#I nearly died painting that rug

[bobowbeau]

“I’m a human police officer!”

Final painting after 24 hours!

[yanderegrizzsworld]

Can you do a romantic yandere neo metal sonic with a immortal reader please

Yandere Neo Metal Sonic: We'll be Gods (Romantic Drabble)

TW/CW: Manipulation & implied anxiety

A.N: A treat for a happy one year anniversary

You pace along the decaying wall with clenched hands, the scent of metal hitting your nose among the rest of the damp moss & earthy scenery around you. You halt momentarily as your eyelids felt heavy & you muscles began to feel sore, the buzzing & scuttling from outside catches your attention briefly before resuming your steps once more. Scraps of metal & wire rest among the floor, scattered about as if no one bothered to pick them up, tiny bugs pace about absent-mindedly before you give the mess of robot parts a gentle kick, you watch as the insects dispel with no sense of where to go.

Upon looking ahead of you, a metal door of which its paint has since become jaded & lost its color is visibly seen. Random vines wrap themselves around the door as flower petals litter among the ground infront of the entrance as the roots of the petals origin seem to have died long ago seemingly from the lack of sunlight. Scratches & dents become clearer to see as you approach it with cautious steps, faint sounds cam be heard behind the door echoing down the hall, each step switching between booming & close to low & distant.

Lifting your arm above your head, a plangent thud booms within the stark building, making your ears ring painfully before dialing down slowly. Whatever noise that could be heard from the other side had ceased, allowing the sounds of nature outside to be heard. Creaks pierce harshly against your eardrums, a wince escaping your throat as you step back with both hands covering your ears.

Not a source of light could be seen from the crack of the door nor any noise emitted from within, coolness drips down your cheek suddenly, making you swipe the back of your hand against your cheek, the same coolness now felt on your cheek. "Come inside" the abrupt voice from within the room arised a shriek that got caught in your throat, rugged coughing echoed down the hall, bouncing against the walls like a ping ping ball against a paddle.

A radiance of light catches you eye, a metal hand emerges from the darkness within as if tempting you to move in. "Come now" It's tone utters purpose & comes off more as a demand rather than an invitation, the hand stretching out slightly more, expecting you to comply. You take cautious steps towards the door, lifting your arm until you feel the frigid touch of the robotic hand against your palm.

It gently tugs at your hand, wishing for you to enter the unkown. You place your other hand by the door as you slowly enter passed the door, light from outside could be spotted shining in through the holes high on the ceiling & walls, revealing specks of nature & more scraps of metal & wires littering the ground. "You're quite late, you know" Loud steps echo around the room as bright blue emerges from the shadows, it's body lustering when it walked into the holes of light.

"I did?" You slouch a bit, observing the robot treaded towards you calmly as if each step was carefully planned out, you scratch your arm for a moment, "I guess I...didn't notice" You glance away from it every few seconds, though its crimson eyes never look away. It stops right in front of you, the fact it doesn't seem to blink unnerves you to your core, "Your clothes" It raises its hand & grabs a fistful of your shirt, you grab onto the robot's arm with both hands from the sudden action. "When was the last time you've washed it, hm?"

"Oh, I just...I didn't really have time" the bot loosens its grip on your shirt as you lower one arm down completely to your side.

"No time? Some as..." Its eyes gaze away as if pondering on what to say next, you release your shirt from its grip, patting down your shirt with a low gruff. "Eternal...as you, have no time?" You'd like to believe that its tone would nearly mocking if it weren't for it sound one-note. "This matters not at the moment, nor is it the reason I've called for you" You narrow your eyes slightly in confusion, yet when you tried to take a step back, the bot grabbed a hold of your arm.

"You're the one the called for me?" It merely nods its head, allowing you to see the streak of silver above its head before its eyes gaze at you again. "My master & everyone around me used to call me Metal Sonic" you only hum in response realizing you've never asked for the stranger's name, "But in this form..." Its hand lowers down you arm until its metallic palm is holding you hand, lifting it to where both of you can see it. "I am Neo Metal Sonic"

The way each word is said is as if it were a fact, something you decide not to question. "& while I wait for my master, you & I can lead as Gods for the time being" Gods? You wish you could utter a laugh at what you're hearing, before you can let a word leave your mouth, Metal Sonic reaches from behind him & you brace yourself, ready incase of him going to abruptly attack you, but instead are met with a glowing crystal in the shape of a diamond.

Its wine-like color glowed against Metal Sonic's surface, nearly matching that of his eyes. "Ever seen one before? It's a chaos emerald" The glow fades & resurfaces slowly, you gingerly caress the emerald, the coldness radiating off of it upon contact is close enough to cause goosebumps. "Uh...What did you...when you said..." You masticate your inner cheek, unsure if it was to process what the bot stated or to distract you from the cold of the emerald.

Neo hastily snatches your hand & tugs you forward as he begins to walk behind him like a parent holding onto their child, making you nearly fall from its sudden action. "I see your confusion dear" the faith illumination of the emerald can be barely seen from Neo holding it in front of his vision, its luster presumably brighter than before. "But I trust that with time, you'll understand, eventually"

"You & I, we will be regarded as Gods" It grip on your arm tightens, though you hardly react to it, both curious & fearful when you process what Neo's saying, dreading when everything will get out of hand from Metal Sonic choosing to play God.

"Understand what exactly...!?" Neo keeps quiet, whether not hearing you deliberately or not is unclear to you, "That's something you shouldn't worry for now" You hardly pay attention to any words it says, your chest feels heavy as if someone were putting their entire weight on you. "With this & the others remaining" Its voice, though low, booms in your skull like a harsh drum, you cough when the heaviness in your chest gets too much to handle, something that Neo pays no mind to.

[psalacanthea]

WiP Whenever

idk I'm tipsy and I wrote this and I like it, so whatever. Some Astarion x Tav. Do you want to be tagged in WiP writing stuff? Post something and tag me. I'll probably reblog it.

...

Bemused, Astarion watched them disappear into the darkness.

Once their footsteps died away, a thin silvery thread of sound drew his attention.  A soft, ethereal voice languidly sang a wordless song.  A siren in the shadows.  It was the barest beckon, only audible due to echoes and the slight crack of the bedroom door that spilled gilded light into the massive ebon corridor.  

A lost figure, dwarfed by the empty and lonesome architecture, he followed that lure.

The austere, icy darkness of the reflective walls and ominous vaulted space faded away as he pushed open the door, the gilded firelight spilling over him.  It was warmer within, a spiral of steam rising from the newly-hidden bathtub in the corner.  The wood and silk folding screen Lilithera had bought him was in front of it, partially blocking it from view.

What had once been a room empty of everything but an icy stone bed frame was now a living space, hangings on the walls, rugs on the floor.  Books and furnishings and a sturdy desk covered in papers, curios.  A painting of his family on the mantle.  Signs of life and living, tucked into a space that was his.

And before the fire, lounging on the teal velvet daybed with her nearly-dry alabaster hair cascading over the arm and down to the floor, was the curious creature who had barged her way into his life and gleefully disordered it.  A glowing golden glass of brandy was sitting on the floor just under her dangling fingertips, her moonstone eyes vague and distant.  Zynatheri was singing to herself, drowsy and soft, blue cheek pillowed attractively on a bright golden pillow, her knees curled up under his burgundy dressing gown.

Astarion was struck, in the oddest fashion, by a desire to let her do nothing but lounge and sing like a contented songbird for the rest of her life.  Avarice wanted her caged, unable to leave so that he could always have this curiously warm sensation, but his humanity wanted her here, like this.  A sweetly nested bird with no desire to fly away.

It suited her.

[knoblauchgarten]

Gallery post

Hello, I'm also an artist, but since my art tends to get buried on here, have a small gallery post with some of my works.

Since I'm bad at managing sideblogs, I have the art tags #knobiart and #knobifanart

Image description underneath the cut.

[Image Descriptions

1. An watercolour painting of a green haired gir looking up. A blue circle is around her head filled with bubbles and goldfish swimming around her head. A sea star sticks to her shoulder and she is wearing a star earring. It's a bust portrait so part of her upper body below the circle is visible, she wears a light blue blouse.

2. Will Solace and Nico di Angelo are sleeping and cuddling. Will has his mouth open and an arm wound around Nico. Nico has his face half buried in Will's chest and an arm thrown around him, which is plastered in bandaids.

3. Yoosung Kim and 707 are looking at each other. Their lips are nearly touching and they have their eyes half closed. Seven has an arm thrown around Yoosung’s shoulder.

4. A library scene. A purple-orange rug leads to flight of stairs. Left and right are bookcases. On the left a woman is reading next to side table, on the right is a purple chair. Upstairs sits a black cat. On the right side, another staircase leads further up, on the left is another bookshelf with a woman reaching up to the books. Some pictures hang on the wall behind.

5. A picture of black woman with purple hhair in an half-up-half down with two buns on top. She wears Gothic Lolita style fashion, bows in her hair and black lipstick. Everything in black and purple. She is shown until her midthighs, with her hands interwined in front of her body. A black flowy frame surrounds her.

6. AN ink drawing. The drawing is framed by curtains before a brickwall. In the center is coffin with an old womans siting upright in it. Before the coffin lounges a young man, on his left are three bloodbags. The flooring is made out of wood, in the bottom left corner are three roses.

7. a wood scene. A Black is fairy is sitting on a wooden swing with her eyes closed. She has green curls and wears toadstool hat. On her skin are stony parts resembling vitiligo. She wears a white dress with a green corset and white socks. Next to her are mushrooms admiring her

End]

[a-drabble-a-dray]

Veilsmoke, Prologue Chapter 3: A Collision.

Lake glanced over at the sign, walking down the empty sidewalk. Theater Street. 

The buildings in the old city always carried the same abandoned air, but the atmosphere only became more intense at its center, where it was nigh-impossible to even see anyone else walking past.

Lake paused, noting the large plaque between the buildings. Saint Roche Theater. The building was suitably impressive, dwarfing anything else nearby– Or it would, if it hadn’t seemingly collapsed in on itself.

They sighed. Sightseeing was just delaying the inevitable.

The streets were surprisingly intact– Though, between the tightness of the roads and the usual complications of cars in Saint Roche, perhaps it simply was the case that nobody ever drove by.

The place stood out like a bullet wound.

The building at the address on the card seemed almost brand-new in comparison with its surroundings. The dark orange paint lacked the faded quality of the brickwork it tried to mimic. The sign over the doorway identifying it as Theater Street Investigations was still polished.

The door led to a small, cramped set of stairs. The daunting, almost illicit air had Lake hesitate, before carefully taking a step ahead. Their sneakers echoed, almost as if forcing them to reconsider. 

They braved on regardless, rounding a short, winding corridor, and finally arriving at a heavy wooden door, a small “Open” sign hanging off a nail.

Here goes nothing.

“If you survive this– I’ll burn you to death.”

Lake flinched as they cracked open the door.

“You’re dying with me.”

“I can accept that.”

“Glad we’re–” The woman– Scarlet, they recalled– glanced away from her staredown with her coworker, just in time to notice Lake peeking in. “--Oh. Client.”

“H-Hello…?” Lake blinked, sheepishly slipping through the door. The two’s argument, awkward as it was, died down into an oppressive silence when they were spotted.

“Oh–” Scarlet snapped her fingers. “You’re the waiter from yesterday. The one who looked like–”

“--A pushover.” Volk– If Lake’s memory held– completed, sitting down on one of the couches near the middle of the room. “You’re… Lake. Right?”

…Three people who remember? In one day?

“Oh!” Lake blinked, realizing they spaced out for a second. “Yeah, um, that’s right. And you two are…”

They took another look at the room ahead. Atop the central wooden table, coffee-stained documents formed haphazard piles. The walls were scattered with shelves and cabinets containing a variety of inscrutable trinkets and thick books; unused space, then, was dedicated to collages of newspaper clippings and monochrome photos.

In the center of the room, the pair stood. Scarlet, tall as she was, seemed particularly awkward in an undersized t-shirt and sweatpants, a towel around her shoulders holding back her wet, black hair from falling over her back.

Volk, meanwhile, seemed a little too comfortable. The singular unoccupied corner on the table quickly became a rest as he put his bare feet up, relaxing back on the couch. The crop top he wore threatened to slip off his shoulder– Which wasn’t nearly as worrying as the height to which his pajama pants had already sunk to.

“...You’re detectives, right?”

—

A minute later, the mess on the table was half-cleaned, and Lake was offered a seat. Scarlet had retrieved a notepad, and Volk was sent to change upstairs. Likely for legal reasons.

“Right.” Scarlet punctuated her sentence by clicking her pen, offering an oddly professional aura despite her casual look. “What brought you here? Need a crime solved? Mystery dealt with? Something found?”

“W-Well…” Lake flinched. The mood had shifted, and Lake felt the rug pulled from under them. Their request, so carefully thought out overnight, crumbled under Scarlet’s firm gaze. “S-Something found, I guess?”

“Okay.” She nodded, scratching something on the paper. “What is it? Possessions? Cars? Books? Pets?” Her expression soured a little at the mention of the last option. “We’ll need a missing person report if you want to find someone.”

“It’s…” Lake stopped, and took a deep breath. The worst case scenario, certainly, would be getting laughed out of the office. They’d already mentally prepared for that, and thus completed with certainty: “...A job.”

Scarlet blinked. Her expression shifted, the firmness easing up into caution. Slowly setting her notepad down on the table, she cupped her chin with her fingers, head tilting to the side. “...Come again?”

“I-I need to find a part-time job.” They explained, fists sitting clenched on their knees.

“And you… Can’t find one?” She raised an eyebrow.

“Well… Yeah!” Lake nodded, feverishly. “I mean, no! I mean– They just automatically reject me for no reason.”

“No reason.” Scarlet picked her notepad back up, flipping through the pages.

“I’m… Pretty sure it isn’t discrimination.” They scratched the back of their head. “And being blacklisted or something… Doesn’t make sense.”

“Perhaps.” She offered an impassive look. “And you keep applying to jobs regardless?”

“I-I figure one of them will accept me sometime, but I haven’t been able to find anything myself for months.” 

“And,” she set her notes down once more, leaning forward and locking eyes with Lake, “is that the reason why you came here?”

“Y-Yes.” Lake blinked, struggling not to break eye contact as the words quickly stumbled out of their mouth.

“Can I trust you on that?” Scarlet’s eyes shifted in intensity, from “heavy” to “piercing”.

Lake hesitated, gripping the fabric of their pants. “...Yes.”

“Alright.” She leaned back on her seat, the break of eye contact almost making the whole room a pound lighter and a foot wider. Scarlet exhaled, slowly, closing her eyes as her head hung back. “Let me think.”

Lake sat in silence for a moment, before the soft thump of footsteps came through from the distance. 

“Scarlet!” Volk called out, bursting through the backroom door, now fully dressed to some extent. “When you’re done here, there’s a couple woodpeckers who…”

Scarlet, heedless of the distraction, lifted herself off the seat, taking a step towards Lake.

“...Scarlet?” He repeated, blinking.

The woman quietly offered them a handshake.

Lake raised their hand, pulling back briefly in hesitation, before grabbing Scarlet’s.

Her grip was easily stronger, but they tried their best to match her strength as she firmly shook hands.

The woman let go, offering a smile that seemed to reassure Lake somewhat.

“You’re hired.”

“...Huh?!”

[nvrcmplt]

⛓ TALA MY LOVE PLZ GIVE ME MY FAVOURITE THING EVER. emon or zack?? unless u have another option in mind

Emon knew of many reasons for a marriage to be spoken of into truth for politics, but to think that the King of his Kingdom would be giving him something so… mundane in the form of a letter. Pleading with him, of all Mages, to step forward for the sake of their people and their needs and their lives - over his own comforts of being a free roaming spirit. As he sat at his desk, chained to it at the ankle at this point, his wards were vehement upon him finishing his boring tasks this evening - he found himself humming low into the silent tower-top floor. Staring over inked words that spoke of the ideas of having their two countries bountiful in rewards from joining together…

Emon, moved his gaze to the windows, ceiling to floor, crossed with metal and stone - clean and everclear towards the mountains and fields of golden wheat that never fell to common weather failures with their mana imbued soils. He watched a hawk slide by, a message upon its ankle. Horse and carriage below feeding through buckets of fresh grass and water for the travels they were to embark. A longing stare upon adventurers taking their time to team up, bond and eat within the inns here that provided room and food for one silver plate. Ah - he missed that sensation of waking in the morning to the noise of Zack retching, Yuriy laughing and Qiang snorting himself awake as Xion continued to force Zack into inhaling a smelling salt made from the innards of a gnoll and hobgoblin.

It was a laugh those days --- still, as he moved his attention back to his own predicament, he found himself sighing with some resentment. Zackery - ran. Always a hero on the run, be it from the Gods, the people, the praise, the hopes and guilt of being their saviour. He was out there somewhere, fighting the good fight, sleeping in trees and mudhuts provided by rabbit-folks. It was strange to be the one tied down here. He was always the one to flutter away with the winds, to venture with a new thirst for a world unknown but recently - he was tired? Though he didn't think that was the word for it. Tired… no, he was bored. Ah… that was it. He was bored of the world he knew already.

A sharp inhale and an exhale of relief rolled from his lips, twisting his fingers through his ivory locks and tugging free a quill of dragon feather and phoenix bone - the nip, a mythril sharpness that emitted a soft light as he etched upon the very reality. Carving his words from his mana heart towards the world itself… That was when the tower began to rattle, shudder and the folks within it came running to his office. The doors slammed open, all five of them -- and the Grandmaster stared upon his wards with a smile eased with mischief. "I'll meet you all in the castle, sweet learners."

Of course, bellows of 'Master you promised!', 'Who didn't check his hair for the quills!' and so-forth, but the sudden teleportation of the Grandmage to the Throne room of his King, was done. Stepping through a cracked fragment of air and onto Royal rugs with a gaze filled with mirth. His King wasn't present - never was, too busy in the back rooms making his life harder than it needed to be at times. Still, he stood on his lonesome, staring upon the ceiling paintings of war, strive, victory and life. Twisting his head enough to watch stained glass shimmer and the souls of a song hum in the air. A magic of his own doing. Protection from the elements, from age, from all things harmful and those of watchful eyes beyond their stars.

It took him twenty years in his own mind to fathom that one out. Nearly died but the results were perfect. Still, he stood in the silence, watching the life of what he knew and was terribly bored of now pass him by.

"Grandmaster?"

"Hm?"

"You're early…? Ah, don't say you're about the run this time too?"

"Ah - don't think of me so fleeting, King. I came upon your request. I heard an Arranged Marriage to a place of Ro'maki? Dragon lands that were forbidden for many aeons that are now opening their borders?" Curiosity tickled his attention, stepping forward with staff thunking with each right foot. "Ro'maki, the land of Tol'yika?" He had one fragment of one of their divine trees, an element that he was always in awe from. Fire resistance magic was good, but it was just magic. If it wears away over time, the item was useless. But Tol'yika wood, a foreign gift from a foreign time, was a naturally fireproof growth. "Are you selling my hand in marriage for trees, King?"

