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herearedragons · 2 months

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Homecoming

(3,876 words; Dorian/m!Lavellan; angst, post-Trespasser)

written for a Florence + The Machine prompt from @greypetrel : “Can you protect me from what I want? The lover who let me in, who left me so lost?”

read on AO3

On a summer night, the Pavus estate stands empty.

Not empty of visitors or of the presence of its owner - empty of everyone. There are no guards at the gates or in the garden; no cooks in the kitchen; no servants in the hallways. Its rooms are cold and unlit, illuminated only by moonlight breaking through the large windows and painting bright geometric shapes over surfaces and decorations.

In the study upstairs, one of those shapes falls directly over an armchair with a small wooden table by its side. On the table, a freshly opened bottle of wine; in the chair, the last remaining resident of the estate raises a glass to his lips, appreciating the fine vintage.

A staff rests balanced on his knees. An artisan dwarven clock with twelve handles ticks away on the wall beside him.

Magister Dorian Pavus drinks his wine, and waits for the man who is supposed to come kill him.

“All staff have been escorted off the premises, Magister.”

“Marvelous; thank you, Valeria.”

The captain of his guards regards him with a look that is familiar: respect, alertness - and the slightest hint of suspicion. She is saying, without speaking a single word aloud: you are behaving unusually, and I would like to know whether my job of keeping you alive is about to get harder.

“What are our orders?” she asks.

Unfortunately, she will not like the answer Dorian has for her.

“Go home,” he says. “Forget everything you’ve seen and heard here today.”

If she has an immediate reaction to his words, it doesn’t register on her face. Wait, no - it does, just very subtly; a slight tilt of her head to the side, a twitch of her brow.

She’s saying: excuse me?

“Magister, I beg your pardon, but I’ve been led to understand that someone will attempt to assassinate you tonight.”

Valeria is highly professional. A slight emphasis on the word “assassinate” is all she allows herself as an attempt to communicate extreme incredulity to her employer.

“Exactly - and I want you to be as far away as possible when it happens.” He sees the resistance brewing beneath her composed exterior and adds, quickly, before she has a chance to speak again: “This is an order.”

The resolve drains from her at once; an expression of defiance becomes one of defeat. She will not argue; this is above her station.

“Yes, Magister.”

Her tone, though subdued, is unbearably miserable; he can’t possibly end the conversation on this note.

“Oh, don’t look so grim; you don’t have to shop for a new employer quite yet,” Dorian says. “I can assure you that I have every intention to survive the night - and, when I do, I’d like to have your services still available to me. That last part will be tricky if you are dead; reanimated guards have fallen out of fashion, I’m told.”

Confusion, writ large across her face; the veneer of professionalism broken.

“This is about protecting me ?”

“This is about protecting all of you, if I can help it. You are very skilled, and I would trust you with my life - I do , in fact, trust you with my life, regularly - against any threat but this one. If you are here when he comes, you’ll be in his way, and you will die.”

Her brow furrows. He’s gotten through to her; there was enough gravity in his words to make her realize that his decision to send her away isn’t a foolish whim.

“And yet you will survive… him?”

“I certainly plan to. Now - ” Dorian raises an eyebrow - “Don’t you have somewhere else to be?”

Valeria nods shortly and hastily collects herself; their little moment of eye-to-eye sincerity has passed.

“Of course.” She hesitates. “...Have a good evening, Magister.”

The setting sun shines in bright oranges and reds on the back of her armor as she walks away.

In the moonlit garden of the estate, there are shadows.

Their presence is subtle and easily overlooked. Their footsteps make no sound; their clothes blend perfectly with the dark greens and grays of the night, hiding them behind pillars and in foliage, in solid blocks of shadow and in the mottled patterns of bright moonlight filtering through leaves.

There are twenty-seven of them, in total. Fifteen serve the Divine, and have traveled to Minrathous in secret from various corners of Thedas. The remaining twelve are Dalish, who have made the long, long trek from Wycome to one of the most dangerous places for their kind - just to be here tonight.

Some of them are on the outer side of the fence. None of them are inside the building. They are scattered across the perimeter, and, when the intruder comes, they will make no attempt to stop him.

They are not a wall keeping him out; they are the iron teeth of the bear trap, waiting to close on him once he has taken the bait.

The morning sun reflects off the crystal embedded in his transmitter amulet, each facet polished to perfection. He’d be able to spot his reflection in one of those quite easily, had he tried.

He doesn’t.

“Tonight, then,” Dorian says. “Are you sure?”

A small blue glow ignites inside of the crystal for a fraction of a moment, indicating that his message has been sent properly. Some seconds pass as the other party speaks their response, and then the amulet vibrates with the familiar voice of the Inquisition’s former spymaster - or, as she is more widely known these days, Divine Victoria.

