#frost draws something normal for once?!?!? | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

illusivelle · 9 months

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shake the frost / 1

pairing: william 'ironhead' miller x female reader rating: t (for now) length: 2,140 words content: established relationship with the triple frontier boys, drinking, light pining summary: you've always held a small spark for will and tonight is the first time you realize he might be looking at you in the same light, with a promise of something more. a/n: been a long time since i put something out there so please be gentle, but figured why not, especially if the idea's been rotting in my brain. not edited or proofread, will likely be one part of a series (that will gradually become nsfw surely). mostly just taking it as i go, but hoping you enjoy! thanks for reading. link to ao3 here!

You’ve known Frankie for most of your life, a constant presence akin to a brother. You’ve witnessed him transform from a once fun-loving guy into a steely, quiet one. Still outgoing, still willing to go to bat for his friends – just different. Different in ways you couldn’t begin to understand when you were younger and couldn’t bear to think about it now that you knew. Not that you would ever know it all, but it was easy enough to grasp the change war brings around, especially to someone you long considered family.

But it was nights like tonight that made everything feel normal, you and Frankie playing rounds of pool and betting on rounds of drinks. You finally had a string of days off from work and as soon as you got the text from Frankie to join him and his buddies at the bar, it was hard to find an excuse to say no. Not when he’d been hiding out for a while, not after everything that happened with one of his closest friends. You wished you could’ve been there for him but Frankie didn’t let you, but he was inviting you out now and you’d be foolish to miss the chance again.

“Pay up, pilot.” You settle a hand on your hip, a waiting palm out in his direction. Frankie had that shit-eating grin while he shook his head at you, his hand sliding into his pocket when the bell chimed above the door and a loud laugh echoed through the dim space.

“Oh-ho-ho!” Your head jerks to find Frankie’s friend stride in, first the tall one you remember as Benny. He’d been the fighter you stitched up some time ago when Frankie called you over for help. Trailing closely behind him is a blonde, that one with striking blue eyes you couldn’t seem to look away from when you first met, while you were tending to his brother’s wounds. Will, he’d introduced himself then. A name you found hard to wipe from your mind, a face you found hard to look away from as his gaze connects with yours. You suck in a deep breath like that might help ground you but what actually does is the way Benny’s frame cuts into your line of sight, suddenly feet in front of you. “If it isn’t Doctor Shortcake.”

You cast your eyes up at him with a shake of your head, one because you weren’t a doctor, and two because “just my name is fine. You do know it, don’t you, Benny?” You’ve never been fond of pet names or nicknames and you weren’t about to be now, not even with the low drawl of Benny’s voice. He doesn’t say anything, just walks to the bar with his hands shoved into his pocket whistling a tune. It’s then you register Santiago is here, too, as he’s pulling you into a side hug and calling you mija. A term of endearment you’d let slide if only because you saw Santiago as more of a parental figure than you ever did Frankie.

But the one you’re really waiting to talk to is leaning against the edge of the pool table, his arms crossed against his chest as he talks with Frankie. His voice draws you in, your eyes landing on his mouth before they drift up to those powder blues. Ones that were looking right at you, heat crawling up your cheeks. “Hi.” You murmur and take a step toward him. Maybe it would be better to lean into it than to pretend he hadn’t just caught you staring at his lips.

“Hi.” The faintest smile hangs from his mouth while his gaze lingers on yours. “It’s been a while.”

A while was an understatement. You’d first met Will, and the rest of the guys, what felt like years ago. You were as much of a fixture in Frankie’s life as they were in his, but it was always either you and Frankie, or you tagging along with Frankie and the guys. You never had a moment alone with any of them, and certainly never with Will no matter how often you might’ve thought about it. Instead, the two of you stole fleeting glances, exchanged small smiles, the occasional conversation here and there but never about anything too personal – and never for too long. Frankie didn’t say much about it, just a sordid reminder one of the first times he noticed you eyeing Will for too long that the captain kept almost everyone at arm’s length and to not get your hopes up.

But that didn’t mean you couldn’t… look, right? Besides, you’re far too shy to try to make any kind of move, especially on a guy like Will Miller. Quiet, stoic, hard to read. Everytime you were around him, even just the feel of his sea of blues on you made your skin prickle, the depths in those eyes something you could get lost in. Every wash of blue something you might see in the ocean. Something you could drown in.

“Beating Frankie at pool?” His words cut into your thoughts.

“Oh, I was–” you chuckle softly, chin tucking into your chest bashfully, “I was, yeah, but he doesn’t wanna pay up.”

“Let’s play. I’ll double it.”

What? You blink up in near surprise but your head tilts with slight intrigue. “You sure? I’m pretty good…”

This pulls a gentle laugh from him and you can’t help your smile. You’ll replay that sound tonight, you’re sure, until the next time you could hopefully draw it out of him again. “Yeah. Frankie’s gonna go broke, so I’ll bail him out this time.”

At this, Frankie snorts, claps Will’s shoulder and mentions that he’s off to the bar to grab some drinks. Benny is still there, Santiago chatting him up, and it leaves you and Will alone – for the first time. Sure, there’s the energy of the other patrons and the giant pool table in between you, but they all seem to blur the second he’s offering you one of the pool cues. It’s barely a graze of his fingertips but it’s enough of a touch to reel you in. “Alright. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” There’s not a drip of a threat in your tone, light and teasing to accompany the warm flush sprawling over your face.

It was something you couldn’t hide, either, not even with your hair falling against your temple. You knew Will would see it, knew he was entirely too observant to miss a beat. Maybe he was already counting all the ways he made you blush, and why were you so curious to know how he felt about that?