"A-ah, don't get it twisted you fool." The laughter was bright, a friendship long lasting but still the duty of King and Grandmaster were stronger. "Ro'maki and it's King - are opening their nation for trade. Goodwill, if you think of it so but underneath it's war. They need aid of neighbouring strengths, a nation of Nar'mu is on the rise and the King of Ro'maki asks for more than just a wedding of two, but defence lines where his eyes can not see at all times." The King of Aarphine could only sigh in worry at first, it was a big ask - but nations of their kind needed to stick together. Specially when one as proud and exclusive as the Ro'maki was in need of aid so sudden.

The Grandmage could only stare upon his long-term friend, moving to press his fingers to chin in thought. A marriage with a promise of aid in war wasn't uncommon, just not what he expected. Though he knew of boiling points of nation borders being the weakest of all things to stop war from forming, he never would have thought a Nar'mu nation would be behest of such violence first… and after so long of being so darn quiet. "Who sits upon the Ro'maki Throne?"

"The offspring, Nen'bayo. Crowned and True, King of Ro'maki for the Ro'maki."

Emon stared upon the King for a silent moment, but it wasn't long at all for the sparks in his eyes to illuminate with an interest that devoured every other thought he could have had. His smile etched wide, his brows raising in delight and of course --- that boredom that he felt since the beginning of time almost evaporated with a billow of his magic and desires coming to the surface. "My King! You've given me the most delightful of gifts!"

"Ah - wait, Emon!"

"Arrange the festival at your own leisure, send word to the King Nen'bayo, may our hands meet over the passions of marriage."

"Oh, shit."

Laughter came from the knowledge hunting maniac, cracked with wanting to know more. Just so - so - so much to ask, to know, to seek out the answers that blossomed at his feet alongside his mindseye. "Just what is happening upon Ro'maki lands?" A breath of his wonder, a blink of another fragment crack and the Mage was gone.

The King, only covering his face in defeat upon his throne and groaned as his Knights came through with knowing concern. "I totally forgot he is a monster for information." His hand rose to summon his servant for the day, smiling in defeat and resting aside some of the worry of rejection from his shoulders.

"Write a letter post haste. Allow Nen'bayo know of the conditions of his needs to be met by Aarphine. A hand in marriage to solidify our unification and promises to be kept for their border turf wars. Send him an original map of Ecro-Aarphine, the older the better." He stood with flourish, twisting himself from his chair and adjusting cape over shoulders with a laugh on his tongue.

"Send the flame-hawk as another gift. It should live well within their volcanic lands, its eggs are a delicacy that we have, maybe he will enjoy it all the same."

"Dismissed."

To say that Emon was excited was beyond what the Tower was witnessing. Magic flared from basement to attic of his tower home, rumbling in good bliss, curiosity scratching at the noggins of all around but Emon, stood within his bathroom - stripped to the bone, settled deep within heated waters and hand to chin as his cleaning items moved upon their own to clean him thoroughly all over.

"Borders at near war, a new king who dares open their lands after aeons of being shut so tight that even a whisper of a wind nymph couldn't get through. A thriving nation that needs little outside items, technology, thought or whispers of life unknown to them - but suddenly needing such a thing?" Oh, how his brain twirled in desires to know more, just how much should he be able to question his new Fiance on their first date?

Ah, he was eager to meet them.

Three nights, he had to wait. Three long sleeps. God, it was driving him insane but the letter was sent, the invitation and time of meeting. Nen'bayo nay leave his Kingdom, instead, he was to provide a space and place an etched sigil upon the floor upon the time asked for… Magic thrived in its lines, inked and hand-drawn.

Washing seemed so slow, so he rushed himself to wash his hair thoroughly, oils and flora extracts for his roots, the tips doused in oils to revive split ends and dryness. Rinsing as his body was scrubbed clean, his nails and toes pristine with his ears, teeth and lower regions soon following. Fresh as a daisy, the bath waters drained upon his exit and his skin dried with a heat magic blossoming from his palms.

"Ah, they are of Volcanic origins… so, orange, red, yellow with black and gold." Listing off the colours he'd like to adorn, he moved with ease in his own room. Pushing doors open to his wardrobe that twisted and twirled clothing as he sought for them. Dismissing bland long coats, three piece suits, all-in-one suits too.

Instead, he moved to layer himself well. Undergarments of gold, socks of white with red stitch upon the openings. Twirling his hair into braids and loops of decorative black jewels, gold and red. He moved with ease to slide his arms through robes of orange hues, starting at its brightest upon his skin, going darker outwards until the last fourth layer was black as the volcano mountains this King sat within.

Jewels were usually not Emon's thing, but he allowed it to be so on his current self. Though only a head garment of red and gold - chains that hung by the ears to connect to those in his hair. Staff pulled from its floating space and his shoes, thigh high but hidden as he moved through his office once more. A moment's break, the rush of reading himself, he knew his King would set up what was necessary for their meeting.

Emon centred his thoughts, stepping through the luxury doors of the King's throne room, the silence that followed was nothing short of an ego boost. He knew he looked amazing. Preening with dismissives to the onlookers of their council men and old party members vibrating in delight - he gave his King a smile. "Let us be off, Sire. I have many questions to ask of my soon to be husband." Of course, he could hear Yuriy sigh in the back, along with Nishikisui's laughter muffled in his arms. Leon did snort, knowing just what that manic was like in the questions that were needing to be asked.

Staff was risen, the magic circle expanded and the mana flows with lights of the Earth and Stars. "No more dilly dallying." The power surge was strong, rippling across the country in the form of a simple strong wind. The King only sighing with a smile hidden by his hand as he stared upon the spotless floor before him and then to the window. Emon and his party of friends landed there, in the heart of the mountain as placed by the King and his people… The sudden surge wasn't invasive but it did caress over those present. After all, mana had its own mind sometimes and it was just as curious as its master as they stood upon new grounds.

Expecting weaponry really, Emon's posture was regal but subdued, after all, this King was not his best friend nor long time brother in arms, but his future husband. He had a hope that his clothing choice was appropriate… Yuriy and others lowered their gaze but their knight uniforms and weapons were on full display - though Nishikisui seemed to hide himself in hood and thicker cloaks with a grimace upon his scaled face. The heat most likely. It was a sharp one, itched at the skin, drying it out fast. "Greetings, King of Ro'maki and People of Ro'maki… I am Emon Procella, the Grandmage of Aarphine and chosen Husband of Nen'bayo's hand. Forgive our grand entrance but we deemed it more safer for your lands to host and board for the celebration and marriage of two."

Emon bowed with his staff at hand, his team giving their own forms of respect but still, as warriors should - alert with attention to their surroundings. Straightening his spine and allowing his gaze of starlight to twinkle with interest spiking upon those around him, the Mage smiled with gratitude for a new feast before him and stared upon the Throne sitter.

"My King… my husband-to-be… I greet you with all of Aarphine's promise and agreements met."

[lopez75blake]

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[redhoodssweetheart]

Life and Death

Genre: Mythology AU (Orpheus and Eurydice)

Pairing: Natasha Romanoff x Fem!Reader

Requested: Yes (This is apart of my 1.5K follower celebration, please see post for details.)

Word Count: 2.3K

Warnings: Angst with a happy ending, character death

Description:  Natasha and you were happy, but a month after your wedding you are killed by a snake.  Natasha will do anything to get you back, even if it means she has to go into the Underworld to retrieve you.

It’s funny how one moment you can be blissfully happy and then in another moment that happiness is slipping through your fingers like grains of sand.  Natasha and Y/N had been married for nearly a month, their union had been celebrated throughout their small town.  But there were rumors that that love and happiness would only last but a short while.  Some claimed their union was doomed.  There was a prophecy that said that their love would be doomed, that their love, while great, wouldn’t last.

You had worried that the prophecy would come true, but Natasha didn’t put stock into the words from someone she had considered a fraud.  She knew that there would be those who didn’t want her to be happy.  They were jealous of her and wanted to see her fail.  She wouldn’t let anyone hurt you.

But it wasn’t a someone that would take you from her. 

“Natasha!”  Steve’s voice sounded from outside.  “Natasha,” her door flung open.  “Come quick, it’s Y/N.”

She dropped the cloth she had been drying her dishes with and followed Steve to the fields where a crowd had gathered.  Soft sobs could be heard coming from several of the people you were closest too.  Wanda was clinging to her husband, her brother stoic beside her.  Then there was Bucky holding onto his wife Sarah.  Sam was knelt by a body on the ground and that was when it hit Natasha that it was you.

“Y/N!”  She cried, landing in the dirt beside you, but you didn’t respond.  You appeared to be asleep and Sam looked at Natasha, tears swimming in his eyes.

“Natasha, I’m sorry… she’s gone,” his voice was hoarse.  “It was snakes, she didn’t see them until it was too late, there was nothing we could do.”

Natasha didn’t want to believe it.  This couldn’t be happening.  This couldn’t be true.  

But a few days later your body was burned on the funeral pyre, a gold coin placed under your tongue for the ferryman.  Natasha clung to Clint, not trusting herself to be able to stand on her own as she watched the fire consume your final resting place.  When it was over she went home alone, collapsing onto the floor and crying there for hours.  The home felt cold without you, your light and happiness seeming to have seeped out of the space.

“I warned you,” she jumped at the sound of the voice and turned to find Stephen sitting on the couch, a cup of tea in his hands.  “I warned you that this would happen, but neither one of you listened.”

Natasha was on him in a moment her hand wrapped around his throat.  “You did this,” she hissed.  “You took away my happiness!”

Stephen looked bored and unbothered by her, “I did nothing of the sort.  I wished no ill will on you or your beloved.  I am merely a messenger for the gods and they told me that this union would only end in tragedy.  Lady Hera did not bless this union.”

“I didn’t ask for a blessing, I just wanted happiness.  A lifetime of misery and she was the one thing that made me happy.  Why must we be punished for a single, stupid blessing?”  Her hand tightened and still he seemed so unbothered by the fact that she was moments away from killing him.  All her old training coming back, she had been bred for war and though she hadn’t taken a life in years she wasn’t opposed to taking one more.

“Do you want to know how to get her back?”  Stephen arched an eyebrow.

Her grip loosened, “How?”

“You must travel to the Underworld, make a bargain with Lord Hades.  His wife is with him, he tends to be softer when she’s around.  He may grant you your wish of getting your wife back,” Stephen maneuvered out from under her, a sheet of paper in his hands.  “This is the closest entrance to the Underworld.  Sleep on it.”  

She clutched the map in her hands, she knew where the entrance was, and when she looked up to ask him if she could truly trust him, he was gone.  Glancing back at the map she felt determination set into her bones and she began to pack.

Steve appeared at Natasha’s home the following morning to see how she was doing and discovered that she was packing.  “Nat, what on earth are you doing?”

She didn’t even look up as she wrapped her bread in a cloth, “I’m getting Y/N back.”

There was a moment of silence, and then, “That’s not possible.”

She held up the map to the Underworld, “I’m going to go and make a bargain with Hades himself.”  She turned and faced her friend, “I have to try this Steve, I love her.  We got one month together when we deserved a lifetime.  She deserved more than what she got.  I have to try and give her the second chance at life.”

Steve thought that this was the craziest idea that he had ever heard but he walked over and helped her finish packing.  When she went to leave, he kissed her cheek and wished her good luck.  He didn’t know if she would succeed or fail, but he hoped that she would be all right either way.

It took several days for Natasha to reach the entrance to the Underworld.  She passed through several villages and replenished her supplies before reaching the cavern that would lead her down into the place where mortals were not allowed.  She had heard of one other that had attempted this.  His name had been Hercules and he had been trying to pay off his sins for murdering his entire family.

She dove into the darkness and headed down, down, down.  When she emerged from the darkness she found herself on the banks of a river.  Souls were milling around hoping for someone to give them a way across.  They eyed Natasha warily and she made her way toward the docks.  A ferry was waiting and Charon knew instantly that she was not one of the dead.

“I only ferry souls, mortal,” his tone relayed that he was bored.

She produced a coin, “Please, I have payment.”

Charon eyed the coin and motioned for her to board.  As they sailed he said, “Lord Hades will not be pleased to see yet another mortal show up on his doorstep.”

“I have no other choice,” her voice was soft.

The rest of the ride was silent and he dropped her off at the other side of the river.  His final words to her were the directions to the palace.  Along the way she ran into Cerberus and managed to charm him into letting her pass.  Then she saw the palace of the Lord of the Underworld looming before her.  It appeared to be carved out of the very rock that the walls of the Underworld were made of.  It was grand and exactly how she had imagined it would be.

She pushed the doors open and headed down the long halls, crystal chandeliers casting colorful rainbows along the walls and floors, paintings of fields and wildlife decorated the walls, and a plush wine colored rug was beneath her feet.

Several spirits eyed her as she moved through the halls looking for the throne room.  She wasn’t sure how, but she knew instinctively where to go.  It was almost as if an invisible force was pulling her in that direction.  When she arrived the doors were open and before her Hades and Persephone sat on their thrones.  She paused before them, staring at them.  She had never been before a god before, let alone two.

“What brings a mortal to my realm before her time is up?”  His voice was deep and commanding.

Natasha squared her shoulders and said, “I’ve come to retrieve my wife Y/N.  She died too soon.”

“Too soon?”  Hades questioned.  “It is my belief that her thread of life had been cut?  Are you a Fate?  Did you make a mistake?  Tell me, mortal, how do you know that her life ended too soon?”

“She didn’t deserve to die like that,” Natasha said.  “We had our whole lives ahead of us, she was good and kind, and I can’t live my life without her beside me.”

Persephone put a hand on her husband’s arm, “What would you do to get me back, my love?”

He looked toward her and Natasha felt hope blooming inside her.  “Please,” she begged, pulling the gods’ attention back to her.  “I have done many terrible things in my life, but Y/N was the one thing that I did do right.  If she was punished because she chose me then she shouldn’t have been.  Give me one chance.”

Hades contemplated her words, “All right, I will give you a chance to be reunited with your mortal love.  But you have to prove to me that you are worthy of this.  When she takes your hand you may not look upon her face until the both of you are out of the Underworld.  Trust that she will follow you home to the realm above.  Only then can you have her back.”

“Thank you, my Lord,” she sighed.  “Thank you.”

A hand took hers and she jumped, fighting the urge to look back to see your face again.  She squeezed your hand and began to lead you away from the palace and the Underworld.

Persephone looked at her husband and asked, “Do you think they will make it?”

Hades watched the door where the two of them had disappeared, “I do not know my love, but she will not get this chance again if she fails.”

Meanwhile you followed Natasha, you did not know of the deal she had made with Hades.  You did not know that she was not allowed to look at you until you both reached the mortal realm.  You wondered why she would not speak, why she was so quiet.  You did not ask and you did not falter in your steps.  She led you up and up and you realized where you were going.

Home.

She was taking you back home.

The two of you climbed higher and higher, you could see the light from the world of the living before you.  Natasha still hadn’t turned and you held onto her tighter.  Her feet crossed over the threshold of the Underworld and she began to turn, but you were still in the darkness, still in the cave.

When her eyes beheld yours she smiled widely, she had made it, you were home.  But then your fingers melted through hers as if you weren’t really there and your soul went flying back into the darkness below.  Natasha let out a scream and lunged forward only to be met with solid rock.  She had been so close.  She thought that you had both made it out, but she should have gone farther just to be sure.

She let out a sob, there would be no second chances this time.

Hades sighed, he had felt your soul return.  “She was so close,” he murmured.

Persephone kissed her husband’s cheek, “They will find their way back to one another someday, my love.  As they always have.”

He looked at your soul, waiting at the edge of Elysium for Natasha to return, patient as always.

Many Years Later

Natasha exited the coffee shop, the hustle and bustle of New York City filling her ears.  She checked her phone and saw that she had a missed message from Steve telling her to get to the Tower as quickly as she could.  Sighing, she slipped her phone back into her pocket and headed down the street.  Her cup of coffee keeping her hands warm, fall had just arrived and things were beginning to cool down.

She felt her phone buzz again and cursed Steve.  She was on her way.  As she reached for it she glanced down for merely a moment and bumped into someone.  Her coffee landed on the ground, steaming as it poured from the cup.  “I’m so sorry!”  A new voice said.  “I’ll buy you a new one.”

Natasha looked up to find you standing there looking at her with an anxious look.  You weren’t sure if she was going to yell at you or not.  “It’s all right, accidents happen.”

“At least let me buy you a new one,” you offered.  “I’ll feel bad the entire day if I don’t.”

The offer was tempting, but her phone was buzzing again alerting her to yet another message from Steve.  “I can’t right now, I’m late for something, but maybe some other time.”  She pulled a scrap piece of paper from her bag and scrawled her name and number on it.  “Text me and give me a date and time.”

You smiled at her and she felt as though her breath had been taken, “All right, Natasha.  It’s a date.”

You moved past her and she was just staring at you when she felt her phone begin to ring, “God damnit, Steve, I’m on my way!”  She snapped as she tore her eyes away from you and began heading toward the tower.

Nearby at a little bistro two people sat watching the interaction, “I told you so.”  Persephone grinned at her husband and he sighed.

“As you always are, my dear,” he gave her a fond look and her cheeks heated just a bit.  “What do I owe you this time?”

“Dinner,” she said.  “Someplace nice.  Maybe we could make a vacation out of it.”

He leaned in and kissed her lips, “Your wish is my command.”

A year later Natasha proposed to you and you happily agreed.  This time your marriage didn’t end in tragedy, but you lived out the rest of your days together at last.

[claybrownie7566]

That Familiar Red (A reunion)

This is a gift fic for @nitroish after they drew these two reuniting. It was the cutest thing I've ever seen so I decided to write it for them :) Enjoy some bun boy and dream girl

Warriors Hyrule wasn't exactly in the best condition. Yeah the war was technically over, but portals sprung up from all over, and the castle grounds were littered with strange people and even stranger terrains.

"Why is there a pile of snow right here? Isn't this the front gate?" Four asked, climbing up on Twilight's back to avoid the drift.

Warriors and Time sighed in unison.

"Yeah" Wars began, "Cia is gone so we are trying to figure out how to send everyone home and clean up the place."

Time laughed next to him, "it's weird being back here after all this time. How long has it been for you?"

The captain let his hand slide down his face as he thought. The others were on the edge of their seat. Information about Time was like candy for them. Anything their leader gave away was snatched up and stored for later use. Maybe one day everything would fit together and they'd unlock some secrets.

"Well we have been together for about eight months now, so.....well? About nine?"

Time's eye widened, "so I just left?"