As always, the sound of her speech comes with a pinprick of irritation in his chest. This is not what this amulet is for, and no, he has not gotten over that gripe after four years of it being used in this way.

Still, it would be foolish not to use it at all. The ability to instantly communicate between Minrathous and Val Royeaux has granted them an immense advantage in their hunt.

“As usual, we don’t have much evidence when it comes to his intentions - but what we do have shows that it is likely.”

Dorian allows himself a moment to process her words, taking his thumb off the back of the amulet so that it would not record and send the sound of him taking a deep breath and slowly releasing it, with only the slightest shudder at the end.

He always knew that this was a possibility; hoped for it, even, on some of the worst (and best) days.

He tries to parse his own feelings. Fear is certainly present, his self-preservation instinct kicking in (good - it’s still working). There is also anxiety - different from fear; the vague tremble of uncertainty rather than a call to action - and something like… excitement.

Hope, even?

No. Not hope. He’s made some good progress from the point of denying himself hope for anything at all, but hoping for the best in this particular scenario feels too daunting.

Excitement, however, is something he can definitely work with. He did always love a challenge.

The amulet vibrates in his palm again.

“Is everything alright?”

He puts his thumb back on the warm copper.

“Never mind the pause; I’m still here. Now, what are our plans for tonight?”

The Magister finishes his glass of wine and sets it aside. He looks at the bottle for a moment too long, but does not reach for it.

This was his first and last glass for tonight. It was certainly good, even though he could barely taste it after the first sip; his mind is elsewhere, try as he might to anchor himself in the present.

For a moment, he thinks that he hears footsteps echoing downstairs, but he dismisses the thought. The sentries will not enter the building - and it couldn’t have been him , either.

His hand, idle without the glass, moves to rest on the grip of his staff.

The Magister knows: when he shows up, no one will hear any footsteps.

The first of the Dalish arrive soon after Valeria leaves.

Two figures at his front gate; two elven women with scarves on their heads, their faces bare, carrying large baskets. Servants; no one would look twice.

Through the study window, Dorian sees the taller of the two set her basket down and stretch; as she does, her hands form the signal gesture that was described to him.

He activates the spell inscribed into the wrought iron, and the gates swing open of their own accord, letting the two women inside.

He comes downstairs just as the front door opens. The first thing to cross the threshold is is one the baskets, which look even more enormous up close; the women haul them in and set them down unceremoniously, the shorter of the two slamming the door shut behind her.

Both of them acknowledge him with a brief glance before beginning to furiously wipe their faces with their scarves, removing the thick layer of makeup that was necessary to hide their vallaslin.

“Would you like some water?” he asks.

The taller - and older - woman takes the scarf away from her face, meeting his eyes in earnest for the first time. Hers are brown and warm, just as he remembers; her hair, also a painfully familiar brown, has more grey streaks than it did the last time he’d seen her.

Four years and six months ago.

His last visit to Wycome before he left for Minrathous; the last time he has seen her son.

“Would you like some water” is not, by any means, an adequate greeting for the situation they’re in, but - even after years of imagining their next conversation - he doesn’t have anything better.

To his own surprise, Dorian realizes that a significant amount of his fear has nothing to do with the impending attempt on his life, and everything to do with meeting her again.

Adria Lavellan smiles - a small, humorous smile; just a quirk of her lips and a slight rise of her eyebrows - and nods.

“Yes, thank you. Both to drink and to wash up.”

Nothing about her tone or demeanor is hostile. She’s friendly, and the attitude she projects suggests that she is genuinely glad to see him again.

Something in his chest tightens and tightens until it hurts. He tries to say something in response, but finds his mind horrifyingly blank, and his tongue heavy.

He silently nods and walks away.

More elves arrive. Most of them come in pairs; some come in a group of three, or alone. All in the guise of servants.

Many of them carry baskets. Inside - armor, weapons and traps.

The sun disappears below the horizon, the sky painted twilight purple in its absence.

When he speaks to Adria again, she has donned a set of ironbark armor - her husband’s finest work, no doubt - and is in the process of stringing a longbow.

It’s strange to see her like this. Every time Dorian has met her in the past, she wore dresses and aprons and seemed to prefer the role of hearthkeeper; here, she is in charge of a party of eleven, armed to the teeth.

He starts by complimenting her armor. She thanks him with the same small smile; still unbelievably non-hostile. She compliments his house in turn.

Be it any other person, Dorian would have interpreted her attitude as cleverly disguised contempt - but this is Adria Lavellan ; he knows her, and he knows the son she raised, and she would not lie to him.

He wants to ask her a question.

