I don't know. I'm sure it's important with whatever he is doing." Daenerys shrugged as she separated parts of your hair for a braid, running her fingers through your lengths lovingly before interlocking them with each other. She had always loved your hair growing up, believing it to be unique to the Targaryen line who were known for their silver hair. You had instead inherited your mother's skin and her hair, which was a rich y/h/c that cascaded down your back. If one were to see you amongst your siblings, they would not have recognized you as a Targaryen if it weren't for your eyes. Like the famous dragon riders of long before, you shared their purple orbs that had passed down generations, a proud symbol of their Valyrian heritage. While Daenerys’s eyes were a striking color of violet reminiscent of the flowers themselves, yours were the color of amethysts with flakes of gold that resembled a bit of the fire that embodied the dragons of your name. Despite being the bastard child of Aerys Targaryen, the Targaryen blood still ran through your veins, and the talk of you and your sister’s beauty had reached lands as far as the eye could see.

"Am I being sent away?"

"What? Of course not! What gave you that idea?"

"He’s mentioned it before. I know that he hates me for being a half-breed."

"Don't say that.” Daenerys sighed, tying off your braid before resting her hands on your shoulders. “I don't think Viserys is going to send you away y/n."

The sound of the door creaking from being opened echoed through the room, and as you turned towards it, you saw your older brother Viserys waltz in, a confident grin plastered on his face as he stridden over to the two of you with a bundle of dresses draped over his arms. "Ah. There the two of you are. I bring gifts from the North."

"The north?" Dany looked at him with her brows knitted together in confusion. "From who?"

"Our new guests of course. This one is for you Dany." He handed her a dress before turning to you. "And this.....is for you. Pretty isn't it? Feel the fabric, fine wool from the north.”

You gave Viserys a quizzical look before eyeing the bundled up dress that was draped over his arms with much skepticism.

“Well go on. Touch it.”

You reached a hesitant hand towards the dress, twisting the dark gray fibered fabric that was trimmed with embroidery between your fingers with a distasteful look on your face. “It’s rough.”

“That’s because it’s wool. It’s meant to keep you warm against the cold.”

“But why? It’s not cold here.”

"Because dear sister." Viserys moved a loose strand of your hair behind your ear before placing his fingers under your chin with a smugness hidden behind the fraud paternal gaze that masked it. "You are getting married."

Your face paled in reaction, your eyes widening at his words while every inch of your skin turned cold.

"M-married?" Daenerys stuttered in disbelief, her voice small, afraid to raise her tone at him in fear he'd lash out like he had many times before to keep her amenable. The violets of her eyes which were usually bright, now grew dark and flickered with the thoughts that ran through her head. "To who?"

"A wealthy lord in the north. Well," He rolled his eyes in disappointment. "Not wealthy enough but still. He paid quite the price for this one. Now she can finally be off my hands." Viserys stared down at you with coldness in his gaze, his grip on your chin only getting tighter as his nails started to dig in to the skin there, causing you to wince. There was something behind the pale lilacs of his eyes that mirrored just a flicker of the past, of your father, The Mad King. You had never met your father, for he had died before you were even born. But you had heard plenty of stories through Viserys and others, and you could have sworn you saw that same madness in your brother in this very moment. But there was also something else that you couldn’t quite put a name to, something you were still too young to quite understand even though the sense of it unsettled you. It was a look that you had often seen whenever he was in the presence of Dany. Though there was that same bit of lust hidden behind them that he shared for Dany, a look that disgusted you whenever he glanced upon your sister, there was also contempt, a hatred that only filled them in your presence despite the brotherly smile he put on.

"The north? You're sending her to the north? You-you can't." You heard Dany whimper beside you while you glared back at Viserys, your nails digging into the skin of your palms.

"I'll do as I please. And this one is going to do as it is told. Aren't you half-breed?"

"But you can't." Daenerys pleaded. "She's only 12. She’s just a child.”

"And so are you. Quiet Daenerys." Viserys snapped at her before turning back to you. "You. Undress, now. I need to make sure Lord Pythias is getting his coin's worth."

"But-" You quivered.

"Now. Before I do it myself."

Your hands trembled as they fumbled with the buttons of your dress, tears forming in your eyes as you did not want to bare yourself in front of your brother. You were filled with resentment towards him, your fingers itching to claw those foul eyes out from his skull so that he could never look upon you or Dany ever again. But your fear had overcome your anger, and so you did not have the strength nor the courage to do such a thing. "Viserys please don't make me do this." Your lip quivered as you lowered your gaze to the floor, your hands clutching your dress over your chest once it dropped down your shoulders.

"Viserys please.” Daenerys begged, pulling on the sleeve of your brother's tunic. "Marry me off. But not y/n."

“Quiet Daenerys.”

"You can't do this! She's all that I have left. Please don't send her away!" Your sister cried out, the sound of desperation in her voice stopping you from letting your dress fall to the floor.

"I said quiet!" Viserys hit her with the back of his hand, causing Dany to tear up as she held her reddened cheek.

You fumed at the sight of him striking out at her, your nostrils flaring and your breathing quickening. You don't know what came over you as you bared your teeth and attacked your older brother in blind fury, it was almost as if all that abuse that you had endured, bottled up inside had finally boiled over. "Don't touch her!"

Viserys was caught off guard of you lunging yourself at him as he watched you with wide eyes. His hands were held out in front of him as he tried to fight you off until you brought your hand down at him and scratched him across his face.

"Agh! ..........You hit me. Why you little bitch." He stood stunned for a moment from the stinging pain on his cheek, touching his face to see blood on his fingertips.

You stepped back in a mixture of fear and disbelief, coming into realization of what you had just done. "Viserys p-please. I'm-I'm sorry."

"How dare you! You little half-breed whore!" Viserys's face distorted into rage as he threw you to the ground and hovered over your form, pinning you down while repeatedly hitting you across your face with the back of his hand. You cried out in pain from his violent strikes, writhing under him as the ring that he wore on one of his fingers sliced across your face in small cuts. "You've made a big mistake you little slut! You have woken the dragon! And now you're going to pay for it!"

"Viserys stop! Please!" Dany cried out as she fell to her knees with tears streaming down her face as she tried to reach out for you.

"What in the name of Westeros is going on in here?" A loud booming voice was heard approaching the area.

Viserys stopped with an annoyed expression, turning towards the door to see Illyrio Mopatis appear in the room. "What?"

"Have you lost your senses? Lord Pyhtias wants her untouched, not a single mark on her. What will he think when he sees this?" Illyrio huffed once he saw you pinned beneath your brother, your skin flushed scarlet with small drops of blood trickling out from the tiny cuts that lined your face, along with a deeper cut that had formed on your lips. You squeezed your eyes shut against the tears that ran down the sides of your face and burned against your newly formed wounds while you held your arms up to shield you.

"The little bitch opened her mouth." Viserys got off you and stood to his feet, looking down at your shivering form with pure disgust before calmly telling Illyrio. "I'll just tell Lord Pythias the bitch fell down some steps. After all, her being a virgin is what matters to him most."

"Heavens sake. Get her cleaned up and dressed. They should be here any moment." Illyrios voiced, shrugging the whole thing off before walking away.

"Get her dressed and ready Dany." Viserys ordered with a clenched jaw. "And you, half-breed, do not disappoint me, or else I'll have Pythias and his men take their turns with you in front of the whole city to get what I want."

Daenerys quietly watched him leave the room before rushing over to your side, her face filled with worry as she helped you up from the floor. "Shh it's okay y/n. I have you."

You sobbed into your sisters shoulder, tears pouring down your face as she cradled your trembling form in her arms, rocking you back and forth and softly singing you a lullaby while tears streamed down her face as well. The both of you were hurt, terrified, and neither of you wanted to let go knowing what was to happen.

The wedding had come much sooner than you had wanted as you stood in the dining hall with your sister and Viserys beside you, waiting for your future husband to arrive. Both you and Daenerys wore the dresses gifted to you, the heavy fabric of the north scratching against your skin, something that you were not at all accustomed to from being in the weather of Essos. Your face had been washed off of the blood, and though the wounds were not deep, the pain of it was still there, stinging beneath the clear ointment that your sister had applied. Your eyes were glassy, lifeless, nor was there a single thought amongst them as you stared out at the tile floor of the hall. You prayed to the gods for some miracle, anything, wanting it to be the sudden death of Lord Pythias and his men, wishing for a great storm to come and bury his ship at the bottom of the sea and drown those that sailed it. But the gods worked not in your favor, for just a few moments later, one of the servants entered to announce the arrival of the Northerners.

You blinked out of your lifeless daze, looking up from the ground from the feeling of your sister's hand grabbing yours. And as you looked towards her profile, you saw a frown sitting on her lips. Her skin which was normally pale, was now almost as white as the hair that sat on her delicate head. You opened your mouth to say something, but closed it quickly after sensing Viserys straighten up beside you.

"Remember what I told you sweet sister." You heard him say in your ear. "You wouldn't want all his men having you for themselves now would you. After all, one word from me and I'm sure Lord Pythias would be more than eager to act upon it."

"No."

"No what?" He clenched his jaw, his hand tightly pinching the flesh of your arm and causing you to wince. "I need you to be clear."

"I promise I'll obey."

"Good." Viserys smiled with a nod in approval as he retuned his hand back to his side. "It's a good thing you and Dany are pretty, even though you're just a half-breed. I would sell the two of you to every man in the world and let them fuck you if it meant me getting the throne."

"May the gods gift you a crown of fire." You muttered under your breath.

"What was that?" Viserys hissed.

"I said, dear brother, may the gods gift you a crown of fire. A crown fit for a dragon, for fire cannot kill a dragon."

"A crown of fire fit for a dragon." Viserys smirked at the thought, his eyes glossed over with his own delusional ambitions, oblivious to the darker meaning you had behind it, and that you had meant it more as a prayer of vengeance that the gods might soon fulfill rather than a tribute to his honor. "I like that. I hope that you might one day see it dear sister, to see me with the crown I so rightfully deserve."

The three of you turned at the sound of scattered footsteps echoing off the walls, the clicking of boots tapping against the floor like hooves against dirt, getting louder and louder. And as you looked towards the entrance with panic written in your eyes, you saw a group of men enter the hall led by a short older, rather stout looking individual in the front with another man walking beside him. Their clothes were dark and gray, devoid of any color and character, a stark difference to the vibrance of Essos that you were so accustomed to. The boots of the men were still caked with the mud from the North, tracking the dirt all over the floors as they went. And they carried with them their house banner, a symbol of a boar. Your fingers tightened around the cold hand of your sister, your jaw clenching as you watched the man leading them get closer and closer to where you stood with your siblings, his form swaying with each heavy step until finally stopping in front of Viserys.

"Lord Pythias." Your brother nodded his head respectfully. "It's an honor to have you join us."

"The pleasure is all mine Viserys!" Lord Pythias patted your brother's shoulder before gesturing to the man that had remained at his side since you saw them enter through the doors. "This here is my personal bodyguard and advisor Sir Bjorn Maurinus from Braavos." Lord Pythias spoke in a voice that was throaty and wheezy, as if he were struggling with each line he spoke, the sound unpleasant to the ears and what one would describe as the snorting of a hog.

The man whom Pythias had just introduced remained unmoving, giving Viserys just the slightest nod that barely went noticed. Bjorn Maurinus was a tall man of a lean figure of age 47, and there was a certain sharpness about his stature from the hook of his nose to the deep browns of his eyes that made you curiously drawn to his character, for there was not a single sign of emotion nor change of expression in the impassiveness of his face in the time that he was there. Your eyes caught the glint of the handle that belonged to his sword that sat at his hip, and as you lowered your gaze, you noticed that his left leg had been cut off below the knee, where a wooden limb had now replaced it. Bjorn had noticed you staring at his wooden leg, and with an unpleasant twist of his thin lips and a scowl in your direction, he pulled his cloak over to cover it.

"Well well well, this must be my new bride." You heard Pythias draw out his words, looking over to see him disgustingly leer at you with a lick of his pale and chapped lips, the way a predator would his meal. His irises were a dull gray, lacking any sign of warmth or compassion in them, reminding you of the blades of daggers and swords that were used to cut down men. And his eyes themselves were toad-like, sitting far apart from each other on his face and bulging out of their sockets.

"Indeed. Come sweet sister.” Viserys waved you over. “This is my youngest sister y/n. Your new bride-to-be. What do you think?"

"She's pretty, really pretty." Lord Pythias came over to grab your jaw, lifting and turning your face to each side as if he were inspecting cattle. It took everything in you to not flinch and shrivel away, even the mere smell of him made you feel ill. And now that his face was a mere inches from yours, the sight of him disgusted and horrified you. Viserys had noticed the way you recoiled and in response grabbed you with a flare of his nostrils, gripping your arm firmly between his grasp to keep you in place. From the pressure Viserys was applying around your arms, you were sure the prints of his hand would leave a bruise in its place. Lord Pythias was much older than you, a man in his 50s with thinning hair whom you thought had no business marrying a girl of your age. You could tell that he had not bathed in days, the smell of him was absolutely rancid and turned the contents of your stomach making you feel nauseous. He reeked of ale and beer and it was evident in his breath from the way he breathed so heavily on your face. And from the way the whites of his eyes and his skin tinted of yellow, it was clear that he drank often. His hands had not been washed either for there was dirt underneath his fingernails as you could feel the grime on them just by him touching you, and you were definite they would leave a trace once he removed his fleshy fingers from your face. "Her face is cut up." Lord Pythias gave a disapproving look.

"Yes, well," Viserys cleared his throat, "my dear sister can be quite graceless at times and fell down some steps."

"Hmph. I wanted her pretty for the ceremony. Is she a virgin?"

"Oh of course, she hasn't been touched by a single man, I made sure of it. I'm sure your lordship finds that agreeable."

"Oh yes." The man smiled at that. "And what of her figure? Has she grown into her womanly curves?"

"No, not yet, she turned twelve just a few months ago."

"Good. Good. I'll take her." Lord Pythias dropped his hands from your face before turning to his bodyguard. "Bjorn, hand Viserys his gold."

You watched with unsteady breaths, your heart pounding in your chest as if it were to burst through this very second and leave you dead in order to save itself as you fixed your gaze on the leather pouch that contained your weight in gold be handed over to your brother. Tears threatened to spill from the corner of your eyes and your knees trembled beneath the skirt of your gown. It felt as if your legs were in the process of giving out underneath you, and if it weren't for your sister, your surely would have collapsed to the floor. You felt powerless, trapped between the walls that would soon become your life. The gold was a declaration of your imprisonment, an emblem of your dying freedom, and there was not a single thing left to save you now.

"Perfect." Viserys smiled, weighing the pouch of gold in his palms. "Illyrios, bring in the guests will you. It's time that my sister got married."

The wedding ceremony had been short and forthright, not a single ounce of elaborateness or emotion in it as you were cloaked and joined at the hands for the tying of the ribbon. It all seemed like a fever dream as it passed, just a blur of the senses as you now sat at the dining table for the feast. Lord Pythias had been seated beside you, drunk from his many glasses of wine and howling with laughter as he shouted boisterously amongst his peers while Sir Bjorn Maurinus sat quietly on your right. You had not touched your food during the whole feast, your face wooden as your stared down at your plate, occasionally flinching in repulsion each time that Lord Pythias placed his meaty hands on your thighs. You found yourself staring time and time again at the knife that was placed on the table in front of you, lined up perfectly with the other silverware, the silver glinting across your eyes in a beam of light. You found yourself drawn to it, as if it were calling out your name for that sweet escape, just that quick swipe of the blade and it would be over, all of it. It had not even been more than two hours in the time that you were married, and you already dreaded it, wanting nothing more than to end it here, right now. As if suddenly overtaken by a trance, you found yourself reaching for the knife, closing your fingers around the cool metal until a voice stopped you.

"What do you think you are doing?" Sir Bjorn's spoke from beside you, his voice thick with the accent of Braavos from the roll of his r's.

"I'm-I was going to eat."

"The girl lies. That's a load of horseshit if I've ever heard one." Sir Bjorn pulled the goblet to his lips, taking a sip of the dark wine. "I know that look girl."

"I-I don't know what you mean." You turned towards him only for him to prevent you for doing so.

"Don't. Keep your head forward. Now tell me. A girl turns 12 and weds a cunt old enough to be the father of her father. You had not touched your food since it was placed before you. You and I both know what your intentions are.”

“Is it so wrong then? It’s my life to take.”

“The girl wishes to die then."

"............Yes. I-I don't want to live through the wedding night."

"So. The girl wishes to die and never see her sister again, instead of fighting and living to see another day."

"If I fight, I put my sister at risk."

"Not if the girl dances with her enemies."

"What do you mean?"

"If the girl is patient, she can live to see another day."

"How?"

"One step at a time."

You caught slight movement at the corner of your vision, shifting your eyes ever so slightly to see Sir Bjorn lower his hand to offer you a small vial.

"Take this. Keep it in the folds of your sleeves. And do not let a single soul see it. Understand?"

"What is it?" You dropped your hand to your side, making sure to keep your eyes forward as you took the small glass vial in your hand,, feeling the contents swirl inside as you stuffed it in the sleeve of your wedding dress.

"When he takes you to his chambers on his ship tonight, offer him a glass of wine and pour a drop in. It will keep him unconscious until sunrise and he will not remember a thing."

"And then what? How long am I supposed to keep up with this act?" You questioned, but to no avail, for when you turned to look at him, he had returned to his meal and avoided your gaze, his face once again that unreadable expression as if the conversation had never happened.

The sun had started to set upon the horizon, casting the sky in brushstrokes of reds and oranges that reflected against the waters of the earth, painting the sea the color of blood as far as you could see. The scene almost looked ominous as you stood by the docks, waiting for Lord Pythias's men to board the ship until it would eventually be your turn to step onto the wooden plank that lead to it. The cloak that Lord Pythias had gifted you was wrapped over your shoulder, the furs of the collar tickling against your cheek from the light breeze as you huddled against Daenerys, the two of you holding on to each other as if it was the last thing left of your mortality.

"I don't want to go." You stared out, scowling at the sight of Viserys and Lord Pythias laughing with each other, the two men that singlehandedly ruined your very existence and will to live.

"I know." Daenerys spoke softly. She had tried so desperately to not weep in front of you, but it came to a point that she could no longer hold back the tears as they poured down her face.

"Daenerys......if I don't make it back."

"What are you on about?"

"I'm being serious." You turned to her with tears in your eyes. "By the time the ship sails, I will be on my way to the North. None of us have been there, and it is far from here. Gods know what will happen to me. I might never see you again."

"Don't say that." Daenerys shook her head frantically as she held you tighter. "The gods will bring us back together."

"You don't know that!" You snapped. "You-you don't know that. Gods. I-I-can't do this. I can't get married to him."

"Y/n!" Viserys voice rang out as he called out to you. "It's time for you to go to your new home!"

New home. You scoffed at the thought. You were positive your new home would end up becoming the death of you. You stared into the violets of your sister's eyes with widened eyes of your own, watching the tears roll down her pale cheeks before throwing yourself in her arms and sobbing into them. "Daenerys, I can't do this alone. I can't do this without you."

"Y/n. Y/n." Viserys's voice became louder as he walked up to the two of you with an annoyed expression on his face. "It's time to go. You wouldn't want to keep your husband waiting now would you?"

"No. I don't want to be his wife."

“Y/n, what did I tell you.”

"Brother please." You tried to reason with him but yelped in pain as he grabbed a fistful of your hair.

"Listen here you little half-breed cunt!" Viserys hissed as he pulled at your hair to make you look at him.

"Ow! Viserys you're hurting me." You clawed at his hands to free yourself from his grip.

"I don't give a damn! That man paid good money for you. And you're going to keep him happy by being his little whore, or I swear on my mother's grave, I will let you rot in the North while every single man there fucks you like the little bitch that you are, and you will never see your sister again!" Viserys snarled in your ear before ripping you away from Daenerys and dragging you away to the ship by the back of your dress.

"Y/n! Viserys please!" Daenerys fell to her knees as she watched you get further and further away from her reach.

"Dany!" You craned your head back to look at your sister, your cheeks wet with your tears as your feet struggled to keep up with Viserys's steps.

"This is your last warning half-breed." Viserys stood you on the deck of Lord Pythias's ship. “There is no one there to protect you now. Do I have your word?"

You stared up at your brother, seeing the coldness in his eyes. "Yes. You have my word."

Viserys smiled at your answer, pushing a loose strand of your hair behind your ears before stroking your cheek with his finger. "Good. That is all I ever wanted sweet sister, your obedience and your loyalty. I promise, when I am king, I will bring you back home so that you, Dany and I could finally be together, where we belong."

For a moment, you swore you saw that old part of Viserys, of what used to be your kinder, younger brother who did everything that he could to take care of Dany and you. You fluttered your eyes closed against your tears as Viserys placed a soft and lingering kiss to your forehead, your body aching with the emotions that filled you as you watched your brother step back onto the dock.

"Lady y/n." You heard Sir Bjorn step up beside you. "Right this way please.”

You followed the man to the end of the ship, stepping onto the back deck as the ship started to set sail. It felt as if you no longer had the ability to cry, the tears that had streamed down your face just a second ago, now dried up from the air as you stared out at where your sister stood next to Viserys on the dock. Your expression matched hers as the wind blew against you, blowing back the braid that Dany had done that morning as you clutched the cloak closer to your frame. The ship started to sway beneath your feet against the waves as it began to set sail, leaving the shores of Pentos. The glass vial felt heavy in your sleeve as you stood unmoving, your eyes never leaving your sisters as she became smaller and smaller the further out you went into the sea until she became just a speck in the horizon. And when you could no longer see any remaining sign of her, of the one person you cared about, you turned away, not knowing if you would get out alive to ever see her again.

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muffindaddystyles · 3 years

Text

LOST IN ITALY.

Where Harry's cute assistant gets lost in city of Italy and the thought of loosing her drives him bullocks.

Flatulent gust of breezy wind kept wiggling through Harry’s coffee lovelocks, sunshine bounces against his soft skin and his pink heart-shaped mouth stays puckered as he takes in the beauty of his surroundings with his cheek smashed over his wrist – which’s resting atop the rooftop of yacht and his head perks up puppy like when tufty giggles maroons in his ears.

He gazes his cute assistant from under his ray bans and skims back a timid smile when her face beams with glee, her cotton puffy sleeved sundress blows away from the breeze giving glimpses of her plump thighs and Harry sucks in a breath snapping his eyes away.

“Harry look s’beautiful!” She squeals taking another picture of landscape with her grandpa's vintage Yoshika camera and Harry just rumbles his lips, shrugs and slumps back, a lazy mumble of “mehhh” elicits past his lips.

She’s just so endearing, and cute and fucking adorable it’s hard for Harry to keep from not babying her.

When he first went to sets of My Policemen he considered her rather unprofessional, as everyone kept on finding her but it seemed like she vanished into thin air, turned out when Harry took a break in his cubby she was lighting up saffron and black scented candles, “Oh! Thought you’d like comin' back to nice smelling room —-- holy fudge .... by the way, me Y/N your new assistant for the meantime.” His all grumpiness defused into bunch of reverence for her.

She'd always beat him to bringing in brekkie and smoothies for him and her fellows, sometimes giving him the velvet muffins before he goes back home --- Harry became such a drooly lovey puppy for her that he decided to keep it stern from then.

He’s trying. He’s prolly gonna fail.

Y/N isn’t very immune to water trips and she was well aware that a sickness is coming – but so soon? She didn’t know that!

So, when she chokes onto nothing and then gags driving Harry into fritz. Harry tries to keep his balls in place and not panic because that’d just spill his secret and expose him.

He quickly facades himself under stoniness, “Christ! Y/N if you die on me —-,” Though, grabs her elbow lightly and walks her to the edge of the deck.

Y/n smacks his hand away. Glares him and grunts pushing her hair away aggressively, “Don’t tell me what to do I’ll die wherever the hell I want!” His pupils resembling to that of clashing waves of sea blows away comically as she huffs and pushes past him.

“Better die and ghost you for life.” She gags into her elbow again and he rushes to grab her hand, when she pulls away with a tut he rolls his eyes brings his glasses to the bridge of his nose and looks at her from under the brown sunnies, “Jeez just holdin' a hand, not gonna slip a ring, ‘s that what yer afraid of.”

“Just admit you’re desperate to hold my hand.” She smirks up at him and he cackles, then dims into nervous chuckles because oh fuck he’s getting caught red handed.

“No.” He mutters.

How much she resists not to pout and turn all fussy over his denial she ends up doing so and it’s his turn to smirk cheekily at her.

“Are you mad? You look mad.” He wiggles his finger at her and she grumbles folding her arms infront of her bosom and cranes her head to side, “I’m not mad.”

“Yer pretty face’s all screwed up, like you’re mad.” He nibbles at her and she glowers him --- sighing at last, the wisp of her hair falling in her eyes, her lips plush and glossy from sick.

“I’m perturbed, not mad.”

