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itsgrimeytime · 5 months

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Magnolia in May (Part Twenty Two) || Rick Grimes (TWD) x Greene!f!reader Regency AU

Parts 1-20, 21...

Taglist: @loliakeoghan23 @belaballs @curlycarley @queenie32 @mgparker

rick grimes taglist: @golden-hoax @mgparker

AVAILABLE ON AO3

Inspiration (in honor of Speak Now Taylor's Version): Enchanted by Taylor Swift.

Summary: Your town was small, not the smallest you knew, but anyone of high fortune was the gossip of the week. Predictably, Richard Grimes was a thing of whispers -rumors of a search for marriage among the grassy hills. You weren't one to buy into town gossip, but something about him... just seemed a little too intriguing.

TW: none.

[[A/N: y'all we got some jealousyyyyy. A little bit of that steam in this one that comes with regency era. Guys, I can't believe I wrote this. I'm like fangirling over my own shit. Just... be ready. Thanks for reading !!! ]]

The ball that Rick was throwing was essentially in your honor -a courting announcement. You weren't particularly sure why he wanted something as big as a ball, but you supposed with the riches he had, it would be an obvious choice.

You hadn't tried to talk him out of it, per se, but you had questioned his intentions.

"Why something so substantial? So big? Isn't it more formal for such a thing to occur between the family?"

"I shall be relentlessly proud to court you, the whole town should know so."

You blushed rather crimson at such a choice of words and failed to question any else.

And you blushed even further crimson when he relayed such sentiments to your Father upon a similar sort of questioning.

The outsiders, however, had no such idea that the ball had a purpose. Some, in fact, believed it was to set up Mr. Grimes and provide him with a higher lady than what the rumors had circulated. Your family wasn't exactly the richest, nor were you the poorest, but to be pursued by Mr. Grimes was something that had a societal line that you did not meet.

So, an appropriate amount of rumors had spiraled from that just as well.

As the rumor mill twirled, the guest list grew longer and the company became more sophisticated. Where women of great fortune went, men of great fortune went.

And you were certain such people would believe to be much over you, perhaps even push you out of the way to get to Mr. Grimes. You were certain such things would happen, and you would retain your grace throughout. At least, hopefully.

It was only a few minutes in, when you lost Mr. Grimes -pulled away by a damsel, or perhaps a father eager to meet such a man. Despite his promises of otherwise, you knew such things would happen and decided to glide around the ballroom.

You were among the first few guests to arrive, including your family, and had watched as the ballroom filled with wide eyes.

Women in the fanciest stitch work you'd ever seen, and men in just the same. Hair perfected, and jewels hanging from their necks, you felt quite out of place. Despite you wearing your best dress, you were still levels below such company.

You supposed you might've looked a little lost, and that's why he approached you.

"Madam," he spoke with a sort of accent you did not recognize, "-are you looking for someone?"

You turned to such a noise and met eyes with a man -one with the stitchery you could hardly believe existed. His hair, blonde, was perfectly retained, and a shiny broach laid square on his left lapel. His aura made you feel quite awkward.

"Yes, in fact," you responded, a little tightly -sort of bittersweet smile, not a true one, "-I'm looking for my sisters, or, rather, my Father."

"Is he in attendance?" He asked, curiously gazing over you, and you felt quite stiff, "-Why would he leave you alone in such a mess? A stunning damsel surrounded by less-than-suitable suitors. It's a recipe for disaster."

"Thank you, sir," you echoed, a little hollow, "-but I argue I can much fend for myself in such situations... with an undesirable suitor."

He seemed to pause, looking at you, "Yes, certainly. You seem to fend for yourself well."

You were silenced, unsure of what to say. The tone he'd reached was quite troubling, and some part of you wished your Father was near. Perhaps, you could wish him there-

"Would you like to dance?" He asked, hand outstretched as if he'd expected such an answer to be yes.

You rather didn't like such assumptions.

"I..." you began, a little lost as to where or what to say -you had a minimal amount of room to breathe here, "-I'm sorry but I cannot. I'm being courted and such a dance would be rather disrespectful to him."

"Has such a man have no respect for you?" He asked, and you merely stood stiller, "-Leaving you to the dogs is quite frowned upon, in fact, do you know where he is now? Has he abandoned you in the most critical sort of event-"

"I certainly have not," spoke a more familiar voice, one that had you calmed within the second. Your arm latched onto his without a second of doubt, and Mr. Grimes surely felt the way your fingers squeezed.

"Mr. Grimes," the man seemed to speak of shock, "-I apologize for such misfortunes, I truly-"

"I will ask you to leave, politely," Mr. Grimes interrupted, "-but if you choose to stay, I will ask much less politely."

"You mean leave the whole event?" He asked, rather quickly -nervously, you noted, "-I believe such a thing is rather severe, is it not?"

"Not at all," Mr. Grimes echoed, something cold in his tone, "-if you've been ineloquently pursuing my lady. Or perhaps on the grounds of you making her uncomfortable, I believe still that such a punishment is not very severe."

"I don't wish to disrespect you-"

"You already have," Mr. Grimes spoke, directly, brash, "-by disrespecting my lady, you have done the same to me. So, I request you leave."

"Very well," the man cleared his throat and stepped toward the exit without so much as another word.

"I am very grateful for such a rescue," you spoke, softly -rubbing your thumb gently onto his sleeve, "-I wasn't sure he would be shaken off easily."

"This is exactly why I wished for such a party," he sighed, dislodging your hand and turning toward you, "-when they know you are courting me, they will leave you be."

"Mr. Grimes," you started, "-as sweet as such an idea sounds, I do not need you to protect me. I'm very well capable, I've dealt with such people all my life."

"I do not wish you to," he hummed, soft and quiet, "-ever again. And I'm certain once it's announced, you will be unbothered. Even if I have to be by your side every outing-"

"Mr. Grimes, I'm capable of being alone-"

"Are you?" He asked, and you found yourself rather speechless, "-What if such a man as the previous comes to approach you? How would you get out of that situation?"

"I'm not-" you echoed, a little lost at such a tone, "-I'm not sure, but I would. Because I have before, I'm not something so weak as to not get a man away from me. Do you believe that I am?"

"No, no," he sighed, something in him faltering, "-you are not weak. I... I suppose I am."

You righted, suddenly seeing a much different Mr. Grimes, "Do you wish to speak outside the ballroom?"

"Not-"

"I believe we should," You leveled with him, "-to explain some things."

"Alright," he echoed, "-but only for a moment."

The two of you stepped out into the hallway, quietly so, avoiding any wandering eyes. It was a matter of honor at such a point, two people should not be sneaking off in such circumstances. Especially without a courting announcement.

The hallway was eerily empty, all staff gathered for the ball -you'd never quite been alone with him like this. Something in your spine stiffened.

"Is this about Lori?" You asked, cutting to the chase, sure, but it was important, "-About the affair?"

"I suppose so," he echoed, a little lost, "-in the grand scheme of things."

"I love you," you started, carefully, he seemed to be hanging onto every word, "-if you don't believe and trust that, I'm not certain we can make it."

"I know," he spoke, grabbing your hands, "-I know you do. I believe with all my heart that you love me."

"But do you trust it?"

"I... I should," he said, openly.

"Mr. Grimes-"

"Please," he interrupted, quietly, "-when we're alone like this call me Rick. I request it."

"Rick," you responded, your mouth cradling such a word -something far too special leaving your lips, "-I'm truly sorry she betrayed your trust, and you know that. But, I am different. A different woman! You must understand my heart is true to you only."

"Y/N-" and something in you startled for a moment but you continued.

"Never have I loved as I do with you," you hummed, something pricking at your eyes, "-I know you have loved before, a great love I'm sure. But I... I love you like nothing- no one else in my life."

"Y/N," it was slower this time, something caught in his throat.

"I love you," you echoed out, hoping he could hear you, "-and perhaps you've said those words before, but I have not. And they mean much more than a simple... simple feeling."

"Y/N," and he spoke it a little breathlessly like he couldn't believe you stood in front of him.

"You must believe th-"

Before you could finish a word, Mr. Grimes had leaned forward and connected his lips to yours. It was a slow sort of endeavor, a gentle press, but filled with emotion. Your hands raised to cradle his face, brushing across the little stubble he had there, as you sighed into his lips.

Your heart pounding in your chest, you had no idea what to do, but he was guiding you. It was the mere first step from what you knew, just the press of lips but it felt so much more then. Like he was pushing everything he felt into his lips, his hands, his fingers holding gently onto your arms.

Your knees were bound to go wobbly soon.

You pulled away first, something in your head stirring, pulling his face back from yours, you watched as his blue eyes blinked open -a sort of twinkle there you'd never seen before.

"I love you," he spoke breathlessly, and he pressed into you once more -catching your gasp between the seal of his lips.

Still, it remained a gentle press of lips, but he was pushing into it. His hands cradling your face now, he merely pushed into you more -you weren't sure you could get any closer.

He was the one to pull back this time, eyes shining and lips a rosy sort of red, and you were sure your face ran a little crimson. Okay, very crimson.

You weren't sure what to say, as he gather you up in his hands -pressing into your cheeks with his fingers, your eyes couldn't help but dip to his lips once more.

"We must head in now," he spoke, breathlessly, "-I'm not quite sure how much I can hold back... And... And you deserve such things properly."

"Properly, yes," you swallowed.

Mr. Grimes looked at you, and something in him snapped as he leaned forward again.

"One more couldn't hurt, could it?"

You were rather speechless, "Just one more."

He was a breath away from your lips now, you could feel his words whispered across them, "Just one more."

You weren't quite sure you believed him.

#rick grimes #its griming time #stuff n' thangs #rick grimes x reader #rick grimes x y/n #rick grimes x you #rick grimes x y/n fanfiction #twd #twd rick #rick grimes fanfiction #rick grimes oneshot #magnolia in may

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mars-wuz-herez · 4 months

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Sonic Prime AU

What if Sonic died?

Part one

Tails point of view

Sonic's body is gray. The smile he gave wasn't a smile at all. The last words he spoke: “I'm sorry.” Him disappearing. That scene keeps playing in my head. I can't stop thinking about it. I mean who could? There are so many unanswered questions that are in my head. He was fine the entire day so what changed at that very second? Why did we all of a sudden feel weak? What did he mean when he said: “We were too late?” Why did he disappear? Why was Shadow there? Will we be able to bring him back? Will I be able to bring him back?

Rouge and I are currently flying over Green Hills. She had us check a few places earlier but we had no luck. We tried the beach, where Sonic normally runs into him. No luck there. We tried his house, office, the place where he trains, even the little town that was there. We found nothing.

Tails: “Argh where can he be? It's one hedgehog! He shouldn't be that difficult to find!”

Rouge: “This is Shadow, we are looking for Tails. If he doesn't want to be found he'll make sure he isn't found”

Tails: “I guess you are right. Are you sure there are no more places we can look?”

Rouge: “All the places I showed you are the places I can normally find him. Other than those, I got nothing”

By that time it was getting dark. Rouge said we should call it a night and see what information Knuckles and Amy had.

Tails: “Are you kidding? We can't stop looking! We need to know what happened! Sonic might have disappeared but maybe he is a ghost and has a certain time limit as to when we bring him back. I don't know but we can't stop now. We need to find Shadow and that Prism”

Rouge: “Tails we aren't going to get anywhere if it's dark outside. Shadow is a dark hedgehog. He practically blends in with the dark. We won't be able to spot him.”

Tails: “We need to try we can't just give up”

Rouge: “We aren't giving up, we just…it's been a long and hard day. I know we won't get any sleep but we need to rest. We can pick this up tomorrow.”

I ignored her and looked at the ground. I am pretty tired but I don't want to go home. I can't go home.

Tails: “I don't want to be home right now. If I go home…I'll be coming home to an empty house. He won't be there. If I go to my lab it will just remind me about the last conversation we had. I just…”

I stopped there. I guess I made Rouge feel guilty because the next thing I know she is right next to me with her hand on my soldier.

Rouge: “We can stay out a little longer. We can fly over the island and see if we can spot Shadow's yellow streak. Maybe luck will be on our side this time.”

That was 30 minutes ago. It's now dark and my flashlight is barely lighting anything. Rouge is next to me.

Rouge: “Let give our wings and tails a break”

We land and I try lighting my surroundings with my flashlight. It looks like we are at Hedgehogs pass.

Rouge: “Ok Tails I understand that you want to find him but now it is way too dark to see anything. Not even your flashlight is bright enough to- Tails?”

I walk away from Rouge and towards something glowing on the ground. I lean down and pick it up.

Rouge: “Tails? What is it?”

I turn around and hold up one of Sonic's blue quills.

Rouge: “How is that possible? Sonic was with us the entire day”

Tails: “Before we went to the mountain he left to go ring up. But why here? Everyone knows the best place to…ring…up…”

I stop talking as I look behind Rouge. I shine my flashlight on a bunch of broken rocks. There are a bunch of rings scattered.

Rouge: “What happened here?”

I shine my flashlight on the ground. On the grass there are two sets of tracks. They can only belong to Sonic and…

Rouge: “SHADOW!”

I turn behind me and a yellow streak comes hitting me and knocking me on the ground. I fall down the blue quill falling from my hands. I try getting up but I feel weak. I see a blurred vision of Rouge and Shadow fighting. I blind once and all of a sudden I see Rouge on the floor knocked out.

Tails (weakly): “R-r-rouge?”

Shadow: “No just me.”

Shadow walks towards me and all of a sudden I'm awake. I get my shooting device from my pocket and activate it immediately. It starts shooting at Shadow and he dodges them.

Tails: “Why are you doing this Shadow? What are you waaaah!”

I wasn't paying attention when Shadow spin dashed me. I fall on the ground. Hard. I try getting up but everything around me is dizzy.

Shadow: “I'm not going to hurt you but I do need your help.”

Tails: “Why…. can't you…just ask…like a normal….”

I fall to the ground. Then everything goes black.

To be continued…..

(None of these characters are mine) People who wanted to be mentioned;

@mrfrobbert @hawk-has-alot-of-gay-ships @callme-aprilroseisha04 @rainestorm05

@upodubo-reblog @theavo-guac

@seaslugdisco @bun-bie @annoyingcat413

@bee-birb

sorry it took so long! I hope you enjoyed it!

#Sorry it’s short #This was hard to write lol #sonic prime #sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic prime season 3 #sonic prime spoilers #sonadow prime #sonadow #tails the fox #rouge the bat #my sonic prime au #what if sonic died in sonic prime?#writes-from-mars

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michelleleewise · 2 years

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Forget Me Not

Pairing: Loki x readed

Warnings: crying, fainting, guilt, depression, mentions of hospitalization and recovery, all the angst!! But..........there is hope!! 💚

Summary: Loki brings you home

*you guys!! All the love I got for this story has been incredible!!!! I know it's sad and angsty and I hurt everyone with it, but all the comments/reblogs were/are amazing!! This chapter is longer so I could conclude their story. Thank you all so so so much!!! You are amazing!!!

Part four--Part five-(final)

Loki sat in his room, sending his siedr out, searching for you. He didn't known if you could ever forgive him, but he needed to bring you home. He knew you had the necklace, he hadn't seen it when he and Thor packed your things, and if you were still alive, he could always connect to it. The longer it took the more concerned he grew, he should have been able to feel you by now. He concentrated harder, sending out more of his seidr as his desperation grew, when suddenly he felt you. It was faint, but it was there. "I'm coming love." He whispered, running to find Thor.

"Are you certain this is where she is?" Thor asked setting the jet down. "Yes brother, this is where the necklace is, so she is here." Loki said as he got up heading to the loading bay. They both stood outside the jet "Loki, there is nothing here." Thor said looking around as Loki closed his eyes, his hands glowing green as he searched. "This way." He said running as Thor followed.

They ran up a hill, seeing a small cottage at the bottom "that's where she is, it has to be." Loki said looking around "She's been here entirely alone all this time?" Thor asked looking at Loki "it would appear so, let's go bring her home." He said as Thor nodded. Loki knocked on the door, shifting side to side as Thor gripped his shoulder "it will be ok." He said as Loki nodded. He knocked again but still no answer. "Should we go in? I'm not sure if she's hurt." Loki said. "Yes, and be cautious." Thor said as Loki turned the knob, them both heading inside.

Walking into the small room, they both engulfed it, the ceiling barely tall enough to accommodate their stature. "I'll go check the other room." Loki said slowly making his way down the small hallway, seeing a door slightly ajar. "Darling.." he whispered, slowly opening the door. It was dark, but he was still able to make out your sleeping form as he slowly walked into the room. He lifted his hand as a green light shone from it, hovering it near your face. He saw the dark rings under your eyes, your face seemed thinner, and your skin paler. "Darling, wake up." He carefully shook you, but you didn't wake.

He tried again with still no response. He slowly pulled the blanket back, seeing your hand clutching the necklace, your breathing shallow. You were alive, but only just. He walked out Thor, bring the jet closer, we need to get her back now" Loki said sternly, going back to your room. He wrapped the blanket around you, lifting you bridal style, noticing you were much lighter as he angled you out of the house. Thor landed as he walked into jet, sitting down holding you to him. "L...loki...." he heard, looking down seeing your eyes slightly open "Yes Darling, I'm here" he smiled. "No your not, I just think you are." You sighed as Loki's smile faded.

"This one actually feels real though, maybe I finally...." you started "No, no love I'm really here." Loki said holding you tighter "that's what you always say, but your not, you never are, your with what's her name." You whispered closing your eyes as he felt a tear stream down his cheek. "I...I'm sorry love, so sorry" He whispered holding you to his chest, listening to your breathing. "We'll be there in five minutes Loki, how is she?" Thor asked "she....she doesn't believe I am real." Loki said sighing. "Maybe she is just tired, well get her to Banner when we arrive." Thor said as Loki nodded.

Loki sat next to your bed, holding your hand reading to you from the book he found in your room. It had been a week since he brought you back, Banner explaining that you were severely malnourished and dehydrated and they were going to put iv fluids in and a feeding tube until you were more stable, and Loki hadn't left your side. He looked up at you, you were still pale, but the darkness under your eyes had improved. "Brother, how is she?" Thor asked walking in. "About the same, Banner said her fluids are better, but it may take some time to overcome the malnourishment." Loki said setting his book down.

"Thor, this is all my fault" loki said leaning his elbows on his knees. "No, it is not. You are not to blame." Thor said sitting down. "She wouldn't be in this state if not for me, do not tell me I'm not to blame." Loki said sternly. "Loki, you didn't know, if anyone is to blame it is I, I caused your accident." Thor said looking down. "And I am the one who almost immediately after forgetting her, replaced her." Loki said sitting back, wiping his face. "Has she awoken?" Thor asked. "Only a few times, briefly." Loki said crossing his arms.

A few days later, Loki left briefly to go shower and grab another book, returning to you Banner stopped him. "She's awake, I explained everything to her, and....she doesn't want to see you." He said looking up at Loki. "Did she say why?" Loki asked stepping back. "She said you needed to be with Melissa, I told her you two weren't together anymore, but I don't think she believed me." Bruce said as Loki nodded. "Im sorry Loki. I can't let you back in." He said. "I understand, will you let me know how she is?" He asked feeling his eyes burn. "Yes, I'll keep you updated, go get some rest." Bruce said, leaving him alone in the hallway.

A few more days passed, Bruce had told Loki you would be able to leave med Bay today and go to your room. He had gone to storage, grabbing your boxes and unpacking everything, leaving everything as it was, accept the letter and the ring. He closed your door, heading to the kitchen when Thor caught him "Loki. Why aren't you with y/n?" He asked. "She refuses to see me, told Banner not to let me in." He said filling the kettle for tea. "I will talk to Banner, He can't.." Thor started "No Thor, if she doesn't want to see me I will respect it" he sighed leaning on the counter. "It will get better brother." Thor said gripping his shoulder. "Will it? I don't hold much hope for that." Loki said shakely.

A couple of weeks passed, you had started to talk to people more, but you still werent ready to see Loki. Bruce had told you you need to work your muscles again after the treatment to help restrengthen them. You had been spending quite a bit of time in the training room. You walked in, seeing Melissa siting on a bench and went to leave when you watched Bucky run up and kiss her. You stood frozen in place, was she not with Loki? "Hey, y/n, come sit with me." Your heard Melissa, your feet slowly pulling you. "How are you feeling?" She asked as you sat down. "Huh? Oh, um better." You said looking at her.