“Let’s see what you got.” He’s already set up the balls, gesturing for you to break.

For as shy as you were, there were always a couple of scenarios where you were braver than usual. One, at work. Helping others came naturally to you, something you studied long and hard for. It wasn’t that you were turning your brain off, but in a weird way, it felt like that – a sort of routine that came easy. The second was times like now. A little competition always lit a spark in you, confidence growing with each drop of a ball in a pocket or each round of poker you won. It helped that guys like Frankie were always so appalled and confused when you’d win, thinking they had the upper hand. And wasn’t it just so much more fun to surprise people that way?

You break clean, sinking a solid colour in a pocket, turning to Will with the corner of your lip tugging up into half a smirk. “That makes you stripes.” You say as you move around him, leaning forward on the table to line up your next shot, but Will is quick to shift his body to face you. It’s almost unnerving and your grip on the stick loosens a little, or maybe your palm’s just become damp from the nerves. Why were you nervous? It was just Will. A friend of Frankie’s. It was just pool. A game you’ve played too many times to count. Just another guy, just another game.

“You okay?” He chimes and for a second, you swore he wasn’t teasing. Swore that you could hear that underlying concern in his tone.

You flash your eyes up at him, a light crinkle at the corners. “Good. Thanks.” Then you turn your attention back to the game and sink another ball.

You’re good – but Will is, too. You should be frustrated every time a striped ball makes it in but you’re finding this thrilling, someone who could challenge you, innocent as your interactions were. Even when you were looking at each other from across the table, it felt like a small exchange. One final ball for the both of you, but it’s your turn, your chance to end the game. “You sure you said double?” You breathe out, glancing up at Will from where you’re folded over, pool cue aimed at the white ball.

“I’m sure.” He’s propped up against the back of a bar stool now, beer in hand, the boys scattered about having their own conversations. Benny pipes in at the perfect time to taunt his brother and if Will even hears him, he doesn’t show it – his blue eyes strictly on you. Taunting you in silence, instead.

Another deep breath, one you let out slowly as the end of the stick hits the edge of the white ball, rolling and rolling until it knocks into a coloured one. But you don’t pay it any mind, not quite caring whether or not it went in because you’re daring a glance up at Will… and he’s still looking at you. A few beats pass before you hear a loud smack on a table, “she got you good, man!” Benny clutching onto his brother’s shoulders, shaking it almost violently.

You roll your lips in between your teeth to hide a coy smile, but it’s obvious the way a blush steals across your cheeks. Will manages to escape Benny’s hold, slow and steady strides until he’s finally standing in front of you, one hand wrapped around the cue he’s holding and the other digging into his pocket. “Why don’t we–” you nod to his hand, the one that’s about to procure your prize, “have a rematch sometime? Triple or nothing.”

“Oooooh boy, that confidence is unmatched.” Benny laughs.

You lift a shoulder in a faint shrug, “just a thought,” though really it’s more of an excuse for you to maybe see Will again without the company of the others. You told yourself before you wouldn’t make any moves, but this wasn’t one, right? It was hardly forward. Just about the game. When your gaze darts to Frankie, however, his expression tells you he knows exactly what you might be up to, even if you don’t know it yourself.

“Sometime?” Will asks. “Why not tonight?”

“Because I should probably get going.”

“Do you need a ride?”

The question stuns you for a moment before you’re shaking your head. “No, it’s okay. You stay, you guys just got here.”

“You sure?”

“I’m…” not sure that you don’t want to take his offer, but not sure that you’d be able to handle any more time alone with Will, “sure.”

Will’s mouth twists in something you can’t discern. He’s got so many different emotions that play out across his face, some you’ve noticed over the times you’ve seen each other, though many you see for the first time when they play out – and sometimes, never again. This was new. After a pause, he finally nods. “Okay. A rematch next time, then.”

You’re quick to say your goodbyes to the boys, and once you get to Will, you find yourself fidgeting with your knuckles. “See you next time, then.” You echo his earlier sentiment, brushing a tendril behind your ear before you spin on a heel to make it to the door. One foot in front of the other – it’s the only thing you can focus on, else you might find your mind fluttering to thoughts of the blonde haired blue eyed captain.

And you don’t know why you do it but you steal a look over your shoulder and find those exact blue eyes locking with yours, Will resting against the bar’s patio, taking a swig of his drink. It was as if you felt his gaze on you, or maybe he felt the way you were thinking of him. Either way, you throw him a timid smile before you’re disappearing around the corner. Thoughts of Will Miller the entire walk home, the entire time you undress and slide into bed, the entire time your eyes are closed.

#william ironhead miller #william miller #will miller #william miller x reader #william miller x you #will miller x reader #will miller x you #triple frontier #triple frontier fanfic #triple frontier fic #charlie hunnam #charlie hunnam fanfiction #charlie hunnam fic

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averygayplant · 2 months

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everyone's re-blogging Lloyd and Zane forbidden scrolls of spinjitzu angst and this is my fucking MOMENT Here are two snippets I impulsively wrote that were made with my AU in mind but are fairly non specific anyway of Lloyd having a Bad Time trying to find him.

In my AU, Lloyd can 'see' others' energy and sense their presence in the world. He can very easily pick out the presence of other masters because their elements give their energies a unique kind of signature that makes them easy to discern. He's especially sensitive to the OG 4 and Nya since he grew up with them, and could probably find them from anywhere, as long as they're in the same realm as him.