Then there’s an overrated pause of silence and heartbeats before Harry pokes her knee.

“You still look mad.” His face splits into a wide cheeky grin – showing his bunny teeth and she stands up hastily wobbling a little.

“’M’not mad! But I’ll be soon Harry Styles!!!!” She goes for smacking him at chest but he jerks back and sneaks his way out squealing annoyingly, “Mommy come save me from this feisty sea-creature.”

“You mean a mermaid?” She giggles.

“No. Frogfish.” He deadpans.

“I’m not talking to you ever again!” She cries out and turns away from him but he barks out a laugh --- riling her up is the most entertaining thing and seeing her make cute fussy faces another.

“’Kay, sorry! Wouldn’t do it again.” He toddles behind her and glides his forearm against her clavicles bringing her to his front, “Says this everytime!” She squirms pushing him away but he’s ten times stronger than her and even if she’s ... she’d want to spend some more time like this.

“Wouldn’t call ye' frogfish —-.. from now on.” She nods. Humming in agreement and he turns her, holding her from shoulders and looks down at her with glinting eyes and wide toothy mouth.

“How ‘bout blobfish? They look more funny.”

“I’m gonna kill you, Harry Styles!”

They were given a loft infront of the shore 10 minutes drive away from the shooting place and after fighting over who'll occupy the bed, bickering and pillow fighting over it and almost making it creaky loose bench Y/N went back to living room telling him that he snores so much, “Sorry but ‘m too sensitive to piggy snorey noises – better sleep outside.” He was fuming and gritty mess, flailing his limbs like a baby because he was “the hair on his directors head” away from sharing the bed with her.

“Whateva! your loss. Don’t come t'me beggin’ to pop your backbones.” He told her in high pitched mimickness and flumped under cool sheets.

His one hour nap turned into two then three. In the meantime, Y/N made a sandwich from the fresh veggies piled in the fridge, sipped onto her matcha drink sitting beside the window and enjoyed he view, even went through her socials.

Realized that she’s missing him around her terribly even if it’s just jokes and giggles and shit, whatever, so she took her camera and went outside to take pictures of shore and the purple sky battling with hue of clouds.

She got so charmed with Italy's beauty that she kept on walking and taking pictures, only to realize when the bustle of crowd dropped into tranquil quietness and she found herself into some unknown street.

She’s fucked.

She’s lost.

She has got nothing,

Not even her phone.

She contemplates to knock on the house doors and ask for locations but she’s petrified of the idea and tries to find some shop, so she could call someone and ask them to pick her up.

Dumb. Dumb. Dumbest decision, she has ever taken in her life.

When she sees no passer by, none tourists no-one in sight and the daylight defusing and darkness laughing and taunting her tears springs in her eyes --- bubbling at the corners and weeping down furiously.

Her heartbeats drops dead when she sees a group of men approaching towards her. She runs away hiding into the dark tunnel and clamps her mouth shut from crying out loud when they walk away -- they weren’t about to do anything to her – it was just her feared instincts.

“Harry ......” She whisper-cries into her wrist, her legs weak and trembly making her tumble down into dusty stoned pavement, her back getting scratched from the bricked wall of tunnel.

Harry woke up to pin-drop silence. Void of the sun that was once glimmering through the window, “Y/N.” He grogs out, knuckling the sleepiness away and trudged out finding the room empty.

It startles him. Waking him up properly now. A sweat flushes down his spine when he couldn’t even find her in the washroom and at the door-steps.

He dials her number and finds it at the coffee table, gruff cruses breathes out from his mouth at that.

FuckFuckFuckFuck.

His heart feels like someone’s squeezing it mercilessly in their grip when he goes outside, but couldn’t spot her and he finds it difficult to breathe, chest heaving as he snaps his head in every direction to look for the face he’s oh so in love with.

Where are you, Y/N?

Maybe, she’s angry with me? Did I hurt her in any way? Oh, fuck. I’m such a bitch.

Now, she’s angry with me and hiding in some corner cursing me out.

I have to bring her back.

So, he calls anyone in connection with Y/N in hopes that she’s with anyone of them and when there were, “no mate --- maybe check in the washroom...” and “last time she texted, said she’s going out to take pictures.”

Harry’s face pales at that. Sick to his stomach. His fists tighten by his sides to keep his calm the world around him spins for a moment and he stables himself with the nearby railing.

Bad thoughts spirals in his mind, how much he avoids them it frightens him like his worst enemy.

What if she’s hurt? It hurts him in heart even to think that.

Got into an accident and they took her?

Fuck.

What if some mafia has kidnapped her.

Obviously, Italy is famous for mafias ..... No!No!No! Harry shut up, shut up, shut uppppp!!

He screams internally to pause everything and think rationally.

He searches for her everywhere. In every street. His feet hurting until now and he chokes onto a sob, not even wanting to think of getting police involved and still not able to have her back.

He shouts for her name. Halting past anyone looking like her, that mini dress she flaunted infront of him with a gorgeous smile –-- asked him how it looked on her and he wasn’t very interested to give a response.

If he could take all of it back and praised her like his life depended on it, only if he’d told her how much he loves her, her making sure he’s comfortable in his cubby, her bringing cold milk drinks for him, dividing her oreos with him.

His hands shakes by his side, his lip twitching constantly and his legs trembles pathetically with each step he takes.

He stops. Narrows his eyes to squint through the darkness and he feels like someone blew oxygen back in his lungs, his knees weakening at the sight of some girl sitting on the bench, her shoulders slump and her head downwards as she clutches the edge of bench, rocking on it with quite sniffles.

He prays that it’s her.

Upon, hearing the footsteps Y/N looks up and those sweet eyes are enough for him to recognize her in between many people.

“Harry?” Her voice feeble and scared.

“Oh baby .....” He mumbles. Rushing towards her, stumbling back a bit when she flies in his arms and latches to him like the missing piece of her body.

His palms curves into her ribs, her face smashed into the crook of her neck – her tears wetting his skin instantly and his cheek squished atop her sweaty hair, he hugs her for dear life making her legs dangle in the air, she sobs nuzzling deeper into his throat and he caresses her shoulders to soothe her cries down. Kisses the side of her temple with tender affection and sighs in relief.

“Shhh. Shh baby, ‘s okay. I’ve found y’now ..... ‘m here sweetheart ‘s alright.” He doesn’t stop splodging soft pecks to her forehead – scared that if he’ll she’ll get lost from his arms again.

Her hiccups painful not letting her take a breather and Harry puts her down on her feet gently, taking her face in his clammy hands and hooks his thumb into her hair gazing into her glassy eyes intensely, “Hey look at me lovie’ just .. focus on me alright?” She nods at his plea grabbing his wrists and follows his breathing pattern.

He glances back at the bench and goes to grab her camera but she cries out fisting the hem of his corduroy shirt in her tiny hands, “No!” could barely choke out from her dry throat and he turns his attention back down onto her, strokes the rosy apple of her cheeks and pets her head.

“Not leavin’ yer side baby .. was bout to get your camera fo’ you. Could come with me if you don’t like stayin' away.” He assures her softly and trots towards the bench with his arms still around her as she keeps on hiding her face into his bicep.

They walk down the street like that, she has calmed down letting a sniffle slip here and there --- this kind of scenario has never happened to her before – she has never been outside of her home city before too.

He feels her tummy screech for food so asks her, chin butted atop her head, “You’re hungry, petal. Let’s get pizza.” She doesn’t feel like eating though. When she shakes her head – squeezing him more. He takes her from shoulders looking down at her with gentleness and brushes a strand of hair behind.

“Just a tad, darlin'. I know a delicious take away round the corner ... could eat it sittin' by shore.” He offers her with a smile and punches the air happily, whistling when she agrees.

When she giggles softly, defrosting back from numbness Harry spins them a little overly gleeful.

“Got me sweet girl back.” He exclaims ducking down to kiss her cheek and now when she’s less wobblish, her lungs fills with bunches of butterflies.

Blush splatters on her features. As Harry aligns his tanned arm with her delicate one and locks their fingers together lulling it backs and forth between them lovingly.

He keeps her tucked under his chin and snuggled in his arms all the time, even while waiting in the line for the take away.

“Ow!” Squeaks, “Ow. Ow.” Jumps on his tippy toes upon balancing the hot pizza on his palm.

Grins like a mad man when succeeds in making her laugh, takes her hand and helps her climb down slippery stones.

Goosebumps arises on her skin from shyness when he coils his strong arm around her to pick her up, with pizza in his other hand and giggles breathily in her ear upon hearing her squeals.

She sits in between his knees. Leans against his chest and inhales his woodsy vanilla scent, nibbles onto the crust while hearing his heartbeat.

“You scared the living hell out of me, lovie’ ... thought —-... thought I’d never be able to have you back again ... proper vanished.” He croaks out. Runs his nose up and down the sweet curve of her neck.

“Made me realise ... that I don’t want to be away from you, ever.” Y/n's breath hitches at that and she turns in his embrace. Looks at him with surprised doe eyes and coos when his eyes gloss over with wetness, that he’s forcing to keep at waterline.

“I really like you, Y/N.”

“You do?” She gasps.

He bobs his head giddily, “Can you picture it? You and I together?” He murmurs mellow street light dancing between them.

“’Us'? I like the sound of that....” She smiles searching for his hand and he grasps it eagerly like he was yearning for it.

“Kay then, when could I take you on a date?” He grins. Dimples mauving deep and pretty.

“This isn’t a date?”

“We’re in Italy. The sky's so romantic and I’ve got you, seems like a date to me....” She peppers kisses to each rosy gap of his knuckles and his inside bursts like they never did before.

“Kay then. It’s memorable too, you got lost on our first day –--”

“Harryyyy....” She whines nudging him in belly with her elbow. “’Kay we could change that.” He laughs. Showering her in kisses and her laughs whirls loudly into quite air, trying to squirm away from his tickles.

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favoniuscodex · 3 years

Note

Kiss all of the dilucs

i’m so desperate to talk about this that here's some of you and the elemental dilucs kissing even tho i know u weren't asking for it. LMFAOOO

a kiss with pyro (original) diluc is one that occurs in the dead of night. hushed words and whispered promises that take place by the roar of the dawn winery fireplace occur shortly before your lips finally meet. it is the seal of a promise for diluc, your diluc, to return to you after another night of darknight hero excursions. as your featherlight touch gently brushes across the outline of his jaw, diluc finally, finally lets himself indulge and lets you press your lips to his. he returns with a slow burn of fervor, trying to convey everything he can’t always in words.

cryo diluc will kiss your knuckles with a cheeky wink to match, along with gifting you fleeting kisses to your cheeks. but despite the way his gaze flutters down to your lips every time he leans in, he never quite surprises you with a kiss. the two of you seem to dance around the subject rather than actually addressing it, until one day, his cheeky smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes and the way he reaches for your hand feels far less composed and far more desperate than normal. so, when you finally tilt his face towards you and meet his deep blue eyes, he finally lets all semblance of control go and kisses you like he means it, showing you exactly how he feels towards you.

electro diluc walks with you through mondstadt. while reserved and composed, his knightly stature and unique, deep violet hair color attract attention from those around the two of you. your brief moment of peace, in which the two of you are both fortunate enough to be able to get off work, is disrupted by fellow knights greeting him and others thanking the captain for his efforts. you can sense his irritation through the twitch of his brow and electro diluc laces his hand through yours and takes you just outside the city gates. a field of dandelions awaits you and, with no interruptions, diluc can finally gift you the present that he has been attempting to the whole night: a kiss, chaste and sweet, yet perfect nonetheless.

anemo diluc and you sit amongst the towering tresses of the vineyard when you share your first kiss. with little care, he sits down in the tilled soil underneath them, beckoning you to sit next to him. as he doesn't care about his expensive outfit being sullied with stains, neither do you, so you take a seat beside him, watching as he plucks the ripe purple berries down from above. he tells you that the fresh grapes are sweet, yet still crisp. harvest season hasn't quite yet approached, so the tartness of flavor still lingers on his lips and, when the two of you make eye contact, he provides the sweetness of his own lips upon yours as a salve for any bitterness that may linger from the berries.

dendro diluc can be found bundled up in the library of his study, with a cold glass of grape juice sitting on the coffee table next to him. his attention is focused solely on the pages of the book in front of him, but as soon as you walk in the room, the fantasy heroes of the pages in front of him are forgotten about. after all, the tales of romance and the feats of fictional heroes can't make his heart race like your beauty does, so he sets the book down on his lap and nervously folds his hands over the other, hoping that you'll make conversation with him. when you do, his cheeks flush over with a pink hue and he begins to fumble over his words, yet he falls silent when you walk over to him and slowly place a kiss on diluc's lips. after all, there's no need for him to worry when your heart already lies with him, right?

geo diluc believes that secrets, if harmless, only cause grief to bottle up. so, when he finally realizes his affections towards you, he tells you in a forthright manner. after all, bluntness is appreciated in the business world. fluff and false platitudes provide nothing but an even greater waste of time and diluc knows he was tactful, so why are you looking at him with such a shell-shocked expression? for once, he doubts his contractual capabilities and takes a step back, apologies beginning to fall from his lips. it isn't until you take a step forward and pull him in by the lapels of his suit that he realizes you were simply processing the information, not disgusted by him. when you say what you can't through a kiss, he feels his stone heart reawaken once again and, with passion that he didn't even know he had, kisses you back in an attempt to show you just how strong and capable of a lover he can be for you.

hydro diluc lives for clichés. hell yeah, he's knocking on your door at 3 am and acting like his fresh wounds hurt a lot more than they actually should. it's not like you know any better! after all, the pitiful look in your eyes that you give him as he sits on your bathroom countertop, shirt off, is more than enough to soothe whatever actual pain he's feeling. when you begin to chastise him for getting injured, he can only let out a soft laugh. injuries don't matter when you're chasing the truth, right? and when you pout up at him with that angry yet affectionate look in your eyes that he knows all too well, he realizes he can't take it anymore. so, he cups a hand around your face and, ignoring the way the scratches on his chest scream at him as he does so, hydro diluc leans in close and finally breaks the boundaries of friendship, kissing you with a fierce determination as he focuses on memorizing the soft feel of your plush lips.

#theres no teal so anemo diluc gets half green half blue #why can i not use purple on desktop... sorry electro ur pink now #//mail #mail.elemental dilucs #mail.diluc

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lowslore · 2 years

Text

find the word tag

I’m catching up on a Bunch of tags by @akindofmagictoo! Thank you sm! I’m gonna moosh em all and pick some of the words I can find in my new project!

raise (TPRW)

I couldn’t scream. So once again, I did what any sensible person would have done, and made a tiny squeaking noise at the bottom of my throat.

If you’ve never seen a gecko raise one eyebrow (I know they don’t have them. It’s the only way to describe the expression Aubrey made) disapprovingly, be glad. You don’t want to.

Luckily, Michael jumped in to save the day.

“Hey, Max,” He nodded. “This is the newbie. Name’s Jennifer.”

Song (TPRW)

I was still processing this statement as another figure stepped out of the rose petals and came down the driveway towards us. This one had longer, but equally curly black hair, the same dark chocolate eyes and wore a dress patterned like the inside of a red cabbage, spiralled and swirled with purple and white. Their wings were like those of a peacock butterfly, and they also had a crown picked out in flowers upon their head, this one in more of a tiara shape.

“Are you not going to introduce me?” They spoke in a sultry voice, their tones just as sing-song as the Monarch’s, but somehow deeper, richer, like the difference between babbling water and thick molten chocolate.

“Of course!” The Monarch smiled. “We were just getting to that. Lady Jennifer, my Queen, her Majesty Queen Ariana of Fairyland, Lady of the Lakenshire, Mistress of the Rose. Queen Ariana, Lady Jennifer of Willowdale Road.”

Frame (TPRW)

The gates shifted and melded before my very eyes, seeming to grow as I watched them, into tall, thick, dark-green/brown wooden gates. They were framed on either side by massive stone columns, the base of which were wider than the top, so they rose up with a diagonal on the other side to the side attached to the gates. Three sconces were dug into each column at regular intervals, in a sort of triangle. Over the gates was a large arch, not too bent, with words in red and yellow in a language I didn’t understand. If you’re picturing the Jurassic Park gates, you shouldn’t be, because that would be copyright infringement – on behalf of Jurassic Park, because this literal dimension has been around a lot longer than a set of dumb movies. You know, I never found out who it was on those movies who used to do this round in some capacity. Anyway, on with the tale.

Chin (TPRW)

It was around here that I finally paused to look at Max long enough to see their features. They had sort of chin-length near the sides, shoulder-length near the back, shaggy brown hair, very muscle-bound chesticular features, and an extremely pointy nose. Despite the large, clawed, scaly bottom half, their eyes were kind, and what I previously perceived as a grin was perhaps more accurately a softer smile. Perhaps sensing my wherewithal beginning to return, Aubrey’s scowl lessened, and the pressure on my vocal chords decreased exponentially.

Cold (TPRW) (Jennifer’s narration my absolute beloved)

I hurried downstairs, unlocked the door and went to get my bike, before peddaling off into the darkness. As I rode, the cold, frosty wind buffeted my face, forcing me further into wakefulness. I didn’t like that very much, but then again, it helps you resist the... Oh, would you look at that, I’m getting ahead of myself again! Now, where was I... Ah yes. I arrived at the post office and put on my best “I’m at work” smile, which wasn’t actually that good considering it was 6:25 in the morning. Pushing open the door, I entered to find............ dun dun DUUUUUN!!! A pretty ordinary post office. I got you there, didn’t I? You thought that was going to be something dramatic! I know you did really, there’s no need to pretend.

Care (TPRW)

So! What is a dinosaur centaur? An excellent question, and one you honestly don’t really want to know the answer to. No, really. You don’t. What do you mean, I can’t do that to you? I’m the narrator, I can say whatever I want! Oh? What was that? You’ll put the book down if I don’t do what you ask? Fine! Go ahead! Ignore my awesome story! See if I care—wait. Where are you going? I didn’t think you were serious! Come on, fine, I’ll tell you what a dinosaur centaur is. Don’t say I didn’t warn you though.

I’m tagging @ashen-crest, @catharticallysarcastic and @sleepyowlwrites with no pressure ofc! And anyone else who wants to do it. Your words are: sure, shake, shower, shut!

#writeblr #writeblr community #writing #original writing #writblr #lows lore #tprw funsies #writeblr tag games #tag games

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yandere-sins · 4 years

Note

18 with sea monster Levi from the supernatural prompts list (if your still doing it)

I am really glad you guys enjoy these prompts so much :3 And I get to regularly write for Obey Me too, that makes me quite happy ^.^ Please enjoy!

“Don’t worry, the water is much less scary once you dive in.”

»»————-———— ♡ ————————-««

No one could blame you for the fear you felt as you woke up from your uncomfortable slumber. Coldness and wetness only added to your discomfort, as did the pounding in your head and the dry throat you were experiencing. You remembered the last thing you did before passing out, sitting at home, drinking the new herbal tea you bought from a fisher offering it to you.

You weren’t usually someone who gave money away easily, but the man looked so poor and shabby, you thought he must have done everything he could to collect the herbs and make his wares that he offered next to the even less appetizing fish that he sold. You quickly exchanged money for a bag for his tea, but when you arrived home, you didn’t feel right with throwing it away. After all, it was only a herbal tea and just one bag at that. It might not have been your usual go-to, but you prepared it for yourself and sipped away happily on it as you read your book.

After that... was only darkness.

Like a hole in your brain, the memory slipped from you of what happened, but there were other dire matters to attend to now. Wherever you were now, it wasn’t your cozy home, nor any place in the village which you knew like the back of your hand. It was awfully dark here too, the only company you had was the faint sound of dripping of water.

With your hands outstretched, you guided yourself through the darkness by keeping to the wall closest to you. Even though it made you shiver, you tried to ignore the things you were touching. It could have been moss or similar things, you just hoped it wasn’t anything like mold, considering how damp the place was. Occasionally, you’d hit your head by a low hanging ceiling, and it made an impression on you that this wasn’t any kind of housing, but instead a dark cave. But what were you doing in a cave?

For a long time, there were no answers to be found. You weren’t sure if you were doing yourself a favor following the only path you could find and pursue, but when a crack in the wall in the distance came into view, you were never happier to see it was illuminated. If only darkness had continued to be on your way, it might have driven you mad the longer you stayed in it.

The squeeze was tight, but not impossible. Taking a deep breath, you reveled in some wind that came through an opening in the ceiling, together with what seemed to be rays of the sun. They reflected in multiple spots in the cavern, especially the water surface of a pond, which took up almost half of the grotto.

Though you approached with hesitation, once you stood in front of the water, you were eager to kneel down and wash your hands. The feeling alone, of being clean again, made a tremendous amount for your mental health. With a splash in your face, you finally felt like you could take rational thoughts again, not just being driven by your feelings and survival instincts like when you woke up.

You stood up, ready to think about a way to get out of wherever you were when your eyes fell back into the water again. Strange, you thought to yourself. Isn’t it supposed to be calm?

Before you could even approach it again, you were greeted by scales breaking through the surface, a body like a tail winding in and out of it. It was so big, you couldn’t think of a creature that would explain its mass, despite thinking to yourself it almost looked like a sea serpent. Those were, of course, only myth, but you were clueless about what else would be an option.

Gasping in shock, you stumbled back, unfortunately tripping over a stone on the ground that brought you to a tumble. Falling to the ground, you felt the shock of hitting the cold ground, your body complaining about your clumsiness, as a loud sound caught your attention.

A head that you could only describe as one of a moray, but as big as a dragon's finally broke out of the water. Its orange eyes must have had your size, and they focused on you eerily. Before you knew it, you had stumbled to your feet, ready to bolt back to the darkness, which now seemed much more welcoming than ever before.

But before you reached the gap, a strangely familiar voice echoed through the whole cave, and you turned your head to the only possible thing that could have used it — the sea monster.

“You are finally awake,” it noted the obvious, and you were so sure that you knew the voice from somewhere, despite the distortion that laid over it. When the monster talked, it showed a couple of terrifying sharp teeth, and it scared you even more, despite feeling intrigued to find out the mystery.

Lucky for you, your body was wiser than to stay, slipping you through the crack that would bring some space between you and the giant monster, even though you could still watch it from behind there. “Aw, that’s no fun,” it complained, and you watched in awe as its body began to glow in a bright, purple light. It was so flashing, you had to look away for a moment as it illuminated even the dark corridor behind you.

But when you finally managed to look back again, the monster was gone, and your curiosity was picked by its sudden disappearance. Sticking your head back out into the cave, you slipped halfway through the crack in the hope of finding out where it was. Perhaps it had lost interest and just gone somewhere else? Had it been real or just your imagination? What the hell kind of herbs had you consumed to even think this thing up--

“Boo!”

The way your body was stuck in the gap still made it very painful as you jumped in surprise, a wet hand gripping for your wrist as you tried to get back into the dark safety. “What?! W-Who?!” you tried to ask the face you were looking at as a man jumped out in front of you. “Come on out, I’ve been so eager to have you over.”

“Have me- woah?!”

Surprised by how strong a simple tug coming from the man was, you got torn out of your hiding spot, landing ungently on your knees before him. “Where is this even? Who are you?!” your voice grew louder and louder as he pulled you up and to your horror, towards the water, which was a place you absolutely did not want to follow him.

“What do you mean ‘where is this’?! Home, of course, you Idiot!”

“That...” your brain needed a second to register his words before you could properly answer him, your head shaking quickly as you tried to pry him off. “T-That’s not my home at all! And who are you?!”

Finally, he stopped, rolling his eyes. “You’re no fun at all. Do you know how long I have been watching over you and your little village? Shouldn’t you be a bit more grateful towards your super awesome deity?”

At least, you finally felt able to hold a conversation with him, though you shivered under his cold touch and strange words. “I... I don’t understand...” you admitted, and you could see his shoulders sink in disappointment.

“Ah, how unfair... All my brothers always get recognition for their doings, but I am always stuck with the ungrateful little fisher villages...” You were relieved when he finally let go of you, in between his mumbles. It wasn’t even as if he was talking to you anymore, much more so to himself. “They don’t even know how lucky they are that I bring the fish to them... I do everything...”

Slowly, you began to back up, ready to make a run for it again and hide in the shadows, when his head suddenly snapped up again, eyes piercing through you coldly. Only now you realized they were as sharp and orange as that of the sea monster, and a bad thought came up in the back of your mind, but you banished it quickly.

“Hey, you,” he called out to you, and you gave him a nervous glance and bit your lip. “You’re the child of the major, right?”

At this, you stopped, looking at him with confusion in your expression. “How would you know?” you asked him with almost naive curiosity.

“Listen to me, I told you I’ve been watching you for a long time. You were promised to me by your father if I kept the fish coming and your boats safe.”

“That’s... That’s impossible!” you managed to gasp. “I never heard anything about that.”

“It doesn’t matter, you are here now.” He turned sideways to point at the water behind him. “It’s not like your tiny, human lungs can get you out of here. You are mine now.”