Warriors laughed, "yeah sprite."

Alright that was a lot to unpack, but everyone collectively decided to ignore it for now so their minds didn't explode.

The captain led them through the snow and up the stairs to the main door of the castle. They braced themselves to go in, but he banked left at the last minute and led them around the corner.

Legend was about to ask, when a wooden door appeared in front of them.

Warriors smiled sheepishly, "I don't like using the main entrance. Besides, everyone we will want to see will be in through here.

He held the door open for Twilight, who still had Four clinging to his pelt like some sort of bear cub. Legend couldn't help but huff out a chuckle.

"What?" The smithy complained, "I'm too little for stuff like that and Twi doesn't mind does he?"

Twilight smirked, "nope.....you literally weigh nothing."

Legend sighed tiredly and followed them through the door. The air was warm inside, and something fragrant caught his attention. Smells of orange and cinnamon wafted through the air, warming the frigid air in his lungs and filling him up with goodness.

"Come on" Warriors said, "I'll take you around the castle, just stay close."

The hallway they entered into wasn't anything special. It was cozy and well lit, with soft grey rugs lining the path. Decorative paintings covered the walls, and vases of flowers sat atop small tables.

Servants and soldiers bustled about happily, making their way from hallway to hallway. Some carried trays of silverware, some fresh laundered linens, and some pitchers of water for the flowers.

It was a good sort of busy, but it made Legend's head spin. Warriors navigated everything with practiced precision and efficiency, leading them all toward some big doors down the hall.

Two guards saluted to the captain, and turned the handles on the doors. They swung open with no resistance, and led them into a large gathering room.

Soft couches and chairs littered the marble floor, people of all sorts sitting and chatting. There were tables and stools and blankets everywhere. It was a sort of like a massive living room.

Warriors turned to address their company.

"Well friends, this is it. We call it the hall of heroes officially, but it's really just a giant living space where random people we collect end up. If uh...if you see someone you know.....sorry if that's awkward. Looking at you Twi."

The rancher looked extremely caught off guard, "wait what?"

Warriors only patted his back, "I'm going to go and find her Majesty so we can brief her on our situation. Get comfortable. I'll be back soon."

And then he was gone.

Twilight looked like he was going through a crisis, and the others began busying themselves with removing their gear.

Legend took some time to survey the room. There were so many people here, but there was so much space. He wondered how many people had lived here during the war. How many people had already gone home?

A flash of red caught his eye and he nearly fell over.

Hibiscus.

His chest tightened, and he felt his body go still. He rubbed his eyes, pressing his palms against them tightly. When he opened his eyes it was gone. Just a flash, just a glimpse. Nowhere to be found.

He was tired, that was all.

He turned his attention back to his things.

Legend shrugged his sword off his back, and went to work organizing his bags and supplies. Four worked alongside him quietly, every hero eager to get their things situated so they could sleep.

Satisfied with his work, Legend stood and began to stretch his sore limbs. It had been an awfully long day and-

"Link?"

Eight heads turned in the same direction.

When Legend turned, his world flipped.

Red hair fell across her shoulders, held in place by a familiar red flower. Her sunkissed skin and bright eyes were unmistakable, and her smile washed over him like a sunrise.

A sunrise after a night that had lasted too long.

"M-marin.....MARIN!"

He ran.

She ran too.

Years of hoping, praying, begging. Long nights alone lying awake, even longer days stretching thin with grief and heartache were all swept from existence.

They barreled into eachother, her hands locked around his neck, and his around her waist. Feather soft red hair cushioned his face, and caught the tears falling from his eyes. He felt warm droplets land on his shoulders too. They sank to the ground, tightening their hold on eachother as bare knees touched marble.

He was vaguely aware of the others eyes on him, but he didn't care.

She was here.

She was here in his arms and he was in hers.

"M-marin?" He asked shakily, his voice trembling and watery.

She nodded into his tunic, a sob breaking through the gap, "You're here? You're here you're here. I'm here oh Link you're alive. You're alive."

His own sobs came unrestrained as he held her tighter, "I'm alive. I'm alive Marin, I'm alive and I'm here. Are you real? Please be real I can't lose you again tell me you're real."

"I'm real" she whispered, "I'm real and you're here and you're alive and I'm alive and Link! Link!"

He pulled back ever so slightly, letting her go with one hand to cup her cheek. She smiled through tears as he drank her in.

"I thought I lost you" she sobbed, "I thought you had died and that I would never see you again." She pressed their foreheads together, letting her hand twist into a lock of his hair. She chuckled fondly, "your hair is pink."

He brushed his thumb down her jaw and let out a breathless, pathetic little laugh.

"Yeah....yeah it's pink. Laugh at me please, it's been so long. Laugh at me and my stupid hair and let me love you for it."

And she did. She swept his bangs to the side with her soft fingers and laughed. It was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, and he basked in it. It was a sound he wished he could bottle up and keep with him forever. He wanted to hold it in his hands like he was holding her now.

He felt more tears stream down his face as he watched her. He had never been so happy in his entire life. Nothing mattered. Nothing in all the worlds he had ever been to mattered. There was nothing calling him away this time. Nothing that could take him from her.

"I can't believe it" he said giddily, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

"I can't believe it either" she said, "my little rabbit has come back to me."

He snorted and rolled his eyes playfully, "I'll allow that sort of teasing, but only with you, deal?"

"Deal" she said. Her arms stayed around his neck, a hand still playing with his hair. He smiled and she let out that tiny, incredible giggle of hers she knew he'd die for.

He held her in his arms and swore to every deity he could name that he would never let her go again.

She fit her nose next to his.

"I missed you" she said simply.

He squeezed her as tight as he could, placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth.

"I missed you too" he whispered.

She drew him closer and kissed him, ever so softly. Every muscle in his body relaxed, every frayed thread of his soul smoothed, every crack in his heart filled and he was all hers.

He had always been, and always would be.

When they finally broke apart there where whoops and hollers from nearby, and Legend couldn't help but laugh. Warriors had returned and the whole group looked pleased to see their friend so happy.

Everyone I care about is in this room. He thought pleasantly, promising never to forget it as long as he lived.

[rustic-oak-mori]

request for anna and a female reader taking a bath together?❤️❤️ ilysm

Taking a bath with Anna

(Ily2 hun ❤️❤️)

SFW but there is non-sexual nudity. Minors DNI.

The calming scent of lavender tickled your sinuses as you reclined against Anna in the warm bath. You lit some candles earlier, their gentle light reflecting off the water, painting your huntress in a soft orange glow. Her arms cradled you, holding your back firmly to her bare chest. The bathtub was huge, as to accommodate the gentle giant who built it; your shoulders were completely submerged in the scented bathwater, whereas the water barely reached Anna’s breasts. She didn’t seem to mind, though, humming contentedly with her eyes closed.

Slowly succumbing to the heat of the bath, you shifted on Anna’s lap, burying your face in her muscled bicep, pressing a kiss to the flesh. Her hand moved to the side of the tub, picking up the sponge. She dipped it into the soapy water and glided it across your shoulders. The sensation of being cared for made you melt, curling into your lover.

“Why haven’t we done this before,” you murmured into her chest. Anna chuckled heartily. She switched the sponge to her other hand, rubbing the suds into your thigh in large circles. Her other arm curled around you, caressing your arm.

“No clue,” she replied, voice lethargic and gravelly. “Smart, making lavender oil.” You smiled, proud at your stroke of genius, happy to hear the relaxation in Anna’s tone.

“I kept some sprigs. Maybe we can plant them,” you suggest, mind drifting to the empty flower planters by the greenhouse. You frowned, thinking back to when your thistles died, the absence of colour...

“Hush, no garden thoughts.” Anna squeezed your arm. She craned her neck down and kissed the top of your head. “But the purple would look nice.”

You nodded, sighing. Gardening could wait. Right now all you had to do was bask in the bubbles, in Anna’s warm embrace. She continued to caress your skin underwater, allowing the sponge to float away.

You stayed like this for a few minutes before you felt the urge to return the favour; to dote upon your lover as she had for you.

“Anna?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Can I wash your back?”

She smiled at the suggestion, nodding her head. You shuffled along the tub on your knees as your goliath of a lover swivelled around, water splashing over the side in the awkward manoeuvre. You both laughed, especially when Anna nearly knocked over a candle trying to get comfy. After some seconds, you were presented with the expanse of Anna’s bare back.

The skin was littered with scars, gashes, and scratches, all smoothing over the contours of the muscles in her back. While you had seen her bare before, this was the first time you’d drank in the sight. Knowing the excruciating pain she had endured on her hunts, your brows furrowed. Gently, you picked up the sponge and began to rub soothing circles onto her back. The water rivulets meandered around the muscle, dipping into the scars, the sight bittersweet.

Anna noticed you freeze when your hand brushed over a particularly deep gash on her shoulder blade. She turned her head and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you replied softly, dipping the sponge back in the water. You kissed the gash, feather-light as to not aggravate the mauled skin. “How’d you get this one?”

The huntress chuckled. “Big, angry wolf attacked,” she began, triumph seeping into her tone. “Must have been hungry. Wolf pounced, bit me. Teeth ripped my back.” You absentmindedly traced the wound with your fingers, engrossed by her tale. “I had no weapons, only fists. Had to rip him off back. Neck snapped in fight, but tooth was stuck in back.” The thought made you wince.

“Tooth is buried somewhere. Made a mask to celebrate.” Anna looked over her shoulder, a grin on her rugged face. “Wolf is strong, Anna is stronger,” she winked at you. You laughed, kissing the area once more.

“Kinda hard to believe this is the same woman who got all grumpy when a fox trampled her cabbage patch—”

“Oi, at home I am soft, no?” The smile in her tone carried loud and clear.

You hummed in agreement, wrapping your arms around her waist, resting your head against her back. Soft for you and you alone.

[cinnamonrusts]

first date with the sparda boys --

Your first date with Dante/Vergil   -- f!reader + mentions of alcohol + lots of fluff

DANTE-

“Devil May Cry?” your voice is chipper and tone polite, “No, Dante isn’t here at the moment. Can I take a message?” an older woman sounds off her concerns and the need for immediate attention from the legendary devil hunter himself, “I’ll be sure to pass that message on once he gets in!” the call ends and you slam the phone’s receiver down with a hard thud.

You add another tally to a long list of marks on the back of a pizza order receipt. Curses escape your lips as you continued to be annoyed by the barrage of calls. Soon, you start to mock Dante’s voice and the words he left you with, “Just gotta run a quick errand, I’ll be back in a jiff!” your head bobs side to side as you stick out your tongue whilst imitating the man.

“I’ll be back in a jiff! -- yeah fucking right...,” you jot down the woman’s name beside her tally, “..idiot.” A voice startles you, “Hope you’re not talking about me!” it was Dante. He closed the door to his building behind him as he sauntered in, smile on his lips. “Dante!,” you push yourself back from his desk and wave the wrinkled receipt in the air, “If you’re going to lie about how long you’re going to be gone. Hire a fucking receptionist, because I am not one!” 

As you approach him, he lends out his hand and snatches the paper from your fingers. His opaque like eyes examine the list that you made out for him, “Wowzah. That’s a lotta people.” his opposite hand strokes his scruff, “We can worry about this tomorrow,” he crumples the paper and stuffs it into his front coat pocket. “Why don’t we go out for some fun? Since my trip lasted -- a little longer than expected.” his lips spread to that shit eating grin he always sports and you can’t fight back your trembling lips that turn from a frown into a smile. Why does he have to be so charming?

“Fine -- but you’re buying!” your eyes squint and your index finger is pointed at his nose. As you turn to grab your things from upstairs, Dante yells out, “With what money!?” you stop on the third step and face him, “Guess that’s for you to find out.”

With nightfall in the air, the wind turned cold and you dressed accordingly. Wrapped in a maroon pea coat and a black beanie to protect your head, you walked down the stairs to see Dante waiting in the same spot. His eyes locked onto you as you jogged down the stairs, he watched every movement you made and how focused you looked on each step. You shove your hands in your pocket as you approach him, he’s still staring. “What?” you ask with a shrug, a slight warmth rises in your cheeks. His lashes blink several times before his brain processes your question, “Nothing,” he answers. The man towers over you in height greatly and he places his strong palm on top of your hat, then proceeds to give you a hearty noogie. “Aw, look who looks all cute all bundled up!” he jokes.

You smack him away with the back of your hand with an angry look, “It’s like 20 something degrees outside! I’m not half demon like you, asshole. I don’t generate heat like a furnace,” you snap. Dante proceeds to fix the pom-pom on the top of your hat, “Sorry to pinch a nerve, short stuff.” you jab him in the chest with a closed fist and a poorly hidden smirk, he laughs it off and opens the door for you.

The bar isn’t too far down the road from Devil May Cry. On occasions you would go with Lady, Nico, and Trish for girl’s night out there. The building was pretty incognito and fit well for the neighborhood it was in. Just above the entrance was a crooked wooden sign that simply read, “The Raven”. Dante held the crudely painted door open for you and you ducked under his arm that held it open. Immediately you were struck in the face with the strong smell of tobacco and cheap liquor.

Your male companion took a deep breath in through his nose and exhaled loudly through his mouth, “Can’t get over that stench. Smells just like home,” his eyes gaze across the rugged crowd that frequented the joint. Some of them wave at the devil hunter while others hide their faces in their glasses. Dante placed his hand on your shoulder and led you to the bar, the two of you sat on two stools that felt like they could give way at any moment.

Dante greeted the bar tender, “Raymundo. Two gin and tonics, up.” The man behind the bar gave the Sparda a wink before going to work on the order. “You gonna pay me this time, Dante?” Raymundo asked once finished, he slid the two glasses in your directions. Dante caught his and took a gulp of the drink before answering, “Yeah, yeah. I’ll give you all I got.” he leaned over on one side as he dug into his back pocket to fish out his wallet. He opened up the dark leather bifold and stared into it with a depressed look, “All I got is a $20.” Dante pulled out the crisp green bill and reluctantly forfeited it to Raymundo. “No, Dante. Let me,” you attempt to dig into your coat pocket but Dante’s hand is immediately on your wrist with a tight grip. “No. I promised to take you out.”

Raymundo smiled as he took the money, “Aye, Dante. Out on a date, hmm?” “Yes.” Dante answers, “No.” you add,  both answers in unison. The bartender let out a hearty laugh, “I think I’ll trust the lady on this one. Rest is on me, Dante.” Raymundo patted the bar a few times with his palm before leaving the two to yourselves.

Dante turned toward you with a smug look, “So, this isn’t a date?” You scoff as you take a sip of your drink, “No. More of a payment for my duties, since you never pay me anyway.” He chuckled, “So, killing demons for pleasure doesn’t cut it enough, huh?” Dante took a drink, “Well, we’ll see if you change your mind by the end of the night.”

A Few Too Many Drinks Later --

A snort escapes your mouth as you throw your head back in a obnoxious laugh. Dante laughs just as loudly. The two of you remanence of old times in the earlier days of demon killing, when you were just a newbie in the crew. “You -- you literally were knocked on your ass trying to fire that shotgun!” Dante nearly had tears in his eyes as he went through the memory step by step.

“Maybe you shouldn’t have given me a shotgun meant for a giant!” you leaned into him as you started to feel your face warm up. Both of your giggling died down to a silence as you snuggled your head into the bend of Dante’s arm. He could smell his own breath that stunk of alcohol as he looked down with his opaque eyes to see your content face that was pushed up to him.

Dante could feel the call of his instincts; his fingers ached to run through your [h/c] strands that peeked out from under your hat. His palms cried to feel the natural warmth of your skin on his rugged hands. How would you react though? Would you get angry? Or would you allow him?

The Sparda gave in to his desires and took a piece of your hair around his finger, then lightly twirled it around his digit. This caused you to stir from your spot, your [e/c] orbs flickered up to him with a glassy look. “Hmm, that feels nice,” you smile softly. Dante smiles in return, his pounding heart was now slowing as you reacted better than he thought. “Hey, let’s go home.” he offers and you comply, pushing off of his body and taking a slight wobbly step. Dante comes to your aid, one hand wrapped over yours and the other at your waist. “I’m good,” you insist and the two of you leave the bar.

When the two of you reach the front door of Devil May Cry, the only light on the street is from the pink neon sign above the entrance and the small street lamp beside. Dante attempts to lead you up the concrete step but you stop him with a tug of the arm. He turns around to ask what’s wrong but sees you looking up into the sky with wonder. White specks fall from the darkness above and drift slowly in the breeze, the light reflecting off the flakes. You put out your palm to catch the snow and observe as it melts quickly in reaction to your heat. 

“Snow?” Dante asks as he too sticks out his palm. The small specks soon turn into bigger pieces that stick to yours and Dante’s hair/clothing. He takes a step down from the step to approach you and chuckles once he notices the flakes are sticking to your lashes. “You’re a snow angel,” the Sparda smiles. “Does that make you a snow demon?” you ask and Dante ponders for a moment before nodding quickly. A giggle comes from your throat and you watch as snowflakes drift into his scruff. “You got something there,” you say as you push yourself up onto your toes. Instead of brushing it off, you place a small kiss on his lips.

Dante is both speechless and motionless. He did not expect you to kiss him. Like, this was literally the last thing he would ever expect. Was this a dream? Were you going to vanish in a puff of smoke once he woke up. The man blinked several times to see that you were still there before him. His hands quickly found their way to your biceps and held them tightly, now it was his turn to kiss you. Dante kissed you like he always wanted to and his heart was pounding harder than it was at the bar. When he pulled away he asked, “You’re okay with this, right?” he wanted to ensure you were of sound mind. You smiled, “I’m not really that drunk,” one more kiss, “are you?” Dante shook his head, “I got a hell of a tolerance, short stuff.”

Your brow raised, “Was that a pun?” Dante laughed, “Maybe. Was this a date?”

You bit your lower lip as you looked in the distance in thought, “I think it was.”

VERGIL-

Ever since Vergil moved in with the devil hunter crew, he was reluctant to socialize much. Dante would often beg for his brother to do -- brotherly things with him besides hunting or training. The elder Sparda brother would brush his twin off with a huff through his nostrils and continue burying his face in his books.

Vergil peeked your interests as his mysterious nature reflected the one of your own. Despite feeling as if the others were like family, you couldn’t help but feel as if you were an outsider looking in. You felt as if Vergil felt the same way and just wanted someone to pry at his ironclad bindings. But every time you tried, you felt an overwhelming sensation of nervousness and backed out like a schoolgirl.

But tonight would be different --

Everyone was gone for the night and the only people left in the building was Vergil and yourself. He was shut up in his room and you were downstairs, bored. So, so, bored. You sat at Dante’s desk with your feet up on the mahogany, he would freak if he knew your dirty boots were on his desk. Only he could do that! Metal music screeched through the speakers of the lower level and you tossed a rubber band ball in the air several times as you suffered through the only track.