"You and Bucky huh?" You asked. "Y/n, me and Loki, it was.." She started "You don't have to explain, it's fine." You said. "No, I want to. We didn't have what you and him have. He never stopped loving you. Even when he didn't have his memory, he would say your name in his sleep, he told me he had dreams about you but couldn't really remember them." She said looking at you. "What you two have is special, unique. I hope one day you guys are ok again, I really do." She said as you felt a tear stream down your cheek. "Hey doll, let's go grab lunch." You heard Bucky. "Are you gonna be ok?" She asked "yeah, I'm fine. Go ahead." You smiled.

You laid in bed that night, thinking about what Melissa said, how Loki came and found you, Bruce telling you he stayed with you. You got up heading to the kitchen to make some tea to try to relax. You walked down the dark hallway, slowly making your way, careful not to run into anything. You made your tea, shutting the light off you headed to the common room, seeing Loki sitting on the couch, his head in his hands "Loki.." you whispered as his head shot up, eyes wide "i...I'm sorry y/n, I'll go." He said wiping his face getting up. "No, please......sit with me?" You asked walking closer as he nodded.

You sat on one couch, Loki the other. "Thank you, for everything. Bruce said any longer I may not have made it." You said looking down. "Anything for you dar...y/n, you needn't thank me?" He cleared his throat, the lack of nickname making your heart hurt. "Listen, Loki....i wanted to talk to you." You said leaning forward "I talked to Melissa, she told me what happened, with you two. Did you really dream about me?" You asked looking at him. "Yes, I did. And I found the letter you left for me, that's when I convinced Wanda to dive into my mind, and she was able to break through and restore my memory." He said looking down. "So you do remember.....everything." You asked "yes y/n, everything." He whispered fidgeting with his hands.

"I didn't want to leave loki, but i..." you started "You don't have to explain, I understand. I most likely would have done the same, I couldn't bare to see you with another." He said looking at you. "Loki, you didn't know." You said "that is no excuse, I should never have..." he started as you lunged forward hugging him, feeling his arms wrap around you. "Im sorry, so so sorry love, I never meant.."he started as you leaned back putting your hand on his mouth. "No loki, I won't let you blame yourself." You said wiping the tears from his cheeks.

"I don't know if things will be the same as they were, but I love you and I want to try, will you try with me Loki?" You asked cupping his cheeks looking into his eyes "I would die for you love." He smiled "soo is that a yes?" You smiled "Absolutely, positively yes." He smiled, pulling you into another hug. "I love you so much." Loki said burying his face in your hair. "I love you too mischief." You whispered into his hair, finally feeling at home in his arms...

💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚💚

@vbecker10 @high-functioning-lokipath @buttercupbestie @cabingrlandrandomcrap @lonadane @mcufan72 @daggers-and-mischief @lily-sinclair-2006 @lokisninerealms @lokiprompts @limiworld @mochie85 @sinsandguilt @chickencouncilrep @lulubelle814 @midnights-ramblings @commanding-officer @xorpsbane @waiting-for-cas-to-save-me @stupidthoughtsinwriting @lokixryss @froggiecky @drspencerreid921 @immersed-in-mischief @itsybitchylittlewitchy

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softquietsteadylove · 2 months

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“Today, every day, and on Valentine's Day, I will visit my wife of 56 years. We are separated by her dementia. I will tell her what's been going on outside, as I spoon-feed her in her care-home hospital bed. She says, "Thank you," when I tell her I love her. We both know she would say more, if only she could. We have had a great life together, ever since the second grade. She is slowly leaving, I know that. But we're a pair until then.” I saw this quote on NYT’s post about small acts of love, and I immediately thought of Thenamesh which made me think of you. I know this might be a sensitive topic so feel free to skip this as a prompt if you’re not comfortable, but I do think you could write something not only respectful but absolutely beautiful about this vein of love for our favorite pair. It reminds me of the Notebook too, if that’s at all inspiring! As always, love everything you give us <3

Far out in the Australian desert, there is a house.

It sits completely apart from everything around it. The land is tended to and the house is inhabited despite the arid nothing surrounding it. There is a water pump and an oven, a garden and space to keep goods.

Everyday, a man leaves the house. He leaves with a basket in hand, and he walks under the unforgiving sun. The trip is made in silence, walking for hours. He says nothing, stops for nothing. His journey takes him even further into the desert, further away from everyone and everything.

He walks until he sees a figure on a hill. The figure is all white from a distance, standing out against the sizzling red sands. It remains completely still. Most would even assume it doesn't breathe.

The man sets down the basket first, lowering himself next to the figure. Her hair picks up in the breeze, but he keeps it away from her face. Her eyes are as white as the dress on her back. When the weather turns bad he comes and stands over her, wraps a blanket around her shoulders.

He would fight off the lightning and thunder if he needed to.

He touches his hand to her cheek, to make sure she has warmth in her skin. He checks her eyes, which have not been green in years now. He checks to make sure she's still breathing, that time has stopped for her in a way that leaves her comfortable. He checks that she is still the Warrior Eternal, Thena, his wife.

The Strongest Eternal settles for the time being. He comes and sits with her everyday. Some days it's hours, some days it's only one. He has their home to attend to. He comes and tells her he misses her, what is happening back on their little patch of land. Tells her of the lizards she loved so much running through his garden.

The man pulls over the basket, pulling out some of the mead he has perfected over the years. There's no harm in letting her taste it, now. He pours it into a delicate sipping vessel and brings it to her lips. It is not as if she can expire of natural causes, out here. He can't either.

But he likes to come and share things with her. He's even started taking up her old practice of drawing, although he is certain she would tell him if they were as terrible as he thinks they are. Still, he brings them and shows them to her, one by one. Many are of her.

He eats something for himself, whatever he has made and brought with him. He still cooks because he enjoys it, even if there is no gentle humming at the table or smiles bathed in kitchen window sunlight. She always told him that her favourite part about his cooking was how happy it made him. She wouldn't want him to stop.

He points out clouds to her, asking what she thinks they look like. She would always just say weapons in the past, so now he makes up things like bunnies and monsters and even their family members, in a way. He asks her how they are sometimes, certain that she must be with them. Because he hopes that whatever happens within those completely white shrouds in her eyes, that she is happy, and safe.

He packs up the basket again, preparing to walk home. He tilts her chin towards him. Sometimes he can imagine her lips lifting ever so faintly. He can imagine the smile his wife always had for him. "Hey."

She does not reply.

"I'm heading home," he whispers sweetly to her, promising the next time he will feel most alive instead of the hours in between. "I'll see you tomorrow, sweetheart."

Her head tilts, leaning into his touch just a little more.

He smiles. Because sometimes she's in there--his Thena. He can see glimpses of her in times like these, when she leans into his touch, when her fingers twitch to hold onto him as much as she is able. There are traces of her still there, in the time he feels most alive.

He has no illusions, nor regrets. An Eternal has only the merciless and indefinite future to look forward to. He said they would take that chance, and they did, for almost a thousand years.

He's happy for these moments, and he can live with the hours in between. He leans forward and presses his lips to her forehead. She stopped blinking long ago but he swears he can see her eyes moving when he does this. "See you soon, Thena."

His hand slips from hers, and he sees that little twitch that makes him smile again. The first time he'd seen it, he had stayed for hours and hours afterwards. Now he knows he will see it again.

He walks back down the hill, looking back at her a few times just because he feels like it. She does not move. He knows she will be there tomorrow, and the next day. And if the earth shatters in half the day after then he will come and get her, and he will carry her to a place that is whole. He will carry her to the ends of the earth and sit with her when that end comes.

He would have nowhere else to be.

The man walks back, hours and hours again. The sun shifts in the sky and he makes it back before nightfall. With the dusk oncoming, he can see the light he always leaves on at the house. He follows the same path he walks everyday. He sets the basket down and walks out to check on the garden and the lizards. He makes sure his apron is hung up and his dishes are clean.

He goes to their room, lies down in their bed, and he thinks about his wife. He falls asleep with his hand on her pillow, thinking of her hair trailing onto his shoulder, of her soft breathing and her laughter. And tomorrow, he will go and see her again.

Far out in the Australian desert, there is a home.

It is the home of two Eternals, a husband and wife. They travelled the world together, even saved it, in a way. It was always known that she would leave before him, and they took that chance. They built an entire life out in the arid desert, out surrounded by the sand, surrounded by the sea.

Their home is built at the ends of the earth, and the wife resides further into the nothingness still. And her husband walks to see her, every single day.

#Thenamesh #sorry #oh am I ever sorry because this one is painful #it's a beautiful prompt truly #maybe I do consider this a sensitive one #but the core of Thenamesh is devotion #to love beyond the immediate #Gilgamesh says we will take that chance #knowing one day he could lose her #and they spend a lifetime out there #a life separate from their family and their mission and the outside world as a whole #it's just the two of them #and it will be the two of them until the end of the earth as far as Gil is concerned #they said til death do us part and he meant it #Gil brings her rice wine and water and sweet juices #when it rains he sits with an umbrella over them #or he stands over her to make sure Zeus doesn't get any dumb ideas #strike his wife at your own risk he thinks #Arishem himself be damned he will fight

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edgy-ella · 4 months

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My biggest hopes for Sonic x Shadow Generations

This sounds cliche as hell, but watching the trailer for this game made me feel like a little kid again. Sonic Generations is one of my favorite games of all time and I still vividly remember when it was announced. That being said, I, like many other Sonic fans, thought it was a bit weird that Generations was next up on the remaster train once leaks started to circulate about it. The game has been available on places like Steam for over a decade and still looks and plays fantastically, unlike games like Heroes and Unleashed which remain stuck on their original console gen or the Adventure games which desperately need a visual touch up at the very least.

But if they’re going to remake Generations, I’m glad that this is the route they’re taking with it. I’ve always been a big Shadow fan, so I’m thrilled to see him get his own side story in Generations that explores his past adventures alongside Sonic’s main campaign. Especially since, let’s face it, levels like Westopolis aren’t nearly as fondly remembered as levels like Green Hill or City Escape. This is a good opportunity to go back to old concepts in a better engine and really make them shine. The original Generations did this with Crisis City and the Silver boss fight, so I have faith in Sonic Team’s ability to do the same thing again this time around with the more Shadow-centric content.

(It’s also a great way to reintroduce Shadow to newer fans in preparation for the next Sonic movie)

But, outside of general polish, what do I want out of this game? I’ve 100%’d the original Generations, so I feel like I’m in a better position than most to share my thoughts.

1. Consolidate Time Attack with Story Mode

In Sonic Generations, there are two main gameplay modes: the main story, and a separate time attack mode. The latter of which is notoriously buggy, at least on Steam, prone to crashing when loading a level or otherwise just not tracking your times and high scores at all. There’s a reason why playing all of the levels in time attack mode is the game’s rarest achievement on Steam, even more rare than 100%ing the game or beating the final boss without getting hit.

But even if those issues were fixed, I’d still like to see the separate time attack mode removed altogether. If you have a really good run of a certain level in the main story mode, that time will not transfer over to time attack, effectively making your best time worthless since it won’t be put on the online leaderboards. The times you get in time attack mode also don’t bleed over into the main campaign, so if you S-rank a level in one mode, it won’t carry over to the other.

In my opinion, this is really bad game design, and I think Sonic Team knows this. Games released after Generations like Forces have done away with this issue by simply getting rid of time attack mode and tracking all your best times in one place—the main story campaign—and pulling leaderboard placings from there. That’s what I want to see for Sonic x Shadow Generations.

The one argument I could see against this is that Generations has a surprisingly robust customization system that allows you to buy and equip different skills and power ups for Sonic to use in each level. This includes the Chaos Emeralds after you beat the game, which naturally let you play as Super Sonic to blitz through any level with reckless abandon after you get 50 rings. This level of customization can make it difficult to judge the skill of players in a vacuum, which is why a developer may want to bar them from use in a leaderboard setting, especially Super Sonic.

I don’t agree with this mindset. I’d argue that allowing all the different skills and power ups for time attack serves to create a stronger sense of community, as it enforces players to test out different skill setups and share their results with others. I can picture an active community debating amongst themselves which skills would be the best to use on each level. If Super Sonic/Shadow is too much of a concern, then either ban them from the leaderboards like in Forces or create a separate leaderboard just for them.

2. A Stricter Ranking System

Sonic games really fluctuate on how easy or hard it is to get the highest rank in every level. Games like Adventure 2 and 06 can often feel too demanding of the player, which also isn’t good, but Generations falls firmly on the other end of the spectrum. It’s really, really easy to S-rank everything in this game.

Don’t get me wrong; I don’t necessarily think that’s a bad thing, and I much rather prefer a lenient ranking system over one that’s extremely strict. But when it’s too easy to get S-rank most of the game’s levels, it kills a lot of the game’s replayability. Generations has surprisingly robust level design that I don’t think a lot of people would expect from a boost game, but the game rarely encourages you to take advantage of it. If the most straightforward route gets you the same results as the one that you need precise jumps and quick reflexes to get on, why bother going off the beaten path at all?

Outside of the ease of S-ranks, the time gaps between each rank is also way too big for a game like this. Let’s use Green Hill Act 2 as an example. To get a C-rank you need to beat the level in 11 minutes. To get a B-rank, you need to beat the level in 7 minutes. To get an A-rank, you need to beat the level in 3 minutes. To get an S-rank, you need to get an A-rank and beat the level without dying.

See what I mean? The time gaps here are way too big. In my opinion, they should all be within a minute or even less of each other. Seriously, who the fuck spends 11 minutes on Green Hill Act 2? I can literally only think of one level in the entire game that I ever spent more than ten minutes on, and…

3. Fix Planet Wisp Act 2 omg

Planet Wisp Act 2 is without a doubt the worst level in Generations. Some of the physics at the end of Crisis City Act 1 are a little weird (imagine that), but PW2 is just unbearable. It’s way too long, feels extremely repetitive, and most of the level forces you into a 2D platforming section during a Modern Sonic level. Its poor quality is especially an issue because, while it make not look it, this is the last level of the original release of Generations before the final boss fights.

I don’t think that there are any easy changes you could make to this level that could fix it. I get why they’d want to make it longer than usual since it’s the last level of the game, but when the level feels like a chore to get through, all that work comes off as padding rather than feeling climactic. I honestly think that it would be better to just start from scratch.

If I’m being honest, I’d even go as far as to use a different world from Colors instead. Generations has way too many big grassy areas as is. That’s something that Shadow will help rectify for this remaster, as he will naturally pull from more urban and sci-fi than Sonic, but the point still stands.

4. Mephiles?

Mephiles is a lot of people’s favorite Sonic villain. I am not one of those people. His plan sucks, his design sucks, his lore sucks, his boss fights are underwhelming. The only good parts about him are his voice acting and music.

Weirdly enough though, I’m…kind of hoping he shows up in Sonic x Shadow Generations?

I mean, if there ever was a time to bring him back, now would be it. There’s a long standing fan theory that the Time Eater, the main antagonistic force in Generations, is what’s leftover of Solaris/Mephiles after the events of Sonic 06. Both characters are shadowy time gods, the Time Eater is capable of pulling the bad future from Sonic 06 (Crisis City) even after the events of that game were erased from history, and the Time Eater really doesn’t have any origin or backstory otherwise. I don’t have a source on this, but I’m pretty sure that Ian Flynn supports this theory too.

While it looks like Shadow’s campaign in Sonic x Shadow Generations will mostly focus on his origin story and the Black Arms (which I think is the right move if part of Sega’s goal here is to reintroduce people to the character before the next movie comes out), it’d be a huge missed opportunity to not include Mephiles in some way, shape, or form. His beef with Shadow feels way more personal than his (almost nonexistent) beef with Sonic, so putting him in the Shadow campaign would be a natural fit. I would also love it if the game confirmed the Time Eater=Solaris theory, but I can also understand why Sega wouldn’t want to go that route. Distracting too much from the Black Doom stuff that they obviously want to focus on will just muddle the game’s narrative, which I’d bet will be much stronger than the one in the original Generations.

And…yeah, that’s all I got for now. What are you guys’ hopes for this game?

#sonic the hedgehog #shadow the hedgehog #sonic x shadow generations #sonic generations #classic sonic #black doom #ella essays

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myreia · 4 months

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Divergence of the Heart

CHAPTER SIX: PROMISES KEPT, PROMISES MADE

Chapter Rating: Mature (full story rating is Explicit) Characters: Aureia Malathar (WoL), Aymeric de Borel, Thancred Waters, Hilda Ware Pairings: Aureia/Aymeric, Aureia/Thancred, Thancred/Hilda Chapter Words: 7,625 Notes: Set during the Heavensward patches. Summary: Aureia Malathar may have made a name for herself in Ishgard, but her deeds come with a hefty personal toll. Despite her victories at the Grand Melee she has never felt more unsure of herself. Her relationship with Thancred—the person she thought knew her the best—is strained, yet she cannot abandon him. Aymeric is falling for her harder with each passing day, yet she cannot bring herself to accept it. All may be fair in love and war, but at least war is predictable. Love on the other hand… Chapters: 1 • 2 • 3 • 4 • 5 • 6 • 7 • 8 • 9 • 10 • 11 Read on AO3

Aureia sips at her wine, barely cognizant of the smooth, rich flavour flooding her mouth, distracted as she is by Aymeric. Friendship, he proposed, but it is more than that and they both know it. Something better left unnamed for now. She doubts either of them know where this evening will end, but to be frank, she would rather not think on it. She wants nothing more than to enjoy her time here in his company, without distraction or worry.

The food is as good as it smells, featuring dishes she knows and more that she doesn’t. The last time she had a meal this fine Raubahn lost an arm, but she has a feeling the limbs of all attendees to this dinner are safe tonight. She bites her tongue, refraining from making the joke. Even with a glass and a half in her system, she’s not a fool enough to overshadow the evening with memories of the bloody banquet.

Aymeric is more talkative than she has ever seen him. Of course he is habitually loquacious, rivalling only Urianger for the amount of words he can squeeze into a sentence before running out of breath, but the way he relaxes over the course of dinner brings a smile to her face. The politician is always simmering underneath, but the more their conversation wanders, the less present he becomes. So rarely have they had the chance to talk about topics unrelating to war or politics, she knows she is seeing a side of him he rarely shares with others, if at all.

She knows the feeling all too well. Idle chatter about unimportant things isn’t something she’s used to even among friends. Outside of Tataru’s company, that is. Then again, Tataru makes it a point for her to talk about non-world-ending events on pain of death, so maybe that doesn’t count.

This is good. For both of you.

“…would that I could have seen such a momentous event,” he says, his eyes sparkling with interest. “Thank you, truly—”

“Wouldn’t have been a problem if it wasn’t so bloody cold,” she replies with mock sarcasm. “Why is it so cold here? Is it always so cold?”

“Ah.” He pauses, lowering his fork. “It has been this way for some seven years now. Ever since the Calamity overrode the land with frost and fury.”

“Oh.” She flushes, pressing her lips together. She should have known that; or, at the very least, put two and two together. This side of the world was ravaged by horrors she could only imagine from the safety of her post in Ilsabard when Dalamud fell from the sky. “What was it like before?”

A strange expression falls over his face, lost in thought. Whatever memory he is retreading resonates with fondness and loss. “Green valleys and rolling hills, so vibrant in their colours no painting could capture them,” he says quietly. “Lakes clear as glass reflecting skies of pure azure. I remember there were small periwinkle flowers that bloomed in abundance near Whitebrim Font. My mother… the viscountess… She was very fond of them. Now that I come to think of it, I cannot remember their name.”

He pauses and glances across the table at her, the memory subsiding. “I am certain any botanist could tell you the extent of what was lost far more keenly than I,” he continues conversationally. “A whole land irrevocably changed. We cannot return to what we have lost, but perhaps we can look to what we have gained. A new land sprung up beneath our very feet. In time, who knows what will come to call these snowbound highlands home? As destructive as the Calamity was, I would consider it rebirth rather than destruction. For Coerthas was not destroyed. We remain.”

She smiles. “I like that.”

He returns the smile and reaches for the decanter, refilling his glass. “I suspect you will admonish me for this, yet I must admit I have the desire to apologize for our inclement weather, as far outside my control as it is.”

Aureia snorts, unable to hide her laughter. “Don’t,” she says and pushes her glass across the table. Not necessary, perhaps, but why shouldn’t she be indulgent when in the company of friends? “There’s comfort in it. Familiarity. Predictable, if you know what you’re getting into, what to expect, and come prepared. Too many Eorzeans balk at a little snow.”