Though you felt a sting in your heart, doubting your own family over a stranger’s words. Could you have been set up? Were you really promised to this... person... creature... whatever he was? But even so, shouldn’t you have a say in this?

“I will find another way... I definitely won’t stay here, and I absolutely don’t belong to you!”

His mouth opened in surprise about your refusal, watching you as you darted back to the gap, disappearing in the shadows. You heard him shout after you, his voice carried by the hollow cave, “There’s no other way out.”

There had to be. There must be.

You sprinted the way back that you had come from, earing a few more bumps in the head from not seeing the ceiling. But when the smaller cave opened up again, you couldn’t find any wind telling you about another way out, nor did you anticipate to only find another body of water, this time, in a pool maybe as big as your body was. It was so pitch black, you couldn’t make out if this was only a hole in the ground or another way to get out, but you began to panic when you heard tapping steps behind you.

“Come on, don’t be such a killjoy. I am sure we can have fun together once we get used to each other! It’s not like I want to hang out with you, but it’s better than watching fish all day. Come out, come out, wherever you are!”

You didn’t see him, but it was almost as if you felt his presence as he reached your cave. And after an initial blink he made, you knew he could see you too, judging by how his eyes glowed in the dark as the only thing there was. “Found you!” he chuckled, clearly happy about his victory as if you were two children playing.

It was only then that you were ready to throw hands if you had to. Perhaps you’d just chase him back and forth, but you did not want to stay in his proximity like a trapped mouse. But when you decided to storm forward, you felt something eerily, slimy and wet around your right ankle, gaining your attention. A long tentacle - or perhaps, the end of a tail, it was hard to make out - wrapped around your leg tightly, glowing purple, but not enough to actually illuminate the room.

It did one tug to try, before you were swept off your feet with a scream, pulled towards the man-big hole filled with water. “New game,” he announced. “You want to get out here so badly, we will see how long you can hold your breath first, okay? If you win, you get to swim away. But if I win, you stay.”

“N-No!” you disagreed, but you were already soaked up to your chest in the water, clawing at the unforgiving stone ground as the man approached, leaning down to you. “Don’t worry, the water is much less scary once you dive in.”

He watched you disappear, leaving only bubbles behind as he simply pulled you back to the main area with his tail coming from his back. This water path was merely a connection to the main pool, his home, but it would be enough for your human lungs to not want to get back into the wet yet again.

Going back to the grotto slowly, knowing you were occupied below the water at the moment anyway, he thought how terrible tiresome and unnecessary your struggles were. So what if he had turned himself into an old fisher, giving you herbs that would knock you out for a while? And so what he did all of it just for his own pleasure? Being a sea monster was hard. He deserved a human of his own for a change since he did so much for them in return.

“Hey, let's play something different now, okay?” he demanded, poking you with the tip of his big toe, as you held on to the edge, panting. You were shivering, terrified both by your deep-sea dive, as well as all that happened around you and the sea monster, clad in a man's skin, as you coughed up water while climbing back onto solid ground slowly.

“I’ll teach you to say my name in all languages I know, alright? Listen well, I don’t want to repeat myself!”

All you could do was watch as he began to say his name over and over in languages you shouldn’t be able to understand even. Tears formed in your eyes as you looked down to your ankle, still wrapped by the tentacle, and you imagined what would happen when you couldn’t keep up with his definition of fun.

At the same time, only his voice kept ringing in your head, over and over.

Leviathan, Leviathan, Leviathan.

You were already his.

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couchpotatoaniki · 3 years

Text

One Year ❣︎ Three: The Execution

Chapter Summary: Trying to cool off, you decided to spend the day by yourself. This couldn’t have gone any better for San’s plan.

Pairing: Mafia!San x Fem!Reader Genre: Mafia AU, fluff, angst, eventual smut, lotta crack and stupid shit ngl Chapter warnings: swearing, stalking, kidnapping Word count: 2.5k+ A 365 Days parody

Previous: Chapter Two For the rest of the series, click here

Speech in bold means they’re talking in Korean

Speech in italics is whatever the reader wants their native langue to be that’s not Korean or English

Speech without either means they’re talking in English

Buzzing came from your pocket, initially thinking your phone got a notification until it continuously vibrated. Yunho was calling you.

“Yo, where are you? Mingi told us what happened between you and Dom--and before you say anything, he’ll be having hell to pay, regardless of whether you approve or not.”

Chuckling, you sighed as you looked at your surroundings. “Fine by me. Do what you like to him.” Slowing down in front of a cute-looking coffee shop, you answered his first question...partially. “Just taking a stroll in the town.”

“Wanna be left alone?” You hummed as you entered the establishment, being hit with wafts of bakes goods. “Very well then. But we’re gonna hunt you down if you’re not back by midnight.”

“M’kay, Pops,” mumbling absent-mindedly while overlooking the menu on the screens above the counter.

You couldn’t see the gentle bitter smile on his face, knowing very well that you weren’t as stone-cold as the façade you masked yourself in. Had an idea that you just needed space. “Alright then. Look after yourself.”

“You too.”

Beeping over the line indicated to you that he had hung up. Shoving your phone back into your coat pocket, you let your feet carry you to the till, where a young teenager dressed in a pale blue polo shirt and evergreen apron on top greeted you with a nervous smile.

Must have been new, or had some sort of social anxiety, from the way they avoided your eyes and fidgeted with their hands. “U-Um, hello. Welcome... What would you like?” the taller kid practically whispered, but you caught on to their words.

Sending a soft, warming smile, you answered, “can I have a buttered croissant with a mango and passionfruit iced tea, please? Actually, would you mind adding a chocolate muffin to that too?”

Nodding, they tapped the till, pressing various buttons before saying, “that’ll be 6,500 won, please.”

Pulled out your wallet and paid the employee. As you sat down, waiting on your order, you began to reminisce from when you used to be that age too--then again, it was not hard at all since it wasn’t too long ago.

Seven years ago, you were only 16, enjoying life just before things took a turn you never expected and you were never the same air-headed, happy-go-lucky kid you once were.

All you needed at the time was someone who was kind, who gave you a breath from the onslaught you faced all around you. Mingi was probably the only reason you’re still alive.

Thinking about the old days did more damage to you than you’d like to believe, but almost seemed impossible with the Dominic situation.

Being betrayed again hurt like hell, and although he wasn’t as bad as what you had experienced, he still broke your trust. Trust you tried to rebuild after all you went through the last time.

Thoughts you spent so long trying to get rid of grew back like weeds of the concrete walls you put up five years ago.

And despite what you tried to convince yourself and Mingi, you actually really liked the guy.

“Here you go, miss,” the young employee mumbled as he placed a tray with your order on it. Almost everything was right, except that there was a vanilla and chocolate chip muffin instead of a complete chocolate one.

Oh well, a muffin’s a muffin.

“Thank you,” you grinned, handing the teenager a tip of 10,000 won.

Their eyes widened at your strange generosity before hesitantly taking the money you held out between your index and middle fingers.

Your lips wrapped around the straw as you took a sip of your ice-cold drink. Strong tones of mango, with a hint of passionfruit, slight sweetness from honey and faint tang of fresh lemon.

Iced tea was something you had grown to love over the past five years, first time being too bitter and flavourful for you. Then again, the events prior left a bad taste in your mouth. Seonghwa was the one who helped you, always getting you an iced tea every time he went to a nearby coffee shop.

Learned quite quickly that your tongue was sensitive to heat after being so concerned how you refused piping-hot meals he cooked for you often. Waited until it cooled a lot before digging in.

No doubt the four boys would do anything for you--Mingi the most out of the rest since you wouldn’t be where you are without him--but sometimes you needed to breathe by yourself. Enjoying the little things you like croissants and muffins rather than focussing on your soon-to-be ex boyfriend cheating on you for a reason that eludes you.

That’s how the rest of the day goes.

Aimlessly walking, window-shopping, sight-seeing. Nothing registered in your mind but it was better than something negative.

Your phone was on silent, growing cold in your pocket from the lack of heat being transferred from your hand. Even then, you doubt anyone (except Dominic) would be texting you since you told them you wanted peace.

Before you realised it, the sun crawled above your head and began to set in the horizon, a clash of beautiful blues, oranges, pinks, and purples hovering in the sky. Lampposts along the streets lit up and the sky grew dark, yet that didn’t stop the hustle and bustle.

Irritated by the noises of people, you turned to an alleyway which had significantly less lighting but also significantly less humans.

As you walked, you were deep in thought, not thinking much of your surroundings. Then the hairs on the back of your neck stood up and a chill ran down your spine.

Someone was following you.

You were about to turn around and defend yourself--and you had no worries that you would lose. But then bright LED headlights of a hidden black SUV had highlighted the hair of a rather short person who stood in front of it.

Shocking electric blue stands brushed against his porcelain-smooth skin from light wisps of wind passing by. The same colour hair you realised had been barely peeking in your peripheral since the airport.

Next to a man you had very briefly met on you birthday dinner while searching for the bathroom.

Exactly how long have they been following you?

Though you chided yourself for not noticing it sooner--despite all the excuses of being ‘on a holiday’--you found yourself pondering. You had never met those two funky-haired people before in your life, and you sure as hell made sure any dangerous people couldn’t find you (not without going through one of the other boys first) so who exactly were these people?

Perhaps you were like a bee, drunk on the honey in your tea, or maybe you wanted to get your mind off the situation, needing a thrill at the moment.

You felt the need to destroy something--or at least toy with it for a bit--and these cocky assholes seemed perfect.

Either way, you relaxed your muscles (only a little, as to not raise suspicion of the young man before you).

One foot stepped behind you as you kept your eyes trained on his coco ones, only to rip them away a moment when you turned to ‘run’. As expected, something else tried to stop you. Another black SUV with blinding lights swerved into the other end of the alleyway as you tried to leave.

You’d prided yourself on good acting, and it always seemed to pay off. Right now, to sell the part of a scared girl, you stumbled backwards--planning to fall of the cobblestone path, but only to be saved by something hard.

The mysterious man’s chest, his hands holding your arms as support.

“Sorry about this,” he whispered in your ear, covering your mouth with a chloroformed cloth. You didn’t really put up much of a fight (to your standards, anyway) and succumbed to the strong chemical.

At first you were floating in a sea of black, unable to connect with your senses. Slowly, after moments of nothingness, you could feel the world materialise around you.

Soft fabric was cushioned beneath you, cradling your body with warmth. Light began to seep through your closed eyelids as the gentle, sweet smell of sugared almonds filled your nose with every deep inhale. And finally, a headache that began to pound harder with every pulse.

Grunting, you pried your eyes open, immediately noticing what appeared to be a shower room in front of you. There were two shower heads on each side, with only pillars of soft light embedded into the tiled wall rather than a proper partition. To add to the lack of privacy, the only material separating the shower room and the eyes of the bed was simply a thin pane of sliding glass which hid absolutely nothing.

“What kinda perv decided to design this monstrosity?”

Propping yourself up on your elbows, you looked down on the bed you were lying in, thankfully still in the same cotton dress, phone no longer in its pockets. The mattress was significantly softer than the one at the hotel--yet another indicator that your kidnappers were rich.

On the tables dotted around the space were lilac candles. Most likely the culprit of the amazing scent in the room.

Your eyes then caught the daylight peeking through the curtains, enlightening the room in a soft apricot glow. “Fuck,” you muttered, remembering Yunho’s words in the previous call she had, “they’re gonna kill me for staying out.”

Pushing yourself off the illegally comfortable bed, you inched towards the only door you saw. Fingers wrapped around the cold metal handle and pushed down, finding it much to your surprise that it was actually unlocked. Pulled it open without hesitation, though making sure you peered out to see if there was anyone.

There wasn’t.

“Great security, guys,” you sighed, actually feeling disappointed in the lack of effort you had to put in while walking openly around. After all, it was the reason you let yourself be taken.

Then again, this could all be a trap.

Now that was exciting.

You let yourself become familiar with the surroundings upon one glance, noticing the obvious luxurious colour scheme of gold and cream that had your eyes rolling at the basic rich vibes it gave you.

Then you found your breath catching in your throat as you continued to explore, eyes frozen on a portrait hung up on a wall.

Though the fact that it was a portrait of you had initially shocked you, it wasn’t the defining feature that had your heart palpitating at a dangerous speed. Your hair was short again, a pixie cut, while you were sat on a beach that looked a lot like the one you visited in Santorini.

“Fuckin’ hell.”

In fact, the painting was an exact replica of you from five years ago, down to the clothing of ripped jeans and loose top you wore. You, from one of your darkest and lowest moments.

“Are you lost, babygirl?”

The same voice rang in your ears, repeating the only sentence you heard spill from his lips. When you turned around to confirm who it was, it was indeed the same man you saw.

The damn muscular guy, with pitch-black hair and a lock of platinum blonde brushing just above an eye.

The blood was rushing too fast, fear in your eyes no longer an act. Just who the fuck was this guy?

You took one step back, knees buckling instantly but before your brain could process it, the man had wrapped his arms around you, catching your body before hit the ground.

San could smell the delicate citrusy aroma wafting from your skin and he tried so hard to not bury his head in the crook of your neck, to kiss the area and whisper sweet nothings into your ear.

Taking advantage of your frozen state, he lifted you up and place you on a nearby armchair, one beside a fireplace since he felt you were too cold for comfort.

Only until he had a ice cube pressed against your lips, did you snap out of it. “You should have it. Maybe you had a bad reaction to the chloroform. Sorry about that, by the way.”

Head turning the other way, your guarded eyes stayed locked on him rather than your painting behind his form. “English.”

“Why? You spoke perfectly good Korean at the dinner two days ago,” he said, pressing the ice cube onto your mouth once more.

“Simply because I feel more comfortable with English,” you remarked, swatting away his hand. “And stop putting that on my mouth.”

Sighing, he dropped the cold, melting cube back in the glass of whiskey before putting a bit of distance between the two of you. He could feel himself getting angry, that you won’t trust him, that you won’t listen to him.

But could he blame you?

“I feel like explanations are in order,” you said, narrowing your eyes down on his figure, flickering firelight resting on him to make him seem even more good-looking, shadows casted to make each feature appear sharper. But that wasn’t what you were focused on.

You wanted to deduce this stranger by his body language.

Stood tall, maintaining good eye contact, showed that he was confident. Classic black suits--expensive by the look of the fabric--showed that he as rich. Tattoos littering the skin of his hand showed a bit of a bad-boy nature. And the aura he emitted was that of a leader.

Corner of your lips twitching, you realised who--or what--he might be. The boss of a fairly powerful crime syndicate.

San, on the other hand, couldn’t see what you were thinking as you looked at him. Did you think he was as hot as he did you? Fuck, he hoped so--clearly not understanding how a normal person would react in such a situation.

“Hello? Earth to whoever the hell you are?”

“If you want answers, you certainly won’t be getting them if you act like a brat.”

Scoffing, you tilted you head, eyes boring into him with a cold glaze coving them. Like a lifeless doll. “Then how do you suggest I act then? Hmm? After seeing that you’ve been stalking me for the last five years,” you nodded towards coloured canvas, growing more unsettled every time you looked at it.

“Fair point,” he said, taking a seat on the chair opposite you. “But you should know that I haven’t been doing that. Stalking you, I mean.”

“The fuck do you call that creepy-ass portrait, then?”

“I call it a precious memory.” San shifted his focus from your gaze to the flames lazily dancing on charred wooden embers. Tongue swiped over his lips before chuckling, almost bitterly. “Doubt you’ll believe me, but I’ll tell you anyway.”

Lips pursed, you sat quietly as you listened to his story.

☕︎ Tag list: @little-precious-baby , @sparklychangbin ,

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horrorslashergirl · 4 years

Note

The Collector finding and collecting his childhood friend because she was the only one who was kind to him as a kid.

The Collector x Reader- The memories that persist

Authors Note: Another Collector one? Well yes, because I have many requests with him, so gotta work on them.

Warning: Just some good ol’ kidnapping

Words: 1.8k

Asa had two moods that put people at distance, being socially awkward and having a stone-cold exterior were like protection, like a scorpions needle ready to pierce whatever got close to him. He never found the need to have friends or bond with another human being, for his opinion on humans and the society were that there are either predators or prey and he sure as hell wasn't the second.

The idea of someone being nice meant they wanted something, people don't do charity, there is always a secret reason for every action, be it good or bad.

He somehow had to thank his father for this unique education that he got until he was alone; it made him the man that he is today, untouchable.

Asa was waiting patiently in front of the coffee machine in the hallway of the university, he needed the caffeine after a night of no sleep and working on his collection; sleep was a luxury he couldn't afford, not when there was so much to do.

Usually, the hallways were filled with professors and students, chatting and discussing, but when he was near, people preferred to keep the distance and find another place for conversation. Maybe it was the way his black eyes would take glances at them and create an uncomfortable vibe without even trying.

Some of the more daring staffs of the university sometimes joked on Asa that he was close to forty and he should consider settling down, an aspect the Entomologist never thought about.

Now, he wasn't ugly or unappealing, perhaps on the contrary; he was tall, bulky, sandy brown hair and his eyes that at first, you might find intriguing, but once you meet his cold interior, his way of making anyone feel stupid using his superior intelligence, you would back away. None wanted to put up with him, none wanted to feel inferior next to him, so they all left him to be; alone.

He took the plastic cup from the machine, ready to head to his office, when someone called his name, making him turn around in the source of the voice.

Obsidian eyes looked at the person who called him; hair flowing down shoulders, eyes sparkling with knowledge and recognization, a big smile showing pearly whites.

"Asa? Is that you?" you asked, stopping in front of him.

His brows pulled into a furrow, confusion evident on his face.

"Do I know you?" he asked with a raised eyebrow.

"Does 'Bugaboo' ring a bell?" you asked with a mischievous smile.

One minute passed, then two, then his eyes widened as memories from so long ago crashed back onto him. He was looking at you like he'd seen a ghost, like he believed what he saw was just a hallucination.

"[Name]?" He tested the name on his lips and tongue, it felt so foreign.

Your lips pulled into a grin and you nodded.

"So, you did remember?" you asked, chuckling at his shocked expression, which you found cute.

It's been years since he said your name, memories of two little kids spending their time on the edge of the forest close to the town, basking into the beauty of nature.

If Asa had to recall a good memory it would be that his little hands holding a book as he read aloud, you leaning on his side, listening to his voice as he read paragraph after paragraph. It was probably the only time he felt not constricted by his fathers' rules, in your presence he felt peaceful, not afraid or uncomfortable.

You were the only one who had the time and patience with his awkwardness, the only one not to judge, and the only one who was genuinely nice to him, never expecting anything in return.

As a kid, Asa was very shy and his self-esteem was just dust, the only ability he was very sure of himself was his academics, but even that if it wasn't molded to perfection his father would destroy.

Perfection.

All his life resorted around it, be it in all kinds of aspects, but that's what Asa thrived on, quintessence.

"What are you doing here?" Asa found himself asking.

Before the massacre of his family, probably one or two weeks prior, you left, your family left; you pretty much disappeared, leaving him alone and he could recall his father's mean words.

'People are temporary, son. They come and go, none stays forever. They seek you until they found you unneeded.'

"I'm in my last engineering year and they transferred me here, but I'm glad they did. I didn't expect to see you here, but I'm very happy so." you genuinely said, making him gulp down, nervous.

Asa wasn't nervous.

"I work here." Asa simply stated.

"Ahhh...So your dream to be a successful entomologist finally happened. I knew you would make it." you said with a grin, pulling your backpack over your shoulder.

You took one some coins and put them into the coffee machine to get your own beverage.

Now that you were closer, his eyes inspected you. He recalled when you were kids you were both the same height, but now he pretty much towered over you. Your hair used to be shoulder length, but now it was past your middle back in loose curls, a loose red wine-colored sweater covered your upper body, the material a little past your hips, your legs hugged by black leggings and brown Uggs on your feet.

"I really need some hot coffee. Its cold outside and I think it won't take much to snow." you said, but Asa was more so comparing your actual form to that of your younger self.

As a kid you were cute, he remembers that, but now you were a woman, and what little warmness he had for you as a child now it came back, but in a much different shape. Both of you were adults, no longer children.

"I guess I will see you around, Bugaboo?" you asked with a raised eyebrow, using the childish nickname and making him look away, but alas nodding.

You gave him one last smile and marched away down the hallways, his eyes trained on you until you disappeared around the corner.

Asa couldn't believe what just happened, he still debated if everything was just a very realistic dream, but his confirmation was made when he saw you around the university, always flashing him a smile and waving at him.

Some staff members even teased him, asking if you were his girlfriend or so.

'Emory! I didn't know you had a woman. You sneaky bastard.'

'She sure is a pretty one. Wonder what she sees in you.'

He wished he could take a scalpel and cut the brown-nosing idiots from neck to groin, but he had more self-restraint than most.

What he really felt towards you wasn't just an attraction; yes, he was attracted to you, but there was also a catch. Everyone who fell as victims to the Collector knew that if Asa Emory was attracted to you, it meant a death sentence or a complete nightmare.

He was patient, he was a strategist and planned everything with the utmost precision, and that leads to you being chained to a bed, makeshift gag to prevent you from screaming, although Asa doubted that someone will actually hear you, probably only his guard dogs and the collected ones that were still alive.

The hotel was isolated outside the city and not even cars passed by to wonder what odious things were going inside.

You had tears running down your face, and the bonds on your wrists created uncomfortable bruises that you knew will be purple by the end of this nightmare. Your attention was pulled from trying to break free to the door of the room as it opened slowly, revealing a tall man dressed in all black. He closed the door, locking it and putting the keys on the utility belt around his waist.

Even in the dim-lit room, you could make out some sort of his appearance; he was white, very bulky, so fighting hand to hand against him will do you no good. As he came closer you could make out his eyes from behind black carapace-like a mask. Your eyebrows were pulled into a furrow, these eyes looked so familiar, that certain spark in them, it was then that your body froze in shock, like you were struck by a lightning.

Maybe it was only your imagination playing with you. As he stalked oh so slowly towards you, his gloved hand coming up to take your gag out of your mouth, making you take a deep breath and close your eyes as a whimper escape your lips.

"A-Asa?" You tried to say his name, wondering if it was really him, although you could never mistake his eyes for anyone else.

"Not Asa." he replied, his voice all too recognizable, but what did he mean that it wasn't him?

"W-What?" you choked out, only for his finger to press against your lips and you swore you could taste the blood.

He looked over you, calculating eyes taking you in, then you squeaked as he swiftly got on top of you, his nitrile covered hand coming to gently cup your chin, his eyes absorbing every little detail that made you a whole.

"P-Please...T-This is not you. This is wrong." you tried to kick some sense into him, not wanting to anger for God knows what he is capable of.

"No. Of course not." he whispered, his mask brushing against your cheek as his breath hit your ear, the close proximity between your bodies making you feel anxious.

Eyes widened when you saw the glint of a blade, his hand grasping the handle of the weapon as the steel trailed up and down your legs, then between your breasts and resting under your chin, making your gaze never turn away from his.

"Please don't kill me...." you begged, closing your eyes to let around a set of tears fall down your face.

He tilted his head to the side, curious at your desperate words. That was a habit of Asa, you remembered how cute it was when he tilted his head in pure genuine curiosity when he saw something that piqued his interest, but now, it was downright disturbing.

"I'm not gonna kill you." he answered your beggings, his mouth against your ear, and you had to fight the urge to kick your legs when his tongue came out to lick behind your ear.

"I'm gonna punish you for leaving....little pet." your eyes widened, heartbeat stopping at the dark suggestion of his sentence.

Next thing, your ears were meet with the ripping sound of your blouse, a scream tearing from your mouth, only to be silenced by a hand around your throat.

"A-Asa..." you choked out, his lips pulling into a sadistic smirk, obsidian eyes sparkling with lust.

"The Collector."

#the collector #the collector 2009 #the collection 2012 #the collector x reader #Asa Emory #Asa Emory x reader #slasher x reader #horror movies

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darkeninganon · 3 years

Text

Ha, more Gream (Ghost Dream). Ranboo is weak to smol things. Want proof? Tubbo and Michael.

Gream stared out the window. His room was looking out over a grave. Tommy's grave. It was... something that made him feel strangely bitter. Like, he felt like he should be happy, but wasn't actually happy. Staring at the grave made him want to laugh and spin and cheer; but yell and scream and cry at the same time. Gream huffed, flopping onto his bed. It was green, like his curtains, rug, and anything else he could make green in his room. Ranboo had kicked up a storm about how weird it would look and that it wasn't a good idea, especially the window, but Tommy and Tubbo had talked him into accepting the changes.

Well, accepting wasn't really the right word, he still refused to accept the green room, but he didn't do anything other than glare at the door or window when he passed it. At least... Gream thought he was glaring. It was hard to tell because he had no eyelids.

Gream shuddered at that. Ranboo produced tears, and didn't need to blink in order to keep his eyes moist, but his tears hurt him when he cried. The guy was a disaster and probably shouldn't even exist, yet he still did. The ghost tried to avoid the half enderman as best as he could, but wanted to speak to him about... something.