When the ball dropped from the air, you missed the catch and it bounced off your fingers, then slammed hard into the main speaker, hitting the power button. The music abruptly cut and you could hear the floorboards creaking from above. Your eyes flickered to the ceiling and remembered that Vergil was home too. You quietly made your way up the stairs and down the stretch of hall to his door. Your hand extended to knock but you hesitated, what if he didn’t want to be bothered? He seemed to be unfazed by your presence whenever you interacted. Vergil never seemed happy nor angry to see you, his face was often void of much emotion and was hard to read.

You bit your tongue as your knuckles drummed across the door lightly, then you took a step back to give him room to answer. There was no sound from within, so, you tried again. Still no noise and no answer, you assumed that either a: he left or b: he didn’t want to be bothered.

You turned to leave,

“Come in,” his cool voice calls from behind the door. The heartbeat in your chest quickened in pace as you slowly approached the knob, you sort of wished he had just ignored you; but you decided it was too late to back out and took hold of the knob to turn it. You pushed the door open just enough for you body to slide through and stopped at the threshold. Vergil was sitting on the edge of the bed with his back facing you, his head was bowed as he most likely was buried in his literature. “[Y/N],” he spoke. 

“How’d you know it was me?” you asked, a bit nervous. He didn’t move, “Everyone else left. Who else would it be?.” Duh, idiot! “Heh, that’s right,” you paused with awkward silence, “Well, I’ll just leave you to --,” you turned to leave but Vergil spoke up. “No. Stay,” you stopped and slowly turned on your heels to see that he now was facing you.

His strong features looked as if they had been carved by heavenly beings. His skin was dry yet looked like porcelain. His Caucasian tone seemed like it was glowing in the natural light that peeked through his single window and his dark circles gave him character. Half demons truly were beautiful. Would it be a sin to indulge in their devilish delicacy?

You accepted his invitation to remain and decided to politely observe his room. It was empty for the most part besides his bed, a dresser, and an old shelf that was filled with different books; the antique caught your attention and you approached it. Some books looked new with fresh covers while others looked as if they could crumble at the slightest touch. Vergil’s eyes watched you steadily as you eyed his collection. You raised your right hand and gently stroked the spine of a worn, red leather book decorated in gold trimmings. “Do you enjoy reading?” the man asked.

“I do,” you answered with a smile, your eyes remaining on the interesting red book. “I can tell you do as well. From day one, actually,” your head turned to look at him, “You always got your face buried in some sort of book.” Vergil hummed in agreement, closed his book, placed it on the bed and stood to join you at his bookcase. “I see you’re interested in this one,” his strong forearm stretched past your face and his fingers wrapped around the book to pull it out.

“A collection of morbid poems,” he licked his right index finger as he flipped the book open with his left hand. “I acquired this book was a young boy, I think it was fitting for the time.” His blue eyes scanned the yellowing papers as he looked for the poem that fancied him, you studied his features again as his orbs darted across the pages.

“Ah, maybe you’ve heard this one,” he cleared his throat, “Ladies and gentlemen, skinny and stout, I’ll tell you a tale I know nothing about;” his tone was rich during his narrative. “The admission is free, so pay at the door. Now pull up a chair and sit on the floor.” Vergil paused for a moment and motioned for you to join him on the corner of his bed, you followed and he sat close to you, your knees just barely touching.

Opening the book back up, he continued,

“One fine day in the middle of the night, two dead boys got up to fight; back to back they faced each other, drew their swords and shot each other. A blind man came to watch fair play, a mute man came to shout, ‘hooray!’“ his eyes occasionally flickered to the side as he read to see if you were enjoying what he was reciting, almost smiling when he could tell you were.

“A deaf policeman heard the noise and came to stop those two dead boys...,” he stopped at the middle of the poem as the rest of the page seemed to have been torn out. Your fingers  instinctively reached to touch the part of the page that was missing but Vergil lightly took your hand to move it out of the way as he closed the cover.

“How does it end?” you asked but Vergil shrugged, “I’m not sure. I was never able to find another copy of this book to figure it out.” An idea dawned on you and your hand rested on his hand that was at his side. “Say, why don’t we check the library here? There’s books that look older than most of yours, I’m sure there’s a copy there!” you smiled and Vergil looked at you with the softest expression you’ve yet to see. He could feel this twinge in his stomach. It felt warm and kind of fuzzy. Why was he feeling this? He wasn’t sure if he remembered it or liked what it felt like but he knew that you were the origin. He agreed to your proposition.

Vergil watched patiently as you wrapped yourself in a puffy grey coat and blue scarf. You stopped mid scarf wrapping to ask, “Is that all you’re wearing?” Vergil was wearing his coat which seemed to mostly for fashion and not functionality. “What’s wrong with what I’m wearing?” his brow scrunched. “Nothing. It’s just -- winter -- outside.” The Sparda smiled. He. Smiled.

It was as if a train smacked right into you because not only did he smile but you made him smile.

He took note of your struggle with the scarf and took it into his hands. “I think I will be okay,” he said as he properly tucked your scarf. “Blue is a good color for you,” he added. The entire time you could feel your face turning several shades of pink, and you prayed the half demon didn’t notice.

As the two of you walked across town, the wind blew harshly and you struggled to continue on without complaining. “We should’ve got a taxi,” you cursed as you hugged yourself tighter. Vergil on the other hand seemed unfazed, despite the fact that his breath was visibly wafting in the air above him. “Taxis are a waste of money. Traveling on foot is faster,” he was several feet in front of you; Vergil noted your struggle and decided to stop. “Here,” he wrapped his arm around you with his coat draped over your frame and pulled you close to his side. “Better?” the Sparda asked. His body felt like a radiator, warmth oozed from him and you could barely notice the freezing temperatures anymore. “You half demons sure are warm,” you noted and he hummed.

The library was nearly empty when the two of you entered which gave you free roam of the massive building. You led Vergil to the top middle floor and all the way into the back where all the poem books were kept. He felt like a child in a candy store, the library had a collection of what seemed like hundreds of books and each section seemed to stretch for miles.

“If they have it, it’ll be here,” you noted. Both of you paced the bookcases in search of the copy but to no avail. You let out a frustrated breath as you were ready to accept defeat. “Don’t be upset, [Y/N]…,” Vergil spoke up, “I -- enjoyed this time with you.”

He was leaned against one of the cases with his arms crossed, his eyes lingering on you and a ghost of a smile on his lips. You approached him slowly.

Now face to face with the half demon, a few inches separated the two of you from touching. Vergil closed his eyes impulsively but when nothing happened, his eyes opened quickly. You weren’t trying to kiss him or anything -- but instead, you were pulling out an identical red book to the one that he had in his bedroom.

You opened the book in search of the morbid poem of dead boys when Vergil’s hands slammed it shut abruptly.  It was as if a foreign force hijacked his body because before either of you could think, his lips were on yours. They were not soft by any means and were pushed hard onto yours but there was meaning behind it.

He was quick to pull away as he had a grip on his mind once again. Vergil attempted to push you away and walk out of the library but you stopped him with a yank to his coat. “Where are you going?” you asked. His face was cold and void again, just like you were used to seeing. “Stop hiding behind your tough guy façade, Vergil.” your hand grazed lightly under the line of his jaw once he was close again, “I can see you’re just a man who needs and wants more than they would like to admit.” you lowered your voice to a light whisper, your warm breath against his skin.

“Now,” you gave him a small kiss on his lower lip, “let’s see if this poem is worth finishing.”

[mrs-hyperfixed-writes]

Are You Single - 2

Tag List: @becomeunsolved @ambiguous-g @favorite-slytherin-weirdo @a-weirdperson @artist-bby

The reader makes their way through Castle Dimitrescu, encountering the Lady and her daughters. Heisenberg might just have to re-evaluate his opinion of you when you're the unexpected victor of the battles with them.

You had ran through the glorified saw trap, avoiding Lycans and giants alike as you listened to Heisenberg’s taunting. Evidently he was an asshole, but that didn’t seem to be stopping the butterflies in your stomach going mad at the way he spoke to you. Fear had briefly crawled up your spine when he had dropped the spinning log of spikes, blocking your exit and apparently sealing your fate. Thankfully there had been a crevice in the wall, big enough to drop your backpack down by your side and protect yourself. The only thing that took damage was the handcuffs. It had briefly occurred to you that it seemed a very convenient hiding space in an otherwise foolproof killing room.

You ended up back at the gate that you had been captured at, looking over your shoulder this time as you pulled the lever up. Not that you could do anything if Heisenberg or his overgrown sister decided to double check. It seemed unlikely that either of them would treat you to a meal, but you could hope. If you were being honest with yourself though, Heisenberg hardly screamed refined dining.

No, he seemed more like a man who would order a McDonalds or a Burgerking after he’d been working tirelessly all day on a machine in a tank top. All sweaty. . . you smacked yourself in the face, snapping yourself out of your fantasy. You needed to get a grip. Preferably around his throat or his-

You slapped yourself again.

You left through the gate, coming out to an unpleasant looking vineyard. Of course, Dimitrescu was far too high and mighty to get her hands dirty doing manual labour, and any staff that she may of had to maintain the vineyard were probably dead. You shuddered at the thought of so many deaths. You didn’t know any of those people, didn’t know anyone in this godforsaken village that had been put in the middle of nowhere except for the few that had just survived long enough to be brutally killed in front of you. No one would remember any of the dead. It was as if they never existed. And if you died here - which you likely would - you would likely not be remembered. Not with fondness anyway.

You were brought out of your dark thoughts by the sound of a man groaning and wood creaking. You looked up, and to your surprise found an old-fashioned wagon settled in front of the entrance to Castle Dimitrescu. The doors swung open, and someone all but rolled out. The man was massive, both in height and weight.

“I’ve been waiting for you, my friend,” he said with the attitude of someone who was excited to get down to business.

You stopped a couple of metres away, taking it all in. How was this man even alive? Then again, Dimitrescu was nine feet tall and she seemed like she was functioning better than most people. Especially given that the tallest man in history was nearly nine foot and died super young. You could come to terms with this mans existence in no time.

“Who are you? How do you know me?” You let the uncertainty show in your voice.

“Me? I am but a humble merchant,” he said as he rubbed his hands together. “And you’ve been the talk of the town recently! An unknown human outsider making their way through hordes of creatures with nothing but an axe and some second hand guns? Remarkable.”

You hated yourself for the light blush that crept up your neck at the compliment. You never blushed.

“What can I call you?”

“Ah, forgive my manners. You can call me the Duke. Your name please?”

You raised an eyebrow.

“Oh, I already know it, but some people prefer to tell others their name rather than have the introduction stolen from them.”

You chuckled, deciding to bridge the few metres of distance. “(Y/n).”

“Pleasure. Now, would you like to purchase anything for the journey ahead? Medicine? Ammunition?”

“Can you tell me what’s happened here?”

“Ah, information. All I can tell you now is that Mother Miranda has seemingly abandoned the village she has spent a century ruling. Slaughtered the villagers.” He took a long drag of a cigar he had lit before releasing the smoke into the air. “It seems she’s done it for her daughter.”

“Her daughter? Dimitrescu? Or the woman in the veil?”

“Ah, Lady Donna. But no, neither of those are her real daughters. It’s doubtful she even considers them such. The same for her sons.”

Your thoughts drifted back to Heisenberg. Did he hate her for that? For not considering him her child? Questions for later.

“Then who?”

The Duke regarded you for a second. “Sell me those crystal skulls you’ve collected, make a purchase and find me in the castle, and perhaps I’ll know more.”

You blinked in surprise, briefly wondering how he knew that you had been collecting the crystallised remains of those Lycans. Truthfully you just thought they were pretty.

After selling the remains and buying yourself some extra ammo, as well as some of the strange medicine the Duke advertised that was supposed to encourage cell division, you nodded to him in thanks and turned to face the castle.

“Although I must say,” The Duke called out before you could make much progress, “why do you wish to go into that castle? You are a stranger. There is no stake in this for you.”

You took a deep breath. Why were you doing this? That beast under your skin wanted to answer. To find and tear them apart. For revenge for all the dead. To satisfy my own need for blood and pain.

Instead you said, “I don’t have anywhere else to go.”

You walked towards the doors.

***

The inside of the castle was. . . beautiful. Definitely a place a lady would live. Perhaps a place you would live in another life. It seemed as though everything was trimmed with gold, including the beautiful waist high vases decorated with beautiful women. The furniture was of the highest quality, the rugs and carpets plush enough to sleep comfortably on. They looked expensive enough to cost more money than you’d ever had in your entire life. You wiped your muddy boot on the rug you were standing on, leaving a dark smear.

The thing that drew your attention most of all was the portrait that dominated the opposite wall. Three women, admittedly indistinguishable from one another, sat in big dresses. The plaque identified them as the three daughters. Three daughters that loved entertaining foreigners.

A bad feeling overcame you, and you decided to tuck your handgun into your boot, regardless of the discomfort. You covered it with your jeans.

You pressed on until you came to a main chamber that had another set of double doors decorating the walls. A scream rang out, clear as day and stopping you in your tracks. The scream of a woman in terrible pain. Part of you thought that maybe you should try to find her, but something in you knew that it had been a death scream. The agonised scream of someone who wanted to live and was denied.

You swallowed, instead making your way to the double doors, wondering where they lead.

“Well, who’s this then?” an upbeat female voice asked.

You turned to look, and only found three swarms of flies buzzing closer. And right before your eyes, they materialised into three beautiful young women. The daughters. The first thought in your head was how the painting didn’t do any of them justice.

You didn’t even have time to take your gun out of your backpack before the woman on the left - a tall blonde with blood on her mouth - grabbed you by the throat and lifted you clean off the floor, slamming you against the door. She pressed her face closer to your shoulder and took a deep sniff. You shuddered against the feeling of her nose tickling your neck.

“Fresh blood,” she said, voice dripping with a desire that put you on edge.

“Mother says you have to share, sister,” said the redhead with a childish delight, the brunette nodding in agreement with a sadistic grin on her face.

That scream echoed through your head again. The blonde stared into your face, looking for the traces of fear that likely coated their usual victims. She was going to come up empty. You cleared your throat, looking down into beautiful but evil eyes that had probably been the last thing that so many had seen, and spit right in her face.

The grin on her face froze as the glob made contact with her cheek, and then dropped off altogether when her sisters roared in laughter, one of them doubling at the waist and clutching her stomach.

She threw you to the floor, tossing your backpack aside and growling at her sisters to silence them. You leaped towards it with the intention of pulling your shotgun out, deciding to keep the handgun a secret. But she grabbed a fistful of your hair, most of her materialising back into that swarm as she did so. She dragged you through the halls, her sisters flanking you. You clawed at her hand, but to no avail.

Another swarm got too close, a face materialising. The brunette. She ripped one of your arms off of where it was clawing at the hand that felt as if it was going to rip your scalp off. She held it up to her mouth and grinned. You didn’t even have the chance to scream as she sank her teeth into the side of your forearm, digging in deep. Then she pulled back, laughing. She hadn’t done it to feed, only to hurt you. The other sister came forward, her face materialising as well to lick up the blood that was leaking down your arm. She left little bites of her own up your arm. But these were more like love bites.

Suddenly they stopped, and the oldest released the grip on your hair, using her momentum to throw you into a wall.

“Mother,” she started, “I bring you fresh prey.”

Oh no.

You turned, out of breath from the hurt your body had suffered.

“You are so kind to me, daughters.” She took a deep drink of wine and rose from her chair. “Now, let's take a look at them.”

You didn’t get up from the floor, not having the energy or the stupidity to make a scene right now. Not as she fully turned and looked down at you.

“Well, well. A nobody with no name worth knowing or manners to speak of makes their way to my castle do they? Well, you escaped my little brother's idiot games did you? Let’s see how special you are.”

She beckoned to the blonde and the redhead. They each grabbed an arm, forcefully hoisting you to your feet. You squirmed a little, but their grip was like iron as they held up the arm with the bleeding bite mark. Lady Dimitrescu raised a brow and looked back at the remaining daughter.

“Cassandra? What did I say about waiting?”

Cassandra looked down at her feet, almost seeming to be ashamed. “Apologies Mother.”

Dimitrescu gripped you by the wrist and lifted you off the ground. You gritted your teeth. She closed her mouth over the wound and sucked. If you were being honest with yourself most of your blood at this point had either transferred to your face or. . .

It wasn’t important. But apparently you needed therapy.

She dropped you suddenly, and you couldn’t help the shout that escaped your lips when your knees made impact with the floor.

“Just as I thought, nothing special.”

“May we devour their flesh now Mother-”

“But I am the one who captured them-”

“Now, now girls. First I must inform Mother Miranda of Heisenberg’s failure. But soon there will be enough for everyone.” She turned to the blonde daughter. “Bela, take them to the dungeons and shove them in a cell.”

Bela grinned at you, seizing your hair again as she dragged you along, leaving the laughter of her mother and her sisters behind.

***

Heisenberg was fuming. Not that you had escaped his trap. To be perfectly honest there were several design flaws that he wasn’t going to admit to and he really couldn’t have cared less if you had exploited them to get away. If you were running through the village, then something was bound to get you eventually. That was what he had figured anyway.

No, Heisenberg was angry because that overgrown, egocentric, glorified vampire bitch had ratted him out to Mother Miranda. He could just imagine the smug way she had said it over the phone. That grin she would have. He wished he could have buried his hammer into her face.

Miranda had expressed her disappointment in him, not that he gave a shit. But it would likely mean that she would watch him for a while, at least while she had time to spare. Preparing that stupid ceremony would take her a few days at the very least. And in that time she could do anything.

He slammed his fist down on the table. With you in Castle Dimitrescu he couldn’t even entertain himself watching you scramble around the village. Couldn’t taunt you. And he didn’t want to risk working on his army, just on the off chance that Miranda caught wind.

He hadn’t even seen you before that confrontation in front of the castle gate, and he just assumed it was blind luck you’d made it that far.

He’d probably never know how you got on in the Castle, because there was no way you were leaving that place alive.

He looked at the yellow jar on his desk, tempted to just throw it and it’s contents into a pit of molten metal. It would be kinder to the kid than whatever Miranda had planned.

***

You had been shoved in the most stereotypical dungeon in the world. It was something straight out of some Frankenstein-ish novel. Bela had left, promising that she would come back soon to retrieve you for dinner. You had given her your most hate filled look, your eyes promising nothing but violence.

That must have been ten minutes ago, and you were furiously searching the cell. You had found a gap in the wall, and in it a crumpled sheet of paper. You straightened it out, beginning to read.

To whomever is trying to escape this place,

I hope this note will be of some assistance. You don’t know me but you will have to trust me if you want to survive.

First, you need to get out of this cell. Look around for the way, get on your hands and knees if you must.