“Speaking from personal experience, I presume?”

“It’s not exactly a climate the city-states are used to, no. Three years on this continent and I’ve yet to see genuine snowfall outside of Gridania. It’s funny to think I would have had an easier time adjusting had I found my way to Ishgard rather than Ul’dah. Thanalan was unbearable after Ilsabard. I’m used to snow, not heat. The desert was suffocating enough outside the city, but inside? Like being trapped in a hothouse.”

He pauses, gripping the decanter, and a strange look crosses his face. Too late she realizes the implications of what she has said, the conclusion he must have come to. She flinches, mind whirling as she grasps at any explanation that will do, truth be damned. It’s not that she wants to lie to him—of course she doesn’t, she never has, the thought of it makes her sick to her stomach—but that she can’t bring him into her past. It is not a place she is willing to go with him. He doesn’t deserve to suffer in those trenches with her.

“I take it you spent time in northern Ilsabard, then,” he says carefully and tips the decanter, the deep red liquid pouring out in a rush.

She swallows the lump in her throat, her eyes drawn to his hands. He fills the glass near to the brim and pulls back. A bead of wine bubbles at the lip, clinging to the edge. It falls, the spot splotching the tablecloth. A single crimson spot on a sea of white. Like blood in the snow, Coerthan, Garlean, or otherwise.

Trust him. You have to trust him. If you can’t trust him, you can’t trust anyone.

“I did,” she says finally. “I was there for many years.”

Aymeric sets the decanter down. “The Imperial capital?” he asks.

“Close to it.” Her throat is raw. A lie, of a sorts. Stationed there for a time, but on the outskirts. She never stepped foot in the Imperial palace or the districts that composed the true capital. She may have been born within Garlemald’s borders, but people like her were never considered as such. They would never let a non-native like her, with dangerous magic coursing in her veins, closer than that. “Long enough to adapt. Eorzeans think Garlemald is bitter and unforgiving, but they do not know the half of it. It is far more than the cold and the ice. There is no survival if you are unprepared.”

“I have heard similar when Lucia has seen fit to speak of it. You have all my respect and more, Aureia—” He cuts himself short, laughing awkwardly as he quickly corrects himself. “Of course you always have—I didn’t mean to say that I did not before—but knowing this, even in the smallest capacity, knowing what trials you must have faced on your journey here…”

You don’t know. You have no idea. The bitterness of the thought takes her by surprise and shame flushes her cheeks. How could he know any different? He must be imagining some grand escape by yet another defector with too much good in their heart to endure living in a tyrannical nation. Not an operative with too much blood on her hands, who fled for selfish reasons.

Avoiding his gaze, Aureia reaches for her glass and disappears behind it, taking a long drink. Aymeric exhales a long breath and runs a hand over his chin, lost in thought. If her behaviour is odd to him, he either has not noticed or thinks nothing of it.

“Aureia, may I confess something?” he says after a moment.

She lowers the glass and nods.

“For countless decades Garlemald has been an enemy to all nations upon this star. But oft I have wondered where we would stand had history shown us a gentler hand, one of collaboration and cooperation rather than one of ruthless war. What could we have learned from Garlean expertise had the few not corrupted the many with tyrannical ideals and gluttonous expansionism? What could they have learned from us?”

He leans against the table and holds his gaze to hers, his eyes blazing with passion. How long has he been withholding these thoughts, waiting for the right person to tell? Someone he trusts irrevocably? “Ishgard has its own bloody history, a fanatical fabrication upheld by the very souls charged with her protection while they bled her people dry. As Ishgard recovers, I am left to wonder whether the cycles we have suffered here are not also in play in a land like Garlemald. As our nation has been isolated from the brutality of their war by virtue of being preoccupied by another, I would dare utter this before the Alliance when our coalition is so young and untested. But I believe there is a mirror in our greatest enemy, one that reflects a terrible truth we see in ourselves.”

“I don’t know if many would agree with you,” Aureia replies grimly. “It’s an empire. It’s not a place you can forgive.”

“I do not speak of forgiveness. They have harmed and will continue to harm the world greatly. But to paint every citizen who lives beneath their banners with the same broad stroke does not sit well with me. It would be the height of hypocrisy after what Ishgard herself has partaken in.”

“Perhaps.”

“I am not a faultless man, Aureia, I know this to be true more than anyone. I still have much to learn. But if there is one lesson that has remained with me throughout my time in command, it is that leadership does always speak for the people. Those with power will always have an agenda at play, for good or for ill. I will not condemn civilians for the place of their birth. When they have been shown no other path than one that has led to dogmatic beliefs and unquestioned chauvinism, perhaps they are as much victims of their government’s regime as those who have fallen to Garlemald’s might.”

“And those who are not civilians?” The question is out of her mouth before she can stop herself. “In a future where the Alliance wars with Garlemald and the Empire is brought to its knees, what grace would you extend to those you fought on the battlefield? Would you see them as victims worthy of help or perpetrators deserving of punishment?”

“That is a difficult question. One that has no easy answer.”

What would do you, Aymeric, if you knew? That I was one of those very people.

“I would like to hear it.”

“Then I would say I have none. For war only muddies the waters, never cleanses it. We know all too well how the annals of history are written in the hand of the victor. There are casualties on both sides of any war. If we are to judge our enemies by the harshest laws, then we must look to our own leadership and judge them by the same standards.”

She blinks, uncertain what to say, and looks down, chasing the remnants of her meal across her plate. The evening’s conversation has led them in a direction she didn’t predict. And all from a discussion about the weather…

The again, Aymeric’s sincerity has struck her deeply. She has never known anyone like him, really. His unshaking resolve paired with his unflinching acknowledgement of his own flaws… He has a capacity to see the good in people without excusing terrible actions. What he has told her tonight will stay with her for a long time.

“I apologize.”

His voice interrupts her thoughts. She blinks again, clearing her vision, and finds him staring at her from across the table, concern in his eyes.

“I did not mean to ask you to revisit painful memories,” he continues. “Whatever is in your past you have no obligation to tell me unless you wish to.”

She raises her head and picks up her glass, swirling her wine and fixing him with an arch look. “Did you know you say sorry too much, Aymeric?” she says.

His eyes widen, an embarrassed pink flushing his cheeks. “I—well—perhaps I do, but it is out of respect, is it not? I apologize, I had not realized—” He stops, cutting himself off as he hears the words he has just spoken. Chuckling, he shakes his head at himself and takes his wine in hand. “I am a fool, aren’t I?”

She smiles. “No,” she says, taking a drink. The wine warms her, flushing across her chest. Despite the gravity of their conversation, she feels content. Safe. Happy. “At least, no more than the rest of us.”

“I should strive to do better.”

“You should strive to be no more than yourself.”

Aymeric pauses, once again surprised by her words, and raises his glass to his lips. He drinks deeply, savouring the wine as he regards her from across the table. There’s that look in his face again… The one she can’t place. He seems enchanted and she hasn’t even done anything. Who is she to hold his attention? His friendship? His love? Though she wants to believe differently, she can’t ignore the deep sense of wrong within her. That this is some horrible mistake. That someone like her doesn’t deserve someone like him.

She drums her fingers against the tabletop, desperately searching for a way out. She thinks back, winding the conversation back to before it slipped into uncomfortable territory. The weather. The snow.

An idea forms.

“You know I don’t mind the cold,” she says, raising her glass to her lips. She nurses her wine, her fingers dancing across the table. She waits, noting how he watches her as she turns her palm upwards. With a breath, she commands the smallest threads of aether, her fingers crackling with frost as ice manifests in her hand. It dances above her palm, reflecting the warm glow of the candlelight in its crystalline heart. “I have a few tricks.”

He smiles and watches enraptured, the remains of his meal forgotten. “Ah, of course,” he replies. “The talents of a black mage are never to be underestimated.”

“Useful in Ul’dah.” She relaxes her fingers as the ice splits into three small shards and rotate in a circle above her palm. Show off. “On scorching days when I could barely think.”

Adrenaline is already coursing through her. Creating ice is a shock to the system, jolting her mana regeneration into overdrive. The font is infinite, regenerative, powerful. To have so much mana flood through her at once makes her head spin, her heart beat faster, every fibre of her being pulsing with untouched power. So simple, yet so addictive.

Aureia exhales and dismisses the ice. It dissipates in a puff of air, snuffing out the nearby candles. “This is more helpful here,” she says, summon a small ball of flame. She splits it into three and lets it play across her fingers. The orb burn brightly and happily, the light warming her skin. Fire-aspected aether is so often deemed the crux of destructive magic, but she knows better. As devastating as its power can be, fire can also soothe. Warm the hearth. Light the way. A spark in the darkness. “I don’t need much when travelling the Coerthan wilds.”

Aymeric watches in rapt silence as she twists her hand and sends the orbs flying, each alighting on a candle’s wick and setting it aflame. “Estinien thought I was quite the idiot last year. Running off into the snows by myself.”

He chuckles. “Estinien has a low opinion of all adventurers. Himself included.”

The pained look on his face does not go unnoticed. “He will return someday, Aymeric,” she says.

“I would like to believe it. But some days I am not so certain.”

“I think he was right to leave—”

“Without informing a soul? Vanishing without a trace? That is true to form. He is gone, and for those who remain, those to whom he extended a rare hand of friendship, are left to only speculate where time and tide will take him. Or how many moons will pass before he sees fit to return.”

She pauses, meeting his eyes. She has never heard him speak in anger about those he holds dear, at least not like this. Estinien was a friend to them both, but Aymeric knows him in a way she never will. Their bond runs deep, one of comradeship and brothers-in-arms. That he gave her no notice before departing doesn’t phase her, nor can she blame him for it. She may have very well done the same thing had she been in his place. But for Aymeric… Forget Ishgard, to walk out on him without a word has stung him.

And of course he is too polite to show much anger.

Without thinking much of it, Aureia reaches across the table and slips her hand into his. “I miss him, too,” she says softly. “Give him the time he needs, he deserves that much. As I said, I think he was right to leave. There can be no recovery in a place that reminds him of everything that was done to him.”

He exhales a long breath and closes his eyes. “You are right, of course. I spoke in haste and ill of a very dear friend who deserves compassion and understanding, not grievance and blame. Forgive me.”

“Aymeric. What did I say about you apologizing too much?”

He chuckles, shaking his head, and opens his eyes. She catches a flash of a smile in the flickering candlelight and he squeezes her hand once before retreating. “What say you to another round, my friend?” he says, raising his cup.

Aureia glances downwards. When did she finish her glass? She can’t remember. “Why not?” she replies and grabs the decanter. Normally she would avoid a third glass except on nights when she’s intent on drinking herself into oblivion, but with Aymeric she feels… Well. It’s not like she has anything to do tomorrow. And he offered.

He rises from his chair as she refills their wine, reaching for the platter of pastries and shifting it down the table. They have yet to taste any of them, distracted by their conversation as they are. He returns to his seat and clears his throat, hovering awkwardly as if he is waiting for her to make the first move.

“You must know we Ishgardians enjoy indulging ourselves,” he says, taking his glass from her. “It would be very poor manners indeed for me to deny you the first taste of dessert. Please, go ahead.”

She pauses, arching an eyebrow. There must be a reason for his hesitance. Why does she have the feeling he is planning something? “All right,” she says suspiciously, reaching outwards. She doesn’t know half the names of the desserts on the plate, but a familiar red pastry catches her eye at once. “Oh gods, tell me you didn’t.”

He chuckles with laughter and takes a long drink of his wine, eyes sparkling with mischief. “I heard whispers that you were fond of such little treats.”

“I was! I am! I—”

“Are you blushing, Aureia?”

“No, I—” She shoots him a dirty look. “It’s just that these are made with snurbleberries. What kind of a name is snurbleberry? The Warrior of Light can’t go around announcing she likes snurbleberry tarts, it would ruin the image—oh don’t look at me like that, you know what I mean.”

“Of course.”

“Oh, I… Fine. Perhaps I should consider this vengeance for all the times I’ve teased you.”

“Perhaps. Though, in the spirit of honest conversation, I would be bereft if you stopped. Your spirited remarks are a reminder that I am not confined to the stoic and stately countenance required to be upheld by the Lord Speaker.”

Warmth floods through her. Or is that the wine? “I used to love these,” she says, plucking a tart from the plate. The red berries stain her fingers. “I haven’t had one since I was exiled from Ul’dah. How did you know?”

“As I said, I heard whispers.”

“Mhm.” She takes a bite. “Whispers. I’m sure.”

“And by that I mean to say that I spoke with Tataru. She was quite keen to spill your most closely guarded secret.”

She laughs, mouth full, and finishes the tart. “She’s a good friend. Knows me better than she lets on. We have been through a lot together. Her, me, and Alphinaud.”

He nods, his smile warm. “You have. It was by terrible circumstances that the three of you sought refuge here, but I am forever gladdened that you did. Our lives would be quite changed had it been different.”

The conversations stills, lulled to comfortable silence by sweets and wine. Aureia sips at her drink, pleasantly full and warm, her gaze passing around the dining room. She can’t remember an evening where she has enjoyed herself so thoroughly and so peacefully. When they are on their own—without the meddling of stuffy butlers—there is something about Aymeric that keeps her grounded. At peace.

She doesn’t want this evening to end.

“Aureia,” Aymeric’s voice says quietly, interrupting her thoughts.

“Hm?”

She glances across the table to find him risen to his feet, a hand extended. Ever the gentleman.

“Would you join me in the parlour?” he asks with a half-bow.

She arches an eyebrow. “Am I allowed to bring the wine?”

“I don’t believe I could deny you even if I wanted to.”

Glass gripped in one hand, she follows him through the double-doors at the end and across the threshold into the parlour. The room is smaller to the sitting room they occupied before, though similarly decorated in plush furnishings and soft blues. Cozier. More private. Her gaze wanders, taking in the portraits lining the walls and hung above the hearth. Family portraits, hunting scenes, brave knights and fearsome dragoons… Naegling makes an appearance in more than one. These must be the ancestors of House Borel.

Not his family by blood, but his family by choice.

He settles into a couch by the hearth, resting his wine glass idly on the armrest. She joins him and sinks into the cushions, curling her legs beneath her. He looks different here in the comfort of the parlour. Relaxed. More at ease. His proximity sends an excited shiver down her spine. She has seen him countless times, but now she wonders whether she has ever truly seen him. The deep midnight of his hair, the faint flush on his cheeks, the way the light catches his familiar blue and gold earring. The curve of his lips.

She presses her glass to her mouth, the rich wine heavy on her tongue. She wonders what it would be like to kiss him. She wants to. She imagines it would be nice. He must be good at it. How many lovers has he had, she wonders? He’s so determined, pragmatic, married to his work. It doesn’t seem like he has had the time for that kind of thing. And yet he is far too much of a romantic not to.

Her stomach twists into a knot. There it is. The familiar embarrassment rushing up within her, the horrid sense of wrong, wrong, wrong. She’s not normal. She knows this. The things that come so easily to others are not easy for her. She hates the judgement, self-inflicted as it is.

Would he think differently of her, if he knew? How incongruent it is—a warrior and a saviour on one hand, capable of striking down primals and stemming the tides of chaos, and a shamefully inexperienced woman on the other, who at over thirty would be considered an unsalvageable old maid by Ishgardian standards. There are girls half her age who are married.

Not that Aymeric thinks much of Ishgardian standards.

You have got to get over this.

She hides from the thought by gulping down a mouthful. When she resurfaces, her head feels light and buoyant, buzzing from the drink.

“I think it’s my turn,” Aureia says finally, sinking deeper into the cushions.

Aymeric raises an eyebrow. “For…?”

She nudges him playfully with a foot. “You asked me a personal question. It’s time for me to ask you.”

“Oh?”

“It’s only fair.”

“I won’t argue that. What would like to know?”

She pauses, wetting her lips as she thinks. “Your parents. What were they like?”

He doesn’t answer. The longer they sit in silence, the more her panic grows—perhaps she misspoke, perhaps it was a mistake to go down this path. She told herself she wouldn’t pry into his family history, but her curiosity won out in the end. She wants to know, if only to know him better.

“My foster parents…” Aymeric speaks quietly, lost in thought. He rests his hands against his knees, his wine glass held loosely in his hands, his eyes lingering on the portraits on the wall, the generations who came before him. “Were I to describe them in a single word, I believe I could choose no other word than resolute. They were elderly when I was born. No heirs. The Borel line would have died with them had they not taken me in.”

She curls up, leaning her head against the back of the couch, and listens with rapt attention. There is as much love in his voice as there is pain.

“They knew there would be talk. That their House’s reputation would be tarnished by adopting a bastard boy. But when it came down to a choice between sacrificing their reputation in the eyes of the nobility or surrendering their house entirely, they chose the former. Too many depended on them. Loyal knights whose fathers served their fathers, and their fathers before them. Servants who had been with the family for generations. They had a right to call this house home as much as my parents did. Had they died without an heir, they would find themself in need of different employment. The knights would be absorbed into the personal guard of rival houses, the servants scattered among the staff of the nobility if they were fortunate or to the Brume if they were not. Benoit and Violette did not wish to condemn those sworn to them and under their care to such instability.”

Aymeric clears his throat and lowers his head. She can barely make out his face in this light. His profile his dark, the lines of his sharp, proud features backlit by the crackling hearth.

“And so they were steadfast in their decision to raise me as their own. The scandal of it haunted them for the rest of their lives, but they cared not. They were upstanding members of high society, the most noble of nobles. For every cruel word spoken about them, they simply smiled and carried on, secure in their decision. And they were happy in their final days. Content to see me grown. Benoit, proud of how I had proven myself in battle and honoured to pass me Naegling, the symbol of his lineage. Violette, proud of the caring and determined soul she believed me to be.”

“How old were you when they passed?”

“Fifteen.”

A lump forms in her throat. Fifteen. So young. Too young. Still a child, though he may not have been considered as such at the time. Ishgard is far from the only nation to send their children off to war, but the unquestioned nature of the status quo does nothing to relieve the pit in her stomach. She was a child once, too. Garlemald crushed it out of her.

Aureia sips slowly, nursing her wine. “I’m sorry,” she murmurs.

He catches her eye. “They loved each other deeply. Trusted each other beyond measure. Their faith in one another saw them through the course of life, both the good and the hard. Some would say they were blessed by the Fury, to live the full lives that they did, for as long as they did. It is not often that Ishgardians reach their old age, even among the Elezen. War, grief, and illness all take many before their time.”

A pause. There is no discomfort in his voice; she knows without a doubt that he is telling her this because he wants to share it with her. Her fears of prying too far into his history dissipate. “A love like theirs was precious. Perhaps it is idealistic of me, but one day I hope to find the same, unlikely as it is given my position.”

“Aymeric…”

He raises his glass to his lips and drinks. “It is the way of the aristocracy. Family is of the highest importance, second only to our war and our faith. The relationship between noble bloodlines is ancient and complex. Marriage is a joint endeavour, a commitment struck between two households with an heir as the prize. I may be the Lord Commander, but I am also a viscount. I know the expectations set before me.”

“That’s hardly fair.”

“And yet I understand the truth quite plainly. No, Aureia, as long as I hold Ishgard in my heart of hearts, my duty is to her and her people above all else. Personal sacrifices will be demanded, and they are ones I am content to make for the sake of this fledgling republic.”

“It shouldn’t be that way. Can’t you… I don’t know, change their minds? You are the Lord Speaker, aren’t you?”

He throws his head back and laughs, fixing her with a warm smile. “I can certain rouse discussion between the Lords and Commons and guide them as best I can,” he replies. “But no. Enacting reform within a system of governance is a far cry from changing a culture itself. I cannot expect the high and minor houses to change their views overnight. It will be a slow progress, one that I can only hope will benefit our children’s children and their children after them.”

She nods, rubbing her thumb absently against the side of her glass. This talk of love has brought a flush to her cheeks and she is once again thinking what it would be like to kiss him.

Damn it. Maybe he wouldn’t even want to. As he has said himself, there are expectations placed upon him. He will eventually need to marry. Have children. Where in that is there room for someone like her?

“And this is what your parents wanted for you?” she asks.