_____

If Lloyd had ever claimed to be cold before in his life, he'd grossly over exaggerated.

He'd experienced a great very many kinds of cold- the gnawing, algid sensation of being possessed by the dead, the damp, clinging chill of the Oni mist, the tepid, dry frost of the Underworld- just to name a few.

This, though. This was different.

The air was so frigid, it burned where it's icy tongue could kiss his flesh. The hard packed snow beneath his feet caused the creeping frore to leech under his skin and throughout his body. The bleak world around him was so stiff, so thick with frost that at times it seemed to Lloyd he was barely moving forward at all. His breath came out in short, shallow puffs, for the very act of drawing air into his lungs made his body scream in protest at the abuse, at the sharp, frostbitten sensation that stabbed into them with every inhale.

He'd have to find shelter soon. The frost seemed to build up, to weigh upon him- almost as if maliciously slowing his approach.

It felt as if the element itself had turned against him. The thought left a dry, bitter taste in his mouth- though, perhaps this was simply just from the cold…

Lloyd reached out again for who he'd lost, searching desperately for the light in the dark that he knew belonged to the one he was searching for. Bile rose in his throat when he realized it was even fainter than before- even more scattered, distant… And wrong.

It was all so wrong. Once again, he forcefully silenced the voice trying to tell him something, a truth he didn't want to hear.

"Please don't let me be too late," Lloyd murmured softly, another count to a total he'd lost track of- willing with all the might not spent trudging forward that the ones who decided their fates would listen to him just this once.

Just this once, he begged silently.

Just this once, and he'd never ask them of anything ever again.

He did not even let himself wish that the wolves would go away, when they howled almost as soon as he'd made that promise. He was the grandson of deities that tore themselves asunder- this god-forsaken realm would have to try a lot fucking harder if it wanted Lloyd to bend to its will- a lot harder.

The howl came again, and Lloyd came to a hesitant stop. He would not die today. Of that, he was damn certain. ______

The cold was truly near unbearable.

Even within the shelter of the Land Bounty, the frost crept in with a malicious vigor as Lloyd huddled beneath a blanket he had managed to scavenge from the wreck. The wolf by his side seemed content to doze peacefully, making small grunts in its sleep. He was still struck by how bright the red coloring on its fur was, stark against its thick, white pelt.

'Red', as Lloyd had been calling him, seemed strangely self aware for a normal animal- but then, Lloyd is self aware, and he's like, a quarter of two animals. Mythical ones sure, but… Eh.

"I hope Zane is okay," He softly spoke aloud, mostly to comfort himself with the sound of his own voice. Red's eye cracked open, and the wolf lifted his head up slightly.

"That's who I'm looking for," Lloyd explained, pulling the blanket tighter around his shoulders. "He's… He's kinda like a brother to me. More than that, honestly… He's the closest thing I've ever had to- to a parent, I guess."

Red huffed, and his eye slipped back closed.

"I know, I know- Everyone kept saying that if he was taken by the Emperor- …It doesn't matter. I can still sense him, I know he's alive. Even if-" He sighs, closing his eyes, tentatively reaching out one more time. The presence that pushed back was borderline unrecognizable, scattered, and vague, but it was still there. He knew it was Zane, because as he reached further, he brushed against the others, too.

"As long as I know he's out there, I can't stop trying," He finishes quietly. "I owe him everything- and Ninja never quit. I'll find him, even if it's finally what puts me in my damn grave. He'd do that for us without any hesitation."

The wolf beside him huffed- but oddly, Lloyd sensed an approving tone within it, as if it was agreeing with his sentiment.

"You're an odd kind of creature. …Not that I can really say anything," he joked weakly, flicking the end of his tail. "…I guess I don't really belong much of anywhere, do I? Not this realm, or any other." He looked over to find the wolf staring at him, and attempted a smile. He knew it looked more like a grimace.

"I'm sure you have a family somewhere," he says absently. "…Or maybe you lost it in the cold, like I lost Zane. …But you're a pack animal, right? And even if…" Lloyd sighs, closing his eyes.

"Nevermind. No matter what happens, what matters is that we don't have to face it alone. …I don't want to face it all alone, not again. Not ever again." If he thought his tears wouldn't freeze as soon as they fell, he might've started crying.

Red must've known that, because he let out a low whine, tentatively moving close enough for his head to rest on Lloyd's tail.

"It'll be fine," he murmurs, mostly to himself. "It's fine. Zane's gonna be there, right? …And you, I guess. For as long as you want to travel with me. Where are you going, Red?"

The wolf did not respond, of course. Lloyd reached out again. He took no comfort from the strange, uncanny presence that greeted him, and eventually fell into a fitful sleep, plagued by unpleasant recollections of the creeping sensation of cold.

#Ninjago #lloyd ninjago #creature!lloyd #secrets of the forbidden spinjitzu #lloyd garmadon #ninjago au #ninjago fanfic #zane ninjago #whats this #me tagging a post properly for once #listen I'm very proud of these

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dracoxmalereader · 22 days

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In Every Universe

Draco x Male Reader

Context: My normal Huff!Reader during 5th year <3 I imagine it's very close to winter break, but I guess it could also be read as taking place right after.

Summary: Things have been tense since Draco's made a habit of putting his position in Umbridge's good graces above you, but maybe not all's lost.

Word Count: 877

Dewy grass smushes under you, wetting your fingers and the backs of your pants as you both sit down with a thump.

The moon hangs high, clouds reflecting off the dark water of the great lake. Wooden bridges cut through the stillness alongside the muddy seaweed that floats just under the surface. Slushy, freezing air bites at your nose. You sniffle.