Then, search for the thing you’ll need to

escape. It will be hidden where they’ll

least suspect, soaked in blood.

The rest of the note was illegible, at some point being soaked with dry blood. You hoped that whoever had written it had gotten out.

You took the notes' advice, getting on your hands and knees. There! Under the wooden board attached to the wall there was a hole that you could crawl through. You got on your belly and went through, ending up in the next cell. You tried the door, and to your relief it opened.

You took your gun out of your boot, preparing to go into the dungeon deeper for your way out.

***

Monsters had patrolled the dungeon. Horrible emaciated monsters that held swords. The first one you had encountered held a sword, and you shot it with glee, picking the sword up. A perfect chance to conserve ammo. It was in good condition too. You sliced and hacked your way through, making it to the second part of the dungeon. You could see the stairwell at the end. Your heart soared. At least until you had to wave a fly out of your face.

“I can’t believe Cassandra caused all this mess.”

Bela. Part of you wanted to turn around and fight her, but you were sadistic not stupid. Bullets against a swarm would be pointless. Instead you ran for the stairs, shooting up them until you came to an entrance that was boarded up. Because of course it was. You attempted to hack at the boards with the sword, but it was already too late.

“Where are you going little one?”

“Oh for fucks-”

You turned to be confronted by Bela, her white teeth stark against the drying blood coating the lower half of her face. She picked you up by the neck again, throwing you through the wooden boards. You lost the sword to the far wall, instead bringing out your handgun as she mounted you, desperately trying to inflict some damage on her even when you knew the bullets would be useless. She just laughed at you.

“Bullets cannot harm-”

CRACK.

You both looked off to the side, just in time to see a window shatter and let in all the cold air. She jumped off and you skittered back, getting to your feet. She was. . . solidifying, only a few lone flies breaking away from her before the cold killed them.

And she was angry.

“You stupid-”

You shot her.

She reeled back in pain, screeching. You smiled, and shot her again.

She charged at you, raising her sickle over her head to slice at you. You ducked away from her and grabbed your sword, swinging it to block her next swing. You kicked her in the stomach, putting some distance between the two of you. Then you shot her again. And again. You could tell that she was almost done. One more bullet or swing of the sword and she’d probably shatter.

You put your gun down on a table, the sword following it.

She was doubled over in agony for the moment, but she still managed to look at you with eyes filled with hatred. The perfect mirror of the look you had given her when she had tossed you in a cell. You laughed at her again, the sound ringing right through the room. You didn’t care if it could even be heard throughout the castle. The daughters had a weakness, and if they wanted to fuck around and find out how you could exploit it then that was their problem.

“It’s funny how things just switch around isn’t it?” You asked her between manic bursts of laughter.

You charged at her suddenly, tackling her to the ground. She wasn’t nearly as strong as she had been. She clawed desperately at your thighs, screaming again as the force she was using caused them to begin to crumble. It was childish, but you got a grip on her hair and pulled as hard as you could, laughing at the screams she made as cracks spiderwebbed down from her hairline down to her eyes. Then you reeled your fist back, gave her one final smirk, and punched her in the face. Her head practically exploded into pieces. You felt yourself drop to the floor as most of her crumbled. Except for one thing. The upper half of her torso had crystallized into something beautiful. You picked it up, wondering if the Duke would buy it.

***

As it turned out, the Duke had his own special room in the castle, and he did buy the torso and the sword. You also managed to retrieve your backpack. It turned out that that medicine was bordering on magical, as the only thing left of the horrible bite Cassandra had left was a scar. Even Daniela’s hickeys were gone.

To your chagrin, if you wanted to open those double doors in the hall you were going to need four masks. The Duke provided the first one, The Mask of Sorrow. He had winked at you, telling you that this would avoid another encounter with the Lady. But when you had asked for his explanation about the events in the village, he simply told you he didn’t have it all yet, but he would at your next encounter. You thought that was bullshit. But you gave him the benefit of the doubt.

And now here you were, reaching for the animal's skull off the wall, hoping that maybe it would have the solution to opening that grate without having to replace the mask.

“I was worried my sisters had gotten to you first.”

Fuck. You froze. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She was by the door. You looked around the room, desperate to find a solution. You had only narrowly escaped her getting into the room. Trying to get past her while stuck in here would be impossible. Then you felt it. A draft. There was a gap in the wall being concealed by a bookshelf. You moved it, looking around for Cassandra. She was still by the door, taking her sweet time getting to you. You examined the gap. There was no way this was going to be enough to petrify Cassandra. Then you remembered the weight in your pocket. You had picked it up in the dungeon. A pipe bomb.

You felt the air shift, and had just enough time to duck as Cassandra swung at you. Taking cover on the other side of the room, you threw the bomb and covered your ears. Cassandra screamed at the bite of the cold air, somehow being louder than the initial boom the bomb had made.

“You’ve ruined the hunt!”

“I wouldn’t say that,” you said happily. “I’m having tons of fun.”

You pointed the shotgun at her as she charged, unloading it into her face. She stumbled back. And you did it again, not giving her time to recover. The shotgun was much more powerful than the pistol had been taking care of Bela, so it wasn’t long before Cassandra was at the same stage Bela had been before you had killed her.

“I take it back. That was kind of disappointing. I thought you’d have more in ya.”

And you don’t know if she just realised she was dying, or if she just wanted to kill you so bad that she threw common sense out of the window, but she charged at you with her weapon raised. You didn’t even move out of the way, just caught he raised wrist and squeezed. It crumbled beneath your hands. She tried to hit you with her other wrist only for you to do the same thing.

“Mother!” She cried out with all the emotion of a scared little girl. “Mother!”

You grabbed her by the front of her dress, letting her see into your eyes. Letting her see the toothy grin you were giving her that was more like a snarl. The irony of the situation struck you. Whereas it would have been her eyes brimming with cruelty and madness before, now it was yours. But you had never been afraid. Not for one second. But she was. And it made you grin even wider.

She called out for her mother again as you dragged her to the wall. You kissed her on the nose, giving her a smile that someone might give a lover, and used all your innate anger and cruelty to shove the bitch against the wall.

She shattered, leaving behind only that crystallised torso.

***

His sister had said she would call Miranda when the outsider had been killed. Well, her words were dealt with properly. Emphasis on the properly apparently. Miranda was supposed to let the rest of them know when the outsider had decided to stop being a nuisance and finally bit the dust.

But no call came. From either of them. Hell, Heisenberg hadn’t heard a goddamn thing from anyone. So. . . was the outsider still alive?

He had to admit, he didn’t expect that.

Maybe he needed to change up his expectations.

***

“So you finally came to see me?”

The final daughter. Daniela. You would have preferred not to deal with her right now, given that her mother had just surprised you and evading her through her music hall had been no small task. She had been angry and seething with bloodlust. You supposed she had learned about the deaths of her older daughters. The fact that she had sent Daniela up against you after you had proved that they were practically useless against you wasn’t scoring Dimitrescu any good mother points.

You shot at the window above. But it refused to break, and the swarms had blocked the doors. You looked around, noting that on the other side, on one of the pillars was a handle.

“Everyone always falls for me.”

You ran around her, gripping the handle and swinging it down with all your might. She screamed in agony, running to get out of the direct frozen wind. To your dismay the handle slowly turned up. Who designed this?

She was running through the bookshelves, trying to hide from you. So deranged, but slightly smarter than her sisters it seemed.

“Why are you doing this?”

“Why am I- Why are you doing this?!” you retorted.

You pumped the handle down again before chasing her, shooting her in the back. She darted around a bookcase, circling around you and trying to get the jump on you. But you were ready, giving her another one. You were beginning to get bored of these sisters.

“You three don’t really put up much of a fight do you?”

“I thought you loved me,” she snarled.

“What the fuck has that got to do with anything I just said?”

You shot her again. Then once more for good measure. You got up close and used the butt of your shotgun wo hit her in the stomach, forcing her back.

“I don’t wanna die,” she cried out, almost begging you not to go any further with the tone she was using.

“Well you know, neither did anyone in this village or this castle but shit happens I guess.”

You threw the gun down and got a grip on her throat, dragging her to the handle where you pumped it down again. Her attempts to get away from you and out of the cold were desperate, but you maintained that grip on her neck. Slowly, your grip tightened, and you thought you could see the beginning of tears in her eyes as cracks started to multiply on her throat. You did it slowly, savouring the way her throat gave under your hand. The window was nearly shut now. You blew her a kiss, then you balled your fist, crushing her throat completely.

The window shut.

***

“The entire bloodline of House Dimitrescu is done in by the likes of you?”

You smiled at her, even as she stalked you with her claws out. She had caught you while you were figuring out which mask went where. Luckily, being so big meant she was slow.

“Damn right it is.”

“Have much blood and sweat do you think it took to raise those daughter?” She swiped. “You have incurred an impossible debt!”

The genuine sadness and pain in her voice was something that might have swayed someone else, but not you. Not after the Duke had explained what those monsters in the dungeon had really been. Not when you knew the secret ingredient of that wine. Not when that scream rattled around inside your skull.

“What? You want me to feel sorry for you? Want me to get on my knees and beg for forgiveness while you slice me apart? How many daughters have you murdered and turned to slaves?” You slotted the third mask in before darting just out of her reach. “You didn’t consider how many fathers and husbands you bled dry in your dungeons. Your daughters deserved to die! You deserve to die! None of you get a free pass just because I’d have sex with you!”

She made a noise of disgust and sliced downwards, narrowly missing you. You darted to the last statue, putting the mask in. The door opened and you bolted.

***

You pushed open the coffin, finding an old corpse clutching a beautiful knife. You picked it up, testing the weight. That is, before you were spun around and lifted by the neck again. Evidently this family had a choking kink.

“You ruined everything!” She screamed.

She got ready to plunge her claws deep into your stomach, but you were faster, instead driving the knife into her chest. She screamed, throwing you through the window behind you. You accidentally let go of the knife, and it tumbled off the side of the building.

You looked back at Dimitrescu. She was in pain, and obviously weakening. But large, fleshy wings sprouted out from her back, a tail soon following.

And then she was crashing through the wall, nothing but a female torso and head on the back of what looked like a dragon straight out of one of your nightmares.

“Flesh! Bones! I will devour all of you!”

“Bring it on, bitch!”

***

“Curse you.”

And those were her last words. It hadn’t been easy, but you had done it. And you smiled at her as you did so. Given that same demented smile you’d given her daughters. You still wore it.

You looked around, still half mad from the bloodlust. The only thing of note was a yellow flask, so you snatched it up, grinning even wider as the wall opened into the outside.

***

Dimitrescu was dead. Heisenberg grinned. Well, he certainly didn’t expect to watch you walk out of the castle through the camera he’d placed in the area. He hadn’t even expected you to have lasted five minutes, but evidently you were made of sterner stuff. He was impressed.

You were covered in the dust of her dead daughters, as well as Dimitrescu's own blood. It made your damaged clothes cling to your form, and as you got closer he could see the grin you were wearing, could see that deranged look in your eye. And then you looked up at him. Not just at his camera, but at him. As if you knew he was watching. Your grin turned into something else, and you brought your palm to your mouth, kissed it, and then blew the kiss at him.

He didn’t expect that to get his blood pumping. Didn’t expect watching you walk away coated in blood get it pumping even harder. What was this feeling? It wasn’t fear. It was almost like adrenaline. Almost like-

He looked down at his lap. “Fuck.”

He needed to talk to you. He would talk to you.

Hopefully he could lick the blood off of you after.

[wesimpforxiao]

Say My Name and I’ll Be There:  6.3

Author’s Note:  Hello!  If you haven’t seen my post last night about choosing between two videos, I encourage you to check it out and give me your input! I need as much of it as possible.  Thanks!! Here’s the next chapter<3

...........................

Your eyes slowly opened to view the new cell Dottore had assigned you.  You thought the original cell had been bad, so when your vision finally focused, you realized in great annoyance that this cage was meant for a literal animal.  Bars replaced the entry wall and doorway, leaving you no privacy in this underground arena.  Even the toilet lacked some sort of curtain to hide you from prying eyes, though you sincerely doubted anyone would bother to cause that kind of trouble with you.

You forced yourself to sit up despite the horrendous pain that shook the very bones within you.  Yesterday was blurry, but the image of a not-so-kind Signora granting you rest remained prominent.  That awful interrogation was no doubt going to continue today, but at least you got the rest you desperately needed.  Your mind was clearer now, less weak and broken than last night.  If Signora never gave Dottore the order, what would have happened?  Would you have only passed out, or would you have actually died in the process?  Were you one to give in on the brink of death and spill what you already know, risking Xiao's life?

A sore throat plagued you, and the cold of the country seemed to seep into the building--even as low as down here.  Your puffy eyes slid to the bars that prevented your escape...Why weren't there any guards today?  A blink wiped away some of the blurriness and you slowly crawled over to the cell door.  A faint but unmistakable ruckus leaked through the prison's exit, and your posture straightened.  It was only when the door at the end of the hall burst off its hinges that you considered the possibility of an attack.

The door wasn't the only thing that clattered to the ground.  "X-Xiao?"  Your voice came out more broken than intended, and your drowsiness was swept under the rug.  Am I seeing things?  "Xiao!"

"Ha-ha!  Didn't think he'd wake up so early," a Fatui agent entered the corridor and lifted the unconscious adeptus by the nape of his neck.  "Must've been some sort of reflex, he's out cold again.  Pathetic.  This is the might of the adepti?"

Your blood ran colder when a third figure entered.  His eyes met yours as he retied Xiao's hands behind his back, half-pushing him forward to walk.  A devious smile slipped across his lips as he escorted Xiao past your cell.

"I thought you'd appreciate it if I was the one to bring him in," Childe teased as he walked past you.

"Xiao!"  You couldn't raise your voice as much as you wanted to, but the yaksha's eyes opened.  "Xiao! What happened?!"

"...a-ambushed..."  His body was too weak to lift his head.

"What the hell did you do to him?"  The shriek was like music to Childe's ears as he roughly discarded the yaksha into a cell you couldn't see from where you were placed.  "HEY! Don't do that!"

Childe returned to your cell and squatted down so he was level with you.  "I didn't do anything to him, ojou-chan.  He was like this when we found him."

"'Found?'"  The cell walls seemed to constrict you, force you into maintaining eye contact.  "What did you do?  What happened to everyone?  Where's Aether, Zhongli?"

"Don't worry your pretty little head about it, girlie," he booped your forehead and stood up.  "Just remember the sight I just gave to you; you wasted your love on someone that wasn't strong enough to protect you."  He passed the Fatui agent and made a face at the broken door that lay on the ground.  "Fix this."

"Yes, Master Childe."

............................................

"Ugh..."  A faint groan made its way to your ears.

"Xiao?"  You dragged your body to the corner of the cell so you could hear him better.  "Are you okay?"  The bars your hands were around seemed less cold and cruel now that a familiar presence was awake.

"This is nothing."  It was an obvious lie, but you didn't press further until he yelped in pain a few seconds later.

"Xiao!"

"Sigils," he coughed.  "I can't touch the walls."

"Sigils? What kind of sigils?"

"The kind that trap and seal adepti, obviously."  He shuffled around the best he could so that he was situated in the exact middle of his cell.  

"But I thought they didn't know where to find you..."  Your eyebrows furrowed as you thought aloud.  They couldn't have found him so quickly, and by the sound of it, they weren't planning on looking for him anytime soon either.  It didn't add up.

"Relax.  These aren't nearly enough to restrain me.  I can--"

A little metal object flew across the ceiling until it landed on the newly-fixed doorframe.  It was some sort of metal bird with eyes that glowed an ominous red.  The beak tapped the doorframe twice, and signaled for it to open.

"I see my subjects are up and about," Dottore stuck his arm out so his little bird could perch on his sleeve.  His leisure footsteps carried him to the halfway point between your and Xiao's cells so he could look at the two of you.  When his eyes landed on Xiao, a manic grin spread across his lips.  "Already planning on breaking out?  Go ahead and give it a try.  The amount of power you'd need to exert would kill her."

"Huh?"  Just what exactly was Xiao doing right now?  "Don't listen to him, he's trying to force submission."

"Am I?  I just saved your life right now, girlie," Dottore's eyes shifted to yours, then returned to Xiao.  The metal bird hopped onto the doctor's shoulder so he could rest his arm at his side.  Another smile plagued his lips.  "Your little savior here only just noticed the most powerful sigil right beside him.  To break it would require most of his strength and this entire underground network would be collateral damage.  There'd be no saving you."

Judging by the silence that emanated from Xiao's cell, he was right.  "Just do it, Xiao."  Your voice didn't hold any emotion, save for a longing for his safe return.  "You don't have to worry about me."

Dottore let out a cackle that momentarily startled his artificial companion.  "Ha!  I wasn't aware adepti could be defeated so easily!"

"What're you talking about?"

"Oh, my dear, you should see the look on his face right now.  Actually, I can make that happen."  He nudged the bird in the direction of the door and it took off.  This time it landed on the doorknob and pecked three times.  After a few moments of silence, the door opened.  "Since Childe has been with you two the longest, I've asked the Tsaritsa for his aid.  From his reports it seems like you three had quite the companionship."

You heard Xiao scoff at the words, then your cell door opened.  "Looks like we'll be stuck together for awhile longer," Childe lifted you off the ground with little effort.  His nose scrunched up when he realized he did it with such ease.  Is she just that broken, or just that skinny now?  He shrugged the question off as he escorted you to Xiao's cell.

"When was it you stumbled upon him yesterday?"  Dottore addressed his subordinate as he opened a small bag that was just handed to him by a Fatui agent.  That agent, along with Childe, forced you to your knees.  Xiao shifted forward, eyes widening slightly as he tried to read the situation.

"Sometime in the late evening, in Fontaine.  They were heading straight for Snezhnaya."  Childe pushed some of your hair out of the way and exposed the nape of your neck.  "Seems like they were on their way to rescue you, ojou-chan.  I only happened to stumble upon them by chance."

The way he said that made you think it wasn't at all by chance.  It would explain why these symbols were already painted within Xiao's cell...Your eyes scanned Xiao's surroundings.  Were those seals painted with red paint, or with blood?  Maybe it was better if you didn't know the answer.  At least Xiao didn't appear to be too injured.

"And you overheard them discussing Xiao's unconscious state?"  Childe confirmed with a nod as his grip on you tightened.  "Good.  I have a theory pertaining to his current state.  You see, Childe, I had been interrogating her last night as well.  I think there may be yet another connection we can study--"

Your heart dropped when you peeked up to see that he was filling a syringe with a mysterious orange liquid.  If that was the same liquid from yesterday--  "Please don't."

"Ha! 'Please don't?'  That's the only comeback you have today?"  Dottore let out another cackle and tapped the excess liquid off of the needle.  "Don't worry missy, this is a smaller dosage."