He glances at her. “Benoit and Violette wished only for my happiness,” he replies. “That I pursue a life worth living, whatever I believed that entailed. But there was a time when my foster mother did confess to me that she wished for me to leave Ishgard and see the world beyond our borders. And I will freely admit there was a time I yearned for that too, only to set it aside when practicality won out. However…” He trails off and he sets down his glass, shifting on the couch to face her. His fingers brush hers, tentatively taking her hand in his. “Truth be told, visiting those sweeping vistas of the Churning Mists with you at my side has reminded me of those days. I do feel the slight pangs of wanderlust, and I think… Someday, perhaps.”

Aureia meets his gaze. A part of her wants nothing more than to keep staring at him, to listen to his steady voice and fall deeper into his eyes. Another, smaller part is screaming at her to excuse herself and flee, escaping back to her miserable existence in the Forgotten Knight and forget all about him. She knows this will never work, this thing between them. Why set herself up for failure and risk hurting them both?

She swallows the panic and shoves it down. “Someday, yes,” she echoes tentatively. “Aymeric, do you think perhaps—”

A warm rumble resounds in her ears. A cat—large, orange with grey streaks, his fur fluffier than any she has ever seen—steals out from under the couch. He rises up and places his paws on the cushions by her legs, his tail swishing back and forth.

She stares at him. He stares back with large, yellow eyes.

“Sylvaine,” Aymeric chides, his tone somehow both fond and irritated. “What are you doing here?”

“Sylvaine?” Aureia asks.

The cat mews and stretches, his claws digging into the cushions and pulling at the fabric.

“My parents’ cat.” He leans forward and scratches the back of the cat’s head. “An old gentleman by any standard now, though Marcel complains he is far too lively for his age. One could say he is as much a symbol of House Borel as I am.”

The cat yawns, showing sharp teeth.

“Be careful. Majestic though he is, do not underestimate him. He has a mean streak the size of Coerthas for anyone he deems troublesome or dangerous. Or—quite frankly—anyone he thinks has looked at him wrong. Once he has judged you unworthy there is no asking for forgiveness.”

She holds back a smile. “Oh? And what counts as troublesome in his little lordship’s mind?”

“Your guess is as good as mine. It changes day to day, week to week, you see. I would never dare to assume what is happening in my dearest feline friend’s mind. Though I do recall quite vividly the day he cornered the fair Lady Hermine de Gervaise in the corner of the second floor library. As the staff could not catch the dastardly creature, a dragoon was called to assist the good lady in climbing out the window and escaping to the safety of the garden below. So great was her fear of Sylvaine that it far outstripped her fear of heights, you see.”

Aureia snorts with laughter. “Poor Hermine.”

“Indeed. Poor Hermine. She never called on me again, despite her family’s insistence.”

Sylvaine mews and leaps into her lap, curling his tail around him. His weight is warm and pleasant. Friendly. Cautiously, she reaches out a hand and runs it down his back. He offers a content purr in return and snuggles deeper into her lap.

“…and the dragoon?” she asks, petting the cat. She’s not used to being around such creatures, especially household pets. The closest thing she has is Filo and her chocobo is such a notorious biter that the Holy Stables refuse to stable him. “What happened to him?”

“Hm? Oh. The lady thanked him for his service, as I recall. And he made every excuse never to see her again.”

Her eyes narrow. “Please don’t tell me that was Estinien.”

“I have indicated nothing of the sort.”

“Oh, you liar. That absolutely was Estinien, wasn’t it.”

He grins. “Old stories aside, Sylvaine is very dear to me and the staff. His temperament may be ferocious at times, but we could not want for a better guardian.” He scratches the cat fondly, watching the way he curls in her lap with amusement. “I am glad he has taken a shine to you.”

She returns his smile. Finishing off her wine, she reaches over and places the glass on the floor. She has no desire to get up and find a table when there is a cat in her lap. “Aymeric,” she begins softly. Her head is buzzing slightly. It is so comfortable here, sitting on this couch with him. Between the warmth of the hearth, the contentedness of the cat, and his company, she has never felt more at ease. “When you said someday earlier…”

“Yes?”

“You spoke of wanderlust.”

“I did. I have no shared this with many, but I have a fervent wish to see more of this world. The lands beyond Ishgard. Beyond Eorzea. It is a yearning I cannot fully explain. My mother once said I had an insatiable curiosity; perhaps it stems from that. We have turned a blind eye to the world beyond our gates for too many years. I once considered myself well-versed in the ways of the world, but your arrival here has shaken that. Indeed, the vivid accounts of your adventures and our exchanges with both the Alliance and the Scions of the Seventh Dawn have been a firm reminder that there is much I do not know.”

She pauses, careful not to jostle Sylvaine as she moves closer. “Then come with me.”

“To where?”

“Anywhere. Beyond Coerthas. Beyond Ishgard.”

“You have no idea how fervently I wish to accept such an invitation. But I cannot. My duties with the House of Lords demand my undivided attention.”

“They ask too much of you.”

“They ask nothing. It is I who must give it to them freely, for the sake of my nation. I cannot abandon them for my personal desires, no matter how much I wish I could.”

Aureia meets his eyes. “Have you considered that perhaps it is not they who do not have faith in you, but you who do not have faith in them?”

He blinks, so shocked by her statement that he is lost for words. “I… well… I…”

“The situation is perilous, I know. This new republic of yours is young and fragile. There are many in Ishgard—and the world beyond—who believe you are the sole reason why it has not fallen apart. That makes you a target.”

“We both know that all too well.” The gravity of his words is not easily missed.

“But if the Lords and the Commons are indeed so volatile that they will fall apart if you disappear for a day, then it will happen one day with or without you. You speak of trust so often, but I think, perhaps, it is you who do not trust them, rather than the other way around. Show them you have faith in them. They will eventually have to learn to govern without you.”

He sighs and bows his head, a faint flush on his cheeks. “Once again you have seen straight through to the heart of the matter,” he says. “How do you do it?”

“Sometimes you care so much you blind yourself. Or put yourself in your own way. I have a fair bit of experience with that latter one.”

Sylvaine mews and sits up. With a long stretch, he gives a great yawn and leaps down onto the floor, skidding across the rug. He prances away, tail held high, and slinks through the open door into the dining room and out of sight.

Aureia watches him go and shifts closer to Aymeric. A distant part of her mind is startled by her newfound confidence. Perhaps it’s the direction of the conversation or the comfort she feels here—or the wine. Most likely the wine. But she will seize this moment before she loses it. She has to.

“So,” she finishes, slipping her hand into his. It would be too easy to curl up against him, her head on his shoulder. “I’m going to ask again. Would you come with me?”

He squeezes her hand, his eyes unable to leave hers. Thancred would likely say something snide about him looking besotted. Her heart thunders in her chest. Between the wine and the way he’s looking at her, the desire to kiss him is overwhelming. Why shouldn’t she? She may never get another chance.

Aymeric smiles gently. “There is nothing that would make me happier—”

She kisses him.

For the briefest of moments, she feels him freeze in shock and surprise. Then he melts, his mouth warm and gentle as he kisses her in return. She trembles, her mind buzzing, giddy with astonishment at her own boldness. Without giving it much thought, she twines her hands at the back of his neck and pulls herself into his lap, straddling him. His breath catches in his throat and she senses his hesitation, his hands resting gently against the small of her back.

But he does not push her away. For a moment, they are caught in time—seconds passing, indecision mounting, as if they are both too hesitant to make the first move.

And now that she is here in his arms, it terrifies her how scared she is of losing this. Losing him.

Head fuzzy with wine and too lost in the moment to think, she does the only thing that make sense. She presses her mouth to his again and kisses him deeply—

He pulls back. “Aureia, wait,” he says.

“Hm? What for?”

Aymeric exhales a long breath. “I… This… A moment, if you would, please?”

Shame flushes her cheeks. Was she too eager? Did she misunderstand him completely? Did she misread every sign? Maybe his interest in her was simply her imagination. Fuck it, maybe those romance chapbooks really did do a number on her. This is all Tataru’s fault.

Fuck. What the hells do I do now?

Cursing inwardly at her own stupidity, Aureia disentangles herself from Aymeric and slides off him, shifting to the far edge of the couch. Her face burns with embarrassment and she tugs awkwardly at her coat, readjusting it. It’s difficult to forget the feel of his hands on her back or his mouth on hers. For a moment, brief though it was, she was in a fantasy.

Brushing her hair out of her eyes, she rests her elbows on her knees and stares determinedly at the opposite wall. “I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean—”

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It was I who—”

“No. It was me—”

“Aureia—”

The door opens.

“Lord Commander, I—”

Aymeric rises to his feet and drops his hands to his sides, standing at attention. “What is it, ser?” he asks, his tone crisp and official. “News from House Fortemps?”

Aureia flushes, doing her best not to fixate on how quickly he has fallen into his professional façade. The messenger is not one she recognizes, but from the shine in his armour and the terseness in his voice, she has a feeling he is one of Artoirel’s men. The Fortemps heir has never liked her much and the distant professional courtesy he extends her has rubbed off on his knights. If he had walked in only a few seconds sooner, he would have caught them in a moment that would no doubt give Artoirel yet more ammunition to disparage her with. Not that he couldn’t put two and two together…

To his credit, the messenger either hasn’t noticed or refuses to acknowledge the empty wine glass on the floor.

“An urgent message for the Warrior of Light,” he says with a curt bow. “I was instructed to deliver it without delay.”

Well then, spit it out already. She forces a smile on her face and gestures, silently inviting him to continue.

“Master Thancred returned to the manor a short while ago—”

Aureia’s heart drops. Thancred, returned. Thancred, at the manor. She hasn’t given him any thought for a while now. Impressive, considering how difficult it has been to excise him from her mind. So many restless nights of unanswered questions rolling around her head, wondering what went wrong and when, shoving down the hurt of seeing him and Hilda together like that. She was enjoying being free of it.

And now it has coming rushing back.

She would be lying to herself if she said she wasn’t relieved to hear of him. Confirmation that he is safe and sound.

“—bearing an injured maiden.”

Her ears prick up. What’s this?

She exchanges looks with Aymeric. He raises an eyebrow, but she shrugs and spreads her hands. She is as perplexed by the announcement as he is. What maiden? Who could it possibly be? Thancred has a reputation for philandering, but it is, frankly, a farce. This must be something else.

“Master Leveilleur and Mistress Tataru are tending to her wounds, but they do not like her chances. Respectfully, my lord. They have requested the Warrior of Light’s presence immediately.”

Aureia’s eyes widen. If Alphinaud is involved…

It can’t be. Alisaie…?

His long-lost sister and twin, who diverged from her brother’s path to take matters into her own hands. Aureia doesn’t know her well and has not seen her in years. But if she is back and she is injured, if Thancred saved her… Then she knows where she has to be.

“I will go at once,” Aureia announces and rises from the couch. Blood rushes to her head and she winces, doing her best to keep her expression straight as a headache pulses between her eyes. She is regretting drinking that much wine. She may not be drunk, but from the way she is wobbling she knows she must be tipsy—and it’s going to be a pain to hide it.

Aymeric puts a gentle hand on her elbow, steadying her. Whether it is a gesture of support or to save her from further embarrassment, she doesn’t know. Her stomach twists into a knot. She doesn’t wanted to leave things left open with him like this, but she doesn’t have a choice.

“And I shall go with you,” he says firmly. “Lead the way, ser. Mistress Malathar and I will follow.”

#ffxiv #ff14 #final fantasy 14 #ffxiv fic #ffxiv fanfiction #ffxiv wol #aymeric de borel #aureia malathar #oc tag #writing tag #long post #once again in case the read more breaks

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hinatastinygiant · 1 year

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3 | Pistachio

Pairing: Tokyo Revengers x Fem!Reader

Wasteland Masterlist

After grabbing the gun and running far away from Kisaki and his little group, you run deep into the woods. Your mouth hangs open as sweat drips down your face. It must still be the middle of summer, considering how hot it is despite it being nighttime.

In the midst of it all, you hear a snap and end up tumbling down a hill. At the bottom, you scream out in pain. Looking down at your left foot, you find it stuck in a large bear trap. And then, your head spins and hits the ground. Everything around you fades to black and you pass out right there.

The next time you wake up, you see a woman about your age with an oversized black jacket leaning over top of you.

"Hey there," she smiles down at you. But something about the way her green eyes glare into your soul tells you that she may not have the purest intentions.

"Who are you?" you ask in a daze from serious blood loss. But as you begin to remember the situation you're in, you sit up and look down at your messed-up ankle.

"Shit," you then grumble. She must've been the one who set the trap. But then next time you look up, just beside your injured foot, you see a vaguely familiar man. How could you not recognize blonde and purple striped hair?

"Wakasa?" you mutter as he reaches for the lollipop stick in his mouth and pulls it out, grinning lazily back at you.

Suddenly, you find yourself flashing back to the time before you were transported into the wild existence you're currently in.

When you worked the nightclub as a bartender, Wakasa would come in every so often. He was a salesman of a sort, always looking to sell some idea.

"Look, I'm just saying that virtual waitlesses are a great way to maximize your customers. You know that 54% of people leave when they see a line outside your building, right? That's just a fact. So whaddya think?" he grins lazily.

"I'm sorry, Wakasa, but we don't really need more customers. I mean, there's a line for a reason. We can only have a certain amount of people in here at a time so if they leave, it's not really a big deal," you shrug.

"Shit," he shakes his head as he watches you make a drink for another customer. "Well when you put it that way, I guess you do have a point."

"Then if you have no other crazy scams to sell me and you don't want another drink, good night Wakasa," you wink as you hand another customer their drink.

"Hey, I never said I wasn't going to order again. I'll have whatever you just made that guy," he nods.

"It's pretty sweet. Are you sure you can handle it? It might shrivel up your bitter heart," you tease.

"Ouch," he smirks as he clutches his chest. "You got me. How 'bout you call me a ride home then?"

"We don't provide that kind of service here," you sigh as you lean against the counter in front of him.

"Yet another thing you could do to make your customers happier," he shakes his head. "Well, guess I'll call a ride for myself then. Have a good night, Y/N."

"You never stop, do you?" you chuckle as you watch him reach into his wallet.

"Well," he hums as he places three ten-thousand yen bills on the counter, "I guess I keep coming back to see your pretty face. Can you blame me?"

"I can and I will," you smile as you watch him toss his coat around his shoulders.

"Well then I'll see you next Friday with another great idea," he tells you.

"You know I don't own this place, right?" you laugh as you shake your head.

"You're the bartender. I know you've got at least some pull around this place. And I'm sure I'll be able to win you over eventually."

"Good luck with that," you smile.

"Much appreciated," he waves just before walking toward the entrance of the club. You shake your head as you watch him go, a bit angry with yourself that you know he's right. He will win you over eventually. It is quite hard to resist one of the most handsome and persistent regular customers, after all.

Back to the present time when your foot is still stuck in a bear trap, you pull yourself out of your trance and blink toward the man you used to know.

"I know you..." you mutter.

"Uh-huh, I know. Get over it. What's important right now is that we get your foot out of this trap," he shakes his head as he looks down at the trap you've got yourself stuck in.

"You know? So you remember me? And it's really you?" you continue to ask. You'll do anything to ignore the serious predicament on your lower half. "Wakasa, where are we? And who is she?"

But despite how much you try to get him to talk, he doesn't want to hear any of it.

"Sit her up," he says to the woman, who then promptly does as he asks. She sits you up against a tree nearby and watches as Wakasa presses down on the side of the trap.

"C'mere," he then tells her. "I'm going to press down on these springs to close them. As I do that, you need to open up the jaws and pull her foot out, okay?"

"Sure," she nods firmly.

Tears start to form in your eyes as the two of them apply a bit of pressure on your fresh injury. But less than three minutes later, they've tossed the trap to the side and you're finally free.

"Shit, how does it feel even worse now," you groan as you lean your head back against the tree behind you. "Thank you so much but what the hell do I do with it now?"

"Could always amputate," Wakasa grins at you.

"Still a dick I see," you grumble.

"Stay still, we'll bandage it as best as we can," he replies.

"And try not to shout too much," the woman beside you sighs, "You're going to draw unwanted attraction to our location."

Wasteland Masterlist

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insipid-drivel · 2 years

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My Ex’s Conspiracy Theorist Jungle-Living Uncle

There are a lot of things I don’t miss about one of my exes. However, there’s one thing I do, and that happened to be hanging out with his uncle.

My ex’s uncle was a reedy, fuzzy, unwashed recluse that lived in the middle of the jungle north of Nambucca, Australia. I don’t know exactly what the place is called because it’s off the grid and has no real name, and I still have lingering trauma from the terrifying drive to and from his house.

This was a man who understood that chem trails were real, crystals could talk, music at certain frequencies could induce psychic visions, and that he didn’t mind living amongst giant carnivorous goanas with no indoor plumbing. I have no doubt that he may have been mildly schizophrenic, which only made hanging out with him that much more fun and interesting. I love hanging out with schizophrenics and have spent years as a supporter of an online support group for them. People with schizophrenia are not scary; they’re absolutely fascinating to talk to. I have never been more captivated or engaged in a conversation than I have with schizophrenic people. My dad was schizophrenic, and I’ve never loved anyone more. Even when the symptoms scared him, which happened sometimes, all I wanted to do was listen.

My ex’s uncle was probably the most fascinating and fun character of a man I’ve ever met and still struggle to believe the day I spent at his house wasn’t some kind of psychedelic trip I had back in my apartment in Sydney. It was the middle of November and the heat and humidity was something that even the most seasoned of Floridians would’ve balked at. The kicker? It was a 6 hour drive and my ex’s janky old car’s air conditioning was broken. It was at least 104F (40C) the entire ride, outside. I felt like I had a stamina bar from a survival video game and it was a race to get from rest stop to rest stop to find air conditioning before I got heat stroke.

To get to his house, we had to switch cars to a 4-wheeled SUV. It was the most harrowing 45 minutes in my life as we had to slowly drive along a rail-thin, dirt path cut into a ravine so steep it may as well have been a cliff. My ex was not helping by telling me about the sheer number of deaths that had occurred in his living memory alone from people rolling down the ravine, which was hundreds of feet deep. (Seriously Australians, I know hazing the Americans is fun, but please you live in a land of venom, death, and a simmering disregard for all temporal consequence. Be gentle with us when we’re already shitting ourselves.)

But the view was breathtaking. It was like walking into an episode of Planet Earth. There were vast, green fields that serves as pastures for small farmers with horses and sheep - lamb being a very popular export - between vast expanses of steaming rainforest. The sounds during the day were indescribable. After we got to the end of me Staring Death In The Face For 45 Minutes and I was able to get my shit together, I understood why his uncle wanted to live there.

His house is set on stilts on an almost 45 degree angle on a hill in a clearing in the forest. If you like cottagecore, you should’ve seen this place. He had his own little hydroelectric generator that pumped water and electricity to his house. He had wifi somehow. I don’t know how. The fact that he casually offered me weed growing in a pot on his front porch before my foot touched the ground already had me comfortable with not thinking too hard.

He lived off the land and occasional trips into a town so tiny that you could stand on the top of the decline where the “Welcome To” sign was and see straight down to the “Now Leaving” sign. It was a microscopic little town of hardened badasses that spat in the Grim Reaper’s face on a daily basis. In his house, there were quartz crystals wedged into every conceivable nook and cranny, and he had a boombox from the 90′s playing low, drowning music at a specific frequency he assured me would assist in opening my Third Eye.

I assured him that every eye I had was pretty fucking wide open at that point.

He explained to me his distaste for chem trails, and I nodded along. He made me a cup of tea from a tin kettle over an open-propane burner that fueled his stove and we sat together on a bench on his fenced porch watching the cockatoos and kookaburras flying over us. Inevitably, because I had already come perilously close to wetting myself just in getting there, I expressed a need to use the restroom.

“Oh, well, you’ve got two options. Ya can go around the corner or in the river, but there are more biting flies by the river.”

“Great.” Fortunately, the hill his house was set on was so remote that it was easy for me to find a hiding spot to squat in around the corner. I didn’t want to know where he got the fertilizer for his greenhouse from.

After doing my business, I came back and we resumed chatting. He was telling me about how the wooden tool shed across from the house had once been his house, because he’d built the house with his bare hands while living out of a shack no larger than 9′x6′.

As I’m marveling at the sheer incalculable mass of this delightful madman’s testicles, I hear a rustling from the bushes.

The biggest goana I have ever seen in my life (meaning the only goana) crept out from the underbrush directly from where I’d just taken a leak. It crawled up the stoop and stared at me, forked tongue flicking as it stared at me and considered me.