Even if Draco had guaranteed you impunity on account of his place in Umbridge’s squad, a prickling static of anxiety jabs at the inside of your chest. You’re hesitant to be out here.

Tension settles over the atmosphere between you. Your chilly knuckles lock together under a temperamental sky. Fixing your gaze on the pillows of gray that roll to cover the stars, you try in vain to lose yourself in the humid winter breeze.

Draco lets out a sigh before falling backwards, cringing at the mud that meets his back, but settling nonetheless. A cold puff of air clouds from his nostrils. You watch it disperse before you follow, laying beside him

“About time we got an hour or two to ourselves,” He says. “‘Course we could have more if you still came to quidditch.”

The snark in his tone isn’t lost on you. “Draco.” You groan, a warning.

He rolls his eyes. Your grip on each other’s hands loosens, and he traces gentle shapes on the expanse of your palm, shapes you can barely feel through the bandage. His eyebrows draw inwards, fingers stilling over the fabric.

The concern you’ve been aching for pulls at his features; too little too late. Nerves pang in the back of your throat. You’re already strung tight.

“What’s this from?” He asks.

“Don’t worry about it,” You can’t help the retaliation that oozes around your words. “It’s not like it matters.”

Draco sighs again. “Don’t be like this.”

“It’s whatever, really.” You assert.

His forehead wrinkles, expression morphing to something more peeved than worried. It’s hard to wrench your gaze away from the sneer that his face cinches into.

“Let’s not argue, yeah?” You audibly swallow as you say it, taking a shaky breath. The cold burns your throat. “Let’s just… watch the sky or something.”

Draco huffs and rolls his eyes. He shimmies in place, but doesn’t reply. Awkward silence swells before it ebbs into the icy whistles of the wind. Conflict drains into the muddy, chilled grass below you.

Watching the stars pass the two of you by, your usual playfulness creeps back into the atmosphere. You squeeze his hand in your own once, twice, then you’re raising an arm to point his attention to the constellations.

“There’s Draco.” You tell him.

“Don’t suppose that one’s Y/N, do you?” He points his own finger at the spoonish belt of stars in the valley of his namesake.

For the first time in a while, a genuine laugh filters out of you. “I thought you told me that one’s Ursa Minor.”

“It’s overdue for a name change."

You turn your head to look at him, cheeks aching with the force of your grin, only to find him already staring. Your eyes meet, and he’s smirking at you. It’s as if you’re the only two people in the world.

Butterflies swarm in the pit of your stomach. You suck in more of the winter around you. Frost nips at the insides of your lungs, but you can’t find it in yourself to mind. You lick your lips and open your mouth to speak. It takes you a moment to find your words.

“Do you think we’re together in every universe?”

Draco’s expression hardens, clearly thinking. The swarm of butterflies in your stomach slowly glacier over and succumb to frostbite. Your own smile falls with it, focus flickering around his face.

His tongue juts out to dampen the blow. Pressure compresses your organs and it feels like there's no room for them in your body.

After a tense breath, he answers. “No.”

“Oh.” Your throat bobs around a thick swallow.

Weather be damned, warmth boils in the back of your eyes. Your brows pull in. Fingers loosen until your hand is slipping away from his. Draco doesn’t give you a chance to turn away before he’s grabbing it back, holding it tighter than he has in weeks. He leans up to look you in the eye.

“But,” He starts on a gasp, “We’re together in this one, and isn’t this the only universe that matters anyway?”

He says it like it’s built on the back of a last breath. It pierces through the goosebumps on your skin to sink in further, melting into your bones. Your face heats up.

A gust of air sends his hair swooping in an unkempt direction. Somewhere in the lake, a fish or mermaid sends ripples to the surface. A chuckle crawls out under the roof of your mouth.

You squeeze his hand like your life depends on it. In some other universe, there’s no winter chattering your teeth. In some other universe, there’s no bandage on your hand. Maybe there’s one with no Dolores Umbridge at all.

But, you suppose, watching Draco angrily fix his hair and curse the wind under his breath: this is the only universe that matters anyway, isn’t it?

My most heavily edited cover to date, I swear I didn't mean to make it as twilight-esque as it turned out. TT blame the color filter on my laptop.

I solidly believe I should have waited until after the eclipse to write and edit this stuff because the pictures I took of the sun would body on a cover. I'll attach them to my next one probably.

Tags: @nowayisthistakenyet @gayaristocrat @siuspider @dracoshusband @skrunklespoingo @esperfraud @joongbin @midwestemosblog @we2222 @ashton-laufeyson @solas-things @mqzze @itsfitzroyy @dolly-dollar @pinkb4t @daybreakmistakes @ronaldweasleyhowdareyou

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x male reader #draco x male reader #draco x reader #harry potter fandom #draco malfoy x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy x y/n #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco malfoy fic #draco x you #draco malfoy x you #tagging is hard

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thesunshineriptide · 2 years

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Could I request the vice housewardens + Ruggie play fighting with the reader, is there a certain way they initiate if they play fight at all? Do they smack talk? I NEED TO KNOW

Also don't forget to drink water and consume your fruits and veggies 💛

This request made me so happy and it was hilarious to think about someone fighting a bunch of cryptids for fun. Anyway yes absolutely I hope this if acceptable and thank you for reminding me, I am currently drinking water now

Okay so the vice housewardens (or second in commands, which is more accurate) are the feistiest group at NRC. They are all shady or ready to deck someone which makes me think that it’s simply a trait housewardens look for. I’d imagine they all play-fight, but where and how varies greatly. Also the tags look so gnarly but I swear none of them are that violent

Hit me with your best shot

Characters: Trey, Ruggie, Jade, Jamil, Rook, Ortho, Lilia, Floyd (mentioned)

Tw// fighting, violence, drowning (mentions), biting, hunting, Rook typical behavior, Leech typical behavior, food, bruises/marks, blood mention

Trey

Definitely a play fighter in the casual way.