With a sigh, Gream left the comfort of his bed, leaving his room to wander the mansion. Ever since that siren had sounded, the two teens told Gream he legitimately couldn't leave the mansion, or else the man with the gold tooth might find him and... and...

Gream shook his head, acid burning at the wood beneath his feet. "Oh, oh no. Not good, not good!" The ghost looked around, desperate to find a chest filled with spruce wood to replace the slowly eroding material.

"You thinking about what Tommy and Tubbo told you?"

Gream spun around, Ranboo standing there with a baby zombie piglin clinging to his pant leg. Ranboo looked... bored? Angry? "I'm... I'm sorry, I'll replace it! I just need to find-" Ranboo sighed, shaking his head. "I'm sorry..." Gream muttered, pulling his feet up to float noticably off the ground.

"It's fine. Just... keep an eye out for Michael." Ranboo huffed, picking up the little piglin. "Yes! That's right, we need to be careful with you." Ranboo cooed, nuzzling his child.

Gream just watched, surprised at how different the half enderman was acting. "you... Yeah. I'll be super careful." The ghost stated, lowering his legs back down to appear as if he were walking. He floated over to the two, smiling behind his mask. "hey there Michael. You... You need to stay away from me, okay?" Michael let out a little snort, "are you the monster? You have a mask like the monster." Michael then took out a wooden sword...

And smacked Gream with it.

"Ow! I didn't- I mean... I'm sorry?!" Gream looked between Ranboo and Michael, confused what he had done to be hit over the head.

Ranboo rolled his eyes, taking hold of the toy sword. "He's not the monster Michael. Good effort though. Yes! Such a good effort!" Ranboo resumed nuzzling him again, earning a laugh from the piglin. Ranboo stopped for a moment, looking to Gream.

The ghost stared back at the half enderman, literally shrinking under his unbreaking gaze. "So, um... Where is the-"

"Take some emerald blocks from the chest near the front, and trade with one of the villagers. One should have spruce planks to make into slabs." Ranboo turned and left, leaving the now small ghost to float and find his way to the trading center inside the house.

Gream sighed, floating towards the front of the house to look for the chest. Ranboo's directions weren't the best as there were at least five or six chests near the front, and Gream had no idea what was in which chest. He'd never bothered to look before.

"You're sure you haven't seen anything?"

That voice. Gream froze, listening in to the muffle conversation.

"You an Tubbo built your house close to the prison. If he was going to look anywhere for supplies, he'd probably look here."

That voice sent chills down his spine, making him want to shrink down to his smallest size and hide inside the chest. The chest lid dropped from his grasp, slamming shut loudly. He had shrunk to his smallest size. He really needed to learn to control his abilities.

"What was that?"

Gream ducked behind the chest, clamping his hands over his mouth to stay quiet. The voice couldn't find him here... he'd be in deep trouble... his food would be taken away, his bed, his flags, his books, he'd be taken away to someplace terrible.

"Probably just Michael." Ranboo. Ranboo was... lying to that voice? Was Ranboo insane?!

"Since when could zombie piglins open and close chests?"

Silence followed. Heavy and tense. Neither person was backing down. Even from his hiding place, Gream could imagine Ranboo glaring at whoever had that voice. The Warden. That's the name that came to mind with that voice. That cruel, cold, heartless, paranoid voice.

"What? You think I'd let Dream stay here? You'd think I'd be that dumb?" Ranboo hissed after the silence. Ranboo... was he working with the man with the golden tooth? Was this... Warden guy one of his goons? Gream shook his head, tangling his hands in his hair. He wanted to remember... he needed to remember.

"You two had a secret conversation, and when I asked you about it you didn't remember. Then you come crawling to me, demanding to be let in-"

"I said to put me in the prison. As an inmate. But you said I was a good person!"

"Are you saying this wouldn't have happened if I locked you up?!"

"Maybe! I don't know at all! I don't know where Dream is, and even if I did I wouldn't be able to tell you! Just like how I can't tell you that I b-" Ranboo's voice suddenly died. He growled, a static noise coming from deep within his throat. It stopped, somewhat, lessening to background static; "Put your sword away. I'm not going to attack you. I have better control than that."

"What the hell kind of noise was that?!"

"The kind of noise I make when someone attacks me!" Gream could hear the Warden backing down now, thrown off by Ranboo's suddenly inhuman noises. It made sense though, Ranboo was half enderman. "You come into my house, accuse me of harboring a fugitive, who you know would kill my husband if given the chance, and you call into question if I had anything to do with it when you know I have a terrible memory and apparently was a traitor! Yes! I'm angered! Now get the hell off of my property."

Silence followed. Gream peered over the top of the chest, finally spotting the duo. Purple puffs flew around Ranboo frantically, similar static and garbled chirps coming from all of them. Some were buzzing around the Warden, clearly trying to intimidate him into leaving. Even with his mask on, Gream could see the glare the Warden was sending towards Ranboo. "This isn't over. If you come anywhere near the prison-"

"You'll kill me on sight. Yeah, whatever. That's your battle cry these days." Ranboo stepped up, getting right in the Warden's face. "If you come near my family ever again, I'll return the favor in such a way, you'll wish you were dead."

Gream listened to the heavy footsteps of the Warden retreat, ducking low in hopes of not being seen as Ranboo turned to enter the house. The ghost heard the hybrid sigh, sinking to the floor with his back against the door. "You can come out now. Sam is gone."

The small form of the ghost man peered out from behind the chest, acid bubbling against the wood. He pulled his hand back, cringing behind his mask and ready to be scolded. Ranboo was staring at him, and he stared back, curling in on himself so as to not accidentally dissolve anything. "I'm-"

"Why do you shrink?"

Gream jolted. Ranboo was still staring at him with that pseudo-angry look he always seemed to have around the ghost. "I... I um... I don't know... I just... I really don't want to be seen, then I'm small like this, and burning things with acid, and... I'm sorry, I'll learn to control it."

Ranboo sighed, standing up and walking over to Gream. The half enderman knelt down, scooping up the tiny ghost and holding him up to his face; "Relax. It's fine. Did you... do you know who that is?"

Gream shook his head, pausing before shrugging. "I... Not really? His voice sounds familiar... badly familiar, but as for a name... Warden... The Warden." Gream looked up to Ranboo now, hugging himself as he stood on the teen's hands, the netherite protecting his hands from the acid Gream always seemed to drip. "Do you... I mean are you... Is he-"

"Relax. I don't pick sides. Unless they're Tommy and Tubbo. I'm on the side of those two, but only if I need to be." Ranboo wished he had eyelids right now, then Gream probably wouldn't be so scared of him. "Sam... The Warden is... He's stressed easily, and..." Ranboo glanced at Gream's eyes, or where he thought his eyes were, a cold stone of pity resting heavy in his gut as he was hit with the realization of just how scared the little ghost was. "I'm not really working with him, but... I am pret-" his mouth suddenly sealed shut, as if he had just swallowed a block of honey. Ranboo tilted his head in confusion. No, that couldn't be right... "I'm pla-" Again, he was stopped from speaking. With an annoyed sigh, he set Gream down on the chest. "I can't tell you. I'm sorry. I wish I could, but... I'm stopping myself, as you can see. Much like you and your... shrinking and acid, it's not something I can control. Please, don't tell Tubbo or Tommy."

Gream nodded. "I won't. I promise, just... help me with the floor please? I'm not sure how to get big again or turn off... Turn off? Stop? The acid issue going on." He muttered, picking up one foot to reveal a growing puddle of slimey acid. Ranboo chuckled, a gentle smile coming to his face. "Alright. But only if you use the magic word."

"Please and thank you?"

"There we go." Ranboo cooed, patting Gream's head. The half enderman set the little ghost down on the chest and went to repair the floor.

#tiny!dream #mcytg/t #mcyt g/t #Dream SMP #DSMP #Gream #Dreamwastaken #Ranboo My Beloved #michael_beloved #trauma #My writing

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fuchsiagrasshopper · 3 years

Text

Contending the Flame VI

Author’s Note: Happy Holiday season everyone! Hopefully you are having a better time than I am currently with work and new lockdown restrictions where I live. I already have the next two chapters written, so I plan to upload each within a week of one another. Thanks as always for being awesome!

Vikings Masterlist

Pairing: Ivar x Reader

Word count: 2234

Warnings: Servant dynamic, language.

The coming weeks had slowed as the provisions for the Heathen army continued to dwindle. As the weather closed in around them, so too did the Saxons. Their plight to negotiate for land had gone unheeded by Ivar. Well, it was Ubbe's plan but Hvitserk had gone along with it. Lately, it seemed he was being pulled back and forth between his brothers, his only use being the mediator. He wasn't sure which brother to follow, preferring it better when they all worked in tandem. Right now it was best for him to stay out of their way.

Ivar had returned to how he had been before, after the misfortune with Margrethe. He was terse with the thralls, and he shunned any prolonged company with women. There were moments, either when he was sitting at a table or alone in a corner, a strange look would pass over his face. Hvitserk was sure he was the only one to notice, but he didn't let on about it.

If Ivar wondered about the nun, he never said as such, and Audhild had reported that he hadn't come around inquiring about you. On the surface, it seemed whatever had started between you was over, but Hvitserk didn't think so. You were two boats passing in the night, waiting for the other's signal.

Hvitserk had taken it upon himself to keep watch of the nun. He had told Ubbe from the start not to get involved, but now he had thrown himself in headfirst. You no longer seemed to be a danger to yourself, and Audhild had said that you thrived as a healer, though you spoke very few words. It got Hvitserk curious, and he set out to find you.

Until the battle against the Saxons would start, the healers were not so occupied. Audhild had told him where you could be found. It was a courtyard that was led in by an archway, with bushes of purple flowers. At its heart was a statue of a man who Hvitserk wondered about. Christians had these carved monuments of people everywhere. What great deeds had they accomplished that granted them the honor of being captured in stone?

He quit his thoughts as he spotted the nun hunched over by a bed of flowers. It struck him then that he didn't know your name, and the few words he picked up in English would not get him far

"Mary...erm Sister," He called, trying to recall what you had said when you were first claimed by Ivar.

You stood with abruptness from being startled, your guard up as you recognized him. Your sheared hair was now covered in a sage green scarf, twisted and wrapped not unlike the Sami people. Hvitserk could see a black and blue bruise around your left eye, about the size of a fist. "Sister Mary Catharine, and you don't have to call me that."

He was glad you had answered in his language. Though some of your pronunciation was wrong, they would get by well enough on the gist of things. "Why not?"

"I don't think I am a nun anymore, not in the eyes of God. Just Catharine will do."

As Hvitserk took a step forward, you shifted back. The mistrust hung heavy between you both, and he realized he'd have to go slow in order to gain your favor. He stood firm where he was. "What happened there?"

You gingerly touched the mark on your face he had indicated to, a sad smile forming. "I'm not the discarded whore of the crippled bastard, even if some of your men think so. When one took out his cock and tried to relieve himself on me, I fought back."

Hvitserk was disappointed to hear what had happened, though such behavior was unsurprising. His heart sunk for his brother as well. Some of the men still only thought of Ivar as the lesser son of Ragnar, even after he had proven to be a sharp mind with a fierce heart.

"Do you know who he was?"

The nun shook her head. "No, and I have not seen him again. At least I still have the Lord's mercy."

You made a crossing gesture over your heart that Hvitserk did not understand. He spotted the cloth bandage on your wrist as well. "How's that healing?"

"It's fine," You said as you folded your arms behind your back. "Why does it matter? He didn't send you here, did he?"

The white look of terror on your face was hard to miss. You looked like a hare caught up in a trap. Hvitserk tried to think about the best way to ask his questions in order to get the answers he needed. "My little brother doesn't command me. I just wanted to know why you did it."

"I wanted to spare myself from a worse fate," You said, turning your back to him while you felt at the petals of the flowers. "I didn't want to suffer like the priest."

Hvitserk recalled what an imposing figure Ivar had cut hovering above the Christian man as he poured molten gold down his gullet. "Ivar told you about that?"

"No." You gazed over your shoulder a moment before your eyes flickered down. "I knew he had done something horrible, but it was another slave who told me. She said I should be careful, and that your brother hates all Christians."

Hvitserk took a step towards you without thinking and grabbed you by the shoulders. "What slave?"

"I don't know," You gasped while breaking out of his hold. "She came to clean the room one day. It was the first time I had spoken to anyone else besides Ivar."

"Why would she need to tend to his room when he had you?"

You frowned, seeming to forget your previous grievances for his closeness as you leaned forward. "What do you mean?"

Hvitserk knew from an early age that he was not exceptional. Ubbe is a strong swordsman and scout, Sigurd was musically inclined, and Ivar is a cunning strategist. At best he could survive raids and follow a battle plan, achievements that any of his brothers could do better. But none of them had his gut instincts, and his stomach was wrought with the feeling that a trickster had snuck their way into the camp.

"It's nothing," He said eventually, though not with enough conviction for the nun's liking.

"I don't believe you."

The earnest look on your face would have annoyed him more if not for how undisguised your naivete was. Maybe that was what drew Ivar in.

Hvitserk prepared to say more but was interrupted by a voice calling over his shoulder.

"Brother," Ivar called, followed by the indistinguishable sound of metal steps plodding the ground.

Hvitserk turned, bracing for whatever force Ivar would throw at him. If he was surprised to see the nun, he didn't let on, instead, his face sat stoically as he maneuvered forward with assurance. He was too young to look so miserable.

Ubbe was with him, peering at the girl who had taken refuge from prying eyes behind Hvitserk's back. His was a face easier to read, both tense and curious at the discovery. Hvitserk knew he would be answering questions later.

"She won't sleep with you brother," Ivar inserted with a cold chuckle. "She's chaste."

Hvitserk scowled at Ivar's attempt to maim with petty insults. "That's not what this is. Audhild sent Catherine to tend to an old injury I sustained from my raid with Bjorn," He lied.

"Catherine," Ubbe said. "Is that her name?"

"No, her name is Ólaug," Ivar interrupted before Hvitserk could speak. "Isn't it, Bride of Christ?"

You refused to rise to his idle taunts. You were as still as the Saxon statue, and your eyes never left Hvitserk's back.

"I don't know if it's really her name, but it's as she told me. Now what do you want, Ivar?"

"We are leading this army together, yes?" Though it didn't sound as if he meant that. "The Saxons prepare to attack at dawn, and we need you before going over our plan of countermeasures."

"Right," Hvitserk mumbled, turning back to the nun while nearly knocking you back because of how close you stood beside him. "Audhild will be expecting your return. You should go."

Your eyes grew wide with gratitude and you gave a curt nod. You made certain to keep an arm's breadth away from Ivar as you passed, taking the route around Ubbe instead. Ivar watched you leave over his shoulder, his face filling with scorn as his attention snapped back to Hvitserk.

"What happened to her face?"

"She's a thrall, Ivar. When they disobey, they are punished." His blunt remark had the desired response, as he noticed Ivar's jaw stiffen and grind back and forth. "Forget that for a moment, I think we have a worse problem. There's a spy in our camp working against you little brother."

"What are you talking about?" Ivar sneered, adjusting his stance as his crutch struck the ground.

"I know why she tried to end her life. Another slave told her about what you did to that priest. She didn't let on about it, but I think it was implied to her that she would suffer the same fate, or worse by your hand."

"But I would not have done anything to her," Ivar tried to defend, his face falling into guilt.

"It's not like she would know that, though," said Ubbe. "She's a nun, and sees us as little more than rapists and murderers."

"I was kind to her," Ivar huffed, struggling away from them towards the same flower bush the nun had been eyeing. He pulled on a branch, bringing the blooms close enough to smell.

Hvitserk shared a discreet look with Ubbe, communicating the shared thought of Ivar's favor for his former thrall. "Whoever spoke to her probably knew that, and was trying to get her away from you."

"They probably wanted to catch you alone," Ubbe added. "Your life could be in danger."

Ivar scoffed, releasing the branch back with a snap. He pivoted towards them, his movements were aggressive. "I don't have time to worry about one spy. The Gods would never let me die without honor, alone and asleep without renown. Tomorrow we fight the Saxons, and face victory."

Turning back towards the archway of the garden, he began down the same path the nun had departed prior. His stance was rigid, and his grip tight on the crutches. Hvitserk still held his breath on habit, afraid to watch Ivar stumble knowing that he couldn't offer to help him back up.

"Where are you going, Ivar?" Ubbe called.

"To address the army, and I expect you both to join me," He said, never stopping on his way out to even look at them.

When they were alone, Hvitserk could feel Ubbe eyeing him before even turning his way. "What?"

Ubbe chuckled, "You told me not to get involved, yet here you are jumping in headfirst."

"I'm worried. Ivar has been distracted since giving her away to Audhild, and we need him thinking straight if we're going to beat the Saxons together."

"We should have known Ivar would fall in love with the first woman to show him kindness," said Ubbe, looking pensive at the statue that had transfixed Hvitserk earlier.

"You think he loves her?" Hvitserk exclaimed in surprise.

"Well, he's at least fond of her, but with Ivar, it's difficult to tell." Ubbe ran a hand over his face as if to wipe away the stress he was feeling. “What really happened to her face?”

“One of our men was not kind to her. Ivar still does not hold the favor of every warrior in the army, and she is at risk as a result of that. I’ll tell Audhild to keep a closer eye from here on out.”

Ubbe nodded in agreement. “We’ll continue to try when we can as well, but I don’t know what will happen once we finish here. I don’t think Ivar has plans on remaining in York much longer.”

“I know,” Hvitserk said, feeling resentment towards Ivar for all of the misery he was constantly dragging them into. Even if they were to return to Kattegat next, Hvitserk knew it would be to war with Lagertha and Bjorn. He loved Ivar and would follow him to the four corners of the world, but not at the cost of their family and their father’s legacy.

It felt like they were using you as a buffer for their little brother’s madness, but in the days that Ivar had kept you, he had been more agreeable and even happy. Hvitserk held respect for you even if he hated your Christian God, but if it was your freedom measured against the success of their army, then he would have no trouble giving you back to Ivar in chains. Peace in the time of the sons of Ragnar was more important than one nun.

"I hope you know what you're doing, getting involved, brother," said Ubbe, disrupting his train of thought.

Hvitserk approached his older brother and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "Of course I don't, that's why I have you. Now come, let's go speak to our army before Ivar gets any more ideas about leading without us."

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@shannygoatgruff

@tgrrose

@1950schick

@castielsangelsx

@rose1729

@mlchael-guerin

@strangunddurm

@ladynightshade30

@dangerouspsychicgardenflower

@readsalot73

@ritual-unions-gotme

@lonewolf471

#vikings #ivar x reader #ivar x you #ivar ragnarsson #ivar the boneless x reader #vikings ivar #ivar the boneless #ivar lothbrok #ivar imagine #history vikings #vikings imagine

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votederpycausemufins · 3 years

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Guys, idk how to tell you this, but we’re nearing the end. I mean, i’m gonna write more smaller pieces and maybe another long one in the future, but this one specifically is ending soon

@petrichormeraki

Mumbo walked down a hallway behind Drista. It looked like something Scar would have made as it looked more like a decorated underground tunnel than anything else. Stones of different types lined the walls and some vines and grass were present here and there. He kept trying to ask questions to pass the time, but Drista always shushed him.

Since he couldn’t really have a discussion with her, he just looked at the walls around then that looked worn by time. Some ores were present in the walls, though they weren’t any Mumbo recognized. When he looked away from them, the redstoner could see what looked like the tunnel widening up ahead, likely to a room or sorts, though based on their surroundings, it could be more along the lines of a cavern.

He was right as when they stepped out of the tunnel, the ceiling was still made of rocks, but the room itself was filled with life. Trees of varieties he had never seen before littered the area. Leaves of blue purple and gold were scattered around and hanging on the trees. Flowers of every color. A small pond to the side, small lily pads covering a good portion of the surface. It was beautiful.

“Alright, a couple of the fam are headed over here to talk with you. Don’t go wandering around because this place is like a labyrinth and you don’t have the ability to get out yet.”

“You sound like you’re going to leave me here.”

“Cuz I am.” And with that Drista ran off down another tunnel that connected into the room. With nothing to do but wait, Mumbo wandered around the cavern, trying to not stray too far from where they had entered. He really decided to stay close when he saw what he thought was an armor stand wearing armor, slumped against a wall. When he got closer and noticed the skeleton within that was obviously not a reanimated monster, he made sure to run back and stay in place.

After he started to become a bit restless again, Mumbo was slightly glad to see people approaching him. All of them wore some sort of mask, which unsettled the redstoner a little bit, but he remembered how Drista and Dream had worn some of their own, so it must have been a Vault God thing. Come to think of it, Grian also showed off a Watcher mask once. Did these higher beings just wear masks?

“We do indeed. It hides the self and keeps us separated from those we… work with.” A chill went up Mumbo as he realized that they had just read his mind. “Yes, another reason for the mask, though that enchantment could be placed on anything.”

“Should I just ask questions in my mind then?” Mumbo asked, now trying to keep his mind empty.

“Nah, just Song being cryptic and stuff.” A new voice spoke from the Vault Gods and one wearing a mask that resembled a turtle slapped the back on the head of one wearing a mask decorated in music notes. “We can control it easy enough, some people just get used to various powers and tend to overuse them.”

Mumbo sighed in relief at the casual tone from turtle mask. He had no clue what to expect from whoever he would meet and assumed they would be very strict and cold people. “I see. Well, speaking of powers…” He trailed off, not sure how exactly to ask.

“Drista’s kept me updated.” Another new voice spoke. They gave a small wave when Mumbo tried to figure out who was speaking. He had to shift a little to see them properly, but taking a step to the side, the redstoner would see their mask which seemed to be a generic green alien. “You don’t want to be a Vault God, but you used your powers out of necessity.”

“I shouldn’t have any to begin with!” Mumbo argued. “I said no the last time Drista showed up and they went away. It wasn’t until I found Dream that anything happened again.”

It was quiet after he shouted, long enough that Mumbo was beginning to worry he shouldn’t have said anything.

“That does change things.” Someone in an earth mask stepped forward. “Due to Dreamon’s work with the abandoned Watcher he obtained.”

“His name is Grian.”

“Yes, that one. He was able to shield his world from the sight and hearing of both us and the Watchers. His abundance of power is likely what pulled yours out again, not true willingness.”

“Are you saying you can do something about it? I don’t want to be one of you. Grian’s a Watcher and he’s told me many times that your magics don’t mix. I lo- We’re… really close to each other. I don’t know what I would do if us being around each other caused problems.”

Again, there was silence from the Vault Gods. This time Mumbo wondered if, being able to read minds, they were communicating telepathically. “I suppose there is something that could be done.” One of them finally spoke up and Mumbo sighed in relief. “Masks are usually used as a limiter, that is due to enchantments, but others could be placed on it so it has the opposite effect.”

“That being?” Mumbo asked.

“It can be so that only when used will you be able to access your self as a Vault God. That being said, to do that, more than just powers would need to be sealed within the mask.”

“I would be able to stay around Grian though?” Mumbo asked, not caring about any side effects if it would get him what he was after.

One in a mask that seemed to house an entire galaxy spoke up next. “Yep, pretty much any Watcher if you really wanted to. I mean, doubt you’ll be around many, but hey, if you help out when we have to deal with… or I guess work with other Watchers, it would help.”

“Then I’ll do it.”

“Ey Big Geeeeee!” Tommy burst into the room, followed by Grumbot who had led him there. “Tubbo went with Sparklez to go see some of his family. Meaning time for you and I to get back into things. What are you thinking? New normal war to teach people things? Invitations to the upside down? Take people on base tours and blow their minds? Or maybe we go with the tried and true chicken bombings?”

Grian just rolled over in bed. “Noooo. I wanna go but everything’s catching up to meeee. I’m a messssss.”

“Dad is feeling sick from bad magic that was left over in your world.”

Tommy sat down and slumped. “Great, another thing Dream messed up. Can’t you just do some shit to get rid of it and be better already? The longer we wait, the less fun it might be.”

Grian gave a small hum as a signal that he heard Tommy. “Yeah. Left it on a table. Mask I was wearing when you stabbed me.” He pointed in a general direction and Tommy left to grab it. While he waited, Grian curled up more, wrapping his wings around himself. He was glad that the feathers helped muffle the sound around him which was starting to give him a headache. Stupid living base that you could hear everywhere.

When Tommy returned, he tugged gently on one of Grian’s wings. Because of the avian’s current state, he panicked and hit Tommy away with the wing. The blond was pushed back, glad his armor negated whatever damage that would have caused. “Sorry for startling you. I found it.”

Grian took the white mask from Tommy and put it on, glad that it started to block out whatever was making him feel sick. “Oh, that’s much better. So, what were your ideas again?”

Grian, Tommy and the bots were enjoying themselves as they returned to Mumbo’s base. Jrumbot was admiring the diamonds he had scammed someone out of while Grumbot put away the last of the discs he had been playing around, making sure he couldn’t be seen while they played, confusing whoever heard them. Tommy had emptied a shulker box of eggs onto the smp island and Grian had placed signs all over the place with cryptic messages.