My ex’s uncle grinned from ear to fucking ear while I realized that I was sitting on the hill I was literally going to die on. I froze as this gigantic, toothy lizard looked me dead in the eye, and then noticed a kookaburra in a nearby tree and decided I wasn’t worth it.

Suddenly, I feel a metal cylinder in my lap.

This man has placed a 12 gauge shotgun in my lap. “Don’t be scared! They’re just looking for birds this time of year.”

“You... can have that here?” I may be American and I may live in a swamp, but I’ve never handled guns before. I’ve never needed to. And then there was the matter that I had been convinced that Australia had banned firearms to civilians.

“I use it to protect the cockatoo chicks! They’re rare out here!” he explained, constantly chipper about the entire thing as he took the gun away and set it aside. He explained to me that a flock of a rare, endangered species of cockatoo lived in the trees around where we were sitting, and he had a permit for a shotgun in order to protect himself from exactly what just happened 2 minutes before.

Meanwhile, my ex is casually slapping my arms and legs to keep biting flies the size of quarters from making me cry for my mother, stunning them, tying a strand of hair around them, and then flinging them around like they were tiny dogs on leashes, and explaining that that’s what kids out there did for fun.

I prayed to Steve Irwin for strength. That explained Crocodile Hunter.

His uncle decides it’s time for us to have some fun and leads us away from the relative safety of his house and down to the shallows of the river we’d driven over to get there. He proceeded to teach me to catch frogs until dusk.

He brought us back to his house, and when I explained to him that I was a Bandrui and that magpies were a major spirit animal in my work in my faith, he told me to wait where I was standing and disappeared into the upstairs of his house I never got to see. He returned with a bundle of feathers. Including a tailfeather from the black-and-yellow, endangered cockatoos he had collected.

“Take them,” he said, practically shoving them into my arms while I had to take my jaw off the floor.

“What?! They’re rare! I can’t pay you!” I was shocked.

But he insisted. “No. You have important work to do. Take them.” He was so confident that I had to wonder if he knew something more than I did, and so I thanked him gratuitously. I still have his bundle of feathers to this day.

“Time for you to get back!” he abruptly pronounced as the sky started to turn pink.

“Huh?” I had no idea why he was insisting on it, but he sounded like he was confident of something.

“You’ll see!” he replied with another grin, and waved as we drove off with the sun going down.

The drive back meant another 45 minutes on the Death Road. In the dark.

That was how I discovered that, in the jungle when the sun goes down, millions of tree frogs migrate down the Death Slope. One jumped down my boobs. Getting back to where we were staying, I almost walked face-first into a Golden Orbweaver Spider, and decided I missed Bigfoot and the innocuous red eyes in the dark. At least they kept their distance.

#storytime #this is 100% true i am not making a single thing up #australia is wild #australia #i don't know if he was even real #but he was awesome #schizophrenia #schizophrenia positivity #long post

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darcywho · 2 years

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Day 10: A quiet night, the only sound being the call of coyotes/wolves in the woods....

Interested in joining in on the fun? Check out the RPCDev Discord!

While it’s not uncommon for Darcy to have reservations, it is to have this particular STRIKE team in house. It’s her understanding--from scuttlebutt, needling her brother, and drinks with Deputy Director Hill--that Foxtrot is typically tasked with handling assignments in the Middle to Far Easts. Hers is typically not the closest safehouse to Foxtrot in the field, and thus not one they have a need of frequently. Which means their assignment turned SNAFU or the FUBAR Express will have its first riders. If it’s the latter, she will be severely displeased and might portal people to the edge of the Butterfly Galaxies collision some 60 million lightyears away out of spite.

That said, when they do have a reservation at the Osprey, Specialist Arianna Jimenez knows not to come empty handed. The team is winding down in the main room of the above ground Osprey floor after a rowdy ax and knife throwing competition off the back patio with a half-muted football game playing on the TV in the corner. Fatigue has slowly set in amongst the agents, and their impromptu competition out back helped them work off whatever excess energy they had when they arrived hours prior. Some of it had leached out during their debrief with Brock in full commander mode, she’s sure, and she’s using some of what Jimenez brought with her to cook up a glass noodle stir-fry with some steak for protein for dinner.

While she let the meal simmer, she set about digging out enough bowls for the seven of them (eight if the other permanent resident had a mouth to eat with, alas). The sports commentator was giving the background of some freshly drafted player with the dull roar of the crowd watching in the background as the teams took the field, when the first shrieking howl filtered into the Osprey.

The ones after sounded both closer and farther than the first, the shrieking screams of a coyote pack echoing strangely in the canyon. The newest member of Foxtrot was clearly a little on edge, as he instantly stiffened in his spot on the edge of the couch. Coyote shrieks and screams were always the unnerving soundtrack of the desert night, especially to the uninitiated who didn’t know how human-like the scavengers could sound at times, especially when they found food.

Coffman had been a recent addition to Foxtrot, an airman tapped to run the technical aspects of Foxtrot’s missions, if what Darcy had sussed out had any truth. He wasn’t green, exactly, no one in STRIKE could be classified as green as they were to be the elite field agents in the entirety of SHIELD, but he did seem to have a certain...countenance that was odd for STRIKE.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked hoarsely, glancing around to his teammates before landing his wind-eyed stare on Darcy in the kitchen several feet away.

“The coyotes found their dinner,” the Faceless Old Woman explained softly form her place behind the couch, “and are telling the rest of their pack.”

Darcy damn near cried from laughing at the high-pitched, childlike scream of terror Coffman unleashed before crumpling to the floor, head whipping back and forth trying to spot the otherwise invisible resident while the rest of Foxtrot laughed at their rookie.

The Faceless Old Woman was seemingly indifferent to the reaction. “I wouldn’t go outside tonight if I were you,” she continued. “They’re always so protective of their food.”

#rpcdev #hc #drabble #spooky tea for rpcdev #v; Copper Osprey #re; Weird At Last (Nightvale AU)

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howlingday · 3 years

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Jaune can’t help but find it a bit odd that his girlfriend Winter will only allow him into her panties if he’s cosplaying as Captain America.

The Winter Hero

Jaune Arc was a man of principle. He was raised to be a gentleman; kind, generous, and sensitive to a woman's needs. His mother and sisters groomed him to be the perfect boyfriend for anyone lucky enough to have him.

Chocolate ice cream at 3 AM, even though all the stores are closed? Done before dawn.

Need some guy to stop stalking you? Jaune wasn't a man of violence, but he had his ways to deter creeps.

Need another girl for your sleepover? Not a problem, even though he got a few awkward glances from his sister's friends.

However, almost as soon as he left the nest, his first girlfriend was completely independent. Any offer to help was completely shut down. But this was to be expected from an officer of the Atlas military. Yes, Winter Schnee never made any requests to her boyfriend.

That is, until one Halloween night...

Jaune looked himself over in the mirror at his costume. His blue spandex bodysuit was slim, if not constricting. It featured a white letter "A" on his forehead with a pair of wings just behind his temples, a star in the center of his chest, and a design of red and white stripes over his abdominals and circling around the back. He looked down to the flat, metal disk shield that weighed about thirty pounds. Not all too heavy for him, but it still weighs down over time. Yes, he was the hero of life and liberty, Captain America!

He sighed and shook his head as he looked over his ridiculous outfit. When he asked about their plans for Halloween, Winter explained she already ordered his and that she intended to go to a costume party with him. He knew better than to question it, but did it have to be this superhero?

Jaune has read his fair share of comics, and when asked who his was, he would answer Batman. Unfortunately for him, though, Winter was a Marvel fan, so his favorite superhero would have to stick to the sshadows tonight.

A knock at the door interrupted his thoughts. Picking up the shield, he walked over to the door and opened it. The sight in front of him almost made him drop his shield.

On the other side of his apartment door stood a beautiful woman with snow white hair, cascading down over her shoulders like an avalanche. She wore a silver body-suit, reminiscent of the ones worn by special forces, that hugged all of her curves perfectly. Around her waist was a gray belt designed to look like it had multiple compartments.

"Is there something wrong, Jaune?" He blinked and gave a nervous chuckle. She looked him up and down and smiled. "I see your costume matches the measurements I provided."

"Uh, actually, it feels a little tight." Jaune replied, tugging at his collar. "I can breathe just fine, but-"

"Good." Winter turned around and began walking towards the stairs. "Let's go. It's time for the party."

"Uh, yeah, sure!" Jaune shut the door behind him and followed her. "I like your costume. Who are you supposed to be?" Being a gentleman, Jaune asked, since he was certain it would tie to her interests.

"Silver Sable." Winter replied without looking back. "Russian mercenary. Leader of the Wild Pack. First appearance in 'The Amazing Spider-Man Issue #265'."

"Oh, she sounds... intense." Being a man, Jaune's eyes wandered to her hips, where her ass lightly swayed with every step, leaving nothing to the imagination. His costume felt tighter.

At the party, Jaune struggled to keep his shield up. He had shifted between his arms twice since he started carrying it. He could set it down, but every time he did, Winter would find out. The first time, she lightly chastised him, saying, "I thought you were supposed to be a hero." The second, and last time, she hit harder, telling him, "You're supposed to be a hero. So be one." She knew one of Jaune's dreams was to be a hero, someone who helps others and can be looked up to with pride. He sighed as he looked over the crowd.

The costumes varied, but he recognized everyone as someone from Winter's command. Elm Ederne, a specialist of Atlas' Ace Operatives, was dressed as some kind of monk, she explained, and carried a set of drums on her waist. He thought she was a hippie at first, but was swiftly corrected. Their commanding officer, General James Ironwood, was luckier than Jaune and dressed up as Batman. Jaune was green with envy. Or he was when Councilman candidate Robyn Hill showed up, dressed as Orchid from Killer Instinct. He never played the game, but he recognized the costume from... research.

"Jaune," he looked to his left and saw Winter standing with her arms crossed, "do you want to leave?" Jaune blinked, but before he could say anything, she spoke first. "I know that look on your face. You're bored. If you wish to leave, I won't force you to stay."

"I'm fine," Jaune replied, "I'm just... reading the room." Winter sighed, leaning against the wall next to him. She had an annoyed look on her face. "Are you okay, Winter?"

"I'm fine." She replied without looking at him. Instead, she was looking at the attention Robyn was getting. With a scowl, she huffed under her breath. "Pigs."

"Svin'ya." Winter looked to Jaune, who was wearing a smile on his face. "Svin'ya is pig in Russian."

She chuckled at that, gracing her lips with a smile. Jaune liked making people smile. Well, maybe not make, but help smile. She leaned closer, forcing Jaune to shift his shield to his other arm. She held his arms and sighed. Jaune felt his suit grow even tighter.

"Do you want to leave?" Winter looked up to Jaune. With a smile, she replied.

"Yes."

Winter and Jaune arrived at her apartment door. The walk home was certainly brisk, but made warmer with their body heat combined as they held close on their trip, as well as Jaune holding the shield against the wind. She reached into her belt and clipped open one of the compartments and pulled out her keys. Jaune held the shield behind her, pretending to protect her from some evil or another.

As she opened the door, Jaune stepped away. "Good night, Winter."

Winter turned to face Jaune. "Won't you come in? After all, it's cold outside tonight."

"I'm sure I'll be fine." He replied with a red-cheek and -nose smile.

"At least warm before you go." Winter gestured for him to enter. "I couldn't bear to think of you becoming hypothermic because of me."

"Just another part of being a hero!" Jaune chuckled.

"Actually," Winter said, placing her chin between her index and thumb, "I'm not sure if you're aware of this, but your costume has an interesting feature."

"Feature?" A stray wind blew in, chilling Jaune where he stood. "On second thought, maybe staying a second to warm up wouldn't hurt." He stepped inside, setting his shield down by the coat rack inside. She shut the door behind him.

"I'm glad to see you've come to your senses." She stepped further into the apartment, Jaune following close behind.

He had been here twice, but the size always amazed him. It was at least three times the size of his, and included it's own washer and dryer set. It was only a balcony away from being considered a penthouse. With the click of a button, Winter summoned a fireplace from the darkness.

Following her to the couch, Jaune sat down next to Winter. She leaned closer to him then nuzzled against his chest. She leaned up, kissing him as he leaned down. She prodded tongue past his lips, and upon receiving invitation, grabbed him by the back of his head and pulled him into her. Their breathing became heavy as the two pulled themselves closer to the other, their make-out growing more intense by the second.

Pulling away, Jaune groaned. "Damn."

"Something wrong?"

"This costume's in the way." Jaune tugged at his collar,causing Winter to chuckle.

"No, it isn't." Before he could ask, Winter slipped to her knees, kneeling in front of Jaune's crotch. "I custom-ordered this, you know." She traced her middle finger from the couch up to his groin. "I needed to get," she dug into a flap he never noticed, "your exact," and she pulled down the zipper he never knew, "measurem- Ack!" Winter recoiled as she was slapped by Jaune's dick.

"You okay?" Jaune asked.

"I'm fine," Winter waved him off, "I just... got my measurements wrong." She eyed his penis with a critic's glare. It was larger than the average she suspected, possibly six-and-a-half, if not seven inches in length, with a girth that made making her index and thumb have difficulty meeting. "But I'll adapt."

Before Jaune could say anything, Winter wrapped her lips around Jaune's head, tracing over it with her tongue. He lightly gasped as she pumped his shaft and she moved her head in a rhythm up and down his cock.

"F-Fuck!" Jaune grunted. "I'm gonna-!"

Winter pulled away and pumped with more vigor. With a moan, Jaune came a thin rope onto Winter's costume, a stream of white oozing onto her hands. She turned around, looking back to Jaune.

He squinted for a moment, then took notice of the zipper at the top of her back. He reached forward and pulled down. The costume came splitting in half as he dragged the tab closer to it's destination. As he reached the end, Winter stood up.

"Jaune," he couldn't see, but she looked at him with a sort of predatory gaze, as if he were a breathing meal for her to devour, "do you want to keep going?" With a gulp, he answered.

"Uh, I don't have any condoms."

"No?" She chuckled. "Check your shield." Jaune stood up and walked over to the hat rack where he placed his shield, his now flaccid cock swaying in the air with every step. Felling around, he noticed a hatch near the center, behind the handle. With a click, it opened and he found box of condoms. He couldn't see the brand, but the box felt small. That was fine, though, since he wasn't expecting to burn through ten or so condoms tonight. "Did you find them?" Winter called out.

"Yeah, they were behind the han-duuuuuh..." Jaune's jaw dropped at the sight in front of him. Bathed in firelight, Winter removed her soiled costume and laid back against the couch, her legs spread, her hair wild, and her eyes hungry. She became instantly erect.

"Then come here, my hero."

Winter moaned loudly as Jaune thrusted himself into her from behind. Every movement forward by him drove her further over the edge. This may have been their first time, but Jaune was clearly experienced. Some way, somehow, this man had a lover before her, and they perfected him into the breeding bull slamming into her.

With a grunt, Jaune came into the condom and pulled out. He huffed as he removed the rubber from his semi-stiff staff. Winter whirled around and slurped on his phallus until he was nice and hard again. Once he put the next condom on, she pushed him onto his back, then slipped him inside.

She bounced up and down his rod as she moaned and gasped. Jaune tried to match her pace with his thrusts, but she was moving too fast for him. He panted as she rode him like it was a rodeo. He settled his hand on her hips and took a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. When he opened them, she was above him, her hair acting as a white veil to hide themselves from the world. Her mouth split to a predatory grin.

"You like it?" She growled.

"Y-Yeah!" He grunted.

"You like it?" She repeated.

"Yeah!" He whined.

"You want me?" She leaned closer, slowing her pace.

"Y-Yes!" He panted. She leaned next to his ear.

"Then take me."

Jaune flipped Winter onto her back and held her legs above her in a mating press. She screamed as Jaune pounded with greater vigor into her, grunting as he did so.

"Fuck me!" She shrieked as she held her ankles. "Fuck me! Fuck me! Fuck meeeeeee!"

With a grunt, Jaune came again, panting hard. He pulled out, pulling the condom out with him. He removed the prophylactic the his cock, setting it down next to it's seven siblings.

Eight condoms. The couple's box held eight condoms. With eight used condoms, Jaune sighed as the night's activities drew to a close.

SHUP!

Jaune looked down to see Winter bobbing her head up and down his shaft again. He groaned and pulled her off. With a sigh, he told the truth. "I can't anymore."

"No?" She tilted her head to the side.

"No." He stepped away and gestured to the condoms. "We went through a whole box, it's only a few hours until dawn, and I... I don't think I can do it again."

"I see." She said looking down. She almost looked sad.

"It's nothing against you, but I don't think I can do a round nine like this, condom or no condom."

"Like this?" She tugged on his bodysuit, now soaked in sweat and, in the lower region, genital fluids. "With the suit?"

"Yeah."

"Well, in that case," she reached behind Jaune and pulled down his back zipper, "here." She tugged on his sleeves and helped him out, peeling the it free from his skin. He shivered as the cold air rolled over his bare skin for the first time all night. She stepped free of the suit and sat down.

"That's much better." Winter was about to walk away, but felt him grab her hand. "We're not gonna cuddle?"

She smiled and sat down next to him. They embraced for a moment, then felt him pull her down, so they were laying on the couch. His body felt hot; clearly from the body heat trapped by his suit.

Winter closed her eyes, momentarily thinking about fucking her favorite superhero, Captain America, until she slipped into her dream where she was held in the loving embrace of her hero, Jaune Arc.

#rwby #jaune arc #winter schnee #winter knight #captain america #silver sable #my answer

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love-toxin · 3 years

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cw: injuries, yandere tohma, gn! reader

"so...how long do I have to play along with this little game of yours?"

the question spills out of his mouth without warning, yet each word is methodical, careful, like he's practiced it a thousand times before. the teapot clutched in your hands nearly slips out and shatters over the table you've laid out for the two of you, but the warmth of the porcelain fortunately keeps you steady enough until you can set it down in the space between you two. Tohma was kind enough to bring you a gift after spending awhile away, tending to his duties--so it's only natural that you would take him out for some tea in exchange. it's courtesy. it's expected.

but his question certainly is not.

"I...I have no idea what you're talking about, Tohma."

"really?"

he's sat cross-legged for some time now, waiting as you ordered the tea and offering you some idle chit-chat befitting a pair that haven't seen the other in a while. Tohma has always been your friend even when you were young, but as is custom in a place like Inazuma, your relationship has evolved throughout the years. there are things you can't say anymore, things that would ruin your life if you were caught doing them...and now, you fear, the glint in Tohma's eyes may be an omen that he's about to commit one of those unholy acts.

"come on now, sweetheart, everybody can see the truth for what it is. there's no need to hide it any longer."

he's purposely tiptoeing around the question, waiting for the pieces to click in your mind. he need not say anything at all, however--the way he looks at you in this moment, and the purpose with which he stands from his place at the tea table is enough to set your jaw tight and your eyes to darken.

"you know that I was always meant to be your husband. to be there for you through thick and thin, to care for you when we're both old and gray-"

he takes a few quick steps around it to get to you, to kneel at your side and reach out his hands to pull yours into them, and it's all you can do not to flinch away and risk the image of impropriety. but you've endured this lecture before, and the only thing screaming inside your head is for you to resist--just resist, don't listen to a word he says, and bite your tongue of any insult until he finally gives up and gets the hint.

"Tohma, stop."

"-to treasure you like no one else will. I understand your point of view, I really do--we're still young, and the world outside of Inazuma seems so big and grand...but you have to realize that the time to settle down is coming for us."

he rubs his thumb over your hand and smiles in your direction, but you can't meet his eyes. and then it's slipping out of your grasp and raising up to your face, and you feel yourself stiffen all over as Tohma gently cups your cheek, his gaze lowering towards your mouth as if he has an idea of what he wants to do. but that would be grounds for you to shriek for a guard, and you're entirely certain that that's the only reason he bites his lip to stave off the desire.

"you were always meant to be mine. you believe in fate, and you've always put your trust in me...so why not let me help you?"

that last part comes as a whisper, the tearoom private but the walls still thin. one of the many secrets you've entrusted to Tohma over the years is your disagreement with Inazuma's strict laws, as well as the etiquette that comes with being a member of the higher class. you've always despised being noble, and Tohma has always understood you, at least you thought so....but ever since he's gotten this ludicrous idea in his head, you've known even less peace than usual.