Most likely to poke at you, smack you with a pillow, throw something at you, etc.

He’s probably the second gentlest in this regard because he’s human and not training to beat the fuck out of someone

When you play fight it’s probably because one of you is being snippy after a long day of dealing with other peoples bullshit.

You aren’t likely to end up actually injured or bruised or anything, but you may end up wrestling on the floor of Trey’s room or smacking each other with pillows.

He’s an older brother so he knows restraint but the urge to pull hair and smack the shit out of someone is strong.

Instead he just pins you to the ground and dramatically lays on you to keep you there

You guy definitely have a food fight.

Not like, with finished dishes or anything, but in a ‘I dropped some ice from the freezer and instead of kicking it under the fridge, we’re playing ice soccer in the kitchen at 3 am’ kind of way.

Or sometimes when you have leftover frosting from a cake he’s made you end up flinging it at each other.

If you ever cover his mouth he will lick it and give you an evil smirk

His trash talk is somehow both very good and very bad at the same time.

He gets into it but he also uses stupid insults like “you’re a poopface” mostly because he wants you to know he’s joking because onetime he called riddle an asshole and he cried so now he’s careful

Please take a boxing class with him you two would have so much fun

Ruggie

Initiates by walking up and biting your shoulder or sometimes just shoving you and running.

If you accept playfighting him at least once be prepared he’s going to do it a lot.

He has so much pent up aggression.

Half of the fighting is smack talk and boy does he have a MOUTH.

Hopefully you have thick skin because otherwise when he says shit like “you look like a gazelle ass fucked a cactus” you might actually cry

Definitely rougher when he plays.

Expect claw marks, bites, bruises, and sore limbs when you’re done fighting.

Try to ignore the stares you get from everyone when they see a bite mark on your shoulder because how do you explain you didn’t do that you were actually just beating the shit out of each other

He will start a fight literally anywhere and you two probably go at it for at least an hour before he gives up

If he ends up drawing blood he’s frantically making sure you’re alright and patching you up

Probably play fights with you as warmup for spelldrive practice.

This entails him coming to your room, pouncing on you to wake you up, then maniacally laughing when you fight him off with a scowl.

But on the bright side, he brought you breakfast (Leona paid for it, shhh) so it wasn’t for nothing

Jade

Jade isn’t one to play fight normally, he has a reputation to keep up.

So he won’t usually initiate that.

If you start to goad him into it, he just gives you a menacing smile then turns you over to Floyd to play like that.

If you still insist on playing with him, he will literally just pick you up and sling you over his shoulder until you promise to stop.

Then he drops you on the ground.

Now, that’s how it goes on land, anyway. But in water? Hooboy, hope you can hold your breath.

Jade’s third favorite thing to do is drag people underwater (the first two are hiking in the mountains and teasing Azul) and luckily for you, he remembers just how much you like play fighting!

And since Jade’s in the water, chances are Floyd is too.

They rarely do fun things without each other.

So now you’re going to be fighting for your life from two mischievous mer-eels.

Jade wears a darkly serene expression as he asks you whatever could be the matter and Floyd looks like he’s won the fucking jackpot when you surface from getting dragged into the water with them

You will not win this playfight, because there is little distinguishing it from a real one.

The only difference is that they aren’t actually trying to harm you, but you probably won’t realize that when Jade repeatedly drags you under water to see how long you can hold your breath, trapping your legs with his tail.

He finds the way you beat at him with your fists pretty adorable, which is lucky because that means you won’t drown today!

You will receive 0 aftercare from him for this traumatic experience, but he may invite you to do it again.

Don’t accept it’s a tr-

Jamil

You’re not so much play-fighting Jamil as you’re training with him.

Which is probably good, it means there’s rule and a time limit.

Anyway, most of his comments are half trash talk and half trying to get a rise out of you.

Very “is that the best you’ve got?”

Sparring with him is fucking exhausting so you likely do it mostly in the evenings or when Jamil is training some other students.

Sometimes he gets way too into it and ends up mixing breakdance moves and martial arts to kick your ass.

He has knocked your feet out from under you before and he will do it again

Moves so confidently and quickly you think he might moonlight as an assassin

Chances are you’re not gonna beat him, he’s got years of experience, but you’re getting stronger and faster when you’re with him.

If he ends up hitting you too hard he apologizes quickly and you don’t usually have many bruises due to the fact he makes you wear padding and you spar on a mat

Dude can totally take a hit so you don’t really have to hold back (he prefers if you don’t, it tests him more)

so don’t be afraid to smack him around.

Genuinely appreciative of you doing this with him and makes sure to let you know every time you take up his offer to practice together

He repays you buy providing you with snacks light on the stomach after you’re done working out together, usually some lightly chilled water and a piece of fruit.

Also sends you home with leftovers of whatever he made for dinner that night

Rook

Hahahaha….oh dear lord. So listen, there’s two types of play fighting.

There’s the one you initiate, then there’s the one he initiates.

One of them is fun!

The other is straight from a horror movie

If you initiate, he’s happy to indulge, and he hits a littler harder than he means to sometimes but overall it’s pretty chill.