"No!"  The needle penetrated your skin and you immediately felt like your insides were being torched alive.  Childe and the Fatui agent let you squirm in pain on the ground, while Dottore had his attention on Xiao.

Xiao hid his pain well this time around.  He had dealt with it yesterday, after all.  He continued to glare at Dottore, his hands subtly curling into tight fists to deal with the pain.  The harbinger took it as a challenge, and he prepared another needle.  It was then when the yaksha let the pain show on his face, and he tilted his head in discomfort as the pain only worsened.

Dottore's hands froze when he noticed the glowing in his eyes.  "I see.  It looks like we have a breakthrough already, Childe."  He yanked your head up from the ground and forced you to look at him.  "See how quick progress can be made when you obtain all the variables?"

....................................................

"How are you feeling?"  Xiao's voice coaxed you out of the hysterical mindset the pain had put you in.

"H-How did I get in here?"  You were in his cell, head still spinning and stomach still churning.  Your body was slick with a cold sweat.  Your fingers were still twitching uncontrollably as you lay on the ground beside him.

"I suppose you don't remember," Xiao returned his gaze forward.  "They decided it would be better for us to remain in a single cell, that way the odds of you dying in an escape are high."

"Great--" A groan left your lips as you tried to prop yourself on an elbow.

"You shouldn't move."  When you ignored him, he pushed you back down with a gloved hand on your shoulder.  "You're pushing yourself too far.  Lie down and rest."

"I'm fine!" Your protest was accompanied by another attempt to sit up, but this time he pinned you down with both hands.  He hovered over you, but was careful not to be too forceful with your already-aching body.

"Your body cannot handle this much strain.  You don't understand the--"

"No, you don't understand.  I've been put through so much torture these past few days and you haven't seen--"  Your voice caught in your throat when he pulled away.  How insensitive of me; he knows more than plenty of what it's like.  "...I'm sorry for snapping, I..."

"I have felt some of the pain they put you through," his gaze finally returned to yours.  "That's why I'm telling you to rest.  Even I could not withstand that pain.  Zhongli said it was a new side effect, like how you can feel my thoughts.  I can now feel your emotions and physical pains."

"That's why you were found unconscious?"  It took you a moment to process the new developments.  Just what emotions could he feel from you?  Hopefully not your love for him...

"Have you not realized what he was injecting you with?"  Your confused expression made him shake his head.  "It was a synthetic solution made with your own blood."

"My own blood? But they didn't take any samples--"

"They could have when you were unconscious.  Then they must have enhanced it somehow, made it more concentrated.  The burning is attributed to a high amount of adeptal energy.  He's effectively poisoning you."

"Then why did it hurt you?  You're an adeptus."

"If they were to inject it directly into me, I wouldn't be harmed.  But since it was injected into a mortal body that's linked to mine and is not fully adeptus, I would feel what your body feels."

"When did you start feeling my feelings and pain?"  If he was feeling it the entire time you've been in this awful place, you were going to feel even worse for snapping at him.  

"Your emotions began plaguing me a few days ago.  As for your pain, only last night.  I overheard Zhongli explaining his theories while I came in and out of consciousness."  He absentmindedly stared at the hallway.  "Regardless, we're too late.  They already have the means of creating pathetic mortal versions of adepti; all that's left is to study us until they know the full powers and limitations of the bonds, and then..."  We'll more than likely be slaughtered when they're through with us.

"And...what about the others?  Zhongli, Aether?  Did they escape?"

The unfriendly metal bird impatiently hopped along the hall's floor.  Xiao watched it with a neutral expression.  "No.  They didn't."

...............................

Coming up:  The bond only strengthens.  An introduction to a new harbinger.

[arctasy]

uncleinnit, what will he do?

summary: against their better judgement, tubbo and ranboo leave tommy to babysit michael for the day while they have a meeting with foolish about their new mansion. and as any reasonable person should know, tommy is not one to follow the rules.

(word count: 2,359)

read on ao3

—————————

“Come on Ranboo, we’re going to be late,” called Tubbo from the front door.

“One second,” he called back from the house’s attic. He turned back to the grouchy Tommy currently sulking in the corner of the room. “And remember to check his temperature periodically through the day. The house is usually warm but Michael gets cold very easily and I don’t want him coming down with a cold.”

“I still don’t understand why the fuck I have to be the one to babysit the kid,” grumbled Tommy.

“There are golden carrots in the downstairs cupboard for when he gets hungry,” continued Ranboo as though nothing had happened. “And be nice! Michael is friendly but can be very-”

“Jesus fuck, man, just get on to your meeting already,” interrupted Tommy. He pushed himself off the wall and pushed Ranboo to the trapdoor that led to the main room below. “It’s only a few hours, your stupid child is going to be fine.”

“Ranboooo,” called Tubbo once more, a sickeningly sweet lilt to his voice that said you better get down here right now before I kick your arse to L’manberg.

“Coming!” Ranboo lifted the trapdoor and stepped down onto the ladder. “Oh, and if I see a single scratch on Michael, I’m gonna kill you.”

“You fucking-” started Tommy, but the trapdoor swung shut and Ranboo descended down the ladder.

He groaned in frustration and slowly dragged a hand down his face. “These next few hours are gonna be literal dogshit. Who in their right mind would leave me with their child? And a fucking toddler at that.” He watched as the piglin in question clambered onto the windowsill and swung his legs, which dangled nearly a foot over the edge. “Guess it's just you and me, eh, Big Mike?”

Micheal looked up at him, blinked once, and looked back down, mesmerized by his swinging hooves. Tommy palmed himself in the face.

“You probably don’t even understand me, huh? Fucking wonderful.”

Tommy glanced around the room. It was fairly large for a toddler, furnished with a bed, coffee table, bookshelf, and various paintings. In the middle of the room lay a yellow rug, which Tommy thought was a questionable decor choice. Then again, he lived in a dirt hill, so he didn't really have a right to talk. His fingers brushed over the dusty books sitting on the bookshelf, whose pages looked like they’d never seen the light of day. He held his hand to his face, and wrinkled his nose at the gray dust that coated his fingertips.

“Not much to do here, big man, is there?” he asked Michael as he brushed off the dust on the front of his shirt, who continued to make no sign he heard the whiny teenager.

“I don’t even know why Tubbo chose me of all people. Last time I saw you, I threatened to kick you. I’m a fuckin’ safety hazard!”

Michael’s snout dipped the slightest bit.

“I wouldn’t actually kick you,” said Tommy hastily. “You’re just an annoying lil’ shit, you know?”

Michael’s head dipped even further.

“Come on, don’t give me that.” Tommy rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. “Okay, fine, you aren’t that annoying. I just hate how the two of them don’t shut up about you. It’s all Michael this and Michael that. You don’t even do anything, you’re just sat there!”

Michael jumped down from the windowsill, and Tommy continued his one-sided conversation. “I know I’m mean to them sometimes, especially Ranboo. I actually don’t mind Ranboo that much, he’s fuckin’ cool actually, but he talks about you so much and its infuriating!”

Michael turned to walk to the other side of his room. One of his hooves caught on the rug in the center and he tripped, tiny hands braced out to catch his fall. Tommy was there in an instant, catching the small boy in his arms before he could hit the ground.

“Fuckin’ careful man, you could’ve hurt yourself.” He let out another string of curses, putting the boy down and crouching down to examine him for any injuries. Michael watched him in mild curiosity.

“You seem fine, but wow, you almost gave me a heart attack, big man.” He let out a nervous laugh. Michael reached up with a tiny hand and ruffled his hair, or at least tried to. Tommy’s laughter died in his throat.

Micheal smiled at him, and brought his hand back down to his side. He walked back over to the window while Tommy sat there in shock trying to comprehend the last few moments because that was the single cutest thing he’s ever seen holy fucking shit. Then he caught up with his thoughts and swore at himself because he was not about to go all soft. He was Tommy-fucking-Innit, and he had a reputation to uphold, damn it.

He walked over to Michael, who was looking out the window, hooves and snout resting against the glass. Tommy hesitantly reached out a hand and rested it on the toddler’s head. Michael leaned into his hand, and Tommy started rubbing the thin bristles. He made a sound that Tommy could only describe as “happy piglin noises.”

“Do you wish you could go outside?” asked Tommy several minutes later, as Michael continued to gaze longingly out the small window of the attic. The view outside was beautiful. The ground was coated in a thick blanket of snow, and beyond it lay a small dock and an endless glittering sea.

Michael nodded.

“Holy shit, you can understand me!” Tommy bounced on his heels in excitement. “But man, it must suck being holed up in here all the time.”

Micheal let out a noise that Tommy assumed was agreement. Suddenly, he turned around and climbed down the windowsill, using Tommy as a brace.

“Woah, woah, woah, where’re you going?”

He grabbed Tommy’s hand and dragged him across the room until they were standing in front of the trapdoor.

Tommy let out a nervous bark of laughter. “You wanna go outside?” Michael looked at him expectantly. “I don’t know, big man, isn’t it dangerous out there? Mobs n’ shit, y’know?”

Michael continued to stare. “And don’t you get cold easily? If you get sick or hurt those two will fuckin’ kill me, man.”

Michael pouted, which Tommy didn’t even think was possible for someone with a snout. And man, how was he supposed to refuse those puppy dog eyes now? (Well, one eye, technically.)

“Fine,” he groaned. “But if anything goes wrong, I’m blaming you, okay?”

Michael nodded, jumping up and down in excitement.

Tommy dug through Michael’s closet and pulled out an armful of clothes. Carefully, he bundled the toddler in several layers. As an afterthought, he added a small red cape he’d found hanging in the back. Better to be safe than sorry. (He would never admit that he wanted the two of them to match, as Tommy was currently wearing the thick red cape he wore back when he stayed in Techno’s base.)

After a bit of clever maneuvering and several moments where Tommy thought he had fucked up and accidentally killed the kid for sure, he finally managed to carry Michael down the ladder and onto the landing below, injury-free. The second he put him down, Michael raced to the door and threw it open, which Tommy had to admit was rather impressive for a two-foot tall toddler with hooves for hands.

“Wait up, bitch!” he yelled in exasperation, running after the hyper piglin. He found Michael sitting in a pile of snow, patting it softly and giggling as his hooves sunk into the sea of white.

In spite of himself, Tommy felt his face split into a grin and he thought his heart was going to melt.

“You like the snow, Big Mike?” He gathered some of it into a ball and handed it to the child, whose face stared in wonder. “That’s a snowball. You can throw them, like this.” Tommy created another snowball and demonstrated by throwing it at the front of Tubbo’s house. Revenge for leaving him to babysit his fucking toddler (he didn’t mind too much anymore, though he would never admit it).

“Your turn, buddy,” he said, turning his head back to Michael only to be met with a snowball to the face.

“WHY YOU LITTLE SHIT-” he yelled. He tackled Michael to the ground and rolled himself over so that Michael was now laying across his chest, Tommy’s back in the snow. He sat up and began to tickle the piglin, who let out a squeal of laughter and tried to squirm away.

“I should’ve known you'd try something like that,” he said, fighting to keep the smile off his face. “It’s something Tubbo would do; like father like son, eh?”

Michael finally managed to twist out of Tommy’s hold and ran a few steps- only to trip and faceplant into the snow. However, before Tommy could let out more than a shout of concern, he sprung back up, looking perfectly unharmed and extremely amused at the concern written across Tommy’s face.

Tommy sighed. “Quit giving me heart attacks kid, you’re gonna kill me,” he groaned, unable to keep the endearment out of his voice. “C’mon, let me show you what else you can do with snow.”

For the next half hour, the two of them worked tirelessly on a giant snowman. Tommy held up Michael so he could add the small sticks and pebbles to the topmost snowball in the vague arrangement of a face. He thought it looked suspiciously similar to Ranboo, but made no complaints, happy that the toddler was having fun. After Michael added the last touch, a wreath of leaves that resembled a crown, Tommy set him down, and the two of them admired their handiwork.

“Not bad, Big Mike,” he said, nodding his approval. At that exact moment, the snowman’s head decided to slip off onto the ground, landing in a pile of ice, sticks, and leaves. Tommy and Michael looked at each other for several seconds, then simultaneously burst out laughing.

“I’ve always wanted to knock down Ranboo’s head like that,” he joked. Michael playfully slapped his leg.

“Wanna explore the rest of Snowchester?” asked Tommy. Micheal nodded eagerly. He scooped up the boy in his arms and started making his way across the ice. “We can’t go too far because your dads might see us, and we need to be back home soon,” Tommy informed him, “but I think we can go to the dock. Let’s fuckin’ go!”

Before long they were standing on the wooden planks, staring out at the sea. Tommy sat on the edge and held Michael in his lap, hands wrapped securely around his waist so he didn’t fall into the freezing water below.

“Pretty, isn’t it?” he asked the toddler. The sea stretched in an endless expanse before them, glittering as it reflected the rays of the afternoon sun. Chunks of ice floated in the water, dotting the scene like sparse freckles. The occasional breeze blew across the water, creating tiny ripples and waves in the sea’s texture. It was truly a sight to behold.

The two of them stayed like that for a long time, admiring the scene that Michael had up until then only viewed from his bedroom window. It was definitely much better in person, and Tommy vowed to himself that he would take Michael out here much more often, Tubbo and Ranboo’s rules be damned.

Tommy could never get tired of watching the sunset. His eyes refused to leave the horizon as the sun inched closer and closer to the sea. With a start, he realized that over an hour had passed, and his two friends were due to be home any moment.

“Shit, shit, fuck,” he mumbled to himself. He set Micheal down beside him and got up, stretching. Michael let out a whine of protest. “I know, I know, I don’t want to go back either, big man, but your parents are gonna fuckin’ kill me.” He lifted Micheal into his arms, who rested his head on Tommy’s shoulder. “See? You’re getting sleepy. Even more of a reason to go back.”

Michael yawned in reply, and Tommy's heart melted for the hundredth time that day. He slowly made his way back to Tubbo’s house, careful not to jostle the drowsy toddler too much.

Getting Michael through the door and back up the ladder was a challenge in it of itself, but finally they were back in Michael’s room. Tommy helped Michael out of his extra layers and dried him off with a towel. Before long, it looked like nothing had ever happened, and Tommy grinned in satisfaction at his superior babysitting skills.

“Here’s a golden carrot for being a fuckin’ excellent partner in crime,” he told Michael, handing him one from his personal stash. Michael giggled in delight.

Tommy crawled into Michel’s bed and lifted the toddler on top of him. “Time for bed, kid,” he whispered. Michael finished up the last of his carrot, then curled into Tommy’s sweater. His eye drifted shut, and soon he was fast asleep, light snores filling the quiet room.

That scene was how Tubbo and Ranboo were greeted upon returning home: Tommy holding Michael gently, the two of them curled up against each other and knocked out cold.

“I can’t believe that actually worked,” whispered Ranboo in amazement. “I thought for sure I’d come back to the house on fire or something.”

“Tommy can be very competent when he wants to be,” Tubbo informed him. The two of them cooed as Michael sneezed in his sleep, then curled deeper into Tommy’s chest. “Anyways, now I have blackmail material.” He took a picture of his sleeping son and best friend and smiled in glee. “Oh, Tommy is gonna be pissed.”

However, to Tubbo’s surprise, Tommy’s only reaction to the photo the next day was a request for Tubbo to send him a copy, and an assurance that he could count on him the next time he needed someone to babysit Michael.

Huh.

[atypicalacademic]

26 + 27 for Haider, Sybilla, and Balam!

26. What does your character’s home look like? Personal taste?

Haider: Tidy, warm, well-lit and crowded with houseplants. Home is Haider's sanctuary, it's his source of strength. He's always adding little touches to it- embroidering a new pillowcase, carving a new wooden jar for his spices (the kitchen cabinets are packed, btw), adding flourishes to the handpainted murals on the walls- they're the favorite fauna and flora of everyone he loves. The house he grew up in before his parents died, by the Catclaw desert, he repurposed into a studio- most of his full-fledged paintings are there, but he has some favorites at his own house in Vesuvia too. And sketchbooks galore.

Sybilla: She doesn't really put down roots, but she does like her luxury. Syb has a bunch of plush suites bought up and down nearly ever major city she frequents. When she doesn't live in them, she doesn't spare them too much thought, and since she doesn't take permanent residence, till much later, in Venterre, there aren't a lot of personal touches to them. Think plush fur rugs and deep green silk sheets, chandeliers and high ceilings, and many ostentatious lamps. But when she's living there with one of her sugar babies, she subtly redecorates it to cater to their comfort. Lucio's the one person allowed to do it for her in return.

Balam: A mess, really. Technically, she lives with Portia at her cottage (or at the Palace with Nahara, ofc), but she does have her lil haunt in the city and it's a mess. Balam doesn't actually buy a lot of stuff As Furniture, so it's more just a jumble of pillows and carpets strewn across the floor. She actually likes sitting on the floor to work, so it does sort of fit. It's still very colorful, because Balam's very fond of color, if only disjointed enough to be rather trippy. The one thing she does like collecting deliberately are pretty painted ashtrays. Contrast this with her sister's immaculate apartment in the Heart District tbh. Thangam never visits Balam there, it'd spike the poor girl's blood pressure and she's only 19.

27. How do they relate to their appearance? How do they wear their clothing? Style? Quality?

Haider: Sticks to one style that works, really. His kurta/sherwani-pyjama, pretty scarves and jewelry has never failed him, and they're versatile enough for any occasion. You can never see him without the henna painted up to his elbows, or the anklets, at least. He's very picky about his fabrics too, be it simple cotton or silk- the man likes his embroidery, he likes his brocade. Haidi likes the way he looks, and dressing up is a routine that grounds him. He certainly enjoys the attention his good looks get him, too, even if he's tongue tied and blushing more than half the time.

Sybilla: Tailored suits, hats and gloves- usually, though not always, in colors like olive green and deep red. She likes to dress more to show off/ intimidate, rather than to look pretty, I guess. Syb likes to present herself as a certain kind of aloof, which she does- when she was younger, and her persecution complex was at its worst, she did a lot of things to disguise herself- like dye her silver hair in many colors, mostly travel with her face hidden- things like that. Even her tattoos are layer of that secrecy- a layer of protection against vulnerability, as it were. Even now, that she doesn't hide, the shininess is it's own mask, it's own security. She doesn't wear a lot of makeup though, she thinks it's a bother. Sybilla's prideful, and confident, but she's not vain in the slightest. I honestly don't think she thinks of herself as particularly beautiful. Growing up, she was a starved, hunted child, and she wanted to be strong way more than she wanted to beautiful. So even now, it's always a pleasant but bewildering surprise when someone sees her as such.