How -

No, why -

Does she -

“I’m sorry that I couldn’t write to you,” Adria says all of a sudden. “If the Inquisition was still around, they could have gotten my letter to Minrathous - but without them, I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

She’s throwing him a lifeline, giving him an easy topic for conversation - and, shamefully, he elects to take it.

There is, at least, a question he can ask here.

“…Why would you want to write to me?“

The words come out without his usual flair. Flat. Vulnerable.

Thank the Maker that no one else seems to be listening, for the moment.

She regards him kindly with her warm, brown eyes.

“I lost my parents and my first husband almost at the same time. I remember what it feels like; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. I’m glad that you held up well.”

“…Well. Yes.” Dorian clears his throat. “I try. I - “

This is the perfect place to say something clever, perhaps some witty remark about his father’s demise, but the words do not come. This woman’s presence is equal parts comforting and terrifying to him, and it causes his brain to stop working.

He must do something about this. Now . He absolutely cannot remain a bumbling fool around - around his - around Neilar’s mother.

Dorian takes a deep breath.

“Why are you so calm?” he asks. “Why - “ his voice quivers - “Why are you not furious with me?”

A slight frown appears on her face as she parses his words.

“Well,” she says after a moment’s pause, “Those are two questions, and I’ll answer both. Why am I so calm: I’m not. I’m worried, and scared, and angry, and many other things - but those feelings are for me, not for the world. Sharing them with the world right now won’t help me or my children. And for the second question, I’m not aware of anything I should be furious about.” She tilts her head to the side slightly and perks up her left ear, which is closest to him. “ Have you done something I should be angry about?”

…Yes? No? He has spent countless sleepless nights trying to answer this exact question, and he still has no idea.

Is he to blame for what happened? Should he have postponed his return to Tevinter? Should he have been more thorough with his questions when he spoke to her son through the amulet that is now being held by the Divine?

Should he have dragged him away from that bloody Well by force before he could ever drink?

“I don’t know,” Dorian says.

Adria’s gaze lingers on him for a moment, inspecting him.

Judging?

Then, she nods and turns her attention back to the bow.

“I don’t blame you for what happened,” she says. “Not any more than I blame him. Everything you two did, you did out of love, and it was right; now we must deal with the consequences. I don’t like those consequences, but I don’t think that you could have chosen to do anything differently. If you could, you would have been different people.”

It’s not forgiveness or absolution, but it is something much more precious: acceptance.

A creature walks through an empty hall.

Despite the dry summer night, beads of condensation shimmer on the edges of its form. Its movements make no sound, save for a faint dripping noise.

The creature has taken nineteen lives so far. Thirteen throats slit open, bodies found in pools of their own blood; three of them Dalish Keepers, one a First. One a Tevene Magister.

Six more bodies found drowned or strangled, floating face-down in a body of water or inexplicably buried in undisturbed soil. All six served what remained of the Inquisition; all six died on duty.

Thirteen assassinations. Six casualties.

In the Magister’s study, the temperature begins to drop.

He was right - there are no footsteps. In fact, there is nothing at all; not even an ominous whisper on the wind, a creaking door or the howling of wolves in the night to herald the intruder’s arrival.

The doorway is empty. Then, Dorian blinks, and it’s not empty anymore.

His only exit out of the study that isn’t a window is blocked by a wraith with glowing eyes the color of veilfire. The dark figure stands unmoving just past the threshold, every detail of it obscured by shadow.

Tonight is the night.

His entire body tenses as fight-or-flight kicks in; he forces himself to relax again, easing back into the chair. He remembers the investigations of previous murders; the target was never struck on sight. There will be a trigger, something that will set off the assault.

Outside, twenty-seven fighters are getting into position.

“You came, then,” Dorian says. His voice does not betray him, thank the Maker; it manages to produce the exact amount of sarcastic aloofness he had hoped for. “And all I needed to do was to get rid of my guards and staff and sit alone in the dark for a couple of hours. Who knew it was that easy?”

The figure steps forward, over the threshold and into the rectangle of moonlight streaming in from behind Dorian’s back. At once, it ceases to be a shadow and becomes a material presence.

A revenant.

His face is pale in the moonlight, the green vallaslin of Ghilan’nain appearing dark grey. Scratches and dirt on every visible part of his skin; grown-out, unkempt hair with leaves and twigs caught in it. Eyes glassy, pupils glowing veilfire green.

When he speaks, his voice is low and rasping, barely familiar - but familiar nonetheless.

A single word.

“Vhenan.”

Fuck. He can’t do this. This is too much - this is wrong - he can’t -

No. It’s too late now. Either he sees this through, or he dies.