"I've said it a dozen times, Tohma, and I won't say it again. I'm not marrying you."

you do your best to spit the words out with as much venom as you can muster, yet you still feel the twinge of anxiety at snapping at him so informally. it could spell the end for you quite easily, but when your eyes are drawn back to Tohma's expression, all you can see is bliss written all over his face.

"...even laced with contempt, my name sounds so sweet on your lips. you've so much wit, so much grace, and your beauty leaves me breathless...I know how little you think of me, but-"

fury shoots through every vein of your body, and you know it's the wrong move when you slap his hand away from your face, the smack like a thunderclap in the small space of the little tearoom.

"enough, Tohma! enough. do yourself a favour and stop speaking to me--in fact, I dearly hope you never say a word to me again."

each finger on his hand twitches, only to close in a tight fist and sink back down to his lap. you try to avoid his gaze in this moment, but even turning your head away you can still feel his eyes staring right into your soul.

"you know I can't make that promise. you know that I love you."

that word makes you stiffen, your grip lock on your noble dressings, your blood turn to ice in your veins. you've avoided that for so long but it follows you like a demon, and it's eyes glow a verdant green as Tohma's words melt into your skin and eat you alive from the inside out.

"this feeling of yours....it's not mutual, Tohma. just leave it, and leave me."

you say so, but you're the one that stands from the tea table in the end, and Tohma jumps to get to his feet to follow you. he trails on your heels as you step with purpose towards the door and slide it open, the cool chill of Inazuma city in the night prickling your exposed skin. the blond hurries to get in front of you, and the moment you spot a few other citizens on the path this late at night, you tilt your head down and pray to the gods that Tohma won't force you into impropriety.

"...I see. you won't budge on this, then...I will have to accept that. but may I at least escort you home? I can't in good faith allow you to wander alone in the dark. I still care for you."

he looks down on you with a softness to his features, and you hate how easily you buckle under any sort of pressure from him. you prided yourself on not giving in before, but when you're not alone it's not nearly as easy--you have to piece your words so carefully together, and by the time you think of an excuse it will already be too late for you to reject his offer. so with as subtle of a huff as you can manage, you speak softly under your breath that you suppose that's fine, and grit your teeth as you thank him for the offer. and Tohma is all too relieved to stand beside you as you walk down the hill and leave the prying ears of the city, the silence near unbearable between you as you meander through the path cut down the middle of the farmer's fields.

"seems there's no one around. not a surprise for this time of the night."

it's not a terribly long walk back to your family's estate, but Tohma still evidently feels the need to speak up as you reach the end of the gently sloping hill. Konda village lies within sight in the distance, and you feel the tension weigh heavy on your heart as you count the steps closer and closer to safety. relative safety that is.

you're so focused on paying him as little attention as possible that you don't even take notice to his hand drawing closer to yours and his eyes wandering up and down your figure, practically salivating as the flames in his chest burn hotter and hotter, until the moment he can't take any more and he grabs you by the shoulders to stop you and force you to look him straight in the eyes.

"now, you're going to listen very closely. I'm going to give you a little gift, because I love you so very much. you get a minute's head start."

the shock catches you off guard to the point that you bite your own tongue, fear and panic shooting through you like icicles that make you freeze in place. Tohma's expression is so intense he nearly appears feral, pearly teeth glimmering in the light from the moon as he grins down at you like a predator examining their prey.

"here's the deal, sweetheart--if you can run all the way past Konda village, you win. but if I catch you, I win, and you must uphold your promise and marry me in a month's time. and if you win, you'll get your wish--I'll never speak a word to you again."

terror grips you even harder than Tohma is, and at his proposal you whip your head towards the village in the distance and then back to him. if he's seriously not making some kind of sick joke, then there's absolutely no way you would ever make it. you're not a fighter, you don't even know how to hold a sword much less have a vision, and you've seen the kinds of things Tohma is capable of....he'll catch you before you make it anywhere close.

"Tohma-"

his gaze lingers on you for a moment, before he turns you in the direction of the village and pushes you forward, only hard enough for you to stumble a bit. you want to question him, to try and talk him down from such an insane idea, but once you hear him start counting down aloud your feet move on their own and you take off in a pitiful run down towards your target. the night air whips by your face as you try to sprint as best you can, yet your robes that give away your nobility get caught on your sandals and trip you up enough that it makes your heart jump into your throat. your heart pounds in a cage that feels too tight, the air heavy and raw in your lungs the longer you fumble your way forwards in the night. even your tears feel cold as they stream down your face, and if speaking wouldn't expend your precious energy then you would surely be wailing for Tohma to stop, please, he's scaring you. especially once you hear his footsteps take off, and it feels as though his warm breath is right on the back of your neck.

but even so, you look up within moments to find yourself in the middle of the quiet little village, the lanterns dim and only the glow of the moon casting light on the humble little buildings. the panic ceases but resurges just as quickly when you remember that you're not safe yet, that the entrance to the village is still a few hundred metres away--and you can hear Tohma panting now, at a distance close enough that he'll make a grab for you long before you'll ever get there. but there's something you know that he probably doesn't remember, and it might just be your saving grace as you duck into the shadows and skirt around the mayor's house just as he skids into the path of the village. you fear in the pit of your stomach that getting the top off the well that you used to play near as children would make a great deal of noise, but you hurry forward and find it open--and just as you swing a leg over to climb inside and pray that Tohma doesn't think to look for you here, your foot slips on the stone that's still damp from the rain and your world is overturned as you fall through the air. it's not far enough that you can scream or grab for purchase on something, but when you land you hear the sickening crack of something breaking and pain that shoots through your leg so quick that it almost makes you black out.

but something worse is yet to come, and it's Tohma's voice calling out your name, before you look up to the sky and your heart just sinks as you watch his face pop into view over the side of the well.

"oh, archons--baby, are you all right?! did you hurt yourself?"

he hops over the edge quite easily and falls steady on his feat, not even having broken a sweat from chasing you as he hurries to your side and props you up in the crook of his arm. and despite still feeling that twinge of discomfort and panic from him touching you, the agony sets in so deeply that you cling to him without realizing as tears pour down your face and you struggle to breathe.

"let me see...yeah, that's definitely broken. c'mere, I'll help you up.."

just brushing the pads of his fingers over the rapidly-swelling skin of your calf makes you flinch and cry out with pain, and it's obvious by the deep bruising how bad you've hurt it--you wouldn't be able to climb out of here if you tried. but Tohma finds so little trouble in heaving you up into his arms that it's laughable....it would be funny how sincerely you thought you could get away in the first place, if you weren't experiencing the consequences now. and only now is it starting to sink in that you lost, even though he isn't rubbing it in your face. yet.

"poor thing--that was scary, wasn't it? aren't you glad I was here?"

despite how despairing you look, he rubs his cheek against yours as he holds you tight. you realize now how much he's always wanted to do this, and how he's dragging this all out while he has the chance to do it without anyone watching....it's such a rare opportunity, but you don't feel nearly as lucky as he does.

"I'll always be here, sweetie....in sickness and in health, right?"

he murmurs into the shell of your ear, before pressing a kiss to it right afterwards as he reaches out to get a foothold so he can lift you out of here. all you can think about now is how your chance of escaping him has slipped away....and now, your status is a death sentence in the hands of the man who saved your life, and will ask for nothing in return but your gentle hand in marriage. how romantic.

#tohma #tohma x reader #tohma genshin impact #thoma x reader #thoma genshin #genshin impact #yandere tohma #yandere thoma #yandere genshin impact #yandere genshin x reader

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dickwheelie · 3 years

Note

jmart request: time travel but make it funny?

I’ve seen plenty of s5 jmart traveling back to s1, but none of s1 jmart traveling forwards in time to s5....

____________

“Well that’s . . . not right.”

Following Jon’s gaze, Martin squinted up at the sky, and had to agree that yes, dark, churning green clouds and a gigantic, unblinking eye staring down at them where the sun should be was, to put it succinctly, not right at all.

“I told you not to go through that door,” said Martin. “But no, apparently we’re researchers, Martin, with obligations to investigate paranormal phenomena, no matter how stupid it is to go through a weird door that suddenly appears in your office--”

“I’m not--it’s not stupid to do my job,” Jon snapped. “And you didn’t have to follow me through.”

Martin felt his face heat. “Well, I, uh. Didn’t want something to--happen to you.”

Jon gestured around them, at the--well, at the everything. “Bit late for that now,” he muttered, his voice barely audible above the distant background noise of tortured screams.

Martin cast his gaze around the--well, hellscape wouldn’t be a bad word for it. They were definitely outside, on a . . . hill? Somewhere? But there were no other landmarks or buildings to identify. “Where are we, anyway?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

“Hmm,” Jon said, squinting down at the blighted ground surrounding them, as though it may contain a few clues, or perhaps had personally offended him in some way. He kicked at the dirt with the toe of his shined work shoe. Then he nodded, satisfactorily, and said, “Probably a shared hallucination.”

“A--what?”

“Shared hallucinations are surprisingly common,” Jon said, as though he were teaching a lesson to a class of students he was rather disappointed by. “Especially by people who work in close quarters, isolated from the outside world.”

“Wh--And that’s us, then, is it?” Martin said, growing frustrated now. “Two people who work in a basement together with two other coworkers just one day up and lose their minds. Is that what you think is happening here, Jon?”

“I can’t see another explanation for it,” Jon said, utterly stonefaced. In the distance, an explosion was heard, followed by a plume of red smoke and a chorus of animalistic screams.

“Right,” Martin said, mostly to himself. He rubbed a hand over his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Right. Okay. Of course, he doesn’t believe any of it, you could staple hard evidence of the supernatural to the guy’s forehead and he wouldn’t--”

“I can hear you, you know,” Jon said, so deadpan his voice was in danger of flattening the hill they were standing on.

“Good,” said Martin, daring Jon to tell him off, but instead he just rolled his eyes.

“Really, Martin, this is silly. I can prove this isn’t real. All I have to do is walk in one direction, and keep going, and eventually I’ll hit the wall of my office. Where we both still are.”

“Alright,” said Martin, crossing his arms. “So do it, then.”

“I will,” Jon said primly, and pointed himself at the horizon. Slowly, he began to walk, hands spread out in front of him, as though anticipating smacking into something he couldn’t see. Martin watched as Jon took five steps, ten steps, twenty . . . and after that he lost count, because Jon had disappeared over the lip of the hill.

A few moments later, Jon reappeared, huffing with some effort as he climbed back up the hill again. “Well,” he said, between breaths, “it seems this hallucination is more thorough than I thought.”

Throwing up his hands in frustration, Martin said, “Christ, Jon, I can’t believe--god, why do you have to be so bloody stubborn. And why do I have to like it so much.”

“I--Wait, what did you just--”

“Look, whatever the hell this all is, it’s real, and it’s happening, and we’ve got to deal with it,” Martin went on. “I don’t know how, but somehow we’ve got to. And if we’re stuck together, here, then . . . then we’re stuck together.” He nodded decisively, hoping he sounded more certain than he felt.

For once, Jon didn’t make a fuss. He seemed to deflate, a bit, and nodded reluctantly. “I suppose . . . I suppose it would best to play along, for now.”

Martin looked around, taking in the horror show that surrounded them on all sides. “Well,” he said, “I guess we’d better start walking.”

“Which way?”

“Honestly, I don’t think it really matters,” Martin said.

“Let’s not split up, though,” Jon said quickly.

A warm feeling spread through Martin’s chest, despite himself. “Yeah,” he agreed. “We’ll go together.”

And so they set off, not exactly hand-in-hand, on a journey with an unknown destination, for what purpose they couldn’t be sure. And maybe, just maybe, they would both learn a little something on the way.

But probably not.

#tma #the magnus archives #jonmartin #serenfire #thank u for the prompt!#this was kinda goofy but fun to write lmao #i love writing them arguing #gwyneth writes #martin blackwood #jonathan sims

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lovetorn · 3 years

Text

in chains for you [dream]

Dream x Fem!Reader Criminals!AU

Summary: The Dream Team is an underground crime group that works for Techno Industries. But what happens when one of their most valuable members is taken for ransom by their enemy, Schlatt?

Warnings: Swearing & mean insults :(, kidnapping, death, violence, uhhh nothing else? message me if you see anything else!

Word Count: 8.1k+

A/N: I’m so sorry for any mistakes/plot holes, my adhd said no❤️ when i was editing :(

Note: Please remember these are all characters! Since I do not know any of these people in real life, I have created all aspects of their lives, personalities etc. and apologise for any OOC moments. I portrayed Schlatt as the villain purely from his role play in the Dream SMP, obviously, I do not believe him to be like this irl in any way. He is also written as much older than the Dream Team to enhance the villain-like characteristics. Remember, this is just fiction! Thanks!

Night had fallen over California, and the icy breeze from the South blew through the city of Beverly Hills. The lights from several luxury hotels and displays lit up the streets and exposed the city. It was more alive than half the people that resided there. Here, people only cared about their money and their assets; barely any room left for emotions towards others that didn’t benefit them.

“Hurry the fuck up, Sapnap!”

The gravelly sound of Dream shouting prompted Y/n to run faster. Tensions were high as three criminals rushed to the dark SUV that sat running outside of the tall building. They clutched black duffle bags in both hands when the sound of familiar sirens cried a few blocks away.

Unlocking the car, George threw open the back car door and launched his duffle bags onto the car seats before hopping in. Dream rounded the car and opened the door to the driver’s seat, Y/n doing the same for the passenger’s side. And whilst they were shoving the bags in, Sapnap came running out of the building, another duffle bag in his hand and a briefcase in the other. The ends of his white bandana flew around in the wind behind him as he missed a dip in the floor.

“What the fuck has he got now? We’ve gotta go!” George exclaimed, hurrying the boy by waving his hand. Dream put the car in drive as Sapnap slammed the door, “Go, go, go!”

The car squealed while Dream pulled off of the curb, the wheels screeching against the tar as he pressed his foot heavily on the accelerator. 40, 50, 70, 100, 130mph. The speedometer jumped by 10s and then by 40s as the car barrelled down the long strip of road, the wailings of sirens fading behind them.

George, Y/n and Sapnap were laughing as they took their masks off. The sound pissed Dream off as he gripped the steering wheel harder; why is nobody taking this seriously?

Ripping his white mask off his face and throwing it into his lap, Dream looked at Sapnap through the rearview mirror, “Why did you take so long? That could’ve fucked our whole plan!”

“Jeez, chill out.”

Dream shot him a glare through the mirror as Sapnap put his hand up, “Schlatt said he had a briefcase full of Chick-Fil-A gift cards, so I grabbed the first one I saw.”

George lolled his head to the side, mouth agape as he stared at him in disbelief. “Are you shitting me?”

Sapnap shook his head, resting the case on his thighs and popping open the clasps.

“Fuck yeah!” He cheered, turning the case around to show the rest of the car the bundles of hundreds of red and white cards that laid on a sheet of red velvet. Sapnap’s eyes remained as wide as saucers the entire time he tilted the case at different angles to ensure everybody saw.

Y/n turned around in her seat to face the boys in the back and giggled.

“Can I have one?” She asked, holding her hands up in a praying gesture. Sapnap laughed and nodded, “I’ve got enough for a whole country! And anything for you, Y/n.” Y/n smiled at him, mouthing a quick ‘thank you’ before turning back around to face the road that was gone as quick as it came.

The deep sigh that came from Dream in the driver’s seat caught the attention of everybody in the car. Sapnap rolled his eyes and shut the case. “Calm down, green boy. She’s all yours.”

Arriving at the motel George had found, the four lugged the black duffle bags in the small room. Locking the room door, Dream spun around to see everybody sitting on one of the single beds.

He eyed the black duffle bags in the corner with a frown, each one full to the brim with thousands of 100 dollar bills that they had to transfer back to base. George cleared his throat when he saw his friend looking at the bags and raised his eyebrows, “Dream?” The man turned at the sound of his name and nodded once. He had an odd feeling in his stomach but decided to ignore it and face the problem at hand first before anything else.

Dream sighed, “We did good tonight,” The three on the bed hollering softly, fist-bumping each other before Dream continued.

“But...” Y/n, George and Sapnap all groaned, throwing their heads back at the oncoming disappointment that Dream was going to throw on them.

“Sapnap, what the fuck was that? You can’t go off on your own tangents during a plan this big! What would’ve happened if—”

Sapnap’s eyes widened when he realised Dream’s rage was aimed towards him. “Dream! It’s okay, bro. I’m right here, we’re all alive—”

“Don’t talk back to me.”

The silence that followed was deafening. Y/n avoided Dream’s gaze when it landed on her. She didn’t want him asking her to back him up; not tonight.

“Anyway, I hope you all know what comes next.” The three nodded, heads down and eyes trained on the worn carpet. Sapnap and George stood up and went to different sides of the room, George to the bathroom and Sapnap to the desk where he pulled out his iPod and earphones.

Dream watched as Y/n lifted her head back up, meeting his gaze. She gave him a soft smile and patted the space on the bed next to her. Dream ran a hand through his tangled blonde hair and walked over to her, sitting where her hand once was.

“You okay?” She asked softly, placing her hand over his that sat in his lap. Dream nodded before huffing. “I just don’t know how successful this plan actually is. Something’s off.” He whispered, grabbing her hand. Y/n leaned forward to try and meet his green eyes; the ones that made her weak at the knees when he looked at her a certain way. But he didn’t need to know that considering they were just friends.

“We did good today, look! We’re here, alive and well. And if something’s bothering you, just know that I’ll always be here to help you. Now, I need the bathroom.” She smiled, squeezing his hand before standing up.

“George? When are you done?” She yelled at the bathroom door. Dream tilted his head to the side as he admired her, what would he do without her?

“Soon! Stop being annoying!”

It had reached a point in the night where Dream couldn’t sleep. The single bed he laid in was uncomfortable, and the nagging feeling of doubt kept him awake. Something was wrong.

He looked over a Y/n who laid in the other bed across from him. His top priority was to keep her safe; he had to. His eyes then travelled to his two other best friends—Sapnap in the desk chair and George on the brown couch.

He smiled softly. Dream rarely got emotional, but seeing his friends and partners in crime—literally—so vulnerable, had his mind plagued with vicious scenarios that brought tears to his alarmingly vacant eyes.

They weren’t always void, but seeing death as he did, had pushed the soul of nature out of his once striking eyes. He thought they looked dull now, matching the rest of his face, but Y/n always told him they were the prettiest she’d ever seen. He’d always flush when she said that which always elicited a poke in the ribs and a teasing comment from her.

Dream forgot how long he’d been lying there, his mind drifting in and out of sleeping until a high-pitched squeak came from the main door. He reached for his knife that held a place under the pillow and sat up, holding his knife and facing the door.

On the floor next to the door, sat an ominous black envelope. Dream chewed the inside of his lip, his heart beating rapidly with panic. How did they find them?

—

“How the fuck did they find us?” George asked, his palms sweaty as he held the letter in his hands. The gold foiling around the letters was both alluring and terrifying.

Palm Casino. Wednesday Night. 12am. Be there, or face death.

Dream had rolled his eyes when he read the letter for the first time; Schlatt was so dramatic. And although fear and doubt had set in his stomach, he didn’t let his friends know.

How did they find them? They had been careful with the robbery, getting everything they needed without leaving a trace, nothing out of place, except for—

Dream shoved his partners out of the way and leaned down to pick up the briefcase with the Chic-Fil-A gift cards. Sapnap went to interject, primarily to save his prized possession when Y/n grabbed his elbow and shook her head when he turned to her.

Dream opened it then turned it upside down, emptying the cards onto the rotting carpet.

“Dream—”

“Shut up.” He then continued to rip the velvet from the inside of the case to reveal a small box with a red flashing light. Sapnap stopped his wriggling and stood staring at the device.

“This is your fault, you dipshit.”

Sapnap was silent. Y/n softened her grip to rub his elbow comfortingly instead, the action making Dream narrow his gaze. The girl rolled her eyes and spoke up, “How was he supposed to know it was in there, Dream? You can’t blame him for this at all.”

Dream shook his head and dropped his gaze to the floor before huffing and scrunching his nose in a disgusted manner.

Midnight had arrived quickly, like a thief in the dark, and the crescent moon hung high in the sky. A light breeze swept into the city, making the palm trees sway in the delicate moonlight as a black SUV pulled up to the Palm Casino.