“Oh man. We need to get Mumbo and get him to drag some people into Hermit Challenges.” Grian said through his laughter.

“I dunno. Me and him aren’t really on the best terms right now.”

“I know, but that’s exactly why you should do it. It’ll give you the chance to clear the air and ask why he was so upset.”

“Daddy yelled at us too.” Jrumbot looked up briefly from his diamonds. “Auntie Stress took us to see him but he got upset and wanted us to leave.”

“I wasn’t able to get a good look, but he had seemed scared. People tend to have different reactions when they are scared. Some get angry, others panic, even more just hide it.”

Grian picked Grumbot up in one arm and nuzzled him. “And we’ve all been through a lot so we know that. Mumbo hasn’t been through nearly as much. It would be better if it never happened, but the fact that it took so long is a good sign.”

“I guess.” Tommy responded, but he still seemed upset.

Just before they reached Mumbo’s base again, there was a burst of energy that came from it and Grian narrowed his eyes behind his mask. “They were told to stay in your world.” Then before Tommy could ask what Grian meant, the Watcher set the bots down and shot up into the sky so fast he left some feathers behind.

He scanned the base until he spotted a figure and dove towards it, landing nearby. “You shouldn’t be here. This is Watcher claimed. Get out before I make you!” He almost growled at them. He was prepared to shove them through a rift to send them to smp island and then throw them through the portal when the figure turned.

They wore a familiar suit, except for the fact that it was stained a bright red color. They wore a metal mask with piercing red eyes, and most importantly, a mustache. “Grian.”

Grian’s eyes widened. “M-Mumbo…” The Watcher felt himself start to cry. This couldn’t be happening. Mumbo had said no. Why would he change his mind? And he had protected Mumbo so this could never happen? So why had it? “Mumbo… please… why? Why would you-”

He didn’t get to continue as Mumbo pulled the mask off his face and discarded it by letting it drop to the ground. He followed it, collapsing to the floor and Grian rushed to him. Before he could do anything though, he noticed the lack of any foreign energy in the air. “Oh Mumbo… I’m sorry I thought you said yes.”

#hermit!tommy au #hermit!tommy #tommyinnit #grian #grian xelqua #watcher!grian #avian!grian #mumbo jumbo #vault god!mumbo #grumbot #jrumbot #grumbo #drista #vault gods (vault hunters)

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hobbitsnapes · 3 years

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The Red Hoods Protègè chapter 22

Older Damian Wayne x ofc

(Photo made by my lovely friend @iamhollows)

A/N: thanks to my lovely friend @geekonaleash, who wrote majority of the letters, I was able to put this out for you guys.

Summary:Red hood has taken a young vigilante under his wing and subsequently changes Damians life forever.

Tags: @comic-nerd-dc c @comic-brew @psychovigilantewrites @psych0crybaby

Weeks go by of the same routine, taking odd jobs and small cases from her father with little to no hiccups.

It was easy, almost too easy. She had taken on the likes of croc and bane just some months ago, now dealing with petty thefts and bank robbers. She longed for the night she could truly test her skills, whether that be in her fighting or brains.

That night came on a chilly November night.

Her heart raced in her chest as she rounded the alley, her body cold to the core from the deep winter air. Hardly any snow lay on the ground, mostly turned to a dark brown slush that made a God awful noise against her boots.

Her legs felt like they would give out any second, having run through the street practically the entire night in the freezing cold.

She spotted a dumpster up ahead, willing her legs to go a bit further. ‘Just a few minutes’ she thought as she sat down behind it.

It was late, nearly 3 in the morning. Having been out since 8, her body freezing cold making any and all energy in her body disapste.

Her heart sank to her stomach when she saw it, making her eyes widen as she got up.

There, at the opening of the dumpster, lay a hand.

She inspected the body for a split moment, to the best of her ability. Having it been thrown in, trash covering it almost completely.

She knows this is a bad idea, but her curiosity gets the best of her as she pulls it from the dumpster, laying it in a heap on the ground.

From the looks of their clothes, or better yet lack thereof, she’s able to tell it's a prostitute. Long blonde hair a tangled mess as her clothes torn.

The most notable wound being a slash to her throat, that bled down to her chest.

The cut wasn’t deep but torn, the skin fraying like ripped denim. A serrated knife, or a sawing motion from a dull blade. She tries not to think of the immense pain that was caused, even with the cut not being very long. They were left to bleed out, or the killer watched as the Poor woman choked and tried screaming out from the pain, only being able to cough up blood.

“What in the?” She whispers when she sees it, a piece of paper?

She grabs for it from under her top, looking it over and, what?

It almost resembled a riddle, her mind flashing momentarily to the green wearing man before she remembered. Riddler never does kills like these, especially with the body being hidden. His is always a show, a way to get attention. This was sloppy, definitely the persons first.

She took one last look to the body, before making a call to the GCPD, telling them the coordinates. She looked one last time at the letter, before folding it, tucking it into her jacket. Well, here’s her chance she’s been waiting for.

She takes a seat at her desk, lamp set on the letter as she peers down at it.

society mocks those who be different, who dwell in the dark like the shadow of a once bright star, only to cry out when the star be a comet, painting the streets in scarlet and ash. You’ll find the next body where care is to be given, but only to let them die in the end.

What does this mean? She thinks as she reads over the words. Who dwell in the dark like the shadow of a once bright star. They must’ve been someone of status of some kind, whether it be from wealth, family or great skill and achievements, who had everything ripped either by their own doing or another.

only to cry out when the star be a comet, painting the streets in scarlet and ash. They must blame others for what happened to them, and subsequently for loosing their status, so they’re desperate for the game and notoriety they were used to, but from whatever trauma they went through, it broke them. Causing immense anger and rage to fill them, warping their mind, thus the killings. They’re so angry at the world, they want fear, and to cause others the pain they must feel the world brought them.

Her heart drops when she hears her door open, shoving the letter into her desk as she turns around.

“Hey you busy at all?” Tim asks, “no why?” She lies, hoping to God that her voice won’t give her away.

Either he didn’t notice, or chose not to ask as he sits on her bed, her joining him immediately after.

They sit and idly chat about their day, but her mind keeps playing over the letter. What does all this mean? Why is-her questions stop when she looks up, seeing him looking at her in question. “You alright?” He asks. “Yeah why?” “You just seem, out of it. You sure you’re feeling alright?” She sighs at this, truly wanting to ask him to help, but in her gut, she knows that’s the easy way out. He would be able to crack it in seconds, fully able to get the profile on the man easily. She wanted to prove to her father that, she could actually do this on her own. Which is why, she had to lie. “Yeah, sorry just really tired. The cold really made tonight way harder.” A soft smile player on his lips at this. “Well then in that case, I’ll leave you to sleep, and maybe look at upgrading your suit to make it warmer. How’s that sound?” Her heart warms at this, a smile on her face. “That'd be great, thank you.” “Hey no problem, I’ve had to do it so many times, it takes me a few days at most.” He chuckles. She pulls him in for a hug, hey arms wrapping around his shoulders before pulling away.

She gets under her covers as he walks out, a smile on his face as he shuts her light out.

She gets up as soon as he shuts the door, walking quietly back to her desk, pulling out the letter.

She knew she had to do this by herself she thought, as she got her notepad out and got to work.

After reading and deciding the letter, she was able to figure out where the next body would be. The Gotham general hospital. And she knew, this body wouldn’t be hard to find.

And she was right, as soon as she finished the few cases her father sent her on, she got straight to making her way to the hospital. For once thankful for the simple missions he would put her on.

She was right to her suspicion, finding the body directly on the roof of the hospital. Sprawled out was a nurse, who was just as gruesome as the last. A stab wound to the heart. Blood soaked her scrubs, making the soft blue a deep, almost blackened purple. Her eyes wide in horror, set like stone to gaze up to the sky.

And as she knew, there was a letter in her pocket.

She quickly grabbed for the letter, calling the GCPD once again, before leaving.

‘An open casket filled with treasures In one sudden move of utmost pleasures. Sweet cries of the poor carer, Thinking someone cared was her error. You’ll find the body where people gather to see history, not knowing history be made there.’

Something happened to them, something that made their fall from fame so breaking, it broke them in the process.

It not only broke them physically, but emotionally. They hated the care from the hospital and the staff. They were strong, powerful, capable. They were hurt and had to get help for a while, something they loathed. They were probably an athlete, relying on their bodies for their fame.

You’ll find the body where people gather to see history, not knowing history be made there. History, a school? No, that’s not right. History, that word stuck out in her mind.

She quickly got out her laptop, and within a few minutes, she found the Gotham Museum of Antiquities.

She turned back to the letter, setting it flat to her desk.

She ran her fingers over the writing, feeling the harsh indents from the pressure of the pen. It was shaky, the deep indents feeling jagged. They were hurt, humiliated by what happened, causing rage to fill them. They felt such anger that, she could feel it in how hard they wrote. This wasn’t a psychopath, no, this was someone deeply hurt, driven mad.

She wrote all this down as she went, setting the papers over her desk in as neat of a pile that she could.

She quickly set it all into her desk, making sure they were all in an order. She had to make sure nobody would come in, or else, they might find all of this.

It was highly irstional, to think that any of them would go hunting in her room. But the fear of them doing so, kept her up most of the night.

She came up with yet another lie, faking being too ill to go out the next night. Her father concerned for the believable cough she let out, finally being calmed once she told him she was going to stay in that night.

She felt bad, truly. She hated keeping not only a secret, but lying to both her father and her best friend. But she knew this would give her more time, and having her soul focus on this one case.

She waited to hear them leave for over 15 minutes before she readied herself, making sure to leave her door locked.

They all at least knew that, if it was locked, not to enter unless emergency, even then, it would have to be the manor burning down.

She climbed out her window, making sure to listed in to where Alfred was before she made the trip from her high window.

‘So this is what most teenagers feel when they sneak out the house.’ She thought as she got down to the cold ground. Snow had finally fallen in a large heap over the city, making her trip to where she hid her bike that morning harder. It’d be a dead giveaway she snuck out if she just walked through the snow, so it took her time to reach the shrub where her bike lay.

Finally managing to get out of the trees surrounding the manor, she made sure to shut any and all tracking devices she wore, before leaving.

“He’s getting bolder.” She whispered as she reached the museum. There, on the front steps of the old building, lay a man. A security guard to be exact.

She walked over to the man, crouching down to the body. Only this time, there was no stab wound to either his throat or to his chest. But blood looked underneath.

She turned the body around, finally seeing where the source of the blood came from. A deep stab wound to the mans upper back, nearly exposing his shoulder and spine.

She groaned out, reaching for her shoulder blades as memories of the healing played in her mind. To this day, any injury to the upper back or shoulders on another person sent her back, back to the worst time of her life.

Another note, placed in his front pocket pocket out.

She reached for it, tucking it into her jacket before standing up.

She froze in place when she saw them, her eyes trained on them as her heart slows. Prints in the snow nearly filled in, but still visible.

She crouched down to them, looking at each one closely.

They were almost filled in, so this had been taken place only some hours ago. Before the heavy blanket of snow hit.

The thing that stood out was the spacing and the pattern. They were jagged, almost slipping looking like.

The man had a limp. She thought, before standing beside them. She walked to recreate the steps, an evident limp in how they went. It was his right leg. Something happened here, and she thinks she knows what.

She sat at her desk, her blanket securely wrapped around her as she peered down to the letter.

‘It all ends with no more laughter, you’ll find the next body where families gather to watch stars be made on a Field, A trophy that can no longer be concealed’

It all ends with no more laughter. He was mocked, or he believed he was when maybe others looked at him with sympathy. In his eyes, it was them mocking him.

Where families gather to watch stars be made on a Field, A trophy that can no longer be concealed.

He was an athlete, had to be. A gasp leaves her lips as it hits her. Her heart drops to her stomach as she reached for her laptop, hurily turning it on as she writes down her thoughts.

Garrett Wilkins, star quarterback of the Gotham Rogues. Well, used to be.

Star in the game, having played it all his life from school to professional. He had everything. Fame, Wellth, everything.

That was until a fateful day in November, as he was walking out of the old museum with his longtime girlfriend, he was shot in the back.

He was able to make outstanding recovery, no longer wheelchair ridden like doctors thought. But he didn’t walk away how he was. He developed a bad limp, causing his team to kick him off.

Last people heard of him, was his girlfriend left him because of a rumored drinking problem.

This all took place 2 years ago.

She ran as fast as her legs took her, nearly falling over due to the thick snow on the ground.

Her heart hammered against her chest as she entered the arena, eyes searching around until she saw it. Her heart sank to her feet, as a pained sigh left her lips.

She thought she could make it in time, hoping, praying that she would be able to get there before him or when he was here. A small amount of hope that, she could save her.

She crouched down to her body, a tear slipping into her mask as a pained whimper left her lips.

She had hoped he wouldn’t have, but she knew, he would kill her.

“I’m so sorry Cass.” She cried, as she closed her wide eyes. Her body a bloody mess, nearly unrecognizable due to the many stab wounds that littered her body.

And again, like it was a call from a screaming Banshee, lay another letter.

Once more my face will grace your screen A star running on a field of green But now and forever my title I reclaim Never will I lose my newfound fame. You’ll find the next body where families go to play, to be surrounded by others as they watch their children’s play.

“God fucking damnit!” She exclaimed as she slammed her hand against her table, tears filling her eyes. She really, truly hoped she could make it in time. But sadly, she knew this would happen eventually. You can’t save everyone she thought.

Her feet carry her all the way to the park, her heart heavy in her chest from the memories flooding back.

She laughs out as he spins her around, nearly making him fall from both their laughter.

Their faces only inches apart as he sets her down, arms still around her as they gaze into one another’s eyes. Hearts beating at a steady rhythm.

Her eyes search around the park, head tilted slightly as she looks around.

There’s no body? Maybe he hid it? No, he definitely wouldn’t. He WANTS them to be found, wants the fame back on him. Hiding the body gives a chance that it won’t be found, a risk he’s not willing to take.

She rounded the corner, walking further into the snow. Where could it be? She thinks, before her heart stops, everything going black.

A sharp slap to her cheek wakes her up, a cry breaking past her lips. “Jesum dude, a safe word would be nice.” She groaned out. “Where is he?” He demands, hand grabbing a hold of her neck. Her hands and legs tied to the chair. Surprisingly, they felt pretty secure.

“Who?” She asks, anger evident in her voice. “I know you work with Red Hood, Batman, all of them! WHERE ARE THEY!” He screams in her face.

She starts laughing, causing him to grow even angrier. “WHATS SO FUNNY!” She can’t help but throw her head back in laughter. “They’re not coming.” His face falls momentarily, before turning angry once again. “What do you mean THEY'RE NOT COMING!” “I mean exactly that. They aren’t because they don’t know you exist. Only I know and that’s only because I found the first body by accident. All you want is the game again Garrett, well guess what, you lost. Not red hood, Batman, fuck even the GCPD know who you are. You, lost.”

He slams his fists into the table beside her, letting out a frustrated scream. “Fine. Well, I guess I can get fame some other way.” He says, grabbing a gun beside him. Her heart drops to her stomach, shutting her eyes as she waits for the bullet. But, the gunshot never came. The sound of the door breaking down and the man falling to the ground screaming drowned out any and all noise.

She hisses out at the burn of the alcohol on her cheek,trying to drown out the thick silence of the room. “You could’ve gotten killed you know. No correction, you were about to be killed before we came.” Says Jason, anger evident in his tone. Her heart pains in her chest as she looks away from her father. She knows he’s only angry because of fear. Fear that his daughter could’ve died.

“I mean how could you be so careless like that! You should’ve been able to hear him! God I fucking trained you better than that!” He yells, arms up in anger. Everyone stays silent as he rants, knowing not to step between them. Memories of how protective he gets with her, none of them dare to try.

“You could’ve died tonight. This is why I’ve only sent you on smaller cases. I’ll be DAMNED if my daughter gets fucking killed because she was reckless!” “Jason, stop it.” Says dick. Everyone’s heads whip to the man, holding their breaths. “Oh yeah, why should I. My daughter almost got herself killed!” “Because you and none of us have any room to talk. We all risk our lives everytime we go out there. You can’t sit here and scold her for messing up. You, me, Bruce, everyone in the room has slipped up at least a dozen times. So don’t stand there and yell at her when what she did was highly impressive, especially where all you taught her was combat.” He says to the younger man. Jason knows he’s right, lowering his head.

“I’m sorry but what? What was impressive?” She asks nobody in particular. “How you were able to figure that out in such a short amount of time.” Says Tim. “I’m sorry what? How was that impressive? And also, how did you guys find me? I turned off all my tracking devices.” She was completely lost. How is that impressive to a room of some of the worlds greatest detectives. And how in the hell did they find her? “I was worried about you. Last I heard from you was you were sick, and I hadn’t seen or heard anything for over a day. So I, went to go check and found you weren’t there. And, you left all your research on the table. I was able to figure out where he lived, and we all just went.” Says Tim. She wasn’t mad, actually grateful. “And to answer your other question, it’s impressive because, Jason never taught you any advanced detective skills. You not only figured out his letters, but where. And, you can naturally profile handwriting. None of us can do that on our own. It took years to even somewhat make a good guess. Which is why, we wanted to ask you something.” She looks at dick in question, trying to figure out what he meant. “We wanted to ask if you’d join us. Be a part of our team.” Says Bruce. She looks at all of them like they’re mad, before she could say anything, her father beat her to it. “They brought it up to me, and I think, it’s a good idea. Dicks right. You’ve got a lotta skill that they could really use. Especially the handwriting thing. Plus, it’ll be good to have others around just in case something happened. It’ll not only make me feel better knowing you’ve got backup, but I know it’ll give you more room to lean. I’ve, been to scared to let you go out and really test not only your fighting, but your smarts. And I’m sorry for that.”

Everyone’s eyes train on her, as they wait for her response. Even Damians eyes look to her. She lets out a sigh, looking to her father first, before to all of them. “Fine. But on one condition.”

“Wait, you're asking what?” “Exactly that. I’ll be a part of your little Scooby gang as long as if there’s no other option, that if it’s life or death for any of us or civilians, I take them out.” She says, arms crossed. “You’ve gotta be fucking-.”Damian says, before Bruce cuts him off. “Fine. But only, if I, or anyone of the others apart from your father give the okay to that.” Damian looks to his father, eyes wide in anger and disbelief. “Are you-“ “deal.” She says, extending her hand out to Bruce. They both shake on it, neither paying attention to Damian. “You’re all okay with this?” He asks, anger still in his voice. “Didn’t you hear what they agreed on? She won’t do it unless one of us says she can.” Says Tim. “And we need her skills Damian.” Dick replies, arms crossed over his chest. “You’re all fucking crazy.” He says, heart beating wildly in his chest, walking away from everyone.

#damian wayne fanfiction #older damian wayne #damian wayne x reader #damian wayne imagine #damian wayne smut #batman #batfamily #damian wayne #dc #dceu #jason todd #batfam x reader #Jason Todd #red hood #dick grayson #Tim drake #dc imagine

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imagine-darksiders · 3 years

Text

Cold Hands, Warm Heart

Chapter 14 - Into the Foundry.

‘In the Foundry dark and deep... you’ll wake a giant from eternal sleep...’

Tags: Death, Reader, Karn, Dust, Eideard, Warden, friendship, Reader makes Death laugh genuinely, everyone is speechless, couple’a smart alecks, depersonalisation, derealisation, Death is reduced to babysitter status, he’s mad about it.

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Death had – annoyingly – been telling the truth when he'd said that sunrise would arrive soon enough. Barely a few, fleeting seconds seem to have passed after your eyes slipped shut before a chilly hand is jostling you awake again.

“Mm! M'up, I'm up,” you manage to slur, swinging an arm through the air and batting at whatever had deemed it necessary to rouse you from your peaceful slumber by taking hold of your shoulder in such an abrupt manner. As the fog of sleep begins to disperse, you grow increasingly aware that your left cheek is notably cooler than the rest of your body, as though you have it pressed into the flip-side of your favourite pillow. Letting out a contented sigh, you squash your face even further into the strange, unyielding surface.

Then all at once, the object beneath your ear shifts.

Bleating out a yelp of alarm, you fling yourself sideways and away from the 'pillow’ you've been leaning against, clutching reflexively at a soft piece of fabric that slips from your shoulders when you move. Whirling your head to the left, you promptly find yourself face to face with a familiar, albeit jarring, white, bone-mask.

Startled, you blurt out, “Death!?” and scrub the heels of your palms over your eyes in an attempt to get rid of the last vestiges of sleep still clinging stubbornly to them.

Sitting beside you on the bench, a glowering Horseman huffs as if to say, 'Who else?' and drums his fingers on the stone beside him, waiting for you to finish a wide yawn. “It's sun up,” he grumbles, “And if you're quite finished using me as your own, personal pillow, I'd like to get a move on.”

Quick as a flash, your bloodshot eyes zip down to his arm and it suddenly occurs to you what you'd been sleeping on.

The Grim Reaper, of all people, had just endured a night as the unwilling bed of an unconscious human. Pushing out a low, mortified groan, you bury your face in the fabric still clutched between your fingers and slump forwards, only to jerk back a second later after something in your lap lets out a startled squawk.

“Ah! Dust!” you exclaim, sitting back to let the dishevelled crow hop onto his feet and rumple his feathers, shooting you a haughty glare before he spreads his wings and flaps off to find a new perch, presumably one who's less inclined to lean too far forwards and squash him beneath their elbows.

“Sorry!” you call after the grumpy corvid.

At your side, Death's smirk is hidden behind his mask. “Don't mind him,” he tells you, sliding smoothly off the bench, “He's never been an early bird.”

“Ugh, same,” you grunt and lift your arms up into a long, satisfying stretch, teeth grit to stifle the obnoxious yawn that threatens to spill out. How you'd ever managed to reach a point in your life where you've begun relating to a crow is beyond you.

The soft fabric that had been tangled up around your arms slides down their length when you raise them. It ends up bunched into the crooks of your elbows and you spare it a passing glance, barely registering the distinctive, indigo hue until your yawn ends and you have to do a double-take, the familiarity jolting you into proper wakefulness. “Huh?”

It’s a cowl. Death’s cowl to be precise, and it had been draped over you like a blanket while you slept.

Too preoccupied with staring down at the folds of fabric, you don't notice that the Horseman has turned back to you, his gaze landing on the old, purple cowl hanging loosely from your grasp and he stiffens at the sight of it.

Very slowly, you raise an eyebrow at him, incapable of keeping your lips from curling gently at their edges whereas in contrast, the scowling Horseman stalks up to you again and snatches his garment out of your hands. “Not a word, human,” he hisses, tugging it over his head once more so that it settles in its rightful place around his neck.

With your hands lifted to placate the Nephilim, you keep your lips sealed in a very deliberate line and follow him clumsily off the bench.

As soon as your feet hit the ground, the impact sends a jarring bolt of pain up your side and you buckle forwards, a hiss slipping out from between clenched teeth. “Oooh, that's stiff!” you complain, holding your ribs. From the corner of an eye, you spot Death's head snapping in your direction and you're quick to wipe the grimace off your face, quickly adding, “But, I'm sure it'll loosen up in no time.”

For an uncomfortably long minute, the Horseman's gaze continues to burn a hole in the side of your head. At last, when you can bear the intensity no longer, you clap your hands together and glance around the forge. “So! Uh - Where'd the makers go?”

A few more seconds pass in silence, but finally, you feel Death's stare leave you. “The shaman ushered them outside after Thane and Alya started to make too much noise,” he explains gruffly, “Valus stayed behind though, for obvious reasons...”

Turning your focus up the steps toward the central anvil, you catch sight of the burly maker's upper half sticking out above the wall. He appears to have heard the two of you talking, for his enormous helm swivels around and he peers down at you from the vantage point, brilliant, green eyes glimmering faintly behind his visor.

“Morning, Valus.” You lift a hand and offer him a wave, which he hesitantly returns, looking far too unsure of himself for a maker of his stature.“We're heading off for the Foundry. See you later, okay?”

All at once, Valus's shoulders slump but he doesn't otherwise protest when spin on your heel and trundle along behind Death as he makes his way towards the exit.

Just as you reach it however, a gentle sound thrums through your chest, so soft and deep that you feel the words before you hear them.

“Good luck...”

Startled, you whip your head up to stare at Death, yet the Horseman has already pushed the door open and slipped through it, and besides, the words had come from somewhere behind you.

Bracing one hand on the wooden door to hold it open, you cast a backwards glance over your shoulder.

Valus is standing with his back to you now, his broad torso lit by the forge fire's glow as he bends over the anvil and tinkers away at the pommel of an unfinished sword. After a few seconds of curious observation, you allow a smile to play upon your lips. “Thanks Valus,” you murmur before turning and leaving through the door after Death.