“Amatus,” Dorian states dryly. “Long time no see. Next time you decide to become possessed and disappear forever, maybe leave a note? ‘Dear Dorian, just letting you know that I’ll be away for a while. The ancient spirits I let into my brain have finally claimed my soul and I’m going to spend four and a half years murdering people on their behalf. You were right about everything and I should have listened to you. Love, Neilar.’ ”

It feels good, at least. Sure, he’s just rambling to buy a few more minutes for the people outside - but, while he’s at it, he might as well get some things off his chest.

Now that he’s been forced to work through the fear and the guilt at an incredibly fast pace, all that’s left is anger; quite a hefty amount of it, with the name of this glassy-eyed idiot written on it in giant glowing letters.

“Or how about using the amulet? You know - the magical marvel I invented specifically for the purpose of talking to you? It didn’t cross your mind to maybe mention all the sleepwalking and speaking in tongues that was happening? No! It’s all I’m alright, Dorian , and things are fine, Dorian , and I have to spend a month wondering if the amulet is broken before Leliana calls to tell me that you’re gone - ”

A sharp edge against his throat, clutched in ironbark fingers. Appearing without the warning of sound or motion, like Neilar himself.

The others should be about ready by now, shouldn’t they?

Neilar speaks. Ancient elven.

Dorian understands every word; he’s been doing his homework on everything elven and ancient ever since the disappearance.

“The will of Mythal demands your demise.”

The blade presses deeper - fuck - no, not deep enough to end it.

It takes all of his willpower not to start casting. Not yet. This isn’t just about saving his own hide; this is about capturing him for good.

The signal. Any second now. Surely -

“...Hold on, just a second - he’s not peeking, right?” Dagna asks, adjusting buckles and leather straps.

“I can’t - he’s covering my eyes!” Neilar protests.

His eyelashes tickle the inside of Dorian’s palms, as if to prove the point.

“Well, good - keep covering them. It’s all wonky and misaligned and you’re not allowed to see it until it sits right.”

Dorian can relate to her fretting. This particular project was, in many ways, a work of passion, and the necessity to finish it as soon as possible only added to the frantic energy of everyone involved. His own part was relatively small; he chimed in at the design stage and provided some arcane support at the tail end of the process, drawing on his necromantic knowledge of animating limbs.

It looks good, though. It should also work well; they’d checked everything a thousand times over.

Dagna finishes the adjustments and leans back to inspect her work from afar. Satisfied, she nods:

“Alright, let him see it.”

He takes his hands away from Neilar’s eyes and steps aside, making sure that he can see Neilar’s expression as he looks at his new prosthetic.

The look in his eyes is blank, at first, processing what he’s looking at. Then - surprise, curiosity; he leans closer to the artificial arm, inspecting it for details.

“Try holding it up to your face instead,” Dagna suggests.

“But how do I - ”

“Don’t think about it too much! Just do it.”

The arm moves, rising up to eye level and turning, allowing Neilar to look at it from different angles.

Silverite-inlaid ironbark, the metallic parts lovingly engraved with images of vines and halla.

Dorian can see the exact moment when Neilar finds the writing hidden among the designs. His lips move silently as he reads the text.

The same quote in elven, dwarven and Tevene, snaking along the vines:

“Wounded and blinded, I will find my way home.”

A line adapted from the tale of Ghilan’nain, changed ever so slightly to make it into an oath; the same oath Neilar had taken, years ago, upon completing the trial to earn him a place among the clan’s scouts.

Despite the recent revelations from Solas, it seemed appropriate. Dorian doesn’t remember who was the first to float the idea for adding text, but the approving look he received from Taren - Neilar’s father - upon suggesting that particular quote has been firmly burned into his memory.

And yet… This is all fine and good, but the most important question is -

“It’s… perfect.” Neilar sounds almost puzzled, as if liking their gift is a surprise to him. “I didn’t know what it would look like, but now - I can’t imagine it looking any other way.”

Dorian feels something inside of him deflate with relief. Neilar keeps inspecting the prosthetic, turning it this way and that, then starts playing with it, testing how far the fingers can bend and how quickly he can shift from one gesture to another.

It’s not as good as the real thing, it’s a little slower; Dorian knows that for a fact.

Still, right now Neilar doesn’t seem to mind; after messing with the hand some more, he shifts his attention to Dagna and pulls her into a hug, thanking her. Then, it’s Dorian’s turn.

The hug is tight enough to make his ribs hurt.

For the first time in weeks, it feels as if everything will be alright, after all.

A sharp whistle cuts through the silence.

Neilar freezes, both ears perked up. Distracted.

At the sound of the signal, relief floods Dorian's system. He feels the corners of his mouth twist into a smile of their own accord.