You two end up chasing each other around campus, playing what could be described as a really intense, violent game of tag.

By the time you’re done, you’re both covered in dirt of mud and have sticks and leaves sticking to you.

If he initiates, please don’t take his offer.

This is the scary one.

His version of play fighting is chasing you through the woods behind campus with a bow and arrow and yelling vague threats about “ahh, you’re close! I can almost smell you~” and occasionally shooting an arrow that is ENTIRELY TOO CLOSE for comfort.

If he catches up to you - or just decides this is the right moment - he’s tackling you to the ground.

He’ll tease you for losing before attacking you with tickles, the most terrifying of all weapons.

So maybe it isn’t scary in the end, since he was never gonna hurt you, but running through the forest with nobody nearby except for a guy armed with a long ranged weapon is absolutely terrifying, and there’s always the slim chance he misses….

Ortho

Gentlest of the list.

He’s more sure how much pressure to apply when play fighting, so it mostly ends up being pillow fights, or something else that’s soft.

Poking, bumping into you, very very gentle punching, that’s all on the table.

If you try to initiate, Idia will get very pissed.

All of his internal components are extremely sensitive, you can’t just smack him! And besides that, he’s tiny, and his brother! Why would you do this?

Idia is genuinely terrifying when his entire attention is focused on you, and hes pissed.

The flames of his hair are growing and flickering wildly as his gold eyes glare down into yours.

The only thing that calms him down is when Ortho begs him to

So you don’t really get to physically play fight with him anymore, but you do get to game together.

With Idia’s supervision.

He’s not going to be letting Ortho around you anymore since you decided to fight a literal innocent child

Lilia

I’m fairly certain that play fighting is Lilia’s love language.

He loves to beat the shit out of people.

Least gentle next to Jade, because he will literally grab you and throw you in the air.

You’re not in danger, but his awareness of the human limits is limited, unlike Jade.

Probably isn’t a fan of shit-talking in person, but definitely does it when he’s gaming late at night.

Probably play fight in the Diasomnia lounge.

There’s an audience there to watch you get your ass kicked by an old man, as well as to see you fling the five foot nothing bat across the room.

Most intense play fighting imaginable.

He’s a big fan of flipping people and literally just throwing people around.

He’s completely fine with people doing it back to him, he finds it fun.

Playing with him is like trying to fight black widow, except if you call for a time out he’ll let you.

Silver and Sebek both try and warn you not to do this.

They literally trained with him as children they know he does not fuck around.

You ignore their advice and end up with a broken leg and a bowl of Lilia’s soup.

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roosterbox · 2 months

Text

Hey.

Psst. Hey. Hey!

Guess what?

It’s a special day today. How special, you might ask?

Oh, only the birthday of a certain @a-forger-and-a-point-man ! Woohoo!

Happy birthday ❤️❤️❤️

Also I wrote you a thing. Sorry if it’s sloppy - I had to do very quick work on it before the writer’s block kicked back in, lol. I think it came out pretty alright.

Tags: fluff, schmoop, baked goods? More like baked bads, love is stored in the attempt not the end result, nonbinary Eames using they/them pronouns, light references to future sexytimes, a single line of a hint of Eames wearing lingerie

———

Arthur comes home to the dulcet tones of metal crashing and muffled cursing. In any other circumstance, such a thing would have him drawing his gun, but he decides to trust his instincts on this one. Said instincts are telling him to remain calm. That everything is fine. Not normal necessarily, but fine. So his gun remains holstered at his hip as he makes his way inside.

He finds the cause in relatively short order. His kitchen, very recently completely remodeled, has seen better days. Various bowls and mixers lie strewn about on the counter. Cabinets are seemingly opened hither and thither arbitrarily. As if someone hadn’t been quite sure what they were looking for, or where, and they couldn’t be bothered to close anything behind them. His nostrils flare at the faintly scorched aroma of something being baked for a bit too long.

It didn’t take much to figure out what it was.

In the center of this disaster area stood Eames. Lovely, flour-covered Eames, currently locked in intense concentration as they put the finishing frosting touches on a cake set on the kitchen’s cleanest counter. They’re focusing so hard on their task, tongue slightly poking out and everything, that they have yet to notice Arthur’s arrival. There’s a metal cooling rack on the floor at their feet, which was undoubtedly the clanging sound from earlier. Eames was even wearing the silly apron Arthur had gifted them a few years prior. (“I saw it and thought of you,” he had said, presenting his partner with the frilly, pink gingham monstrosity. “I love it,” Eames responded, in a way that was equal parts in on the joke and completely sincere.) Seeing them in it now, Arthur finds himself loving it too.

He clears his throat.

Eames startles, jumping back a little. An extra dollop of cool blue frosting drips out of their piping bag onto the cake.

“Darling! You’re uh-“ Eames looks a little nervous. “-home early.”

“And you’ve been busy.” He makes a show of looking at the clutter surrounding them. “What have you been doing?”

His partner blushed. “Oh you know. Things.” They say this, playing coy as if there isn’t a whole frosted cake sitting right there in the open.

“Things.” Arthur steps further into the kitchen. He toys with the idea of feigning ignorance a bit more, but it’s been a long day. So instead, he shifts his attention to the cake-shaped elephant in the room. “‘Things,’ I presume?”

“Oh, this?” Eames chuckles awkwardly. It fizzles out too quickly though. “… yeah.”

They’re so uncharacteristically nervous that it’s starting to worry him. Generally, Eames’ confidence knows absolutely no bounds, even when they’re doing something they’ve never attempted before. If Eames was nervous enough for it to be this obvious…

Arthur gestures at the cake. “For me?”