Only once that heavy slam signals your departure does the maker let his tool clatter down onto the anvil and he drops his head into his hands.

The Horseman is leading a human youngling to her death. And what's worse is that you're going willingly, because you trust him to keep you safe. But there are dangers in the Foundry that even he won't be able to anticipate and it makes the taciturn giant sick to think of all the reasons they'd destroyed that damnable bridge in the first place.

Weary with worry, Valus picks himself up off the anvil and begrudgingly resumes his work with the hope that his sister will return promptly, if only to reassure him that, against all odds, you'll be all right.

----

It's been a woefully long time since you've seen a proper sunrise. Living in the city amongst skyscrapers and high-rises, there were precious few moments where you could catch a rare glimpse of the sun's rays poking between the gaps of a building.

Stepping out through the Forge's rear door, you're instantly struck by how frosty the air feels on your cheeks. Far to the east, the distant mountain ranges are almost completely obscured by a thick layer of early-morning mist, tinted pink by the first of the emerging suns. It's a wild and unknown landscape that resonates deep within you like an ancient heartbeat. Just looking out over the faraway mountains fills you with such a sudden and unexpected sense of adventurousness that you suck down a deep breath and puff out your chest.

Whatever this Foundry has to throw at you, you've a good feeling that – with Death at your side – things will turn out okay in the end.

Dragging your gaze away from the foggy mountains, you veer off after the Horseman as he continues down a set of steps and makes his way towards the edge of the village.

Standing on a grassy overhang, Eideard and the Warden are conversing in low, mellow tones - mellow, but by no means quiet, at least where the monolithic construct is concerned. The pair of them turn at Death's approach and their idle conversation tapers off, a somber frown darkening the faces of both stone and flesh alike when they catch sight of the human trailing along behind him.

“Ah, Horseman, Y/n. You're here,” the maker says in what you're certain is intended to be a chipper tone, yet there's an underlying lugubriousness to the pinch of his brow that tells you otherwise. In truth, Eideard's worn-out heart had sunk the moment he realised you'd stepped foot out of the makers' forge.

Nonetheless, he schools his expression into something a little less fretful as you and Death draw to a halt in front of them, your boots growing damp with dew once you set foot onto the patchy grass.

“I trust we aren't interrupting anything important?” Death drawls, sliding his languid gaze between Eideard and the Warden.

“There are few things more important than conversations with an old friend,” the maker remarks solemnly whilst his gargantuan companion nods in agreement, “But... you are not here to listen to us reminisce, now are you.”

By way of reply, Death points his mask out towards the Foundry which lays in wait on the opposite side of a deep, impassable gorge.

“...Very well...” The beard around Eideard's mouth gives a slight twitch as his lips curve downwards. A resigned sigh breezes past his teeth and there's a moment in which his wizened gaze locks with yours and his lips part, perhaps in preparation to say something to you directly. You can only imagine all the different ways he might be about to persuade you out of following Death to the Foundry, and a very small, self-preserving voice in your head whispers that you want him to give you a good reason not to go.

There's a malice hanging heavily over the place, thicker than fog. Its dark portcullis awaits you on the other side of a gorge that lurks like an open maw, ready to swallow you down should you make a single misstep. It would be remiss to deny the shudder creeping up your spine as you stare out at the Foundry's vast, ominous walls.

Ancient bones creak in protest as the old maker lowers himself onto one knee before you, dropping his voice to a soft rumble. “Now then. Do you still have Karn's sword?” he asks, and you're somewhat taken aback, having been prepared for a different query altogether.

Regardless, twisting your hip towards him, you gesture to the leather scabbard fastened securely around your waist and proclaim, “Check!”

“And your pistol?”

This time, your hand slides around to the back of your skirt, fingers brushing over the cool metal grip that sticks out of the waistband. “Double check.”

“And did you remember your-”

“- Oh for goodness sake! ” Death snaps, cutting the maker off mid sentence, “Next he'll be asking if you've remembered your brain, considering you actually plan on accompanying me into the Foundry.”

Eideard's chiding glare might cause young makers to wither in shame, but the Horseman remains unfazed as he impatiently shifts his weight from one foot to the other, bored of the Old One's stalling.

Feigning surprise, you begin to frantically pat yourself down and reply, “Ah shit, my brain! I knew I was forgetting something! I think I might have actually left it back on Earth. Reckon we can swing by and pick it up?”

“No time, I'm afraid,” the Horseman quips, sneering at your growing grin, “You'll just have to continue making do without it.”

“Well, I guess that's okay. How on Earth would you understand me if I didn't talk like I was brainless.”

It takes him all of a second to realise he's being teased, and when he does, an involuntary bark of laughter jumps up Death's throat before he can swallow it down, earning several looks of varying surprise from a human, a maker and a construct respectively. Slowly, the Horseman lifts a fist to his mask and clears his throat. “Ahem... Well – Eideard - if you're finished with your little inventory check...”

Bowing his head in a somber nod, the old maker heaves himself upright once more, giving you a final once-over before he grunts, hardly mollified, but at the very least accepting that you're as ready as you're ever going to be.

“I suppose there's little point in delaying the inevitable,” he hums, raising his head to the Warden and calling, “I leave them in your capable hands, old friend. For now, however, I must be off. There is another matter that requires my attention.”

The construct offers him a gravelly farewell and then, Eideard turns and begins to lumber slowly back towards the forge. As he reaches the top of the steps though, he places a hand on the door and half-turns to gaze down at you again, his foggy, hooded eyes drifting between you and the Horseman like a pair of crescent moons peeking out from beneath his furrowed brow.

He thinks back on his conversation with Muria, and her suggestion to trust Death. The notion still holds a touch of absurdity, given the Horseman's history. And yet, when he recalls the wild-eyed, agitated mess Death had been in after your tussle with Karkinos, he can't deny that the Shaman may have been right.

Eideard's stature relaxes a fraction.

The eldest Nephilim is a proud creature, cold, calculating and far too preoccupied with keeping everyone at arms length. He would never, even to himself, admit that a human's safety was among his concerns.

The maker can understand, to a degree.

With a job description like Death's, it's hardly any wonder that he never bothers trying to make friends.

For a moment, the maker subjects Death to a deeply pensive frown before at last, he taps his fingers thoughtfully against the band that keeps his plaited beard in place. “If I can only ask one last thing from you, Horseman, I pray it is this...” His protruding knuckles turn white as he kneads the grip of his staff, battling down thousands of years of protective tendencies. “Keep her safe.”

The, without another word, Eideard pushes the Forge door open and disappears inside, allowing it to thud shut behind him. The silent morning left in the wake of his request goes unbroken for a while, nothing to break it bar the howling of wind that travels through the gorge below you. That Death says nothing as to the nature of Eideard's request is deafening in your ears however. Does he think it goes without saying? Or does he plan to disregard your safety altogether after your argument with him yesterday. Not for the first instance, you find yourself wishing the Reaper wasn't so fickle.

“So, the time has come,” the Warden says lazily, causing you to jump.

His voice, though gentle, saturates the early morning air and rolls through you like water over a pebble beach and Death cranes his neck back to look up at the construct's blockish jaw. “So it would seem.”

Together, the three of you turn away from Tri Stone and angle your gazes out towards the Foundry.

“So like... What's the deal with this place anyway?” you call up to the Warden.

The construct tips his head to one side, the plates of stone around his neck flaring curiously. “Deal?”

Ah. Right. In hindsight, expecting an ancient, stone giant to understand human idioms might have been optimistic.

“I mean, is there anything you can tell us about the Foundry?” you say, “What sort of a place is it?”

From the corner of an eye, you notice that Death is giving you in an appraising once-over, as though pleased by your initiative.

The ground below you suddenly quivers as the Warden heaves his monumental stone body around to look across the gorge, oblivious to the flattened earth he leaves in his wake. “The Foundry is a holy site,” he explains with an air of reverence, “It is where soul is fused with stone.”

A soft snort filters out from underneath Death's mask and he remarks, “Doesn't look so holy from here.”

You worry the construct might take offence to having the Foundry's reputation slandered, however he merely turns, staring out over the gorge as he gives a solemn nod. “The darkness has spared little in our realm. But... the Foundry is a place of magic. It is... strong...” Trailing off, the cerulean lights swirling in his head flicker between you and Death and back again. “And with your help,” he rumbles, “We will claim it once more.” As he utters the final word, the lights of his eyes suddenly pulse and swell, as does the one emanating from his chest and you're forced to squint against the unexpected brightness.

The construct draws himself up to his full, mountainous height, his arms raising as well until he he has them splayed out to either side, stony palms tilted towards the sky and you watch, mouth agape as he points himself right at the Foundry and drops his jaw open wide. Then, in a voice that's as low and deafeningly resonant as a ship's fog horn, he lets out the single, deepest note you've ever heard and from his mouth burst rippling waves of electric-blue magic that spiral and twist outwards in an ever widening cyclone, and it feels as though you're standing right in the epicentre. The force of his cry thunders through your chest, through your head and your legs – everywhere. All the bones in your body come alive like insects buzzing underneath your muscle and sinew as the Warden's song cascades over you.

Far below the mist that lays in the gorge, something else hears the primal call and from out of the depths, a mass of stone begins to ascend, pulled as though by a magnet towards the mouth of the crevasse. With each passing second, your eyes grow bigger and rounder as right in front of you, wide, broken segments of some structure emerge from the mist and slot together one by one, their jagged edges glowing the same, brilliant blue as the Warden's heart stone and then the light fades once each piece has found its counterpart and fused back together, restoring what had once fallen to ruin thousands of years ago.

All the while, the construct's note continues to thrum around the basin.

At last, the floating sections of stone have all been stitched together by his ancient magics, and you find yourself gawking along a vast and impressive bridge that stretches from Tri Stone's side of the gorge all the way across to the Foundry.

High above you, the Warden's jaw slowly falls shut with a clunk and his song echoes for a few more seconds through the surrounding mountains before it fades away, leaving you with a distant ringing in your ears and staring gobsmacked at the once empty space, trying to wrap your head around how a bridge can just be sang into existence. “Warden!” you breathe, “That. Was... Incredible!”

From your side, Death blows a dismissive snort from his nostrils, predictably unimpressed.

The Warden's stone brows lift in surprise at your praise and he casts an eye critically over his own handiwork, striving to see which specific part of it warranted celebration. A twinge of pride spreads through his stone like blood through a vein upon hearing another, 'incredible!' gush past your lips. Eventually though, he trails his gaze down, where it lands on the two fleshlings below him, both of whom are so much smaller than the dangers that lay ahead. But then, size is hardly a factor where Corruption is concerned.

The oblong slabs of stone that make up the Warden's brows shift and grind their way towards each other until they almost meet at the centre of his forehead. “It is not safe here, for flesh or for stone,” he rumbles, and when you turn to look at him, you're surprised to see such a clear expression of worry on his rigid features as he meets Death's gaze and utters, “There is... no shame in turning back.”

It's s tentative suggestion, one that isn't just directed at the Horseman.

Death's eyes linger on the construct for a moment longer before he drags them away and down to the human standing at his side. You've tipped your head towards the Foundry once more, jaw hanging just slightly ajar and the subtlest sign of movement on your lips. Death can't decide whether you're mouthing reassurances to yourself or if your lips are trembling from apprehension. You must have felt his eyes upon you, because you turn abruptly to face him, setting your jaw into a hard line. The Horseman holds your steady gaze and finds himself caught between disappointment and pride at the fact that you seem willing to see this through with him. Then, with a slow blink, he gently echoes the words you'd given Eideard at the village entrance, after you left Tri Stone for the first time, only a few, short days ago. “No point either.”

He watches your face screw up for a moment before it swiftly brightens again, recognition alighting in your eyes.

All of a sudden, the doors the Forge fly open and you twist your head over a shoulder, pleasantly surprised to see none other than Karn tramping down the stone steps towards the bridge. He has one hand curled loosely around the strap of his rucksack and a look of fierce determination squaring his jaw. “Hold up there, you two!” he calls, “Don't think you're goin' without me.”

“Karn!” you exclaim, raising a brow, “You're coming too?”

The youngling's gaze finds you standing in the construct's shadow and he puffs out his chest, walking a little taller as he passes you and steps onto the newly-made bridge without hesitation. “You heard the Warden, s'not safe in there,” he declares resolutely, “You'll need my help.”

Death looks more taken aback by the abruptness of Karn's appearance than you do and he tosses you a bewildered glance, as though looking to you for an explanation. Unfortunately for him, you don't have one. In actual fact, having a maker to accompany you sounds like a fine idea, in your humble opinion, especially a close friend like Karn.

So, returning Death's look with a smile and a shrug, you quickly scamper off after the youngling and fall into step at his side. Karn's head tilts to peer down at you, and the Horseman watches as the tips of his ears rapidly turn a deep crimson at the charming grin you toss up at him.

“Wonderful... Now I have two younglings to take care of,” the old Nephilim grumbles before he sets off after the strange pair, earning a bemused hum from the Warden, which he elects to ignore.

After the stunt you'd pulled with Karn to sneak out of Tri Stone, Death can't say he's thrilled at the prospect of you both teaming up again. As if trying to keep one of you from getting killed wasn't difficult enough. Still, he muses, perhaps this is a better alternative to having you sneak after him again, he doesn't doubt that if he tries to leave you behind this time, you'll only find your own way into the Foundry.

With a resigned huff, the Horseman draws closer to you and begins to catch pieces of your conversation.

“I'm glad you're coming with us, Karn,” you admit, “Reckon I'll feel a lot safer with you and your hammer on our side.”

It's a good thing Death is walking behind you so you miss the irritable glare he shoots at the back of your head. 'Oh, I see. Then what am I?' he grumbles to himself.

The youngling lifts his chin, practically swelling with pride to the point where Death is certain he might explode. “Ach, don't you worry! With me watchin' your backs, things'll go just fine.” Even as he speaks, his eyes flick apprehensively across the bridge and land on the Foundry.

Halfway across now, the urge to converse dies away and you find yourself pressing your lips together and following the maker's gaze, trepidation setting in as the enormous structure looms ahead of you, set against a backdrop of jagged cliffs and formidable, black clouds. Somewhere overhead, a crack of thunder rolls across the valley and you can't help but follow it with an audible gulp.

“We could really do without a storm coming down on us,” you mumble, more to yourself than the others.

Regardless, Karn squints up at the sky and pulls a face. “Aye. That's the Forge Lands for you. Weather's as wild as the mountains themselves.” He glances back down when Death abruptly shoves his way between you both and strides with purpose towards the Foundry's entrance. You and the maker share a brief, tight-lipped grin, raising your eyebrows at each other before you pick up your paces and hurry after the irritable Horseman.

A pair of titanic sculptures flank the Foundry on either side of its entrance, armoured makers made from ashlar that seem to be standing guard in front of the door, each with an impressive axe clasped in their fists and thrust out before them. Green vines and moss dress the statues with age, but even nature cannot detract from the impressive craftsmanship.

Despite being awed, you still shudder as you pass beneath the statues' shadows and feel their carved, unseeing eyes follow you to the Foundry's entrance, prompting you to move a little closer to Karn's boot and stare up at the stone titans as though you half expect them to spring to life and bring their axes down in your path at any moment.

At long last, Death reaches the wooden door that stands patiently behind two, burning sconces. Pausing, he glances backwards at you and the maker, ensuring that your attention is on him before he says, “If I have to remind either of you – even once – to do as I say, then we're all going to have a terrible time in here. Is that understood?” He's pleased to see there's no hesitation when you both vigorously nod your heads.

Satisfied for the time being, Death grunts out a quick, 'good,' and returns his focus to the entrance. Dimly wishing that his siblings had been half as as compliant as you two, he lifts his palm to the doors and gives them a single, powerful thrust.

A century's worth of dust cascades down off the wood and rusty springs on even rustier hinges give out terrible, angry screeches in defiance of being forced open after so long, yet still, the doors swing inwards only to crash against the walls of a narrow hallway and successfully alerting any unsavoury creatures to your presence.

You can't imagine Death cares much about being noticed though as he peers down the length of the room, apparently deciding that nothing is about to pounce out of the shadows. He beckons you to follow and leads the way to another set of doors at the far end. These receive the same, rough treatment as the previous and you can't help but wince as Death throws them open with enough force to fracture the wood.

The second room you emerge into is at least wider than the first and it features a central walkway that splits the space in two. On your right, down in a shallow basin, is a broiling pool of lava, whereas to the left, crystal clear water laps steadily against their stone confines. It reminds you immediately of the maker's forge.

After Death bullies open yet another set of doors at the end of the walkway, you nearly drop your jaw in the dirt upon seeing what lays ahead.

“Ho-lee shit!” you exclaim, dazedly taking the steps down into a cavernous, circular chamber whilst your gaze remains fixed straight ahead.

Over time, the floor appears to have crumbled away at the room's centre, leaving a precarious catwalk that stretches all the way around the outer wall. Four, gargantuan chains have been fastened to the brick and they all converge at a manacle in the middle of the room, connected securely around the handle of an impossibly, immeasurably huge hammer.

Mouth agape, you stop at the edge where the floor has given way and stare dumbfounded up at the weapon. It must stand at least several hundred feet high, with a double-sided head that almost reaches from one end of the chamber to another. Trailing your eyes down the handle, you note that its length disappears into a pool of gurgling lava laying far, far below your feet.

The heat rising from underneath you soon becomes too much to bear and you stumble backwards, craning your neck again to admire the vast hammer in front of you, large enough to crush even the Warden with a single, downward swing.

“Please tell me that's just here for decoration,” you say to Karn who has taken to frowning at his own hammer, as though suddenly ashamed of its size.

“We are not here to sight-see, human,” the Horseman barks, causing you to snap your head to the left and find he's already striding off around the room without you, following the curved wall.

“Hey, wait up!” You take off after him, and the lumbering footsteps that shake the ground behind you are indication enough that Karn is hot on your heels.

The three of you continue along the catwalk, eyes searching for some sort of opening. It isn't until you've almost made it halfway around that Death comes to an abrupt halt and peers up at an indent in the wall, in which stands what at first appears to be an enormous, stone door.

However, stopping beside the Horseman and taking a closer look, you realise it more resembles a kind of floodgate.

“Oh!-” Karn's eyes light up with recognition and he smiles at the intrigue on your face. “A Fall Gate! We built these beauties to stop Corruption from spreadin' further into the Foundry.”

“Can you get it open?” Death asks, eyeing the thick slab that stands between him and progress.

“Ach, s'no way I'm gettin' my fingers under there,” the youngling laments, rubbing at his dusting of stubble and gesturing to the bottom of the gate, “If Alya was here, she'd probably be able to get 'em under and lift it enough for me to do the rest. But...”

“But Alya isn't here,” Death finishes.

Crouching down to look at the nonexistent gap between floor and gate, you give your head a shake. “I don't think even I could get my fingers under there. That thing's sealed up tighter than a miser's purse.”

“Right then...” Karn places his hands on his hips. “What's the plan?”

Taking a moment to cast your eyes about the room, you suddenly spy a rather large hole in the far wall, further along the catwalk. Humming thoughtfully, you begin trotting towards it.

Within a second, Death's head snaps in your direction and he barks, “Where do you think you're going?”

Karn tears his eyes off the gate, looking over to you as well and when he realises you aren't within protecting range, he lurches into a lumbering run, stomping past the Horseman. In no time, he manages to catch up to you with Death bringing up the rear, albeit at a much more controlled pace, although the Horseman's blazing eyes are still glued to your back, just in case. He wouldn't put it past a human to trip and fall into the lava below.

At the furthest end of the chamber, where the entire floor has fallen away, you're forced to halt to keep yourself from toppling over the edge. The whole wall has also been knocked in by some past, explosive force and through it, you can make out another open chamber, this one is far smaller and the floor has been entirely destroyed, leaving nothing but lava to break your fall.

You gulp down a nervous lump and drag your gaze off the boiling liquid below and instead point towards the far side of the chamber where a section of floor seems to have survived and clings like a limpet to the wall.

“Here, check this out!” you begin, feeling the chilling presence of Death stop close to your back. “If someone can get to that platform over there, I'm betting we'll be able to reach that door!” Here, you trail a finger to the left. When Death looks, there is indeed a doorway sitting against the western wall. No, stable ground leads up to it, there's only a sheer drop into an entire lake of lava.

“Well. That is a sound proposal,” he muses, watching Dust zoom through the gap with a triumphant squawk, no doubt mocking the flightless creatures stuck on the ground below him. “Tell me. Have humans secretly become capable of sprouting wings?”

After a second, your face falls and you look down to the ground, shuffling your feet. “Well. No...”

“No?” He turns to throw Karn a curious glance. “What about makers?”

The youngling simply returns his question with a scowl.

“Now just hang on, before you start getting all facetious,” you pipe up again, chin resting pensively in the dip of your thumb and forefinger, “I think I might know how we can get over there.”

Raising a curious eyebrow, the Horseman turns back to you and asks, “Oh? How?”

He doesn't notice Karn's face pale behind him as you meet the youngling's eye and quirk a suggestive brow. Pulling his lips into a tight frown, the maker folds his arms across his broad chest.

“Absolutely not!”

“Huh?Why not? We did it before!” you push.

“Aye, but that was over a pond! Of water!” he fires back, ears flattening against his head as he gestures roughly down at the lava below you, “Stakes are a wee bit higher this time.”

“Would either of you care to tell me what you're blathering on about?” Death snaps, merely finding himself ignored by both maker and human alike.

“You didn't have a problem throwing me in the temple.”

“'Cause I wasn't busy worryin' about tossin' you into a pit of liquid fire!”

“Yeah, but you -”

“ENOUGH!”

Death's bellowed command rings out across the chamber and effectively renders you and Karn speechless, neither of you willing to invoke the Horseman's infamous wrath for the second time in as many days. Once he's sure you aren't about to start bickering again, he fixes the young maker with a stern glare. “So... If I'm reading the context clues correctly, you... threw the human.”

It isn't a question. He has no doubt that you'd do something so foolish.

Sheepish, Karn taps his forefingers together and avoids the Horseman's gaze, mumbling, “Er... I may have?”

Death subjects him to several, painful seconds of intense scrutiny before he finally relents and heaves an exasperated sigh, pinching the bridge of his mask's nose bone and swivelling a gleaming eye in your direction. “While I don't condone this odd, new... sport you two have invented -”

“Oh! We should call it human hurling!” you suggest abruptly and Death has to take an enormous breath before he's able to continue calmly, “- I will say, that it isn't the worst idea in the world.”

You throw the maker a victorious, “Ha!” Seconds later however, shock replaces the smug triumph on your face and you switch your attention from Karn to the Horseman. “Wait... Really?”

“However,” he adds brusquely, jabbing his forefinger close to your nose, “I shall be the one to go.”

After a moment of staring up at his mask, you suddenly let out a huge breath of relief and sag forwards. “Oh thank god, I was hoping you'd say that.”

“Wh-!?” Karn sputters, “Then why'd you ask me to lob you!?”

“I didn't ask you to lob me, I insinuated that you could throw somebody across,” you reply with an impish grin.

Before the youngling can retort, Death growls, “If we could proceed....”

Karn nods his head and steps around the Horseman, making sure to lean down and mess your hair up with the top of his gloved finger, earning a playful smack to his hand for the trouble.

For perhaps the umpteenth time since he'd first met you, Death rolls his eyes up to the ceiling and approaches the maker. “All right, let's get this over with.”

The maker smirks and leans down, offering his palm. “I've got you, Rider!” he calls encouragingly, “Hop aboard!”

Still grumbling under his breath, the Horseman places a hand on Karn's proffered thumb and climbs in between the cupped fingers, planting his feet sturdily against a toughened, leather glove. “How's your aim, pup?”

“Reckon you're about to find out!” Without giving Death another moment to prepare, the maker cocks his arm back and closes one eye in a squint, peering out towards the last, surviving section of solid ground over on the chamber's far side. Then, like the world's largest shot-putter, he launches the Horseman forwards and up, sending him flying in a graceful arc over the pool of lava.

For several seconds, your heart is, admittedly, in your throat at the sight of Death hurtling precariously through the air and it's only after he lands safely on the platform with little more than a grunt that you realise you've been holding your breath.

“Ha! Good landing!” Karn hollers, cupping both hands around his mouth.

While the Horseman is too far away for you to make out any real details, you'd bet money on him curling his lips contemptuously at the maker's comment.

Death turns away from you to face the edge of his little island of stone and narrows his eyes, calculating the distance between it and the open doorway that leads into the next room.

It doesn't take him long to work out that it'll hardly be a challenge at all and he can clear it in a single jump.

Satisfied, he twists his neck about and calls back to you, “I'll find a way around and open that gate. Try not to get yourselves killed as soon as I'm out of earshot!”

It's impossible to tell whether he's just being deliberately glib or if he really thinks you might die between now and the next time he sees you.

After giving it a moment's thought, you begin leaning towards the latter.

Without awaiting a response from you or Karn, the Horseman backs himself up several steps and then suddenly bursts into a flat out sprint. At the very edge of the platform, he plants his boots and kicks off, sailing through the air for all of a second before he lands on the other side and disappears from view through the adjacent doorway.