“I still love you, for the record,” he says, “But letting you slit my throat is a little too much, don’t you think?”

With a snap of his fingers, the lightning glyph he’d drawn on the floor of the study hours ago detonates.

#dragon age #dragon age inqusition #dorian pavus #dorian x inquisitor #pavellan #inquisitor lavellan #dragon age fanfic #dragon age fanfiction #mild swearing #oc: neilar lavellan #herearedragons writing #IT'S DONE #uh #tw: death mention #tw: grief #tw: blood mention

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spacecat12 · 2 years

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#monster high #frankie stein #lagoona blue #cleo de nile #clawdeen wolf #draculura #ghoulia yelps #clawdeen is a lesbian #swearing tw #mild swearing #this is not my monster high

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atokirina-tsuki · 2 months

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@shit-hit-the-fan

here. i'll send yours when you reply to this post

Prompt: "Why?" [pronouns here] cried. "Why are you helping a monster?"

a/n: guys i’m sorry this is so bad, i promise i tried.

Darkness slowly peeled away from the edges of [name]’s vision, and a dingy light assaulted them in its place. She reaches up to rub her eyes tiredly, mistaking the dimness for the usual dark light of her bedroom.

She is restrained, however, shackled to the wall, and the metal is cold against the soft skin of her wrists. She doesn’t know why she’s here or how she got here until memories start to wheedle their way into her mind.

Her best friend’s hands pressed firmly against a white cloth, holding it to [name]’s mouth. The smell of chloroform works its way into [name]’s nose, and she blacks out without a second thought.

[name]’s eyes widen, and panic drowns her, pooling in her eyes. She thrashes desperately against the cement wall but to no avail. She only succeeds in injuring herself further than the dark, bloody scratches pockmarked throughout her body.

Of course, the door chooses this time to swing open, revealing two figures, one easily recognizable as [name]’s best friend. At least, she was once. [name] thought drugging your best friend and chaining her to a wall qualified as a good enough reason for a bestie breakup.

The other figure, however, was tall and lean, vaguely masculine. As this figure steps into the light, his features are revealed. [name] knew this face. She had seen it in her nightmares. Her father. Her father, who hurt her over and over and over.

[name] had escaped him though. She was sure of it. She went to the country to teach. Yes, that’s where she met her best friend. She had been free.

Now she was anything but.

“Just as toothless as ever, I see.” It’s [bff/n]. Her voice is a sharp stab to the gut, and tears well up in [name]’s eyes. But she doesn’t let them spill.

“Just as bitchy as ever, I see.” She bites back, her sadness growing teeth and claws. Her father's eyes darken as he watches the exchange. He strides over to [name], each step purposeful, and slaps her straight across the face. Her head snaps to the side, hair hanging over her face.

The teeth and claws don’t sheath. [name] glares up at her father, storm clouds bruising her face darkly.

[bff/n] laughs, high and cold.

Thoughts are swirling wildly in [name]’s head, and she backs down again. She knows she shouldn’t, but she’s honestly so broken. She doesn’t know what to do. And so, she looks up, ignoring her father, and asks the question burning in her mind.

“Why?” she cried, “Why are you helping a monster?”

[bff/n] struts toward [name], and bends down to her ear. “Because I’m one too.” She whispers darkly.

Fear fills [name]’s eyes, as the person she loved most and the person she hated most walk out of her prison, together.

#horror #prompt #really bad writing #tw swearing #writing #constructive critism welcome #mild swearing #long post #nightblogging #drug ment tw

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sayitaliano · 9 months

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How to use the idiomatic sentence "Mi sono cadute le palle" in a speech.

Basically you use when you tell somoene else about something disappointing you have been through or someone told you. It could be used also with irony, so to tell this event with a ironic/funny acception (it's nothing too bad anyway, so you can "laugh" about it when you recall it)

For example, let's suppose you had an appointment with someone on a certain day and let's suppose they cancel it because they forgot about another plan or they actually didn't want to come with you (rude, yeah, but eg.). Your first direct reaction would be "Ma non me lo potevi dire prima?" = Couldn't you tell me beforehands?

So when you tell about this to your friend you could say "Dovevamo andare insieme a X (=posto) ma mi ha scritto la notte prima dicendomi che si era dimenticat* di avere un altro impegno/ch enon voleva più venire con me.... Mi sono cadute le palle" = "So we had to go together to X (=place) but they wrote me like the night before to tell me they forgot they had another plan for the next day/they don't want to come anymore... my balls fell."