“Okay, here we go. I want you all on your best behaviour,” Dream joked. And as his mask only hid half of his face, a lopsided grin graced his face as he popped the door open. Y/n knew that smile; it was one that was begging for chaos, but she knew it was just a deflection from his real emotions.

Walking to the entrance, Y/n reached up and placed her hand on Dream’s shoulder. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

Dream let out a laugh, “Wouldn’t dream of it, baby.”

The boys sported black on black suits with matching Rolex watches, the gold of the timepieces shining in the low light. The only differences between them being Dream’s smiley mask, Sapnap’s white bandana in his hair, and George’s white glasses upon the top of his head. Y/n, on the other hand, wore a fitting dress with gold jewellery. She would’ve worn anything else, but considering the situation, she complied.

As the waitress walked them over to the poker table, Y/n caught Dream’s hand in her own, squeezing it once before letting go. She knew he was worried and the action in itself was enough to calm Dream’s nerves for the time being, but as soon as he made eye contact with Schlatt, it all went away.

“Boys! How are we doing?” The man yelled, throwing his arms up with a smile on his face. Dream nodded once and sat down at the table, Sapnap and George following. Y/n went to sit beside Sapnap but was cut off by Schlatt who took it upon himself to police the members at said table.

“I’m sorry, gorgeous. I’m afraid this game is only for the men.” He gave her a tight-lipped smile and clasped his hands on the table. Y/n narrowed her gaze at him before rolling her eyes and moving to stand behind Dream.

Schlatt then stood and excused himself from the table, making George throw Dream a confused look before the man spoke up. He walked towards another room, guarded by velvet ropes, but not before shouting, “Let the games begin!”

—

Dream sat observing the last man in the game next to himself, ensuring he wouldn’t lose, not that he ever did. He had learnt from his father early on to read the expressions of the players around him and how to benefit from the folds and raises. People were shocked when they found out his age, bewildered that such a young man could earn numbers like that.

Dream stared narrowly at the man; his eyebrows raised as he wore a sly smirk. The man in front of him was profusely sweating, his hand reaching to grasp a tissue from his pocket as the last community card was placed down. The surrounding men groaned; their expressions irritable as the Dream Team gained another win. Dream threw the cards onto the Poker table and stood up, offering his hand to the gentleman. He reluctantly accepted then hurried out of the room, four of his acquaintances following.

Y/n watched as Dream swapped seats with Sapnap, allowing him his turn at the game. She then moved and leaned down to Dream’s ear, “This is bullshit, where’s Schlatt gone?”

Dream shook his head and shrugged quickly, “Fuck knows.”

“Let’s go, Sapnap,” A man they recognised as Fletcher spoke, sitting down in front of the young man as his buddies filed around the table to take their seats. Sapnap didn’t talk, he only glanced back at Dream who tilted his head, holding his forefinger up to indicate this would be their last round.

Once Sapnap had collected his two starting cards, the game began. Dream watched as each of the men were eliminated through folds and how they apologised to Fletcher for letting him down. The man brushed them off, telling them to “watch how it’s done”. Dream, Sapnap and George stifled a laugh as they watched the second last man fold. Behind them, Y/n grew impatient and began mumbling to herself about how ridiculous it was.

“Excuse me? Can’t you see we’re in the middle of a round? Get the fuck outta here.” Fletcher said, his voice harsh as Y/n’s eyebrows flew to her hairline. Dream went to interject before the man spoke again.

“A scotch on the rocks.” He then said.

“I’m not a waitress.” Y/n’s voice was monotone while the man waved her away. Y/n scoffed before she moved towards him. Dream’s hand flew out to catch her wrist, and Y/n rolled her eyes. As angry as Dream was, he wasn’t going to start something with Schlatt’s men before the meeting actually started. Sapnap didn’t pay any attention to the conversations around him, focusing only on winning.

Fletcher chuckled, holding his cards close to his chest, “you dumb kid”. Sapnap’s facial expression went from serious to amused, watching as the dealer placed down the final community card. Sapnap’s eyes flickered to Fletcher’s grey ones as he slammed his cards down on the table. Sapnap then reached to gather his winnings in chips, earning pats on the back from George and a gentle laugh and fist-bump from Dream.

Fletcher sat in disbelief; he was sure he would win this one. Sapnap stood up and embraced George in a hug before moving to Dream as Fletcher circled around the table.

“You cheating bastard!” Sapnap held his hands up in defence, clueless as to why this man was coming at him.

“No cheating here, Fletch, just plain luck,” He grinned, clearly not fearful of him.

“Dude just take the loss and move on, it’s not that deep,” Y/n said, catching the attention of Fletcher again.

“Not now, you whore. The men are talking,” Fletcher glowered, looking intimidatingly down at the girl.

Y/n, however, wasn’t fazed by his words, “Look, it’s not his fault that you lost. I guess you just suck at Poker.” Fletcher’s face went bright red, and Y/n swore she saw steam coming out of his ears. Her eyes widened as she took a step back slowly. George pushed her behind him despite her protests of being able to handle herself.

“Come on Fletch, there’s no need to go after an innocent woman,” Dream asserted, placing his hand on the man’s shoulder. He soon realised that his actions were a mistake as Fletcher spun around and threw his fist towards Dream’s nose. Dream’s mask had cracked slightly on impact, his green eyes widening in panic as he stumbled back slightly.

Sapnap scanned the other men around them and calculated their next moves before he ducked a punch from a redhead. George’s hands gripped under Dream’s armpits as he pulled him up, dodging fists from the older men. Dream’s eyes were watering from the unexpected hit to the nose, and he could barely see.

But what he did see was Y/n raising the metal drinks tray she found on the poker table next to them and slamming it down on the back of Fletcher’s bald head. Her eyes were wide as she stood behind his figure that was now on the floor, groaning. Her eyes met his and Dream felt his breath catch in his throat, but he couldn’t acknowledge it at the present time because there were five other guys to deal with.

Dream regained his posture and cocked his head to the right, stretching his neck before standing off to the others. The men stood with their fists raised in front of their faces and their feet apart, ready to engage. George, Sapnap and Dream were just as confused as Y/n was, who was making sure Fletcher stayed down.

“I really fucking hate you guys. Let’s get a move on with the meeting, shall we?” Y/n said lazily, she just wanted to get home.

—

Dream sat in a large black chair, the lower half of his face covered in blood, the top half covered by his stained, cracked mask. Y/n had her legs crossed, with a stern expression, glaring at Schlatt as he rounded the table to sit at his obnoxiously large desk.

Schlatt had demanded it only be Dream and Y/n in the office with him, making George and Sapnap wait outside. The two boys had angrily complained about it, but Dream assured them it would be fine, leaving them to sulk next to the heavy wooden door that led to Schlatt’s office.

“You two make a good pair, eh?” Schlatt smirked, bringing his hands to interlock in front of him on the desk. Dream glanced at Y/n, who gave him a bored look.

He then turned back to the front, “Why are we here, Schlatt?”

“Oh, not very friendly,” He laughed, earning no responses from anyone in the room except for his assistant, Quackity, who stood in the corner. “That’s Quackity by the way.”

Dream shrugged, uninterested with the introduction of his assistant and remained still until Schlatt continued.

“Now, tell me where the money is, Dream.” There it was—the literal million-dollar question.

The masked blonde didn’t react. Y/n cast her eyes towards him, seeing nothing but the white mask that covered his face. The smile on the front was a harsh contrast to the anger Dream felt. And when Schlatt huffed and wiggled his fingers at Quackity, then Dream perked up.

Suddenly, Y/n wrists were being grabbed by Quackity, who had crossed the room in seconds. Dream immediately stood, only to be pushed back by Schlatt who had moved in front of him.

Y/n opened her mouth object when Quackity whacked his free hand over her mouth. She let out a whimper at the smack, tears welling in her eyes in shock. Nonetheless, she continued to struggle against his harsh grip on her wrists. Y/n’s breathing became heavier, her thoughts clouded with fear of the unknown; what would Schlatt want with her?

Quackity dragged the girl from the large chair towards the other side of the room, where another door lay, but he didn’t take her in yet. Dream’s gaze was locked on Y/n, everything else slipping away as he watched her thrash against her captor.

“Let’s call it leverage?” Schlatt’s haunting voice echoed through the room, and he had an evil gleam in his eye. “You tell me where you hid the money, and I’ll let her go.”

Dream’s head was on a swivel when he turned back to face Schlatt. Panic blossomed in his stomach; if he gave up the money, they’d all be dead. And as hard of a decision as it was, Dream knew what to do—he had his full faith in Y/n. He remembered what she had told him when they first started working together and drew in a breath. He nodded at Y/n once, receiving a pleading look in reply, and sighed.

“Give ‘em hell, baby.”

—

“Are you out of your fuckin’ mind?” Sapnap spat as the three men got back into the SUV outside of the casino. George shook his head in the backseat, scoffing as Dream ignored their questions.

Meanwhile, Dream drove in complete fury. He knew what he did was wrong and stupid, but Y/n once demanded he let her go if she was ever held for ransom. It was an odd request at the time. And this was an irrational move that could get her killed, but he had no choice—it was her or the whole operation, and Dream was loyal.

“Hello? You fuckin’—”

“Sapnap.”

The youngest froze at Dream’s tone and sunk into his seat, choosing to look out of the window than at him. He flexed his hand against the steering wheel, refusing to meet their gazes.

“Y/n asked me before any of this started, that if she were to ever be held hostage, for ransom, whatever, to trust her and let them take her. I don’t know why I never asked her why, but we have to trust her, and you have to trust me for making this decision.”

“Call Techno and tell him that Schlatt’s taken one of us for ransom.” Dream said to no one in particular. Sapnap scrambled to get his phone from his pocket and dial their boss’ number, but not before turning and facing Dream from the passenger’s seat.

“I—we trust you, Dream. And we’ll be with you till the end, okay?” Sapnap mumbled, gesturing to George in the backseat.

“She’ll be fine.” Dream had a hard time believing George, “We know Y/n, she’s a strong girl—a whole lot stronger than us—she’ll get through it.”

The piercing sound of metal against metal made Y/n cringe, distracting her from the burning of the new rope bound around her wrists. Quackity’s heavy breathing almost made her laugh, they hadn’t even walked for that long.

He didn’t say anything to Y/n when he guided her inside a cell. She furrowed her eyebrows as she looked around the dirty space, scrunching her nose in disgust as she noticed the damp walls and the stray cockroach that scurried across the floor.

“I’m sorry about the state of this, we don’t have visitors often,” Quackity said, exhaling a scoff he let go of her arms. Y/n’s face dropped when she felt the rope loosen and fall off her wrists. She remained still as Quackity rummaged around behind her.

The screech of the cell door closing startled Y/n—she thought she’d have more time to fight back. She heard Quackity shuffle away from the cell, and shortly after, the sound of dress shoes tapping on the concrete floor caught her attention.

Y/n slowly turned around when someone cleared their throat behind her. She rolled her eyes as she came face to face with Schlatt. He stood with his hands behind his back in his usual arrogant suit and his deep red tie.

“Do you know why my tie is this red?” He asked, his head tilted to the side with a patronising smirk. It was an odd question, but Y/n could already guess the answer, she just didn’t want to hear it when she was this vulnerable.

Schlatt leaned down and closer to the cell, his face fitting perfectly between the bars as his eyes glared into Y/n’s.

“It’s so you can’t see the bloodstains.” He winked before sanding to his full height, his mood shifting entirely, “Anyways, I’m gonna keep this short. Get comfortable, Princess, you’ll be here awhile knowing Dream and his goons.”

With a clap of his hands and a small chuckle, Schlatt left, his shoes clacking down the hallway and into the elevator at the end of the hallway. The machine dinged and then it was gone, leaving Y/n in a deafening silence.

She sank to her knees, crestfallen, onto the concrete beneath her, still in her tight dress. As strong-minded as Y/n was, she couldn’t bring herself to give a witty remark. She was absolutely defeated. She knew Dream would get her out, eventually, but at what cost? Would Dream let everything the Dream Team has worked for in the past 3 years go to waste? For her?

She didn’t let herself cry as she picked herself up, and hesitantly sat on the cot in the corner of the cell. Her dress was uncomfortable, and the feeling of satin against her skin irritated her immensely.

Y/n had no idea how far underground she was; she sat in complete darkness and utter silence, nothing but the ringing of her ears and her screaming thoughts to keep her company.

—

Dream paced the small space, tearing at his hair roots with his fists, his face red with panic and anger. He was so in his head; he couldn’t hear his two friends calling his name from 3 feet away. The thought of Y/n alone with Schlatt made him so infuriated he could punch a hole through the brick wall next to him. The ringing in his ears was deafening, and the stinging of his nails digging into his palms was numbing.

Sapnap threw George a concerned glance, his brown eyes pleading George to do something to stop Dream from falling further into an endless loop of guilt and despair.

“Dream!” The sound of George calling him in that tone caused him to pause his pacing. He turned to look at his English friend with wide eyes, his eyebrows raised in surprise.

“You need to stop! Y/n wouldn’t want you having an existential crisis over her, she’d want you to hurry up and figure out a plan to get her back.”

Dream stood frozen for a moment; what would Y/n want? It was like a switch flipped inside Dream when he stood up straight, sending him into autopilot. All emotion wiped was from his face, leaving his eyes vacant and face blank. And as much as George hated to admit it, this cold version of his best friend knew what to do and how to do it efficiently. The sudden change shocked Sapnap slightly, leaving him frightened as he grabbed onto George’s sleeve.

“Ok boys, let’s get to work.”

Emotion is a weakness, and they sure did not need that right now.

Y/n had been suffering in the same tight dress and uncomfortable heels for a week; Schlatt’s lack of humanity and human decency (as well as kidnapping her in the first place), had put him in Y/n’s bad books.

The only human interaction she had was Quackity bringing her meals twice a day and the small conversations they would have as she ate. He didn’t talk about his work much, only hinting at his eventual betrayal and escape from Schlatt. Although, he continually spoke of his family to her, telling Y/n that he was there against his will and was threatened with death if he left. She felt sympathy for the boy, he was so young.

When Alex, as she now calls him, left her, Y/n was back with her mind. She had remained seemingly sane despite being in solitary confinement but was going insane without Dream. Every time she closed her eyes, she saw his emerald ones gleaming at her through the darkness, their vibrance giving her shivers.

She missed his touch: his cold hands in her’s, their knees brushing slightly when sitting on the motel bed, his hand on her thigh in the car, despite complaints from the boys. She cared deeply for him, and she knew he did too, but they were both too scared of rejection to get together. Sapnap always teased them for being ‘pussies’, and George would roll his eyes whenever they would flush at their closeness—god, she missed them too.

Biting her lip, Y/n tried her best to prevent tears from falling down her cheeks. But she hadn’t let them fall since being held ransom, fearing she would be seen as weak by Schlatt, and even Alex. The burning at the back of her throat was fiery as she let them out. She struggled to breathe, clawing at her throat when she felt her lungs tighten. Y/n tried to sit upright to calm herself down, but her pained cries filled the cold, concrete basement and rattled the cell bars. She sobbed for hours, only falling asleep when the last ones dried.

—

As Dream put the car in park, he turned to face George in the passenger’s seat.

“You ready?” He asked. George exhaled and nodded, “Let’s get her back.”

Dream smirked. His attitude had flipped entirely from last week, leaving him cocky and ready to fight the world. However, George saw through his best friend’s act. He heard Dream’s choked and ragged cries in the bathroom at 4 am, and noticed his red, puffy eyes at 7 am when they woke up. He saw the way his hands shook every time he drove, and he caught onto Dream’s routine of not eating until Sapnap would force him away from the table with the plans spread across it.

George was concerned for his best friend, and Dream was oblivious. But despite everything, George knew he was determined to get Y/n back, above all else. Her life came before his own, and that scared George to his core, how far would Dream go to save Y/n?

“Ok, Geor—” The piercing screams of fire alarms made Dream jump as they echoed down the street. The two boys shared a surprised look before they hopped out of the SUV. They jogged down the road towards the Palm Casino with black duffle bags on their shoulders.

Flames rose as high as the sky and embers rained on Dream and George as they ran through the smoke to the entrance. Employees darted out of the main doors, crashing into the boys as they continued to the central control room of the casino. George heaved the heavy door open before closing it firmly behind them. They dropped the bags and began drinking in the clean air as they set their eyes on Sapnap who sat behind a desk with his feet up on the table.

“Well, boys, how did I do?” He said, arms out as he cocked his eyebrow up. George laughed in disbelief, “I can’t believe that worked.”

Sapnap shook his head quickly, “You had no faith in me, did you?” He threw his hand on his chest and stood up from his spot.

“Sap, you did great!” Dream exclaimed, walking over to slap the boy on the back. Sapnap’s pained expression turned into a smile as he watched George do the same.

“Ok then, where’s the security office?”

—

“I can’t fit my fat ass through there, Sapnap.” Dream’s jaw dropped as he measured the gap with his hands, “There’s just no way!”

George rolled his eyes and pushed Dream towards the duct, “Just go! Do you want Y/n back or not?” Dream’s face scrunched up, much like a child when having a tantrum, and whined.

“Why don’t you just go? I simply just cannot fit! Here, you wanna see?” George and Sapnap nodded, amused looks on their faces as they watched him dive headfirst into the air duct.

His body slipped in in such an elegant way that it made them burst out laughing. Dream, who couldn’t see his friends, exhaled deeply before he began crawling along. His movements heightened their laughter, seeing him wiggle through, but it only made Dream more determined to pursue the journey.

“Oh yeah, you have such a fat ass, Dream! Throw it back for me, baddie!” Sapnap yelled after him, his giggles interrupting the sentence a few times.

George and Sapnap’s antics were long gone, and all Dream could hear was the squeaking of an elevator and the creaking of the metal beneath him. He had memorised the layout of the ducts in his head and decided that this was the spot to drop down into.

The first basement looked usual, with a boiler in the corner and some filing cabinets lining the walls. Dream dropped from the ceiling with no sound, moving silently towards the elevator in the opposing corner of the large room. The sound of shoes slapping the hard ground paused Dream’s movements before he moved quickly behind a cabinet.

“—He said not to go down there, Tubbo. What do you think he’s hiding?”

Dream furrowed his eyebrows, were those kids? He adjusted his mark slightly before he peeked around the corner of the filing cabinet. Sure enough, Dream saw two teenage boys, one significantly taller than the other. But nonetheless, they were definitely very young. Why did Schlatt hire two British kids to guard his secret underground prison? Dream shook his head, glancing down at the floor as he crept out of his hiding spot.

“Oi!” He heard. Dream looked up, seeing the taller boy stalk towards him. The blonde boy stopped in his tracks, his eyes widening as he looked back at the other boy.

“Tubbo, do you know who this is?” The blonde asked in disbelief. The shorter one nodded, his expression lifting at the sight of Dream. Their jaws dropped as Dream exhaled deeply.

“Dream? As in the Dream Team? As in Techno Industries?” Dream rolled his eyes behind his mask. He didn’t respond as the two boys inched closer to him.

“Listen, I’ll give you a few bucks if you don’t mention this to Schlatt, got it?” Dream growled, shoving his hand in his pocket and pulling out a few hundred-dollar bills. The boys’ eyes shone, the shorter one reaching forward to accept the bribe before the blonde pushed him back.

“That’s all? I was expecting at least a grand each from THE Dream.” He smirked. Dream remained expressionless and went to decline before the blonde continued. “It’s a grand each or I tell Schlatt you were snooping around his casino.”

Dream shook his head and pulled another $600 from his pocket and shoved it into their hands, “Now shut the fuck up, or I’ll do it myself.”

The taller one went to reply, but the other one pulled on his sleeve and shook his head. He rolled his eyes and mumbled a string of curse words before turning and stomping away. The other boy muttered a quick ‘thank you’ with a small smile on his face and hurried off in the direction of the staircase that went up to the casino’s main floor. Dream guessed that the fire had been taken care of by the way they fled carelessly up the stairs.

Dream sighed and trod over to the elevator. He pressed the arrow to go down and groaned when the scanner next to it blinked red.

He scrunched up his face when he glanced back towards the air duct. The only other option was to try and get down the air duct and into the rafters in the basement below.

Dream had the urge to throw a temper tantrum at Sapnap’s shitty planning. He pulled himself back up into the duct and crawled towards the wall where the elevator was. Reaching a sharp drop, Dream looked over the edge, his eyes widening at the height. He grunted as he positioned himself above the fall; all he had to do was slide down.