“Show off,” Karn shouts at his retreating shadow.

Once the Horseman is out of sight, you let out a weary sigh and turn to wander over towards the gate again, plonking yourself down beside it and drawing your knees up to your chest, looping your arms around them. You're glad when Karn shuffles up to you and parks himself right in the gap, facing outwards, his enormous bulk leaving you effectively sealed between himself and the gate. Blinking up at his back, you can't keep yourself from letting out a soft laugh at the realisation that he's taking his duty as unofficial 'bodyguard' very seriously.

For a time, you keep yourself busy by studying the slow rise and fall of his immense shoulders, if only to distract from the bile rising up your throat.

Something had happened to you after Death disappeared, something you hadn't really anticipated. Your stomach twisted into knots and you began to pick absently at the skin around your fingernails, wondering why a creeping sense of unease was trying to make itself at home in your chest. You feel awful for thinking it, but Karn's presence alone doesn't feel like enough to keep you safe, as much as you try to convince yourself it is. You know - you know - that the maker would never let anything happen to you, yet without the calm, aloof presence of Death to serve as a voice of wisdom, the shadows suddenly seem a little darker, and the ambient sounds of the Foundry a little more sinister.

“Ugh,” you groan after trying and failing to reason with your hammering heart, instead electing to flop forwards and bury your head in your knees.

Karn's ear flickers at the sound and he cranes his neck over a shoulder, peering down at you with concern creasing his forehead. “You all right?” he asks softly.

Quick as a flash, you perk up and emerge from behind your legs, sending him a strained smile. “Yep! Yeah, just – uh – just bummed about being stuck behind this gate.”

The youngling holds your gaze for a few more moments, his small, pale eyes narrowing keenly before he turns to face the room again. You can see the way his jaw works over itself as he ponders an apparently troublesome thought. Finally, after another minute of peculiar silence, the youngling blurts, “Can I ask you somethin'?”

Damn. That singular question in itself makes you apprehensive. “Of course you can,” you reply all the same.

“Last night...” he begins tentatively, scuffing his boots into the stone ground, “... When Eideard told you we want you to stay here, with us.. Uh...” He stops abruptly to swallow, seemingly uncertain whether or not he ought to keep going. His tone, his hunched shoulders and the way he keeps fiddling with his leather gloves causes you to sit up straighter and stretch your legs out in front of you.

“Yeah?” you coax, voice gentle.

Seeming to gather his courage, he expels a loud breath and shrugs, displaying nonchalance. “Well, I mean – I've been meanin' to ask if - if you... want to stay?”

“If I -? ....Oh.” You hadn't even considered that.

Thoughtfully, you pull your brows together and stare at the stone underneath you.

Do you want to stay?

You think over how kind Eideard has been, and Alya offering to teach you how to become a blacksmith, the soft-spoken Muria with her gentle smiles and calming presence... You'd been unequivocally lucky once, the only human to survive the apocalypse and you just so happened to end up in a world with beings in it who genuinely seem to care for you. You've even been so lucky as to have made a spirited yet protective friend out of Karn who has expressed a keen desire in showing you everything this incredible realm has to offer. He's promised you adventures, Eideard has promised you safety and a place among his people, to be part of their dwindling group. Part of their family.

The word sticks like a lump in your throat but it's the kind of lump you don't want to dislodge because the ache it leaves behind is so hauntingly pleasant. What are the odds that you'll continue to survive if you leave with Death anyway? Don't you owe it to humanity to keep yourself alive? You are, after all, the last of them.

“Yes...” you murmur, barely realising you'd spoken aloud until the maker turns himself halfway around to stare down at you with hope blooming across his face, as though he hardly dares believe your answer. You have to admit, you're a little surprised as well. Before Karn's question had been posed – Hell, even before Eideard had offered you a home with the makers – you'd been under the impression that going with Death was your only option and you had buried the vague notion that in this frightening and lonely reality you've found yourself in, you still have a choice in the path ahead. You like Death. As arrogant and sardonic as he can be, he still has a good heart, buried as it is underneath a mountain of denial.

But, bottom line? He doesn't need you to go with him. He doesn't need you at all, in fact.

He was right yesterday, before the Temple when he said this whole mess wasn't a fun little adventure. This is your life you're gambling with, and you could very well get hurt again, maybe even killed.

Perhaps a few days ago, that – dying - wouldn't have been such a worrisome thought. Now though, you have Karn and you have Eideard and Muria. You have Alya and Valus and even Thane. Once again, you have people who would feel the aftermath of your death and suddenly, the prospect of it doesn't sound so idyllic. Idyllic in the way a long rest is idyllic. Just a nice, quiet nothingness where you can be at peace with the rest of humanity. Swallowing thickly, you stare down at your hands and frown. For just a moment, you'd think they belonged to someone else when they move to clasp each other.

A muffled sound abruptly brings you back into yourself and your head snaps up to find Karn regarding you cautiously. You realise he must have been staring at you for quite some time, obviously perturbed by your extended bout of silent contemplation.

Dumbly, unsure of whether he'd spoken or not, you utter a clumsy, “Huh?”

The maker's head tips to one side and he slowly replies, “I asked if you were okay? You went a wee bit quiet there, s'all. Kept... lookin' at your hands...” He trails off for a while, licking his lips before he takes a breath. “S'pose I shouldn't have sprung that question on you, eh?” he says hurriedly, “Eideard told me not to ask, but I couldn't help mysel-”

“I want to stay.”

The youngling stops dead and stares at you, bewildered, so you reiterate with a small, shy grin, “If we make it out of the Foundry in one piece, Karn, I'd like to stay with you guys. I feel I've pushed my luck as far as it'll go.”

The maker doesn't reply, and you watch as instead, a smile begins to spread along his lips, tugging them up at one corner until you catch sight of a jutting tusk. What you don't know, is that the youngling's heart is currently doing somersaults in his chest.

All of a sudden, the maker's elation is cut short by a low rumbling that shakes the ground and walls. Within a second Karn's hammer is gripped fiercely between his fists as he puffs himself up and gets ready to annihilate whatever is causing the minor earthquake that threatens you. However, moments later, the gate that had once blocked your path starts to rise, unleashing an almighty clamour that rings out through the Foundry.

Gradually, a room beyond is revealed and you're relatively pleased to note that this one looks to be mostly intact save for a few holes in the ceiling. Cautious, you begin to venture inside, only faltering when Karn abruptly steps around you to take the lead. Soon enough though, you notice a figure perched like a grim, oversized bird of prey on a lever sticking out of the western wall.

“Death!” you call out, “You found a way to open the gate!”

“Obviously,” he replies stiffly, his eyes burning as he stares you down from his perch overhead.

Karn, aware of the Horseman's scrutiny, strides into the room and slings his hammer over a shoulder, asking, “What's up?”

“You mean besides Death?” you snort.

The maker rewards your subpar joke with a spell of laughter whilst Death's heated glare turns cold as ice.

Skirting underneath him, you glance curiously around the room and after a moment, your eyes land upon a huge opening in the far wall, directly opposite the gate you'd come in through.

“Over there!” you exclaim, pointing, “That has to be the way forward.”

Swinging his legs over the side of the lever, Death speaks up. “Ah. Therein may lie a problem.”

Wordlessly, he slips down off his perch and lands behind you, his leather boots barely making a sound on the stone floor. However, as soon as it's free of the Nephilim's weight, the lever slides noisily up and back into its slot. Correspondingly, the opening you'd been pointing at mere moments ago is promptly blocked when a massive gate – identical to the first – slams down from the ceiling and hits the ground with such force, you'd be topped off your feet if Death hadn't bumped his elbow into the small of your back and propped you upright again.

“That would be the problem I mentioned,” he grumbles, standing next to you and crossing his arms, “If we want to pass, one of us will have to remain here to keep the gate open. I could find no other way to open it.”

“Aye! An' nor will ye,” Karn explains, “that's cause this Foundry was built with makers in mind. There's a trick to it – Here, Rider – Go trip that lever again, eh?”

Although the Horseman bridles, likely at being ordered around so audaciously by a youngling, he grumbles his way back over to the wall and scrambles up it like a pale, emaciated beetle. He steps onto the lever once again and uses his weight to drop it. Seamlessly, it slides down through the wall's mechanism and slots into place with a resounding click. True to form, the gate is quick to rattle upwards until it disappears into a gap in the roof.

“All right, Pup,” Death drawls as he balances expertly at the end of the lever, “Now what?”

With a confident smile, the maker crosses the room and stops directly in the gateway before spinning about to face you again and raising his arms above his head, palms tilted towards the ceiling.

“Okay, Horseman!” he shouts, “Let 'er drop!”

“Woah, wait, what!?” you blurt out, whipping your head between the maker and Death, “Karn! It'll crush you! That gate weighs at least a tonne!”

“Oh, at least,” Death remarks coolly.

The maker's chest rumbles with a low chuckle and raps the top of his head with his knuckles. “Don't you worry, miss. Takes more'n a gate to crack this skull.”

“Provided said gate weighs no more than a tonne.” Death aims a wry smirk down at you from his vantage point, prompting you to cross your arms defensively.

“Shut up,” you whinge, “I've always been bad at judging the weight of things! For all I know, you could weigh fifteen stone.”

“Think that all depends on how big the stones are,” Karn helpfully supplies as he scratches at the back of his neck.

Exhaling through your nose, you spare the maker an exasperated look. “Stones are a unit of measurement we use on Earth, smart guy.”

Pausing, the young giant frowns, still standing in place underneath the gate. Slowly, he says, “Pretty sure they're pieces of compact mineral.”

“Would it kill you two to focus on something for five minutes in a row,” Death huffs.

Pursing your lips, you shrug. “Dunno, haven't tried focusing since university.”

“That much is abundantly clear.” To spare himself an argument, the Horseman redirects his attention off you and turns it to look over at Karn, giving the youngling a jerk of his head. Then, just as before, he leaps down from the lever and there are two seconds in which you're half tempted to cover your eyes to avoid seeing your maker friend get flattened by an enormous slab of stone. Luckily for you however, Karn is evidently stronger than you give him credit for.

A loud 'whoosh!' fills the room as the gate falls hard and fast, only to have its descent stopped short by a pair of leather clad hands.

For a worrying second, the youngling looks as though he'll surely buckle under the immense pressure bearing down on his shoulders and you gasp when he's almost forced onto his knees.

But then, he catches your eye.

Seeing your tiny hands clasped fretfully in front of your chest, he's nearly able to forget about the weight of the stone on top of him.

Teeth clenching, he abruptly thrusts himself upright and gives the gate an almighty heave, shrugging it onto the sturdy line of his broad shoulders and keeping the bottom of it gripped firmly in his palms. Now with both feet planted like the roots of a tree, Karn hurriedly scans your face again, and he's pleased to see the look of worry is gradually morphing to one of astonishment.

“Err, I know I make this look easy,” he grunts, jerking his chin down to the gap between floor and gate, “But would you two mind hurryin' it up a bit?”

Shaking your head, you jolt forwards into a steady jog. “Oh! Right – yeah!”

Death – much less inclined to hurry – saunters after you, though his longer stride allows him to almost keep pace regardless, and soon enough, you've both crossed to the other side.

The very second you're clear, Karn wastes no time in shrugging the gate up into his palms once more before he ducks out from underneath it, letting the whole thing crash down to earth with a deafening 'boom!'

Dusting off his hands, the youngling turns around, half expecting – half hoping – that you'll be standing there behind him with the stars in your eyes, ready to shower him in praise for his impressive strength and courage.

However, when he glances down, he finds that both you and the Horseman have turned your attention elsewhere. Namely, your heads are tipped back and your eyes are fixated on the very thing you've come here to awaken. Wetting your lips, you softly breathe, “I'm guessing that hammer back there wasn't just part of the décor,”

The three of you have found yourselves standing in the entrance of an expansive courtyard, surrounded on all sides by the crumbling walls of the Foundry, yet in the centre and taking up a majority of the vast space, is a sight that – in your humble, human opinion – is nothing short of staggering.

A construct of impossible size stands lifelessly before you, wider in breadth than the Warden, taller than the Foundry walls and propped up by rudimental, wooden scaffolding that indicates a job long-abandoned. Each arm is held aloft by immense chains attached to a pair of towers on either side of the courtyard, keeping the monster from collapsing forwards under its own weight and there are several, round slabs of stone, seemingly made to resemble cartilage that encircles its neck, at the end of which sits a head large enough for you to live quite comfortably inside. Dark eye sockets, devoid of any flickering light, peer blindly down at you and their emptiness sends a shudder crashing through your body. You can't help but clutch at your arms, rubbing up and down them to rid yourself of the goosebumps that have begun to prickle at your skin.

“Is that the Guardian?” you ask, though you already know the answer.

Death shadows you closely as you take a few more, hesitant steps further into the courtyard and he, in turn, is followed by Karn, who has both hands on his hips and his neck craned back at a painful angle, squinting up at the construct's empty chest. “Aye, that'd be him,” the maker answers after a moment, and he almost sounds proud when he adds, “He's a big'un ain't he? Pride and joy of the Old ones who crafted him.”

“Shit,” you breathe, then because you can't think of something more eloquent to say, you reiterate, with a little more feeling, “Shit.”

“Think he looks big now? Wait'll you see 'im when he's awake.”

“I – I'm sorry. Awake?”

“Well, what'd you think we were comin' here to do?” The youngling glances down at Death, catching his eye. “If you want to get to the Tree, we'll have to awaken that beast.”

The Horseman's gaze seems to be zipping over the construct at an impossible speed, taking in everything from the simple, round pillars serving as its feet to the left arm where, in place of a hand, there is instead a devastating, stone cannon. Finally registering that the maker has spoken, Death replies, “And then what?”

“The Guardian will do what it was meant to; destroy the Corruption blocking the Tree,” Karn explains, briefly noticing that you'd lost a bit of colour to your cheeks after hearing the Guardian would have to be activated.

Perplexed, the Nephilim shakes his head and shoots Karn an inquisitive glance. “But... it looks finished. Why does it just stand there?”

“The body is finished, aye. But as it stands, it is no more than dead stone.”

Having seen and met 'living' stone, the idea of this creature being 'dead' is disquieting and you press your lips together, idly listening to Karn explain the game plan as your eyes flit nervously over the Guardian's rocky face.

“To give life to the stone, we must give it the essence of a maker's heart. Three of them for a beast this large.”

“Three?” you croak, tearing your eyes off the Guardian to look up at him, “Oooh, don't like that.”

Quirking a brow, Death huffs, “And why is that, pray tell?”

“Haven't you guys heard that saying? The devil comes in threes?”

“Whassat mean?” Karn asks.

“You ever broken something? And then found that you break two more things after that? Or ever had a death in your social circle – Not you -” you say when the Horseman points at himself, “- and had two others die pretty quickly afterwards?”

“Tripe,” Death scoffs dismissively, “Nothing more than another foolish, human superstition. A number cannot hurt you.”

“Look I just don't like the vibe of this thing, okay? And now with Karn telling us we need three essences?” You shiver, shaking your head. “Something doesn't feel right.”

“Well. Regardless of your feelings,” the Horseman mocks, “We still need to wake it up. The question is, how?”

Karn's face brightens like a child being asked a question only he knows the answer to. “Three Heart Stones were finished, along with the Guardian - but never married to the stone,” he says, then turns to gesture vaguely at a doorway further along the courtyard, “They're all here in the Foundry somewhere, we need only look to find them.”

Although you're still plagued by an overwhelming desire to turn tail and run back to the safety of Tri Stone, you can't deny the fluttering in your stomach as anticipation sets in. In all your life, nothing has felt quite so pivotal as being here in this moment with Death and Karn, on the cusp of awakening a monumental, Corruption-destroying giant made from stone to reach a Tree that supposedly holds the key to resurrecting your fellow humans.

'And to think, just a week ago, I was pushing a pencil around my desk and wondering whether to have tea or coffee with my lunch...' you think to yourself, half in a daze.

“Y/n? Are you still with us?” Something raps sharply on your head and you let out a yelp, swatting Death's hand away as he steps back and peers down at you.

“Yeah, yeah, I'm still here.”

“Well then, what are we waiting for?” he continues, spinning on his heel and heading for the first of the three, gaping doorways that lead off into the Foundry's wings, “Let's go.”

As you trot after the Nephilim, Karn at your rear and the dark sihlouette of Dust zooming down the passageway ahead, the hairs on your arms begin to stand on end and you pull in a long, steadying breath.

'This must be what a real adventure feels like'

#darksiders #darksiders 2 #Death #Grim Reaper #Reader #Karn #Eideard #Fluff #friendship #lots of teasing #bff energy #Nephilim #brief depersonalisation #/derealisation #next up: the three stones

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neon-junkie · 3 years

Text

Lovesick - Chpt.1&2

Summary: The last thing Micah Bell ever expected to happen in his storm of a life is for him to get soft on a woman, but that's exactly what's happened. And now, Micah has to figure out if he wants to keep suppressing those feelings or finally act on them.

Pairing: Micah Bell x f!Reader

Word Count: 4414

Rating: SFW

Tags: Pining, Secret admirer, Feelings denial/realisation, Comfort, Fluff, Angst, Mental breakdowns, Crying, Slow burn, Friends to lovers, Falling in love, Mostly Micahs POV.

Notes: I really really really really really enjoy the idea of Micah getting super-duper soft on someone and struggling with those mushy feelings, so why not write a multi-chapter fic about it?? This was heavily inspired by the song 'Whiskey - Tejon Street Corner Thieves'. I can totally picture Micah being the kinda guy to suppress his mushy feeling with alcohol. I was gonna make this a short fic where a very drunk Micah confronts the reader like "ahh I'm drunk and i hate you because you make me feel like this," and then I got carried away because I'm a sucker for super slow burn >:)

He hates you. He despises you. Even just the thought of you makes him sick to his stomach, sick to the point where he can barely stand up straight. And whenever he sees you? Whenever you come over to him with that soft smile on your face and talk to him as if he's a normal human being? God. That makes him so much worse. He hates the way you make him feel, the way no woman should make him feel. He'll happily point and laugh at any man that allows a woman to tell him what to do, to make a man soft and worship the ground she walks on. But Micah's found himself in the last predicament that he thought he'd ever end up in; he was expecting to finally have a noose stay around his neck and steal him from this world, but instead, he finds himself here. Micah looks up from his knife, sharpening it over and over whilst he leans against a tree on the outskirts of camp. It's gentle out here, calming, with a pretty view of the red sand that welcomes the lake as the waves rock back and forth. But no picturesque setting can at least settle the flames that burn inside of him. Micah's always been a loose cannon, a devil walking amongst the earth. He never really questions his actions, he just does them, especially when the bastards on the other end of his gun deserve it. But that fire inside of him is slowly turning into a sickness, a dizzy and sweaty sickness that makes him question his actions simply because he worries about what you'd think.