Another example kinda from irl. Let's suppose you're telling this to your friend again: "Allora ho chiesto questo documento, ma mi hanno detto di andare a ritirarlo dopo 3 settimane. Quando sono andata a ritirarlo, mi hanno detto che dovevo ritirarlo da un'altra parte. Così sono andata là e quando sono arrivata, la guardia all'ingresso mi ha detto che quel giorno era chiuso... mi sono cadute le palle, non hai idea!" = So I asked for this document, but they told me to go come pick it up in 3 weeks. When I went to pick it up, they told me I had to go to another structure. So I went there, and when I arrived, the guard told me that on that day they were closed... my balls fell, you have no idea"

Ofc if you don't actually have balls, you could also add (not mandatory, as it's just an hyperbole you're using): Mi sono cadute le palle anche se non le ho = even if I don't have them. And to add more "fun" right after: Le ho sentite proprio fisicamente staccarsi dal mio corpo. = I really felt them physically break away from my body.

#italian #it #langblr #italian language #italian langblr #italiano #language #languages #parole words #traduzioni #italian idiomatic sentences #idiomatic expressions #idiomatic sentences #idioms #modi di dire #sayings #tw swearing words #mild swearing

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mochiwei · 1 year

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Gartic Phone with @kyootiepies @darkta @questtneo @/lemstarsprinkle @/sharinganbarbie!

#gartic phone #group game #mild swearing #totk spoilers #totk #doodles #amazing job everyone

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avatarfan11 · 1 year

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Lin: Yeah, I don’t like people.

Kya: Oh, well now that’s not fair Lin. Have you met all of them?

Lin: I’ve met enough of them. People. What a bunch of bastards!

#lok #legend of korra #kya ii #lin beifong #kyalin #kya x lin #lgbtq #humor #mild swearing #introvert #introvert lin beifong #grumpy #grumpy lin beifong #fluff #legend of korra incorrect quotes #kyalin incorrect quotes

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snowysdarkworld · 1 year

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Every time Spamton's name was misspelled durning the Spamton Sweepstakes compilation:

"Spanetom"

"Spam ton" (Yes, I'm counting this one.)

"Spamon"

"Spatmon"

(These two are especially funny because there's two in a row, they got corrected while the graphic was on screen, and they spelled it right the first time this graphic showed up.)

"Spamon" (Again)

"Spamtin"

"Spamon" (For the third time)

You're welcome, and God Bless Spatmon.

#long post #lots of images #mild swearing #deltarune #spamton #spamton g spamton #spamton a spamton #spamton b spamton #spamton sweepstakes #spamton value network #unreality #sorry about the three screenshots with the YouTube playbar. they went by too fast to screenshot and i had to pause. :(#(also yes i tried slowing the video down)

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pleaseitsjustrae0nly · 1 year

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Little Researcher

Yoru x Reader

(short story, finished at 3pm)

Fluff, first meeting, swearing, teasing (obvs, it's Yoru's egotistical ass) I'll try to make it gender neutral, as best as I could.

»»——⍟——««

You were someone who worked for kingdom, you were someone who travelled all around the world to find places that had clusters of radianite.

You knew where all the biggest clusters were, which made you a target for those who were enemies and wanted the radianite for themselves.

Which is why you found yourself being chased down by a radiant. You weren't a radiant but you knew how to fight, however you didn't bring you ghost during that expedition since it would be a quick trip to make sure the cluster was doing well.

You ran to get cover behind a crate so you could catch a brake and notify the headquarters of your situation.

.・゜゜・

"Hello? This is L/N, high radianite investigator, I'm currently being attacked by an unknown threat please send help to my location as soon as possible." "This is headquarters, sending someone to assist your situation. What's your current status?" "I'm out of their vision, from what I can tell there's only 1." "Understood, stay out of harm's way until help arrives."

.・゜゜・

A shot was fired, it grazed the crate that was hiding you. You started to run again, barely avoiding the shots being fired until you felt someone grab your arm and pull out of the way. "Be quiet, not unless you want us both to get shot." As you looked up, you saw it was a guy with blue hair spiked up, you didn't know if you could trust him but then he spoke again, "And don't panic little researcher, I was sent here to deal with your problem." That didn't convince you but you relaxed a bit.

He removed his hand from your mouth and gestured you to follow him. As you were walking, he had his gun out checking every corner and place where the enemy could be. Soon you both were both out in the open, you could tell he was focused, so you didn't bother asking anything, since you wanted to leave alive and safely. As you both were about to enter the second building, he quickly turned around and threw something behind you pulling you closer. A scream was heard from where he threw the object.

"You don't mind if I throw you over my shoulder don't you?" You just nodded since you heard someone running towards you both, he threw you over his shoulder and began sprinting through the halls. You didn't expect him to be this fast, especially since he was carrying you over his shoulder. Another shot was fired which grazed your shoulder, making let out a hiss due to the sting it caused. "Shit!"