Balam: She never wears anything normally. If it's a sari she'd secure it with tens of dupattas and drape it in ways it's definitely not meant to be draped in- if it's a shirt, it's usually cut up in some asymmetric way. Her anklets are usually mismatched, her bangles are never evenly distributed. She never goes anywhere without her kohl, but by the end of the day, she's smudged it so much she looks like an adorable raccoon. Although she still dresses very East Prakran, usually in a blouse and a wrap-around, she loads up with so many shawls that you can't tell where the outfit starts and ends. It's mostly held together in such a flimsy fashion because she likes showing skin very much. She's also definitely not a dress-for-the-occasion person; time and place is a tyranny her style does not care to accomodate for. I don't think Balam gives a lot of Thought to her physical body unless she needs to (sometimes even then). And enough gays flock to her that she's rather pleased with her attractiveness.

[uhhhhyandere]

👉👈 more yandere dimitri pls,,, that last one you wrote,,,, WHEW

haha idk where this was going or like... what the plot is or even what it’s about... but i had fun HAHAHA and literally all that matters 

so here’s 8k words of purple prose and pointlessness and idk what else i love him so much... also not proofread bc I'm lazy. y’all stan a lazy ass author. 

warnings: gory, death of minor characters, kinda bloody too, injury, manipulation

”It’s stupid. I-I don’t think… I just don’t want to get my hopes up, Annie. It’s been years…” With Garreg Mach looming on the cliffside, memories began to resurface with each field and decrepit village you, Annette, and Mercedes passed. They were fields where you would train relentlessly in the early hours of the day. An excuse, you think, to see him more. Innocent enough. Who wouldn’t want to improve their skill with the future King of Faerghus? Under those very trees is where you would have clandestine meetings at the same time beginning after the celebration of your victory at the Battle of the Eagle and Lion. Undeniably, the best night of your life. 

You silently thanked Sylvain for slipping into the wine cellars and claiming you all had to finish the stolen bottles and clear the evidence. The only people still okay enough that night to do any cleaning were Mercedes and Dedue. Felix was technically okay too, but he left far before Annette was vomiting in the washroom to actually help out. 

Your drunken first kiss at your bedroom door that Dedue definitely did not see. The sober one the day after. The sneaky one after breakfast. Quick one after training. Goddess, the heavy one in the dead of night after you scurried upstairs that Sylvain and Felix one hundred percent did not overhear through the paper-thin walls of the dorms. Countless kisses under the shadow of covers, night, until the ball. If everyone and their mothers didn’t suspect something was up when you two did not even realize you were the only pair left dancing, all eyes on you, until Sylvain whistled from the crowd, well, you would be deathly concerned about them.

“But those memories are from a long time ago, Mercie.” You pulled yourself from your thoughts. “Thinking about them only hurts. This place, what’s left of it, only hurts.” Mercedes set a gentle hand on your shoulder. “You think after five whole years, it wouldn’t hurt as much, but I don’t think I’ll be okay until this war is over. Until the cause of this - of all this pain and misery - is put to rest. Back then, even if we could have died at the end of any month, I thought he was invincible. I fled Fhirdiad as soon as I heard. Like a coward.”

“You can’t honestly think that! The Empire was taking the city. If you stayed, you could have died too! Don’t think like that.” You rolled your head back to look at the dark sky. You would make it back before it starts, at the very least. 

“Everyone grieves in different ways, and it courses through us all at different paces. You have to let yourself hurt.” You shook your head, beginning to see the shadow of the village at the base of the monastery. 

“I’ve been hurting for years now. When I met up with Felix in Fraldarius territory, he told me that the distraction will get me killed. An hour later he saved my life in battle, so he's ever the same. I wonder if he decided to show today. Sylvain would inevitably follow then. I’ve always thought--hey, do you hear that?” You stopped your movements suddenly, holding your arms to stop them as well. FIghting. 

“Is it the Empire?”

“I don’t know, but we should help out anyway,” Annette replied. “Come on!” 

You expected the Empire, but you weren’t surprised when you encountered thieves attempting to saunter off with the abandoned riches of the monastery. It was just like any other weekend you were off the road of bandits with the Blue Lions to clear a path for bandits. 

Until you saw him. A ghost. As pale as one, at least. A hulking, nearly unrecognizable mass of strength shrouded in black and blue. Relentless, he tore through his path of thieves, the professor and Gilbert hot on his trail. The… professor? They were alive too? Your hand shook at your side. They’re both… okay? You swallowed. The professor always did tend to micromanage Dimitri. You realized you could not swallow with a closing throat, wobbling along with your chest. Wheezing, crying, freezing in battle. You heard Mercedes and Annette all around you behind a wall of fog. Legs shaking, you fell to the ground, hand tight to your chest. 

“Y/N, come on, get up!” It was Annette’s urging, but she stopped suddenly. Two sets of feet set up around you. A barrier to protect you as your muscles shook. Get up. You have to. Get off the ground and fight. Just as he always taught you. 

Your bow came out quick, sniping an enemy in Mercedes’ blind spot. Before you can do anything, argue it was your imagination that conjured the sound of his grunts and the blue of his eye, you had to survive to see them and keep track of Sylvain in the corner of your eye. He still tended to always look right instead of left. Were you not so shaken up, you would have reacted to seeing the rest of your old house in battle, but your mind kept filtering back. You did not see him again in battle. He and the professor were far ahead, after the familiar bandit you had dealings with from Anna, with the remaining three bandits. You, Annette, and Mercedes went to secure the area to make sure there was no bandit unaccounted for. 

Didn’t last, though, as you fell to the ground against the foundations of a destroyed house, legs outstretched and limp. With your palm being held tightly over your mouth, you squeezed your eyes tight to get any remaining liquid out.

“Y/N…” 

“H-he’s alive.” 

“We know. We saw-”

“He’s alive. I spent five years grieving for someone who was here. I-I should have known he was here. I thought about it. I thought about it, but then I second-guessed myself and said that it would only hurt more. Searching for the dead. Pining for them, but look. I-I don’t know. I don’t know if I can even face him.”

“And you don’t want to.” Felix’s voice was just as sharp as it always was. He was grimacing, pace fast as he joined the three of you. “He is not the Prince you fell in love with. He’s the boar that’s been festering underneath his polite smile” With an exhale through your nose, you looked away. Felix really could read you like a book. He scoffed. “You knew too, didn’t you? All this time. Of course. I shouldn’t have put it past you to push things under the rug as you always do.” 

“Felix…” 

“It’s true. It’s how they even got through the relationship. Not as perfect as you thought, huh?” 

“Felix, I think that’s enough.”

“No,” you interrupted. “He’s right. I knew. I was at the rebellion. I was at that battle that is ingrained into Felix’s memory. I was in the Holy Mausoleum when we found out the Flame Emperor's identity, but he never told me… I didn’t know the extent. You all knew he would hide me from all harm, including himself. Do you really think he would tell me whatever plagues him now? Though, I could take a good guess after spending a few nights in his room back then.” You swallowed, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “How bad is he?”

“A lowly beast.” 

“There you all are. Professor says to regroup. Says we have plans to discuss, if you all are interested - woah, you okay?” Sylvain scratched the back of his head. “Oh right, yeah. Well, I don’t know how long His Majesty is willing to wait. He looks pretty - uh - impatient.” You shook your head and used the wall to support you back to your feet. 

“Reunions like this are usually supposed to be happy, aren’t they? I-I’m sorry I’m ruining it on you all. I really am so relieved to see you all okay. It’s just… there’s a lot of emotion going on right now.” It was Mercedes’ hand on your back. You needn’t look to know. 

“You don’t have to face anything you aren’t ready for.”

“No, I need to see what he has become. It’s as Felix says. I can no longer ignore problems I must face. I can do it, but we still have to check the perimeter…” Sylvain shook his head. 

“Teach had Ashe and Ingrid do it right after you left.” Your professor always knew you better than you could ever know. “Well, let’s go then. Don’t want to keep them waiting on us too long.” His brown eyes came in close. “You hardly look like you’ve been crying, if that helps.”

“It doesn’t!” Annette stomped on his foot. “Y/N, it’s going to be okay. Me and Mercie are right with you!” A smile broke out on your face. Albeit sad, you nodded your head and believed her. Though you both knew, in the scheme of things, you were alone in this battle. 

“Sorry, teach. You know Felix. Walks like a grandpa.” Sylvain, as common as it is for him to be the asshole, was a kind soul. No matter how much he tried to hide it. You gifted him a small smile of thanks as he glanced back. You were in the back of the small group when you joined the semicircle surrounding Gilbert, Byleth and… and… you couldn’t do this. 

His hair has grown long and unkempt. Grease and grime painted his hair, his skin, his clothes. The armor he wore just a few shades darker than the circles under his single remaining eye but, oh, it still glittered brighter than the rainy sky. That was his eye. Though only one remained, it was his. This was your Dimitri. You clenched your teeth, for you could not cry anymore. Even if this Dimitri, from what you have heard, would not care for your tears, Dimitri five years ago would. You would stay strong for him if no one else. 

And when his eye met yours, goddess, the jolt was felt down your spine. You knew your face screamed your emotions. You were no Felix, Slyvain, or Byleth. Lips parting, your breath halted as he kept your gaze. Nothing on him reacted. Goddess, his gaze was so much more piercing. You did not dare to move.  As if you were a stranger, his eye flicked back to Gilbert as the knight continued to speak. Annette grabbed your hand from beside you and you squeezed so hard you watched her wince, yet she remained steadfast in holding yours just as tight. 

For the mornings spent under the trees in the field after training, you would not cry. Dimitri is alive. He is here. A few steps away, though miles remained in between, he was alive. Within his dead eye, people will find hope. You will find hope. You know Gilbert already has as he speaks about returning to the monastery to begin to plan for the retaliation against the Empire. You know the former Blue Lions have as well, as they follow the professor loyally back up the ruined stairs you used to trip on far too often. You wondered if Dimitri can feel your eyes on the back of his head, or if he has come to be numb to that as well. 

Annette did not let go of your hand until it was out of shock in the chapel. Its remnants littering the floors. Still, the peace of the goddess remained. Its silence was a lullaby to your worries. She, it had to be her, brought back the ones you love most. There was no other power. There couldn’t have been. Even though there was a hole where she used to stand, you thanked the rain beginning to pour in.

You would be strong for the boy Dedue would sneak you to in the dead of night. To wherever the Duscur man maybe, you would do it for him, too. 

But being brave and strong was always easy for the people in Ashe’s books. They did not hesitate through their fear. It pushed them to be the heroes they are, but you could not find that platform to jump from. A mouse approaching a wolf, a boar. You sought help from the expert himself. 

“Have you? I mean, have you tried to talk to him?” Ashe fiddled with the padding on his glove. 

“No, not yet. Felix, Ingrid, Sylvain, and Mercedes have, though. You should ask them. They can probably be more help than me.” Stepping onto the wall separating Garreg Mach from the cliff, you sat next to him, allowing your feet to dangle in the open air. 

“No, I think I need someone as scared as me. Someone who wants to be a knight from one of your books, but is the measly coward in the back used for poetic comparisons. Not that you are. I’m talking about me.” Ashe shook his head. 

“It’s only been a few days since we’ve arrived.”

“And you think I would have already sought out the man I fell in love with already? A faithful reunion. Not quite like the ones in the romances.” 

“I don’t think anything going on is anything like a book.” You furrowed your brows. “I know that’s crazy coming from me, but no book is like another. They have similarities, but they are all inherently different. This one we’re in now, this is ours. This is what people will be reading about and looking to for help. Us. No book can help us right now. I think only we can help ourselves and each other.” You kicked your heel against the wall repeatedly. It wasn’t what you wanted to hear. “You should try. If Dimitri will listen to anyone, it’s you or the professor, and they tried already.” You could feel your throat beginning to close up.

“What do I even say? What if I say the wrong thing? He’s hurt, Ashe. He always has been. I don’t want to… I can’t push him more. He’s not off the deep end yet. He can’t be. I don’t want to be the final straw. I know what I’ll say if I get too… emotional.” The man sighed, green eyes scanning the clouds. 

“Well, from my humble opinion, which you don’t have to take, is that, if what you’re saying is true, you’re hurting him by avoiding him.” He stopped fiddling with the leather. Instead, he placed his hand on your thigh. “He is, deep down, the same Dimitri we know. What if he was the same, and you were doing this?”

“That’s debating if he is the same underneath. Knights are torn, but I know he’s there. He wouldn’t so easily feed into it. I know it. It may be time and so much help, but he’s in there. This is part of him. This is not an imposter. This is just as much of him as the one we knew so well. It… has to be, because I don’t know what I’m going to do if it’s not.”

Nights seem to be falling earlier and earlier with nonstop cleaning, repairs, and supply running. Even if you wanted to, you lacked the time to seek the prince out. The greenhouse had to be fixed. The rubble had to be cleared. The holes had to be patched. Communication had to be made. Word was the Knights of Seiros would be arriving this evening. Preparations had to be made for that. How the hell did Cyril do this day-in and day-out? 

You were exhausted by the time Seteth and company arrived and set to meet in the chapel. The second time you’ve seen Dimitri since the bandits. The millionth time war efforts were to be discussed. Most of that work was carried out by Byleth and Gilbert. You only needed to follow orders, and your orders were to clean. Sorting out your emotions was just a side job.

“Y/N. Y/N. Are you listening?” Seteth’s scolding, something etched into your brain from the academy, broke you from your thoughts. However, you first regarded Dimitri, who looked at you the same as he did the first time, before having the courage to look at Seteth. 

“I-I’m sorry. Lost in my own thoughts.” 

“I asked if you have heard anything from Aegir? I know you were in contact with Ferdinand during the past five years.” Dimitri’s eye burned holes through your head. You could feel the sweat from it on your scalp. 

“Duke Aegir has been placed under house arrest, sir. Everything from their title and land has been stripped from them. I… haven’t heard anything since. It would be safe to presume that they will not be an in with the Empire.” Yours and Ferdinand’s history stretches only back to the academy; however, before you and Dimitri became official, you and he would occasionally… work some stress out. Casually. Dimitri always hated this fact, but he did his best to hide the jealousy from you.

“It’s not fair of me to judge you on what you have done in the past,” he said. “I will be more mature about my feelings.” Though the gleam in his eye now was all too familiar. 

“I see. Thank you.” Something within you kept you from meeting Dimitri’s eye. A fear he would look away, so you focused on Seteth, Gilbert, and Byleth as they discussed the steps to making Garreg Mach the Kingdom’ base. When the meeting ended, however, you did not listen to such fear. Dimitri spent his time in the chapel. The spectacle to gawk at. It was no surprise when he did not move as the rest of the group disperse, and neither did you. 

But he would not break first. Turning around, his cape followed him back towards the wreckage of where the altar used to be. You followed with steps as silent as possible. Opening your mouth to speak, you released only empty air. Inhaling, you tried once again, but a wall erected itself in your throat, cutting you off once more. 

“If you have something to say, speak.” His words, guttural, reverberated in you. Wringing your hands together, you took one last deep breath. 

“Dimitri.” 

“Do you wish to speak of the past?” His head turned, so you could only see one eye peeking from under his bangs. “The boy you loved is long dead. There is nothing here for you.” You shook your head and took an adamant step forward. 

“T-that’s not true.” A dry laugh escaped him.

“Is it not? Are you not frightened of me? Is it not why you have hidden yourself ever since you arrived? You know it as well as I.” You tapped your fingers against your thigh. You had to remain calm and patient. He was going to try to push you away, and you knew that. Do not stray from the path. 

“It was not you I was scared of, Dimitri.” Another laugh. This one wry. He turned around to face you then. You knew he had gotten bigger, stronger, but he stood so much higher than you. A power stance you would not succumb to. This is the same boy who broke a pair of scissors and was scared Mercedes would yell at him and smuggled sweets for you two to have late at night to study for your certification exams. “Do not tell me it is because you think you could have changed something. Prevented something. Nothing would have changed whether you were here in the past five years or not. Do not think so much of yourself.” 

You squared your shoulders. You did not want to take this route, but you had to provoke some type of emotion towards you. Something to tell you that you are more than the tool of war to use against Edelgard, and he had already given you a hint. 

“Then what about at that meeting, when Seteth asked me about Ferdinand? I saw the look you gave me. I’ve seen it before too. You cannot hide that.” His jaw clenched, and for a moment, you felt successful. “You can say anything you want. How I am insignificant, a tool to use, another body to die in your path to revenge, but do not-” you pointed a finger at him “-tell me what we had was nothing. I want to see what you see. I don’t want you to shut me out.” His eyes trailed down to your finger, and with an armored, gloved hand, pushed it aside. 

“So you admit it then? A tool at my disposal. To use and then break?” You shook your head, and your throat clenched once again. 

“You would add me to the list of people who already haunt you?” 

“You know nothing of the dead. Of what they say to me. There is nothing for me to be concerned about other than taking the head off of that girl’s shoulders. Should you die getting in my way, then so be it.” His lance to the heart, but you would not let the pain show. He was the same boy who broke his training lance and hit Leonie with the broken handle and fretted about it for the next month, despite the blood on his hands. You had to believe that. Latch on to that single hope. 

“You always did what you could to protect me. From Demonic Beasts, bandits, Felix’s words, but right now, I think you’re protecting me from yourself.” Metal against your neck. In a blink of an eye, his lance touches the skin. 

“Do not speak as if you know me, and do not speak anymore, or else I will slice your throat where you stand. Go away. If you return, I will not hold back, and I will use you to the bone.” A competition played out between your eyes, but, in the end, you succeeded. Walking out the monastery with a drop of blood on your neck, you did not allow any other droplets to fall until you crossed the bridge into the reception hall. 

You don’t who you cried for, or for how long until Catherine found you and guided you back to your room. Thoughts floated from Dimitri, his words, the past, to Dedue and his untimely passing and your peers that were now your enemies that Dimitri was ready to kill without hesitation and the reality of your death that could come in any battle here on forth.  

Three knocks on your door. Too hard to be Ashe’s, Mercedes’, or Annette. Not hard enough to be Felix yelling at you to train like he used to when he could find no one else. 

“Sorry. I was just passing by, and, well, wanted to check in.” The last thing you wanted Sylvain saying was that he heard your balling your eyes out. With shaky hands, you wiped your burning cheeks and unlocked the door for him to enter. “Oh, what happened? What’s that bandage from? Don’t tell me…” You motioned for the noble to come in and relocked the door. You didn’t want any more visitors. 

“Yeah, I talked to him.” 

“He hurt you?”

“I went too far. I-I shouldn’t have pushed him so deep into his emotions, presuming things he felt. It was just a scratch. I’m fine. You have the eye, Sylvain. You must have noticed the meeting.” You sat on your bed, while he spread himself on your desk chair. 

“I remember he used to come to me during those times. How he can show his love for you through other means. How he had lost you before even had a chance to try. He was so stressed, and so hopelessly into you. I thought he had it for the professor, but color me surprised when he sought me out for advice on you.” You shook your head. 

“Never should have started that with Ferdinand.” 