He was so disappointed in himself the first time it happened. He'd trailed across to Valentine saloon with yourself and a few other camp members, only because you'd invited him. The other men didn't pay much attention to him, but you did. You stuck beside him all night, practically pouring liquor down his throat as he tried to calm that feeling he gets whenever he's within ten meters of you. A stranger had tried to grab you on your way back over to the table, and Micah was straight to his feet, storming over and landing a punch perfectly on that poor fuckers nose. At first, you were glad that Micah had your back. But the more punches Micah landed, the more that stranger's face turned blue. You only had to bark Micah's name once to catch his attention; his head perked up, the stranger's blood splattered across his face, but his wild eyes had calmed the second he locked onto you. He dropped that man to the floor and left him to the elements, following you out the Saloon and apologizing over and over for getting so carried away. "He shouldn't have touched you," Micah had told you. "I know, and I appreciate you sticking up for me, but you got so carried away. He's probably gonna die from those injuries. You've gotta stop being so bloodthirsty," you told him as he helped you up onto your mount, climbing on top of Baylock shortly after. "Bloodthirsty?" Micah questioned. The word echoed throughout his brain, settling in his stomach as his nerves were turned to a different kind of mush. He felt cold and isolated, like he had disappointed you and ruined any chance of you ever falling for him, not that there probably was a chance to begin with. "Yeah, bloodthirsty," you repeated, nodding at the same time. He apologized to you again and told you he'd sort himself out, that he'd stop acting on impulse and anger. You tried to laugh it off with him; "Of course you will, and I'll grow wings and fly." Micah laughed along with you but the fact that you doubted him so much kept him awake for days, not that he sleeps much anyway. How dare you. How dare you have such power over him, despite not even being his, or being aware of it. Sure, you're kind and polite to him, but you have no ties to him. You've barely flirted with him, and surprisingly, he hasn't tried flirting with you either. Whenever you're around he can't put on that cheesy act, he can't throw a few pick up lines your way and hope for the best. Micah finds himself actually wanting to impress you, to show you his best side in hopes of winning you over. It's sickening. Micah scowls and sharpens his blade a little harsher. He's not frustrated at you, not one bit, but he definitely is frustrated at himself. He can't believe he's fallen for a woman; he's not just fallen, he's tripped over and fell face-first into a ten feet deep grave, and he wouldn't be surprised if you decided to leave him down there, or bury him alive. Amos once used a specific word when he first started feeling like this when he met his wife - lovesick. Micah hates that word, he despises it, but only because he can feel it right now. It fits so perfectly, so snug. To be in love with someone so much that they physically make you sick. It's amazing how one person can do that to another and not even be aware of it. Micah's surprisingly acted like his usual self when he's around you, though the odd stutter has slipped out, along with his hands that are now almost always clammy. He hopes you haven't noticed it, especially when he put a wad of cash in your hands after a robbery you'd assisted him with. He has slipped up once though, and he knows he slipped up because you approached him the next day to check if he was alright, to which he excused himself again and ran off. It was hard not to notice the mess Micahs knuckles were in the day after that saloon fight; they were swollen, an array of purple and red blotches, some parts of his skin had even torn. "That looks nasty," you said as you caught Micah's attention. He brushed it off, saying it was nothing, but you continued to push at it. "I've got something that might help, let me go fetch it," you said. Before Micah could protest, you'd already ran off. He took a seat at the campfire with you and on command, held his hand out. Micah watched you as you dabbed the ointment onto a cloth and then oh god, you're holding his hand. Oh fuck. Oh shit. Your fingertips are pressed against his palm, your skin against his, as your other hand holds the damp cloth onto his knuckles. Was this it? Was this the day that Micah was going to embarrass himself in front of you? Was he going to throw up? Maybe pass out? You're being so kind and gentle, helping heal his wounds, something that nobody has ever done before. "She's just a friend, she's just being kind to you," Micah tells himself over and over, trying to remind himself that you'd never fall for a devil like him. "How longs this gonna take?" Micah asks, trying to mentally prepare himself for however long he's going to feel sick for. "Oh? You got places to be, Micah?" you ask with a laugh, eyes briefly meeting his before focusing on his hand again. "I'm a busy man, sweetheart. Someones gotta bring in the money," he tells you. Oops. The pet name didn't mean to slip out, but you don't cast a scowl or begin to hurdle abuse at him, you seem to barely notice it. "Of course you are, Micah. The busiest man in the camp, always sharpening his knife or cleaning his guns," you say with a laugh. "I mean it. I've got a robbery that needs attending to," Micah lies, though you seem to be falling for it. "Fine, fine," you sigh, moving your hands off Micahs. You look up at Micah, expecting him to thank you and leave, but he sits there blankly. "Well? Ain't you gotta go rob some folk?" you ask. "Yeah, sure. I'll see you around, thanks again," Micah quickly mutters before jumping to his feet and running off. He managed to rob a few folk on his ride around the area, the ride that was meant to settle his nerves and clear his mind. It worked, and Micah felt like his normal self once he began robbing folk, but all his progress crashed and burned when he trailed back into camp that night and accidentally locked eyes with you. What a fool this man is. The sound of your laughter catches Micahs attention. He's been stood leaning against this tree for god knows how long, thinking about you, not that his mind isn't always occupied with thoughts of you. But that's a different kind of laugh you're letting out, one that Micah's only heard when it surprisingly been directed at him. He peers over his shoulder and gazes into camp to find you talking to Arthur. He's babbling away about whatever, talking to a few of the girls though you're sat amongst them. They're all laughing along with him, and Micah isn't sure if you're laughing louder than the others, or if he's just more focused on you. But either way, it hurts. Micah hates feeling jealous, just as much as he hates feeling lovesick. But Arthur? Why does Arthur have to be the one to make you laugh like that? Why can't he just fuck off and leave at least one of the women available? He's a big, dumb idiot, but he knows how to make the women swoon, especially all the camp ones. Micah holsters his knife and throws the whetstone to the floor in anger. As the stone hits the ground, he instantly regrets his outburst, knowing that if you saw that, you'd be disappointed in him for acting out in anger. He checks over his shoulder but you've thankfully not noticed, still fixated on that big dummy. Micah rubs his face, trying to brush away that feeling inside of him but it's no use. He hears your laughter again and begins walking away. He needs to get away from that situation. He doesn't want to hear nor see other men flirting with you, not only because he gets jealous, but because it reminds him that you'd never go for a man like him. Maybe Micah should avoid you for a while? Maybe he should give himself some space in hopes of killing off all those feelings he has for you? ------- Micah's not been seen around camp for a week now. He left in the night without telling anybody where he's going, not even Dutch. He's occupied his time well, doing all his favourite things and visiting two close friends of his. His thoughts of you become less and less, and eventually, he feels settled enough to return to camp, ready to suppress those feelings and push you away. He returns during the evening, trotting back into Clemens Point to overhear Pearson shouting that dinner was ready. Baylock is hitched and his saddle is removed, swung over the hitching post so his mount can relax. Micah spends the evening lounging about, speaking to a few camp members, half-eating his food, the usual stuff, but there's been no sign of you. Good. He doesn't need to see you right now. The night is spent drinking with Bill before he goes off on guard duty, leaving Micah to have another glass of whiskey on his own. Nature eventually calls, and Micah forces himself to his feet so he can wander off into the forest and empty his bladder. He hums to himself as he does so, his feet stumbling ever so slightly but he only considers himself tipsy. If a stranger were to waltz into camp with their guns blazing, Micah knows he's somewhat sober enough to take them on, and that's the only reason why he doesn't consider himself to be drunk. He takes his time wandering back into camp but a noise in the distance perks his ears up. Micah stands still, his feet coming to the halt so he can focus on the sound rather than the crunching earth beneath his feet. It's a whimper, as if a baby deer has been left by itself nearby, no momma to be found. Micah follows the sound, curious to know what's crying out nearby. He'd normally ignore it, but his gut is telling him to follow, even though he told himself that he'd stop listening to his gut so much as it always got him caught up in some kind of trouble, usually feelings related. Micah wanders well into the outskirts of camp, trailing down along the shoreline and coming to a halt when he finds the source of the sound. It's you, your knees up to your chin with your arms wrapped around them. You're sobbing into your lap, your knees muffling most of your cries though some had seemed to slip out. Micah finds himself in a predicament and curses whoever is in the sky for pulling him into this one. Should he sneak away and let the guilt of knowing he left you alone to cry settle on his shoulders for however long it chooses to stay? Or should he go over and comfort you, knowing that sickness inside of him will spark up again? Although, it's already begun to return. He sighs as he rests his hands on his hips. There's no getting rid of these feelings, is there? This isn't a somewhat simple matter where he can pull his revolvers out and shoot at the thing that's eating him up. This is something new, something that he can't just run away from, though this isn't the first time he's run away from his feelings. Micah knows that if the situations were reversed, that you'd come running over to let him cry into your arms. And as much as he wants to, he doesn't want those feeling to begin controlling him again. Before Micah can make a decision, his feet are already pacing over to you. It seems he was set on his decision the second he saw you like this, and he was only stalling to try and prepare himself for those feelings to return. Micah clears his throat, catching your attention. "You alright?" he asks with that drawl, though he knows what your answer is. A pair of glossy eyes look up to meet his, and Micah feels his heart beginning to melt at the sight. "Sweetheart," Micah sighs without realising, settling down beside you. "I'm fine, Micah. Really," you tell him as you wipe your eyes, letting your legs settle and no longer be bunched up against your chest. "Now, I know that ain't true," he shakes his head. "What's a matter?" he asks. You give your eyes another rub as you clear your throat. "Y-you ever think you're alone in this world? Like, I know I ain't technically alone, but I sure do feel it," you tell him without hesitation, knowing that Micah is the kind of person who can relate. The other camp members would begin to tell you how many people are here for you, trying to reassure you, and although that's a kind gesture, it's not the one you're looking for. Micah, on the other hand, knows what true loneliness is like - to have nobody but yourself, and to be like that for years on end. Maybe you were two sides of the same coin. His ears perk up at your words, surprised that you felt such a way. It tugs on his heartstrings, an organ that everybody doubts Micah has, but you're the only person who seems to remind him that he does have a heart after all. "I know what that feels like," Micah says with a laugh. "I'm surprised you feel like that, 'specially with being the camp's favourite," he continues, his eyes flicking out at the water before returning back to you. "I wouldn't call myself that, I'm no Arthur. I know I fit in just fine, but there's only so much a group of friends can do, you know?" "Oh, I don't exactly know how that feels, sweetheart. But I understand what you're feeling. You're lonely-lonely, ain'tcha?" Micah asks, and doesn't seem surprised when you nod in agreement. "Mhmm," he hums, "I know how that feels." "Ain't you ever had someone be sweet on you before, Micah?" you ask him. Micah can't help but laugh a little at your question, assuring himself that you know what his answers going to be. "Course not," he replies somewhat confidently, though he doesn't seem proud with his reply. "I'm surprised," you tell him. Micahs eyes flick over to you like a spooked owl, uncertain if he heard exactly what he thought you said. "You're what?" Micah questions, his face relaxing as he tries not to look a wide range of negative emotions, ones that he'd rather not show. "I'm surprised. I know the camp doesn't exactly like you, but you've always been so kind to me. You've helped me out on more than one occasion without me asking for it, you'll carry my ass during a gunfight, and you always seem to give to me but never take. Hell, you're here comforting me now when I'm certain some folk would have pretended not to notice me," you tell him. Micah has to dip his head a little as you speak, covering his eyes with the brim of his hat. You can tell that nobody has ever said such words to him, though he's doing a good job of suppressing that sickness inside of him, preventing it from coming up to the surface to show you just how soft he is on you. He's meant to be a rugged outlaw, a man that kills and robs for fun, when really he feels like a child at Christmas whenever he's near you. "Guess that's what friends are for, huh?" Micah replies, trying to keep his gaze hidden and his eyes forward. "Yeah," you nod, moving your eyes over to the scenery. You can't help that a lone tear escapes from the corner of your eyes, a leftover from earlier, but Micah looks at you from under the brim of his hat at just the right time to see it escape. You've done a good job at suppressing the loneliness inside of you for so long, but every now and again, your emotions get the better of you and you just need to let it all out. "Hey," Micah says as he sits upright, reaching out to wipe the lone tear from your cheek without thinking about it. "You still got some left inside of ya?" he questions, to which you nod in agreement. "You need a shoulder to cry on?" Micah asks, his stomach turning at the thought of you finding comfort in him. He's expecting you to brush it off, to say you're fine, but instead, you're nodding again and shuffling closer to him. At first, you simply lean against his shoulder, your cheek and temple pressed against his red shirt. You cling onto his arm like a nervous child, letting your tears flow once again. Micah's trying his best not to feel sick; he's never had somebody find comfort in him before, even though you're only clinging onto his arm, but it's enough to soften his heart and cloud his mind. A choked sob escapes your lips and Micah finally snaps at the sound of you in pain. Without thinking, he scoops you up, pulling you onto his lap and holding you tightly against his chest. There's a brief pause from you and Micah's certain that he's finally done it - he's finally stuck his foot into a door that should be closed, but his mind eases out as your arms wrap around him and your head buries deeper into his chest. The feeling of your tears against his skin makes Micah hold his breath, eventually letting it out slowly as he rests his chin on the top of your head. He's not quite sure what to do with his hands; one rests on your waist, whilst the other begins to trail up and down your back, comforting you in an uncertain way as he's never done this before, but he seems to be a natural as you find peace in this storm of a man. Micah hears you let out another choked sob and he holds onto you a little tighter. "Let it all out," he coos in a voice so soft that it could send a lamb to sleep. He's taken aback, not knowing he had such softness inside of him. Micah has to hear that tone again, to remind himself that he has that ability to be so gentle. "I'm here for ya," he says, the words slipping out of his mouth. The faint sound of a "thank you," from your lips finally melts Micahs ice-cold heart. And to think, this time yesterday he was pacing around his camp, telling himself over and over that he wasn't going to let 'any damn woman' turn him into such a mess. Maybe he could make an exception? Well, he knows he can because he already has. You take your time, letting out all the tears you have left. It feels nice to have somebody comforting you, especially as it's someone you weren't expecting. Everybody needs to cry sometimes, and you're sure Micah knows that far too well. Within time, you feel yourself calming down. Your lungs and muscles begin to relax, your breaths becoming longer and deeper, and your eyes are no longer glossy. You continue to take comfort in the man wrapped around you, holding onto him a little tighter as you move your head from his loosely buttoned shirt, up to the curve of his neck. His beard brushes over your forehead, but his cheek eventually rests against it as his body relaxes. This is a feeling that Micah could definitely get used to - the feeling of you snuggled up to him, your body fitting perfectly against his like a two-piece puzzle, even though he's struggled to put the pieces together for so long. That sickly feeling in his stomach is slowly settling, moving up his body and burning in his chest, though he prefers the burning over the sickness. "How're you feelin'?" Micah asks you, giving your back another gentle rub. "I'm getting there," you tell him. "Got a headache now though," you say with a slight laugh. "Must be dehydrated, though it's good you let them tears out," he replies. "You want me to go fetch you a drink?" Micah offers. He'd rather sit here with you in his arms, but he'd put your needs over his wants any day. "You've done enough for me, lettin' me cry all over you and soak your shirt," you say with a laugh. "I should probably get to bed anyway," you sigh, not wanting to move though you assume Micah is sick of you crying all over him by now. You're definitely mistaken. "C'mon then. Let's get you to bed," he says, his voice still as soft as earlier. That softness is intoxicating, a gentleness that you've never seen before; it urges you to hold onto him and never let go, but you force yourself off him, shuffling away so Micah can slowly get up onto his feet. You give your eyes another rub and as you open them, Micahs hand is out waiting for you. He helps you up and almost seems reluctant to move his hand away, but he forces himself to, not wanting to cross any boundaries. He walks you back to camp. It's silent for once, surprisingly peaceful as nobody is up drinking, singing, telling stories around the campfire. Micah urges you to get to bed whilst he fetches you a drink and you do so, scooting into your enclosed tent. "Here," Micah says as he crouches down in the entrance and hands you a cup of water. You gulp it down before thanking him, filling your body with the water you'd lost during your breakdown. "Now get some sleep. You must be exhausted," Micah coos. He's about to stand up and leave you to it, but you call out his name. Micah turns his attention back to you, a pair of sad eyes in the darkness of your tent. All he wants is to crawl in and settle down beside you, sleeping peacefully for once, but only because he doesn't feel like he needs to keep his guard up around you. "Thank you," you tell him again, a lot clearer than your sobbed manners from earlier. "S'alright, darlin'," Micah replies with a small nod. He flashes you a smile before finally getting up and leaving, letting you enjoy a well-needed rest. Micah trails over to his usual spot by the campfire. That feeling of whiskey in his blood is long gone by now; the shock of seeing you in such a state must have sobered him up, and he doesn't feel the need to pick up another bottle and begin wrestling those emotions again. He's somewhat content, though he fears that this was just a chance encounter, that tomorrow you'll be back to being the camp's favourite member to flirt with, and he'll have to stand on the sidelines and watch but be too scared to take any action. However, Micah feels calm enough to get some rest, even if it is just letting his head dip and having a snooze on this uncomfortable chair. It's better than nothing, and he knows he'll be awake before anybody else, preventing them from seeing him in his most vulnerable state. If only you had asked him to stay. Micahs mind becomes clouded with the thought of curling up beside you. He'd rest however you want, cuddling or not; he'd even be happy if you turned away from him or just used his body for some extra warmth. Micah wants to tell himself off, to slap himself around the face for being so desperate for your affection, but he'll allow himself to dream about such things just for tonight. The thought of settling down beside you sends him to sleep, with his hands resting on his stomach and one ankle crossed over the other.

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labyrinth-runner · 3 years

Text

Having a Ball

An Obi-Wan x Reader Winter Tale, also a secret santa present from @starwarssecretsanta for @peacefulwizardfox

Word Count: ~3k

Warnings: None

Summary: It’s a fluffy wintery fic with some snowball fights.

Big thanks to @the-mandalorian-clone-lover for letting me bounce this off her.

The air was cool as it went right through your robes. A shiver went down your spine as you wished you had dressed in more layers. Obi-Wan had warned you that the planet was cold, and you remembered it being such when you were younger, but you had figured that you had grown in your training and could block out the cold by now. Such was your mistake.

Being here on this planet gave you the illusion that everything was normal. The world was a blanket of white, untouched in most places. In a word, it was peaceful. It was this serenity that made it one of the Order’s favorite places for brief meditative retreat. However, when you saw the list of people who had signed up for this trip, you were beginning to think that maybe it wouldn’t be as relaxing as it had been advertised.

You were excited for this retreat, though, having heard stories about Master Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker’s antics. Very rarely did you get to see them in action these days, with the war spreading you all out so thin, so you were keen to see the infamous duo get up to some of their shenanigans.

“Let’s set up camp for the night,” Master Windu advised.

Looking around, you noticed that there were no tents. A quizzical look settled into your features until you saw what your lodging was to be.

The Jedi around you held their arms out, palms facing out, fingers splayed. Their eyes were closed in concentration as they reached out to the world around them.

Shapes began to take form out of the snow, ice rising from the ground as a building rose up in front of you. Closing your eyes, you joined them in lifting it up so that the door was accessible.

“Now that that’s done, time for the fun,” Anakin whispered to you as he knelt down to pack a ball of snow in his hands.

You raised a brow at him as he wound up and threw it, hitting Obi-Wan square in the face. Snow clung to his beard as he reached up to wipe it off, giving Anakin the dirtiest look as the younger Jedi snickered into his hand.

“Master, you’ve got a little something on your face,” Anakin said innocently.

Obi-Wan’s eyes narrowed as a clump of snow rose from the ground and hurled itself at Anakin, who ducked, causing the snow to hit you instead.

The crowd grew silent as you casually reached up and swiped the snow from your eyes to see a blushing Jedi Master sputtering an apology. Calmly, you reached down to pack your own snowball before returning the favor.

“SNOWBALL FIGHT!” Ahsoka yelled as everyone broke off into a free-for-all.

Snowballs whipped back and forth across the white expanse of space as haphazard forts were quickly erected to provide shelter from the cold ammunition being pelted every which way. You dove behind a snow bank, but the snow moved under your weight, sending you tumbling down a hill. The roll continued until you found yourself going from a slight tumble to a sheer drop into a cave.

Looking up at the space you’d fallen through, you realized you wouldn’t be able to jump up unaided. You let out a sigh, sending a puff of air in front of your face. Turning to look at the cave, you noticed light shining through the icicles, indicating another entrance on the other side of the cave. Faintly, you heard the whistling of the wind through the cavern, and what sounded like your name. Having nothing left to lose, you trudged towards the light, hoping to reach the end quickly and before the sun set.

You weren’t so lucky, finding yourself exiting the cave just as the rich reds and pinks in the sky gave over to the purple indigo of night. “Oh, kriff.”

“The days are definitely shorter here than on Coruscant,” a sharp voice cut through the stillness.

“Master Kenobi?” you called out.

“Here, darling,” he said as he slid down a slight bend to land in front of you. “You know, everyone’s worried about you.”

“I didn’t mean to make people worry,” you blushed, “I took a tumble and ended up in this cave.”

“I told them that, but they didn’t seem to believe me, or your tracks for that matter,” he said as he fished out a blanket to wrap around you. “Well, it’s too late to go back like this. The temperature will drop soon. We might as well stay here for the night.”

Here? The two of you alone in a cave? Your mind was reeling. You had had a crush on the Jedi Master ever since you were both padawans, but thankfully your missions kept you apart, which helped keep your feelings at bay. However, having to be so close to him like this, especially after he had come to rescue you, was reigniting that spark that you had thought was gone, but had in fact only been dormant for so long.

The two of you went back into your cave and he reached into his pack for his emergency fire kit, building a small fire that was kept at bay by a ring of stones around the small crackling source of heat.

“So, what made you sign up for the retreat?” he asked as he dug around for some rations in his pack.

“I thought it might be a relaxing break from being shot at,” you replied as you took one from him, cracking the ration over the heat.

Obi-Wan chuckled, “Relaxation. There’s something I haven’t done in a while.”

“Anakin seems intent on making it hard for you to do that,” you teased.

“He’s got a good heart,” he replied. “And some of his ideas are brilliant. Just don’t tell him I said as much.”

You giggled, “Your secret is safe with me.”

“If I remember correctly, they always have been,” he said with a small smile.

“Oh?” you asked, feeling your mouth suddenly go dry.

“I know attachments are frowned upon, but I will admit that I always miss your smile when you’re away,” he winked. “It’s infectious.”

“Careful, Master Kenobi, your Jedi charm tricks won’t work on me,” you said, playfully nudging him, but you were blushing.

“Oh they won’t? I remember it being different when we were younger. You were always blushing at everything I said and blaming my accent if my recollection is correct,” he looked into the fire before turning to you for a moment. Softly he asked, “What happened to our friendship?”

“You lost your Master and then we were thrust onto different paths,” you replied, slipping your hand along the rocky bottom of the cave to tentatively touch his hand. When he didn’t pull away, you interlocked your fingers with his. “I always believed ours was a friendship that could pick up from wherever we left off.”

A slight tint settled above his beard, but you wondered if perhaps it was a trick of the light reflecting off the cave walls. “Oh, is that so?”

“I know Master Yoda says that we are all luminous beings, but whatever our souls are made of, yours and mine are the same,” you replied, looking into the fire, “A connection like that runs deep enough to withstand the test of time, wouldn’t you agree?”

Obi-Wan looked at you, really looked at you, and for a moment he was just a man. He wasn’t a Jedi, and neither were you. You were just two souls bound together by so many commonalities that one might not know where he ended and you began. The way the light glinted off your face casted you in an ethereal glow. Luminous being, indeed, he thought as he took you in. Although your words were true, he would never have had the courage to admit them on his own. Instead, he just gave your hand a squeeze.

“We should rest. You sleep first while I take the first watch,” he said, letting go of your hand to wrap his arm around you.

A slight sigh breezed through your lips, but you let it go, as you had always been trained to do. The physical touch would be enough to reaffirm that perhaps he saw you in the same light as you saw him. Resting your head on his shoulder, you closed your eyes to get comfortable. Soon enough, you found yourself drifting off into a meditative state, not quite ready to commit to actual sleep at this point.

Obi-Wan let out a sigh as he looked out of the mouth of the cave. Every time that he thought he was over his attachments, something would happen to reassure him that perhaps he wasn’t the perfect Jedi that everyone thought him to be. He had mastery over his emotions, but that didn’t mean he was devoid of them. It wasn’t something that he could just lock in a box and forget about. It was a constant battle every day with a beast that would remain conquered for only so long. It was a battle of wills, waiting for him to fatigue and slip up. In truth, sometimes he wanted to slip. He wanted to give in and take the easy way out every once in a while. He wanted to feel everything; to give into temptation on occasion. To love and be loved in a way that consumed, just to feel. But, a part of him feared being burned. Feared making a mistake he couldn’t take back. To give himself to someone so completely would mean that the loss of that person could be enough to ruin him.

To love anything at all is to be vulnerable. That kind of vulnerability was something a Jedi couldn’t afford, so he put up walls. Walls that even Anakin couldn’t break through, and yet you always had a way of slipping through the cracks. It was almost as if letting those walls down would be acceptable if it were only to let you in.

The sky outside was getting lighter, but it wasn’t sunrise. A smile curled the corners of his lips as he gently shook you awake.

“Darling,” he murmured as you groaned, “Darling, look.”

You blinked your eyes open, trying to focus on your hazy surroundings as your vision swam. “What am I looking at?”

Gently he reached out to tip your chin up towards the sky and you understood.

Wavy lines of color streaked across the sky, lighting up the night. “You know, the ancient texts referred to auroras as being the spirits of a planet dancing in the night.”

“Qui-Gon always said they were the physical representation of a planet’s aura,” he said thoughtfully as he took in your awed expression.

“Regardless, they’re beautiful,” you murmured, “Definitely not a view you can see on Coruscant.”

“Mmm, they are beautiful,” he said as his eyes softened on your face. “I wish I could see it more often.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him staring at you, sweeping his eyes along your features as if he were trying to memorize you.

“Afraid you’ll forget me?” you asked as you turned towards him.

“I doubt I could ever manage that,” he replied with a small smile.

“Am I forever burned into your memories?” you asked playfully with a bright smile.

His heart skipped a beat as he reached out to brush a strand of hair out of your face, gently sliding the pad of his forefinger along the outline of your face as he did so. Your smile slowly slid off your face as you took in the intent nature of his gaze. His eyes flicked down to your lips before slowly making their way back up to yours. The seas of his eyes were tumultuous, like a churning sea as you stand on a cliff in a storm.

Obi-Wan licked his bottom lip as you reached out to gently cup his cheek. You dragged your thumb through the soft bristles of his beard, feeling your breath catch at how he leaned into your touch. You let your hand slide along his jaw towards his chin as your thumb dragged along his bottom lip, gliding from the dampness left by his tongue. Your eyes settled on his lips, entranced, before lazily looking up at him with a hooded gaze.

The fire was slowly dying in front of you, casting you both in the shadows of the embers. A log on the fire shifted, sending up sparks that playfully danced in his eyes. You swallowed a lump in your throat as you both stood on the edge of this precipice, toeing the crumbling limits, afraid of what might happen should you fall.

A flutter in your chest caused you to take that step, falling over the edge and dragging him with you. You pulled him in for a kiss, relishing in the way his supple lips pressed firmly into yours.

His beard tickled your face as his hand slid to cup the nape of your neck. His velvety tongue slipped over your bottom lip, the first demand you imagine he’s ever given, and one you were very happy to acquiesce to. His tongue danced with yours, a tango to a music only the two of you could hear.

He explored you like you were uncharted territory, but in truth, he was also exploring himself. Testing his limits. Determining how far he was wiling to go. It was a journey you would go on with him, but you let him take the lead out of respect.

You broke from the kiss and rested your foreheads against one another as you panted slightly for air. “Good night, Master Kenobi. I’ll take this next watch.”

“Good night, darling,” he grinned, his chest still heaving slightly from the exertion as he rested his head in your lap.

You let your head fall back as you let out a silent laugh at what just happened. Biting your lip, you shook your head before turning your attention back to him. Gently, you ran your hand through his hair, stroking through the auburn locks as you took in his sweet face of content. Part of you wondered if that was the first time he did something he wanted to, regardless of the consequences, in years. You draped your arm over his chest as you let yourself picture a normal future for the two of you. It was a daydream you hadn’t had in a long time, but one that you took out of its box every once in a while, if only to shake off the cobwebs.

If you weren’t Jedi, you’d be married. You’d live on a peaceful planet full of serene moments where you could feel the force at work in the galaxy. Maybe you’d have a farm, or maybe you would just live in town. Perhaps you’d befriend the neighbors. Perhaps you’d be in a remote area with no one around for as far as the eye could see. Obi-Wan would tend to the animals, and you would help him build the life he could have had if he wasn’t a Jedi. Perhaps you’d have children running around, a perfect mix of the two of you, or adopted to give them a better life in a loving home. No matter the scenario or the variables, the common denominator was that you’d be happy together.

You watched with passive interest as the sky changed from an inky indigo to the same shades as your dying fire until the sun had risen in the sky again. Gently, you nudged Obi-Wan awake.

“Obi, it’s time to go home,” you murmured.

He stretched languidly before collecting his belongings. You did the same before heading out of the cave and into the bright morning light.

“We can follow my tracks to get back to camp,” he said as he held his hand out to you. “Shall we?”

With a smile, you placed your hand in his and together you traversed the snowy hills until you were back to camp. You caught sight of the others breaking down camp.

Anakin was the first to spot you, eyes falling on your conjoined hands. You quickly dropped Obi-Wan’s hand when you noticed where the Jedi Knight was staring.

“Bout time you two showed up. We had to do all the work breaking down camp without you,” Anakin teased. “It’s not very Jedi-like to shirk your duties.”

“I’ll remember that, Anakin,” Obi-Wan said with a wag of his finger.

“We’re glad the two of you are safe,” Ahsoka said, slinging her bag over her shoulder.

“Yeah, would’ve hated leaving you here,” Anakin grinned.

Mace gave Anakin a withering look, “No one is getting left behind.” You could have sworn you heard him mumble ‘unfortunately,’ before he turned to Obi-Wan to add, “The next time you decide to wander off, take Skywalker with you.”

Obi-Wan shot Anakin a look that said, ‘what did you do?’

Anakin just shrugged, placing his hands up in a placating manner.

“Load up, everyone. It’s time to go home. I hope this trip was as enlightening as you all thought it would be,” Mace said before heading towards the ship.

You shared a smile with Obi-Wan Kenobi at Master Windu’s words before adjusting your pack on your shoulder and following the others onto the ship.

Enlightening, indeed.

#obi-wan fanfiction #obi-wan x reader #obi-wan kenobi #g/n reader #obi-wan kenobi x you #obi-wan kenobi x reader #Fluff #winter #star wars #swsecretsanta2020

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