He made it into a room and sat you down on the ground behind a crate checking your shoulder, it was slight bleeding but not that serious. "Okay, I'm going to get rid of that shit so I can get you to safety, so can you stay here gorgeous?" You nodded, only a small pink dust spreaded across your cheeks with his complement which made him smirk.

"Good." He said as he stood up and walked away to face the enemy. You were hearing gunshots and some form of glass breaking. You peaked your head over the crate to check for any signs, when you saw him walking back, you slowly stood up when he spoke "The threats dead, let's get moving."

You soon heard a ships engines in the distance, "Thank you, I would've been able to deal with the enemy if I had brought my ghost with me." "I was just going by an order, how's your shoulder?" "The pain isn't that strong, though I need it cleaned." He nodded, "by the way, what's your name?" "Yoru, why do you ask gorgeous?" " Well, I wanted to know the name of the guy that helped me. Also why the nickname?" "Why not? Fits you doesn't it?"

You never really was a person for looks, after all you had to be under a lot of surveillance due to how much knowledge you posses, so whats the purpose of looking hot when you can't even interact with anyone other than the scientists and other researchers. "Does it really?" "Really? I suggest you look into a mirror once in awhile" "I do, to brush my teeth." "And you don't see yourself? You know, looking gorgeous?" "No?" "Huh... I guess I saved a smart, yet blind researcher." You were baffeld you were about to respond when wind was blown into both of your faces, the ship was here.

Once the ship landed on top of the Kingdom research lab, you were getting off when your savior, Yoru, said one last thing "If ever your in a shitty situation, I'll be the one to save you, no one else."

"Sure, spike boy."

#◈justrae◈#yoru x reader #fluff #valorant #Yoru #short prompt #headcanon #mild swearing

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minteacutie · 2 years

Text

It’s here finally the next part of my steddie fic, and I’m not gonna lie I got a little gross in this chapter so it might be a little messier than the other chapters lol. But I am certain there are people on here that will enjoy though so you have been warned.

Here is Part 1 and Part 2 btw for anyone that didn’t know they existed lol. There’s probably going to end up being a 4th part at this rate.

Watching Steve stumble into the backroom, tissue box carefully tucked under his arm, one thing became clear to Eddie. Steve was gonna need more than a thirty minute nap on the beat up couch in the break room. It was taking everything in him not to just whisk him out of there like a knight in shining armor.

There was no way he was going to survive a double shift by himself.

He glanced at the clock when thirty minutes passed, letting his eyes flick to the break room door, his gaze lingering for a moment.Realistically Eddie knew he should get Steve. If his manager caught him behind the counter the younger boy could get into some serious trouble. But he thought back the way Steve pressed his palm into his socket, expression pinched in poorly concealed pain. Eddie could feel his heart constrict at the memory. He could hold down the fort a little longer for Steve, the store wasn’t even that busy. Most of the people that walked in, almost immediately walked back out when they saw him behind the counter, the ones that didn’t…had less than pleasant things to say to him. Steve was right, he was bad for business but honestly Eddie couldn’t care less. For a kid that probably grew up with a silver spoon in his mouth, Steve was surprisingly a hard worker. He saw the way Steve ran around for other people, the way he always grumbled about it, but he never said no. No one ran around like that for Steve, and to Eddie Munson that felt like a crime. Eddie heard Steve before he saw the younger boy, “hH’EESSHHUuu!” He had a soggy wad of tissues pressed against his flushed pink nose. “I said thirty bidutes Mudsod,” Steve croaked straining his voice, pointing a finger at Eddie, “I thought we were clear od that.” The medicine didn’t put a dent in the heavy congestion that rounded out Steve's voice, but at least his eyes were a bit clearer free from the foggy haze. He didn’t look happy though. “In my defense,” Eddie started flashing his pearly whites while holding his hands up in defense,“things got busy, I wasn’t keeping track of the time.” The way Steve's eyes narrowed told him he wasn’t buying it, and the completely empty store behind him wasn’t doing much to back him up. He didn’t have the energy to call Eddie out on it though.