He could hardly see the bottom, but he knew if he slid down as planned, he would go straight through. So, instead, Dream slowly moved his arms and legs into the small space and gradually let himself down, inching closer to the bottom with every move.

Sweat dripped down his temple, and his muscles ached as he went, his palms becoming slippery against the smooth and thin metal. He held his breath as he reached the bottom, scared any sound he made would attract unwanted attention from whoever could be in the vicinity.

He let out a quiet, steady breath, and he returned to his hands and knees in the horizontal air duct. His original plan was irrelevant, so he didn’t know the map of the air ducts in the second basement, leaving him guessing.

Once he thought the spot was right, he harshly pushed on a panel of the duct below him, hearing it clatter on the concrete as it hit the ground. He cringed at the sound and slowly lowered himself onto the beams that were directly below him. How convenient.

The sharp sound of the panel dropping had caught the attention of several guards. On this level, there were actual security guards with weapons and not lippy teenagers. Dream made eye contact with one of them, scolding himself when the man scrambled for his walkie talkie as he spotted Dream on the beams above.

Dream rolled his eyes and dropped from the ceiling, crouching as he landed before standing up. He brought his pointer finger to his lips before bringing his fist to his neck and dragging his thumb across the skin. The action itself made the security guard’s eyes widen and freeze his movements. Dream’s sadistic smile and seemingly wild nature made the guard move backwards into the wall as he passed.

He went around another corner and was met with an entirely different area he wasn’t expecting. But, Dream was sure he was going to succeed in finding Y/n and escaping as soon as possible. And of course, the echo of a sinister whistle made him freeze. Fuck.

“Dream! Hey, buddy, how’s it going?” As Schlatt rounded the corner, a smirk spread across his smug face, Dream squeezed his eyes shut.

“A little friend of mine told me you were here! Just thought I’d come and say hi,” He chuckled as Dream cracked his knuckles. Damn kids.

“Schlatt, where’s Y/n?” Dream demanded, cracking his neck when he jerked his head to the side.

“Now, that’s not a nice way to greet a friend, is it, Dream?”

Dream’s eyes widened behind his mask. He stood stunned, no words coming from his mouth.

“Dream, she’s not yours. She never has been. So why do you think you have to save her?” Dream’s expression remained the same as Schlatt continued, “You’re too pussy to even ask her out, let alone be her boyfriend.” It was a ridiculous argument, Schlatt knew that, but he was positive he was going to get a rise out of Dream this way.

He sneered at Dream’s silence, the deep rumble of his cackle rattling Dream’s bones. Suddenly, a scream added to the ominous atmosphere that Schlatt had created, and Dream jumped into action, launching himself at the older man.

“Where is she?” His voice became raspy as he threw a punch at Schlatt’s temple. Schlatt growled at the attempt and hurled his arm back at Dream. He dodged it, barely, but stepped back and rushed towards the cell Y/n was in.

“Y/n?” He shouted, ducking and searching for the girl through the bars of the numerous cells that lined the basement.

“Here.”

The sound of her broken voice snapped Dream into action. Sprinting down the hallway, he was met with Y/n’s grubby and exhausted body. His heart broke at the sight of her, and he gripped the bars, pulling and pushing them in an attempt to break them.

Dream was so caught up in getting Y/n out, he didn’t notice Schlatt coming from his left.

The impact of a fist colliding with his temple sent Dream stumbling to the right, his mask cracking slightly in the corner at the force. He grunted in pain before spinning to meet Schlatt again, who had his arm raised in its previous position. Dream tried to shake his head from his dazed state, the unexpected hit stunning his consciousness.

Schlatt aimed once again and swung his fist to hit Dream in the face. But, Dream saw it coming and swivelled to the left to dodge the incoming punch. Schlatt let out a guttural sound, growing frustrated with his miss. The hit to his temple left Dream seeing stars; however, he managed to duck and strike Schlatt in his stomach, earning a deep groan. The older man recovered quickly, picking himself back up to his full height as he mumbled, “bastard.”

Dream was losing shamefully, lazily avoiding punches and swaying lightly as Schlatt grinned at his anticipated win.

Whilst Dream stumbled slightly, Schlatt snickered, his fist coming across to hit him again. This time, the punch followed through and cracked his ceramic mask fully, the object dropping to the ground and shattering on impact. Schlatt barked out a laugh as he watched the pieces scatter.

“And here we have, the real Dream! You know, you’re not what I expected. Definitely uglier.” He cackled, doubling over in laughter as Dream watched. He blinked and was void of any emotion as Schlatt stood back up.

“What? Can’t take a joke?” Dream clenched his jaw, and he lunged forwards, his hands coming to grip onto Schlatt’s shoulders and bringing his knee up to jab him in his stomach. He groaned out in pain as he doubled over, yet again, but this time not in joy.

The back of Dream’s belt that held his handgun was screaming at him. So, reaching behind him, Dream revealed his firearm. The weapon had wiped Schlatt’s smug look off of his face, replacing it with one of fear. His expression mocked Dream, although he didn’t catch onto Schlatt’s taunting.

“Dream, listen, buddy—”

“Shut the fuck up, Schlatt.”

But, Dream’s face contorted to something of confusion and horror when Schlatt started chuckling. He pulled the side of his suit jacket to the side to reveal a similar Glock, making Dream freeze his once confident motions.

“You see, I’m always 3 steps ahead of you, Dream,” Schlatt tormented, pulling the gun from its secure place in his jacket.

“You’re fucked now.” Dream went to lunge at him again, but Schlatt stepped to the side and pushed him down.

Dream’s gun went sliding across the polished concrete and out of his reach. The blonde swore as he saw Schlatt stumbling towards his fallen body. He lifted himself off of the ground, panting heavily as he ducked another punch from the older man. Dream stepped back, balancing his weight on his right foot, and threw his fist out towards Schlatt’s cheek. The punch landed, and Schlatt staggered backwards slightly, blood dripping from his lips as he grinned.

“I see how it’s gonna be,” He lifted his arm and aimed the gun towards Y/n, who stood in the cell behind him. Dream leaned to the side to catch Y/n’s pained gaze.

“Please,” Dream’s strained voice was barely audible through Schlatt’s booming psychotic laughter. Clenching his fists, Dream glared at him, “Don’t do this, Schlatt.”

“Oh, Dream, I could do this all day!—” A flat crack bounced off the concrete room and was soon followed by a heavy thud. Dream swallowed in shock as he watched deep red blood spill across the floor, oozing out of the fresh wound. He was frozen in his spot as he watched the body twitch and then loll, unmoving.

“Dream?” Dream’s eyes flickered from Schlatt’s body to Y/n, who stood with his gun loosely in her hand.

“Y/n?” His voice was weak as he struggled to stand. The clatter of the gun dropping on the hard surface didn’t come close to silence the thoughts running through his head.

“Hey, hey, hey, I’m okay, I’m here. Dream?” Y/n cried, wrapping her arms around Dream’s stiff body. His hand came up to feel the wetness on his cheeks, and he pulled it away, seeing red smeared on his fingers.

“He’s gone?” He whispered, earning a nod from Y/n, “It’s okay.”

“No, I know. It just shocked me, that’s all. I thought he killed you.”

Y/n sighed, tightening her grip on him, pressing her face into his shoulder, “I’m right here, see. I’m not hurt, I’m fine, with you.”

Dream turned his head towards her, an unsure expression on his face as he threw his arms around her.

“Fuck, I thought—”

“Dream. Deep breaths.” He nodded, following Y/n’s motions in breathing evenly.

“Jesus, usually you’re the one helping me calm down from something like this,” Y/n giggled, her hand coming to run her fingers through his hair, not minding the dampness of drying blood. A smile broke out on Dream’s face before he noticed Y/n’s eyes widen and her head fly to the side to search for something.

“What’s wrong?” Dream asked, seeing Y/n’s eyebrows crease, “Your mask.” She whispered, spotting the shattered ceramic feet away from where they sat.

Dream breathed out a laugh, bringing her face back towards his, “My mask is the least of my worries right now.”

“I’ll buy you a new one tomorrow.”

“Of course, you will.”

“Y/n!” Sapnap yelled, running towards the girl as she pushed open the security office door. Y/n locked her arms around Sapnap’s shoulders as they embraced, the pair giggling in disbelief.

“How have you guys not been kicked out yet? The fire’s out.” Dream said, closing the door behind them. George shrugged, “Paid ‘em off.” Dream snorted in response.

When Y/n pulled away from Spanap, she hugged George, who was eagerly waiting behind them.

“Don’t do that ever again. You left me with two dumbasses for so long,” George mumbled. Y/n felt tears fill her eyes as she squeezed George tighter, “I missed you guys so much.”

And after a teary reunion, the group sat around the desk in the middle of the room.

“Where’s the big man himself?” Sapnap nervously laughed, dread ate at his conscience at the thought of Schlatt coming after them again.

“Schlatt’s dead.” The news had George raising his eyebrows and pushing his head forward, “Huh? Sorry? What?”

“He’s dead, Y/n killed him.” Dream stated, earning a small smile from Sapnap that Y/n laughed at. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to laugh. Sapnap’s reaction made me giggle.”

The group shared a collective rumble of laughter before Dream suggested they went back to the motel.

“Hey,” Dream whispered at Y/n when she passed him, gently grasping her elbow. “You guys go ahead, I just need to speak with Y/n,” He continued, waving the boys in the direction of the car. George and Sapnap shared a knowing look and tried their best to conceal their cheeky smiles.

“What’s up with them?” Y/n asked, throwing her thumb over her shoulder at the boys. Dream shook his head slightly, “No clue.”

“Anyway, I just wanted to ask how you are. You know, after everything.”

Y/n nodded, “I’m okay, I think. I don’t think anything’s really hit me yet.” Dream sighed in response.

Y/n sucked her lips between her teeth, throwing her arms around Dream’s neck in a hug. He smiled softly, wrapping his arms around her waist.

“Thank you,” She whispered in his ear, her voice cracking with emotion. Dream’s heart clenched at the sound and tightened his grip around her.

“You don’t have to thank me, baby. I’d go to the ends of the earth for you, you know that,” He murmured, hiding his reddening face in her neck. He flushed, even more, when he felt her lips against his neck, “I love you, so much, Dream.”

Dream’s heart skipped a beat before he pulled his head from her neck. His green eyes looked into hers, the closeness of them making Y/n inhale sharply.

“And I love you. Don’t forget that, okay?” He replied, his voice low. Y/n nodded shortly, inching her lips up to his.

“Kiss me.” She muttered, nudging his nose with hers. Dream laughed breathy before leaning down and brushing his lips against hers.

Their bodies had become flushed against one another, her hips against his as they shared a heated kiss. Dream pulled away first, his cheeks pink and his lips plump. Y/n whined silently, bouncing in her heels at the loss of his lips.

Dream smiled widely at her, “I guess I want you more than I thought I did.” Y/n gasped, taking her hand from his neck to slap his chest, giggling like a schoolgirl at his teasing.

“Shut up, you’ve wanted me since you met me,” She said to which Dream nodded.

“You got that right, baby.”

Feedback is greatly appreciated, always xoxo

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author-morgan · 3 years

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Hi there! So I have a request for Eivor if it hasn't already been requested yet and if you have the time. Since I've started to play the game I love the Cairn stone events. I would love it if you could possibly write something with Eivor teaching his young daughter about them and teaching her how to stack them.

man, i wish i loved the cairns as much as you. i've never wanted to throw my controller through the tv more, not to mention the one i spent almost 2 hours on. but gosh if this isn't super cute, so here you go, Eivor teaches his and your daughter how to stack stones. m!Eivor x fem!Reader

SVANDÍS PROTESTS WHEN you veer from the path leading down to the wharf, instead taking to one of the benches outside the longhouse. Sitting down with a long and heavy sigh, you wipe the sweat from your brow —it is only a spring morning with a cool breeze, but the aches and sniffles from the prior evening have taken hold. Valka will tell you it is a spring fever and that rest, and a good meal is the best remedy, but you have an antsy five-year-old on the verge of tears, tugging at your skirts. “But you promised!” She pouts.

“I know” —you stroke back her blond hair, already in disarray from chasing rabbits— “I know, little one, and I am sorry.” Svandís crosses her arms and looks up at you with those clear blue eyes that are impossible to resist, yet another reflection of her father. You sigh, wiping the dirt from her cheek. Breaking promises never feels good, especially ones made to your young daughter, even if it was to stack stones. “All I need is a few days of rest, and then we can go,” you assure her. Where are you, Eivor?

As though the gods have heard your silent prayers, two long horn blasts echo around Ravensthorpe and the surrounding forests. Shortly after, the longship docks —Eivor and his crew dispersing among the settlement. “Eivor!” You call, waving to him as he nears the longhouse —a smile blossoming on his travel-worn countenance when he sees you and his daughter. Little Svandís darts to her father quick as an arrow. He scoops her up into his arms, pressing short kisses across her cheeks and forehead, laughing as she does. Her arms wrap around his neck as he balances her on his arm.

Eivor places Svandís back on the ground, frowning as he sees the pallor tinting your complexion and the sheen of sweat on your brow. “Are you ill?” He asks, pressing the back of his hand against your forehead before you can give him an answer —your skin is hot to the touch, his frown deepens.

“Spring fever,” you tell him, swatting his hand away, “nothing rest will not solve.” He knows it to be true. A few days rest would see you right as rain, but for now, he’ll take his chances and kiss his wife. Eivor bends down, his lips wind-chapped from the sea and river, but his kiss is gentle and sweet, a way to say I love you without speaking. When he pulls away, he brushes the wisps of hair clinging to your forehead aside and lays a quick kiss there too, sitting next to you.

Svandís’s excitement has already worn away —the pout on her lips is back. If she can’t get her way with you, then she knows her father won’t be able to deny her. “And what is wrong with you, my little shieldmaiden?” Eivor asks, picking Svandís up and setting her on his knee. She crosses her arms, squinting at you —still crestfallen.

“Mama promised she was gonna teach me how to stack stones,” she tells him.

Eivor’s lips curl into a smile beneath his golden beard —longer and shaggier than you are used to seeing. “She was?” Svandís nods. “Well, do you want to know who taught her to stack stones?” He inquires, raising a brow, eyes flitting to you. She looks between you and Eivor, blue eyes wide and questioning. “I did,” he tells her, boastful, smile widening as her arms uncross, already seeing the next question popping into her racing mind. “And my mother taught me when I was just a boy,” Eivor explains.

He strokes back Svandís’s messy braids and looks to you with a wide smile, grateful to have the chance to be the one to teach his daughter the art of making cairns. Eivor reaches for your hand and cranes his head down, blond whiskers tickling your skin before his lips brush against your knuckles. “Let your mother rest, Svandís,” he says, letting your hand go as he stands, shifting Svandís up onto his shoulders, “I know just the spot.”

EIVOR PULLS BACK on the reins of his chestnut horse, bringing the beast to a halt next to a bend in the River Nene. He slides from the saddle, then lifts Svandís, setting her on the riverbank. “First,” he says, freeing a woven sack from his belt, “we must gather our stones.” Crouching down, he picks up a stone, smooth and flat —like a honey cake— and places it in his daughter’s hand, letting her feel the weight and rounded edges. “Look for ones that are smooth and flat,” Eivor explains, knowing those are the ones to make for easy stacking for a young novice. It does not take long for them to fill the small sack with river stones —setting back off for the hilltop.

Cresting the hill reveals a vista to the north, overlooking the river and green rolling hills of Mercia —a calm and quiet place, good for clearing the mind, easing the soul, and stacking stones. Eivor sets Svandís to the ground, lowering the sack of stones too before dismounting —breathing in the crisp spring air, lingering with the scent of wildflowers, honeysuckle, and rain. Eivor eyes the patch of wild daisies growing beneath the shade of an ash tree, thinking they’d make a sweet gift for you to keep bedside.

Turning out the stones, he sits, first watching as Svandís eagerly begins stacking the stones. The short piles fall to shambles with her careless haste, but this is part of the learning process. “Failure is part of it, Svandís,” Eivor consoles when she lets out a frustrated groan, her wobbling tower of stone finally crumbling. He sees his younger self reflected in his daughter’s disappointment, remembering the times when his cairns would teeter and fall. He swore never to bother with them again —his mother laughed, knowing her son wouldn’t be able to stand failing at anything in life. He leans forward, resting a hand on her small shoulder. “Think of it as a test of mind,” Eivor says, tapping her noggin before picking up and reordering the felled stones. “You need patience and perseverance.”

Taking the broadest stone from their collection, he smooths over the ground before them both, knocking away small pebbles and little twigs —creating a good base on which to build. Eivor takes the largest and flattest stone, placing it first. “See?” He says, recalling how his mother first explained it to him. “You want the flattest and largest stones near the bottom to build a strong foundation.” Looking over the scattered stones, he picks another one, setting it atop the first —twisting and flipping to find the best way to place it. He nods for Svandís to try again.

Svandís places another stone atop the two already there, echoing her father’s motion of twisting and turning to find the best place to set it. She looks over her shoulder, seeking assurance and approval, Eivor nods, and the cairn grows taller. Before she places some of the last stones, Eivor stills her hand, hovering over the stack. “Don’t let go until you are certain they will not fall,” he tells her in a low breath. She nods, carefully placing the last three stones. The stack is small —not even reaching the height of his father’s bearded axe— but it stable, unmoving in the wind or Svandís’s excited outburst.

“Just like with everything, it takes practice,” Eivor reminds her, wrapping an arm around her small waist. The first cairns he stacked with his mother and father as a boy were just as unimpressive, but he lived and learned and soon could stack them higher than he was tall. He grins with pride, seeing Svandís smile. “The more you stack, the taller they’ll grow,” he tells her, lifting his hand in the air, “and one day you just might make one tall enough to see the home of the gods.”

Eivor reaches into the small pouch at his hip, pulling out two small red-green apples. “Did Uncle Sigurd ever stack stones with you?” Svandís asks, settling next to Eivor, taking the slice of apple he holds out.

“No,” Eivor laughs, recalling the times Sigurd would bother him while trying to make cairns, “he stole my stones more often than naught and called me troll-toothed.” Svandís giggles. The commotion piques Sýnin’s curiosity from where he circles above on an updraft of wind. Sýnin swoops down, landing on Eivor’s shoulder —the raven’s head tilts this way and that as he observes the short stacks of stones, thinking one to be a good perch. The raven hops down, beats his wings once, and settles atop the last stack Svandís built —preening his blue-black feathers. “Look,” Eivor announces, merry with pride, “you’ve built a cairn sturdy enough for Sýnin to perch.” The raven croaks in agreement, bobbing his head up and down. Svandís leans forward, rubbing Sýnin’s head with one of her fingers, smiling when his croaks turn to soft gurgles.

Looking to the sky, Eivor sees the first dark clouds rolling in from a distance, shrouding part of the sun. It will rain later. “Come, little one,” he says, rising with a soft groan —a reminder he is not so young anymore— “I think it’s time we check on your mother.” He goes to the patch of daisies, taking a handful and severing them from the earth with the throwing axe at his back before whistling to his horse. It is an easy ride back to Ravensthorpe, through the forest, and across a shallow parting in the river.

Stabling the chestnut mare, Eivor kneels outside the fence where Svandís waits, bouncing on her toes. He hands her the small bouquet of daisies so that she may give them to you, though before he can stand, she leaps into his arms, squeezing tight. “Thank you for teaching me, father,” Svandís says, almost a whisper.

Eivor brushes back her hair, kissing his daughter’s forehead, eyes crinkled with his smile. “And I am thankful to have been able to teach you,” he answers, swallowing the lump of heavy emotion rising in his throat. “Now, let's tell your mother about our day,” he says, still smiling, scooping Svandís up when he rises. For a second, Eivor does not move, his gaze skyward to the setting sun, a silent prayer of gratitude on his lips, and a hope that he will live to have many more days like this with his little shieldmaiden.

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#Eivor #Eivor Wolfsmal #Eivor x Reader #m!Eivor #m!Eivor x Reader #male Eivor #male Eivor x Reader #Eivor Imagine #Eivor Fanfiction #Assassin's Creed Valhalla #Assassin's Creed #my writing #requested #qhbr2013 #im pretty sure i exhausted every curse in the book with those rocks #ive never hated rocks more than when doing this dumb events

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