“Something about nobles, huh?” 

“Shut up, Sylvain. I-Look, I can’t even focus on the past right now. I use it to remind myself I’m talking to my Dimitri, and not the monster everyone fears. That, that man suffering alone in that chapel is the boy who got nervous every time we kissed, but… but it’s so hard. As soon as I saw him that day, I was shocked, overjoyed, but I knew something was wrong the same minute. He’s been alone for five years. By himself. The only people to talk to him were the dead. What kind of… I’m supposed to be the one that knows this, sees this, and helps this, but all I can do is cry in my damned room!” Sylvain was lighting fast to wrap his arms around you, and you clung on tighter to his shoulders. The sleeve of his shirt, the victim of your tears, saliva, and sobs until you had pushed your own self out of consciousness. 

When you woke the next morning, your head lied on a breathing pillow. It did not take much to recall the previous night and you let yourself relax under human contact. It was something you have missed dearly in the past five years, and you know, despite his reputation, Sylvain would never try anything with you. Your eyes, heavy still from crying so hard, lazily trailed across the room. The window Dimitri almost broke with his lance, the desk you both hunched over figuring out the mathematical side of tactics, the potted plant the professor gave you for your birthday that Dimitri also broke, but replaced with the long dead ones present. The broken locks on your door from - 

“Sylvain!” You jolted up, slapping his chest harshly. He woke with a groan while you stood and approached the door. 

“Mm, what?”

“Did you hear anything last night? Banging, or snapping, after I fell asleep?” He rubbed your pillow over his face, so you approached him, tore it from his hands, and smacked him. “Sylvain. My door is broken.” Brown eyes were wide and glowing under the sun from the window. He rushed to check out the damage. “I think I know who would have…” He met your eyes. “Which means he saw - “

“Yeah, I get it. I’m a dead man.” You shook your head. 

“Hey, hey, not yet. We could try to guess why he would come in here.” Sylvain rolled his eyes. 

“Isn’t it obvious? It isn’t to kill you. He already would have been in the chapel. Oh - we messed up. We messed up big time. I’m so sorry, Y/N.” You put your hand on his arm.

“It’s not your fault. You were here when I was sobbing. I can’t be mad at you for that. I’m mad at this whole situation. This war. Everything. You just need to avoid him at all costs. Stay with someone. Felix most likely. We could explain the situation to him, so he understands, and so he doesn’t think we… you know.”

“I get it. I get it.” 

....

“Absolutely not.” 

“Felix, it’s only until I get this sorted.” Felix groaned, tying his hair back. 

“I’m not playing babysitter, and I’m not letting you handle this on your own. You’ll get yourself killed.” You shook your head. 

“He wouldn’t kill me.”

“He actually told you he would.”

“But he wouldn’t. I trust that he wouldn’t, and if one of the two of us were to approach him, it could not be you. Out of the question. It would have to be me, and you both know that, and it has to be as soon as possible. I mean, as in-”

“Have you all seen Dimitri?” Ingrid popped around the corner. “It’s the Empire - they’re coming. Gear up and get ready. We don’t know what forces they’re bringing, but we cannot allow them to take the monastery again.” Of course, of all times. 

“We’ll worry about this later. Do not let this distract you on the battlefield. Focus on surviving and nothing else. Got it?” Felix held a finger to your face. You nodded. “Good. Come on, Sylvain. We’ll see you out there.”

Focus on surviving. You were always focused on surviving. Battle was not merely just slaying your enemies. You were the priority. Not the oncoming enemies. That fact never changed during battle. That was the first thing the professor taught you; however, his selfless behavior on the battlefield would have anyone thinking twice. When it comes to fighting with people you cared about, priority gets muddled. 

Dimitri was no longer focused on surviving. His priority was to kill, slaughter his way to Edelgard. Nothing else mattered. In this way, his fighting has improved tenfold. No reasonable person would want to confront him in physical combat, which made life harder for everybody else. Being a distance fighter, you, Ashe, Annette, and Mercedes were able to watch his back. Of course, Byleth couldn’t risk that many people micromanaging him. For strategy’s sake, it’s suicide. Mercedes was a critical healer and menace being trained a gremory. That source of power would not and could not be squandered. Ashe had worked incredibly hard to be a bow knight, and your most powerful archer can also not be used as a protector of one person. 

The job usually came down to you. Both by order of elimination and by your lack of ability to focus elsewhere. Your eyes were naturally drawn to the splattering blood and the behemoth of a man as the source. Byleth knew this just as well as you. You were the definition of predictable on the battlefield. 

But, the one thing you forgot was that, on a battlefield, nothing is predictable. To be able to predict the cavalier was able to reach you with his javelin was precautionary, week-one lessons, but, still, it sunk into your side. Unimaginable pain. The raw snap of impact. Warm blood cascading down your leg. Think… think! You had to get somewhere safe. Somewhere an imperial soldier wouldn’t finish you off. Hopefully, someone else would take care of that soldier before they reached you. 

Each inch was crippling. The gathering of bushes and trees seemed so far, and your energy was slipping exponentially fast. You’d be out from blood loss in due time. It even began to drip from your mouth and onto the already stained grass. Almost there. The moment your foot crossed the threshold to the hideaway, you went lip on your back. Smoke and flames met the already decaying sky. 

You glanced down your body. The javelin was at least a third in your body. Getting it out would just expedite the process, so you allowed yourself to lie your head back. Distant shouts and screams and metal clashing filled the air. The smell of the earth around you drowned out by the putrid scent of burning flesh. Something you never take note of while fighting for your life. 

Peace was not a word to use in these places, but you had no other one to use as you lied still. Is this what Dimitri meant? You wondered what he would think and say when he heard, or even saw, your death. Your death. Another nameless, pointless death in Edelgard’s ruthless path to her goal. You can see Mercedes and Annie crying. Maybe even Sylvain and Ingrid. Felix, perhaps, would cry, but you were sure he’d be pissed at you. And Dimitri… 

You sobbed. Perhaps you really were worthless, but you wanted to hope, to pray that he would be there each time you opened your eyes back to the gruel world around you. Each time, he wasn’t. 

Until he was. 

Blood dripped down his face, none of which was his own. It matted down his locks and dripped from each lock. Areadbhar glowed in his hand and dragged across the flattened grass and mud. The air was only able to jostle the very ends of his hair. His mouth opened, canines peeking from the corner of his lips. Leaving the smoke and fire behind him, Dimitri got larger and larger. 

Goddess, he was beautiful. Even as he stared with an empty eye down at you, you couldn’t help but gasp. An angel of death. You moved to rise, but the rip of his lance on your breast pushed you back down. His eye traversed down your figure to your wound. The weapon rose and fell with your breath. 

“Dimitri,” you breathed out. 

“I told you, did I not?” His chin rose and Areadbhar’s tip dug just a hair deeper. “Foolish Y/N. You are too weak for the thick of battle.” You squeezed your eyes shut. “But you will not die by imperial hands. I will not allow it. If you are to die, it will be by my hands.” Your fists gripped the grass. Dimitri hummed. “You won’t say that I wouldn’t? Or do you finally realize the truth?” 

“If you’re going to do it, just do it. Neither of us need this “ -you coughed -”stalling.” His elbow retracted and you winced, ready for the final blow.

“Y/N!” Sylvain. At the silence that followed, you peeked an eye open. Dimitri was focused on the source of the voice, giving you room to squiggle away until he forced the lance forward again. This time, the tip traced your left cheekbone. “Y/N!” Dimitri was daring you to speak, but, right now, you could hardly breath. 

“You said you were not scared of me, before. Are you scared now?” He paused. “You said you want to see what I see. Do you keep your word? Do you honor it?” Were you supposed to answer? Fear crippled your ability to formulate words. “You will not die yet.”  Areadbhar’s glow now dominated your left visual field. 

In a second, everything in that field went black, and you screamed. 

…

“I watched you go down,” Felix said. “You were at the higher ground, where you usually are in the midst of battle. You might as well have painted a target on your back if I can see you from across the plain, you idiot. That javelin went into your side,” amber eyes locked onto the bandages covering your side, “but I watched nothing touch your eye.” 

Thank the goddess for Manuela and Mercedes. Without an expertise in white magic, you would be long dead. By the same token, thank the goddess for Sylvain who found you bloody and passed out in the cover of the bushes and delivered you to them on horseback. 

Your fingers traced the bandages that wrapped around your head and covered your left eye. Everything to your left periphery and everything not covered by your right eye was black. It didn’t throb, didn’t hurt anymore, because there were no more nerves to send that pain to your brain. 

“What happened, Y/N?” Ingrid cut in. Her, Felix, and Annette stood around your bed in the medical bed. You shook your head. 

“I… I don’t remember. The last thing I recall is crawling towards the cover. I don’t even know if I got there.” 

“Liar.” Felix abruptly stood. “Stop defending that boar, and just say it.” Your mouth opened, but Ingrid cut him off. 

“Felix, are you saying you think Dimitri took her eye?” 

“I know it,” he snapped back. “I’m right, aren’t I, Y/N? Just say it. Say that beast took your eye while we were all distracted in battle.” Your eyes glanced to the others, unconsciously asking for help. 

“Felix, you’re adding unnecessary stress. Come on. We should give them space. We’re lucky they’re not dead” Her hand locked onto Felix’s arm. He grimaced, glaring down at you while he shook himself from her grip. 

“When will you ever start caring about yourself? There is more death than just physical.” He spit out before stomping out of the room. Ingrid sent you a sympathetic smile and followed her childhood friend out. Annette left soon as well under the excuse of giving you time to rest, but you could not rest. Dimitri’s face haunted you every time your working eye closed. Every throb was its own lance. Its own mark. 

His mark. 

You thought you were crazy the first time you reflected on why you and Dimitri’s eye total was the same as a normal human being. You thought you were insane for romanticizing it. It was terrifying. Inhumane. To you, at least, but to him, you knew, it was a mark of possession. That when people saw you, thought of you, it would always be connected to him, but it was also a threat. Not only to those who dare try to do you harm that isn’t him, but to you. I told you. This is what you get and will continue to get. 

You waited until the sun set, until the priests and priestesses would no longer be in your room to cry, so your pathetic cries of anguish would be bouncing off the walls in peace. Curling in on yourself, you buried your chin between your arms and stared into the dark room. Waiting and watching, a large silhouette emerged from the darkest corner and approached. Cold claws of his armor wiped away the tears on one cheek while simultaneously breaking the skin. You could only barely make him out through the moonlight in the open window next to you. Dimitri circled the bed, looking down at you from the side before bending down and planting his lips on your cheek. His warm tongue wiped at the newfound beads of blood, and you hissed at the contact. He separated himself just enough to look at the bandages around your eye. 

“I get it,” you said. “I get it.” 

…

Luckily (as lucky as you can get during the situation), the damage cut clean through the nerves, so all ganglion cells and connections to the optic nerve were completely severed. No nerves. No signal to the brain. No pain. Still, it would be a while before the tissue repaired and scabbed over. 

You didn’t know what to do with Dimitri, frankly. Part of you was terrified to even approach him. Another was equally as terrified, but this was out of what he would do if you were with someone else again. You were sure of the correlation between your broken door and your stolen eye. You wonder, then, what else he could have seen? Sparring with Felix or advice sessions with Ashe or… too many instances come to mind. 

Byleth pushed you to train more with your periphery severely impacted, and, when the time to march came, confined you to Garreg Mach until you were proficient enough not to get yourself killed. 

“Good,” was all Dimitri said on the matter. It wasn’t until your assault into the Empire that Byleth deemed you ready for actual battle. Up until then, you spent your time training. First, it was with the knights, until all of a sudden they no longer desired to raise arms with you. Something about the demon over your shoulder. You looked to Catherine, who glanced to the door, where a large shadow quickly disappeared. You inhaled sharply and pursued. 

“No one is willing to train with me. Do you have something to do with it?” 

“They can’t help you,” he responded. He quickly strode down familiar, overgrown paths down to the fields below until you both reached the same field he had trained with you in years ago. Dimitri spun around, raising his lance. “They don’t understand.” From your blindspot, he swung, and you barely dodged out of the way, feeling the very wind from the force. “Get up and arm yourself.” You quickly shuffled to your feet.

“Why? Aren’t you… don’t you plan to kill me, anyway?” 

“Equip yourself. I will not have filthy empire hands decide your demise, and I won’t have you staying behind on your own.” You gave up on trying to read into him. “Now, fight.” 

It was brutal. Unlike the helpful and cautious nature of his corrections and demands, you learned through mistakes. If your leg got slashed, you moved it the next time. If you were pushed and forced to one side, you adjusted your posture for the next time. Dimitri gave you no breaks, no time to tend to the cuts and bruises he gave you. There was hardly time to catch your breath before he was charging again, forcing your back against a nearby oak. He seemed to not be bothered or fatigued at any point. 

It would not be the first time your back was pinned against this very tree. Dimitri growled, his weapon lodged into the wood right behind your ear. A moment passed where it was five years ago, hands tight on your hips and heavy breaths swallowed by one another. Now, he pulled his weapon back and went in for another strike. 

“It’s dark. I think we need to go back.”

“You think they will not use the guise of darkness? That we will always fight when the sun is out? Arm yourself.” 

You limped back to Garreg Mach. The only real guide you had, with Dimitri’s brutal pace, was his footstep imprints and the sound of him pressing on. By the time you reached the gate, you nearly collapsed with Dimitri far ahead. Thank the goddess Anna was around to get help. Byleth’s dark cape flew behind them as they rushed through the market. They rushed you, as fast as you could go on weak legs, to the same bed you were confined to with your eye. Manuela dropped the elixir in her hand as you and your entourage busted through her door. 

“Goddess, what happened?! No matter. Get them inside.” 

Felix was going to kill you. 

But still, when you were able, you met Dimitri again in the same field. And again. And again. Until you were no longer on the verge of death each nightfall when you returned. Your former housemates did not hesitate to chastise you or even micromanage you, but, inevitably, they had to do their own work, and you set off. Felix gave you an innumerable amount of choice words before it seemed he gave up.

You were confident heading into the empire. No opponent you would face, close up or far, was Dimitri. They were far smaller, thinner, and weaker. You’d even say they seemed to have less physical intent to kill you compared to the blonde. You traded in your bandages to a white eyepatch similar to Dimitri’s except there was still padding for the raw skin underneath. Something that inevitably drew enemy forces towards you. 

“Y/N?” Despite the cruel, ruthless nature of battle, Ferdinand’s voice held the same noble gentleness. Your eye, wide and wild, met his. Across a stretch of corpses, the redhead stood tall, long hair matted down in the wind. You swallowed. “Y/N!” He called again, eyes wide behind you. In a split second, you turned to see an armored knight’s axe impending down on you. The next, a lance impaling them that breezed from over your shoulder. 

“You killed your own man.”

“He almost killed you.” You hurried to dislodge his weapon from the body.

“...Thank you,” you muttered, handing the lance back to him. Your eyes rose to behind his shoulder. “F-Ferdinand!” Your warning came too late. Dimitri’s blunt force knocked him to the ground. There was no warning, no room for words, before the sickening sound of death cracked in front of you. Again… and again… and again. You squeezed your eyes shut. 

“Keep your eyes open. This? Was your fault.” Blood splattered onto his pale features, adding to the pattern already decorating his skin. “Let’s go. Stay by me.” Not that you usually didn’t. Still, your legs would not move. Not with the fresh corpse between the two of you. “What?” Dimitri hissed out. “Are you upset? He was just another body in our way... unless it was something more to you?” You shook your head, taking a hold of your bow tighter. “Good. Let’s go.” Dimitri did not bother to even look back, and you… you could not even look down, and hurried to follow. 

You didn’t sleep for days. Ferdinand’s kind smile on your mind. You did not dare tell anyone of his gruesome demise. Though, looking at the detail, the monstrous nature of it, it didn’t take too much  thought to guess who was responsible for it. You couldn’t even bring yourself to celebrate Dedue’s return. The thing about him though was that he never let too many things go unnoticed. 

“How are you?” He simply asked, and you lost it. 

“-I couldn’t do anything. I-I couldn’t! Or… or I didn’t. Oh, goddess, I don’t know.” Your hands shook in front of you. “He can do what he will to me, but to others? Because of me? I… fuck. I couldn’t tell anyone. Felix and co. are already suspicious enough.” 

“I am sorry. I know those words do not mean much now, but, for what it is worth, I am.” He paused, furrowing his brows and focusing on the ground. “I-,”

“Y/N.” Dimitri hulked in the doorway. Where the hell does he come from? Dedue stood promptly. 

“Your Highness,” he greeted. Dimitri briefly regarded the Duscur man before focusing on you once again. 

“Come,” he said, and you followed, wishing Dedue a small farewell. Dimitri’s cape glided against the concrete. He led you across the bridge and into the empty echoes of the cathedral. It was far too late for any priests or students to linger. Especially with Dimitri lurking around in the late hours. “You still think about him.” 

“I still think about his death,” you carified. 

“Do not tell me you mourn for a man who was going to imprison you.” You scoffed. 

“He saved me.” 

“In order to take you back to the empire for information. Who else would he like to obtain than the one he grew feelings for? Do not be so naive to think he saved you so altruistically.” Your teeth dug into your bottom lip. 

“You don’t know that.” 

“I do. You and I both know how war works. Do you think Edelgard and her army would not use every former connection to get ahead? There is no line on the path to victory.  Being weak, showing compassion, is just how you get killed. How the enemy wins.” You shook your head. 

“You said you were going to kill me. Did you not save me for that reason? My death is the same no matter whose hands it is by. It will have the same impact. One less body between Edelgard and you.” Dimitri’s eye glanced downwards, then shot back up to meet yours with a small chuckle. 

“Are you not already dead? Have you not already succumbed to the wills of those who control your mind? Have you not already become your own form of monster?” You shook your head and took a step back.

“N-no, I’m not.” 

“You are not? You allow these cuts and bruises to litter your body. You allow your own eye to be stolen. You allow others to die. You allow all of this without consequence. You are a worse kind of monster: the one that allows another to live, to unleash without consequence. You hardly see the others anymore. You do not train with them, eat with them. They tend to your wounds and you run to get more.” Metal fingers gripped your chin and forced your head upwards. “I told you I would kill you, and I have.” 

HIs kiss was fire compared to the ice of his armor pushing against you. All-consuming, Dimitri’s lips molded to yours and his teeth pierced your skin. He licked at your lips, and you willingly opened your maw to let him in. You willingly allowed him to drown you out, to push you towards a pew and lock you between his body and the wood. He only separated to breath before digging for more, more. His tongue dragged across your own and touched upon your teeth, tasting your intricacies with increasing vigor. He inhaled every exhale you panted into his mouth. These were not the kisses Dimitri five years ago gifted you. 

“You taste the same…” he whispered. “Show yourself to me. Let us be dead together.”