“Give be by vest back,” Steve grumbled, holding his hand out for it, “you’re goigg to get be id trouble.”“I don’t know, Stevie,” Eddie said, tugging the vest a bit tighter on his shoulders, “I think I look better in it than you do.” Steve rolled his eyes before making to grab the vest, and normally he might have taken it from Eddie easily, but whatever virus he’d pick up made his movements slow and sluggish. He dodged Steve’s hand with ease. “Cobe od jackass,” Steve huffed out a weary sigh, “I’m not playing games, give me my vest back.” “You’ve got like what ten minutes left in your shift now,” Eddie scoffed, “I say you close up early, and let me be your chauffeur home, princess.” Steve turned a brilliant shade of red, his next words dying in his mouth as his brain took a moment to reboot. Both of their heads snapped towards the door when they heard the entrance to the store open. Another man around the same age as them stood in the doorway wearing the same ugly green vest…Keith, he remembered the younger boy mentioning his name earlier. Eddie stared directly at Keith for a solid ten minutes, he knew this looked bad. He racked his brain trying to decide how to go about the situation he’d gotten Steve in. “You can’t fire him…”Eddie spoke slowly and calmly, “if this is a kidnapping.”Without warning he scooped Steve into his arms, the other man squeaking clinging to him before taking off. Keith called after them but Eddie didn’t bother sticking around long enough to listen to him. He could hear Steve breath snag sharply when they got outside, his warm breath fluttering across Eddie's collarbone as he hitched desperately for control. “Oh for Christ sake,” Eddie mumbled under his breath when he realized Steve was trying to hold back the inevitable, “just sneeze, Harrington I can take it.”

The permission alone seemed enough to tip Steve over the edge as he felt the other boy's chest swell. “Hh’DKXNSshu!” The first sneeze barreled out of him the spray misting Eddie’s neck as he only managed to stifle the first part of it, “huuuUUH ’ATTSHhuu! hHHD’TSSHhuu! ‘TSCHH! ‘TSCHH! hH’TSCHUUu!” “I think that’s the most I’ve heard you sneeze like…ever,” Eddie said, letting his concern leech into his voice, “you gonna live?” Steve’s body went limp with exhaustion after all the sneezing, sniffling thickly. “Gh’...that was so gross.”He whined miserably. Eddie could feel his skin tingle where the spray hit his neck, gross was the last word on his mind but that was a feeling to unpack for another day. “You’re sick sunshine,”He said, bringing Steve over to his van struggling with the handle on the passenger side for a bit until it popped open, “pretty sure feeling gross comes with the territory.” Getting him settled on the passenger seat Eddie only got a glimpse of Steve’s nose before he covered it up with his hand, but he knew it wasn’t a pretty sight.He tugged the black bandanna from his back pocket, gently nudging Steve’s hand away from his face. The whole thing was flushed, with his nostrils the worst of it, a sore hot pink as they leaked sluggishly over his cupid's bow. Sitting in a freezing cold store for most of the morning really hadn’t done the other man any favors. “Christ Steve, you’re a mess…”Eddie mumbled, carefully cupping the bandanna over Steve’s nose, “lucky for you I’m not squeamish.” Steve tried to move away from Eddie’s careful hands, but the other man wasn’t having it. “Hold still Sunshine.” He huffed, carefully pinching and wiping the younger man's nose for him. The new nickname he’d started calling Steve rolling off his tongue naturally like it had alway been there. Like now that he thought about it there wasn’t a better way to describe the man in front of him. Once he’d gotten him sufficiently cleaned up, Eddie carefully pinched Steve's nose, “Blow.” He instructed, watching Steve eyes widen and his face darken several shades of red. “I’b dot blowing by dose idto you’re baddadda, Eddie.” Steve sputtered, trying to push Eddie’s hand away from him but he kept the bandanna firm over his nose. “First you sound ridiculous saying that word,” Eddie teased dodging Steve hand as he swatted at him, “Second if you're worried about ruining this one I got like eight exact copies back at my trailer so don’t, and if you're a good boy for me I’ll let you keep this one.” The other man still didn’t look convinced, his jaw set tight as he stubbornly sat there with his arms crossed over his chest, as he sniffled thickly. “Look Harrington I’m getting sick of your sad little soupy sniffles,”Eddie said, poking him in the chest with a finger, “so if you think you’re going to out stubborn me on this I think you’ll find that you are sorely wrong.” Steve relented his shoulder slumping, he sucked in a breath of air blowing weakly through his nose.

Eddie gave him a look that told him that he wasn’t satisfied with that pathetic display and that he knew that Steve could do better than that. So he sucked in a deeper breath and blew harder, feeling his face heat up at the sound it made.

He was sure could feel the warm mucus against his fingers through the thin fabric of the bandanna. But if he did he didn’t say anything. Eddie wiped away the excess, before tucking the bandanna into Steve’s hand, satisfied that he’d properly blown his nose. “See that wasn’t so hard,” He said, hopping in on the drivers side, “now let's get you home before you turn into a pumpkin, sunshine.

“I dod’t thigk that’s how that fairy tale goes.” Steve snorted amused, but he got strapped in anyway while Eddie started the car pulling out of the parking lot.

#S/teve H/arrington #E/ddie M/unson #S/teddie #cw:#mess #nose blowing #mild swearing #tbc

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