Eames meets his gaze, worrying their plush lower lip between their teeth. “For you,” they confirm. “Happy birthday, my love.”

All at once, Arthur’s heart feels warm. If it hadn’t been for Kyle and Sophie at work pitching in to buy him lunch, he might have forgotten what day it was himself. It was nothing special, he might have argued. No one cares much about turning 38, after all. It’s not a big milestone like 30 or 40.

Eames, however, never forgot anything. Especially anything about Arthur.

Eames also, interestingly enough, doesn’t bake much. The lingering smell of burning leads Arthur to the one obvious conclusion about the cake between them… and the source of Eames’ nerves.

He smiles. “You didn't need to-“

Eames shakes their head. “I wanted to. Needed an excuse to stretch my legs in here, after all.”

“Mmhmm. And did stretching your legs have to involve opening all these cabinets?” He tries to keep his tone light. He’s not actually mad or put out at all, not with the evidence of Eames’ love and care sitting right in front of him.

From the grin Eames flashes, he was successful. “I wasn’t sure where you moved things to since last time.”

A likely story. Arthur gently closes the cupboard nearest to him, moving closer to Eames and his cake. Now he’s near enough to observe (and try not to giggle over) the fact that apron Eames is wearing seems to have simultaneously done its job (it’s covered in flour and frosting) and not done its job (there are patches of floured handprints on Eames pants, and half-disappearing on their shirt underneath the covering). And there’s a big dusty splotch on their face. Arthur reaches over and runs a finger through it, the tip coming away white.

“Get a bit lost in your work, did you?”

Eames shrugs. “Only a bit.” They look down at the cake, and seem to remember something. “Oh! Hold on!”

They lean over to reach into the drawer beside them. Full of various knick-knacks, Arthur knows. After a moment, they pull back with a candle in their hand. It was a big, bulky 2, the sort one might use for a child’s birthday cake. Arthur raises an eyebrow.

Eames shrugs again. “Best I could do.” They set the wax number into the frosting securely (it leans back a bit far, but seems steady) before lighting the wick.

They smile at Arthur, but do not sing. That’s another thing that Eames has always remembered - how much Arthur actually hates that damn birthday song. “Make a wish!”

Arthur considers only briefly before blowing out the flame.

“What did you- wait, don’t tell me,” Eames pulls him a little closer and gives his lips a quick peck. “You want it to come true, after all.”

Arthur, who as always had wished for many more years spent right here, just like this, with the love of his life, hums in agreement. They kiss again, this one a bit more heated, before Eames gestures behind Arthur. There are plates and cutlery sitting there, waiting to be used.

“Let’s dig into your cake,” they say, reaching back to untie their apron, though there is a slight reluctance in their eyes.

It turns out to be more than a little burnt. And dry. And the flavors of the sponge cake clashes a bit with the frosting. But even so, Arthur compliments Eames’ work. He tells them he loves it, and means it. “Better than any store bought cake,” he says.

“Don’t kid a kidder, love.” Eames looks away, biting their lip again. “We both know how shit I am at baking.”

“Maybe so,” Arthur wipes his mouth. “But I’m not kidding. I do love it - promise.” He covers Eames’ hand with his own.

Eames smirks. “Gonna give me a line about how it’s the thought that counts?”

“Nothing so obvious.” Arthur takes one last bite, leaving nothing but crumbs behind on his plate. “You made it. You tried. And I appreciate everything you’ve done for me today.” His eyes flit around briefly. “Even if you did leave a mess in your wake.”

“Eh, I’ll clean it up later.” Arthur opens his mouth to protest, but Eames continues. “Right now, I’m more eager to let you open your present.”

Arthur perks up. “Present?” He looks around.

“Yep. Present.” Eames’ smile is bold, and more than a little lascivious. “But you’ll have to follow me to get that one.” They incline their head towards the bedroom.

This earns them another eyebrow raise. “Oh? And what is this mysterious gift?” Arthur lets himself be pulled up and towards the adjacent room. “Can I get a hint?”

“So impatient,” Eames rolls their eyes. “But…” they take Arthur’s hand and draw him closer, resting it against the small of their back. Slowly, they let his fingers drift below the waistband of their trousers, where they know he’ll feel the smooth silk hiding underneath.

Arthur’s eyes widen. And darken with the thinnest veil of lust. He dips forward for a kiss, but Eames pulls away.

“Come on,” they say, dragging him forward again. Forward and into their bedroom before kicking the door closed behind them.

Turns out, Eames enjoys Arthur’s birthday present almost as much as Arthur does.

#inception #dreamhusbands #arthur x eames #my writing #my stuff #writing is hard #dedicated to you #aforgerandapointman #my tumblr waifu #happy birthday #I hope your day is as least half as wonderful as you are #❤️❤️❤️

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spinchip · 1 year

Text

Turn You to a Colder Summer

(a/n: I wrote and edited this during my breaks at work, don't judge my grammar mistakes too harshly hehe)

(Warnings: frostbite (descriptions of numbness), violence, blood, injury, torture, mentions of past self harm, mouth trauma, threat of potential death. Kai does not have a good time, but he lives. The Ice Emperor is a Bad Guy)

(Wordcount: 2600)

Cold fingers drag along Kai's cheek in painful friction, ice crystals cracking and cutting into his skin like nettles as the hand arcs up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind his ear. The Ice Emperor's eyes are uncanny where they piece Kais gaze- black sclera where there should be white, burning electric blue where there should be warm sky, little flecks of gold that shift in and out of existence in the glow of the ice spires around them. No love. His expression is blank but not in the way Zanes usually is. It's cruel, clinical, and coldly detached.

Kai is bound in the floor, laid sideways to avoid the throbbing agony of brushing his frostbitten shoulder along the too-cold stone beneath him. That mark is hand-shaped, pressed brutally into his skin with a purposeful touch because Zane's ice couldn't get past the fire in his blood normally, not without excessive force or access to unlimited power. The ice blocks binding his arms behind his back and his ankles together don't sink frost as deep as when the Ice Emperor had torn him from his friends with an iron grip around his bicep. Their ambush failed. They were trying to escape, back through the tunnels Krag had shown them but he hesitated to follow, a part of him wanting to try and succeed where Lloyd had failed and draw Zane from the tyrant wearing his face. Kai knew better, he knew he couldn't get caught.

But he did, and now the Emperor is crouched over him with strange eyes and snowflakes trickling from his palm.

"He's not himself." Lloyd had said after stumbling back into the village- he’d left to look for the land bounty and had stayed gone three days, "If he catches you, he'll kill you." He promised, the sash from his ninja suit rewrapped tight over his belly and stained with his blood. The Staff of forbidden spinjitzu had a blade, after all. The Emperor was not afraid to use it. It was pure luck Lloyd had avoided the thick of the blade and hadn’t dropped his guts on the throne room floor.

To further prove his point and to save a life, he'd been dragging behind him a girl with each of her limbs encased in ice and delirious from blood loss, her mouth smeared with red where she'd coughed up bits of her lungs. He’d tapped her- just a tap against her sternum, the barest of hits that she’d nearly dodged, and he’d pushed ice into the delicate capillaries lining her lungs and frozen her blood half solid. The first breath she’d taken after had been agony, the second had torn. Akita. Lloyd had to tell them her name because she had passed out not long after arriving in the village- and when she tries to speak she was too out of it to form the right words. The blood flooding in her mouth wasn’t any help, either. Her body gave out once they began to chip her limbs free of ice, exhaustion claiming her. She was holding on to her life by a thread. Zane had done that.

No, the Ice Emperor had done that. It was an important distinction.

Kai, who'd just gotten his power back- the weak flicker that it was- had gone and gotten himself caught by the man.

The Ice Emperors eyes cut paths along his face, searching for something he knows is there but can't quite place. He'd been pacing around Kai for a long while, agitated and upset as he stared daggers at his prisoner. The frost on the edge of Kais cold and chapped lips reminds him not to speak. The Emperor has no qualms about forcing his silence. At first he’d thought the man was guarding him, too worried about the threat his powers might impose to regulate him to a typical cell under the palace. He was wrong. The Ice Emperor has no fear of him at all. Now he's so close Kai can smell oil, tracing burning cold lines into his skin as if finding the right path across his face will reveal what he's looking for.

Kai prepares for the eventual question. He also prepares for the scenario where the Emperor asks no questions and freezes his heart in his chest, but he hopes it doesn't come to that. He imagines what the Ice Emperor might ask- what the part of Zane still alive in him might push him to ask. There's no doubt that Zane still lives, because if he didn't the Emperor would have no reason to take any interest I'm him at all. He'd have been dead ten times over. Maybe he'll ask who are you? Or how do I know you? Or how do you know me? And Kai can explain to him that he loves him, he loves him, he loves him and that will make everything okay. It will. It has to.

Another long moment passes where the Emperor is crouched over him searching. Kai searches him too. Looks at everything in hope of finding the piece of the puzzle he can use to slot everything back into place. He's wearing completely different robes than he was before he was struck by the staff, white and gray and hand embroidered with diamonds made to glitter everytime he moved. His armor is growing fractals of ice in a messy, unkempt way. There's a patch where the icicles have been meticulously chipped away, but that chore was dropped and now they've been left to grow rampant. His face is dented and there's a patch of ice that's holding his jaw in place- an ugly crack from the corner of his mouth, a gap, and Kai can see where the connection between his mandible and skull has been snapped. The lopsided frown makes the break even more apparent.

The hand on his face is covered by a pure white glove. The hand on the staff is bare other than a thick case of ice, and Kai can see clear through it to the mess underneath. The titanium casing on his hand has been split apart to reveal his skeletal structure below. Kai has spent enough time in Jay and Nyas' mechanic lair under the monastery to have at least somewhat of a grasp on the basics of Zanes parts, so he knows what he's looking at. More specifically, he knows what he's not looking at. Wire- important wires, the ones Nya complains about because they have to special order them and they take ages to come- are missing. Not torn out, but neatly trimmed down near his wrist. The structure boning for his pinkie is gone, removed in the same clean fashion. There's more- Kai only knows so much, but he can tell the machinery underneath looks far more barren than a few wires and bone. Lloyd told them about the message in that cave, where he'd tried to fix the mech.

Kai can see it clearly in his mind. Zane, desperate and alone, taking the edge of a ninja star and sliding it along the near Invisible seam holding the casing of his hand together and shoving, cracking the connection points until it pops clean off. He and the mechs used the same type of wiring, after all.

The Emperor's voice is quiet when he speaks, the unfamiliar deep grit softening in the question meant just for the space between them, "Why do I hate you so much?"

Kais heartbreak over what might have happened in the cave stalls, every part of his mind thrown off rhythm with a question he never would have guessed he'd be asked. He can't articulate a response because he can't understand why Zane would hate him, and why that emotion would be leaking out into the Ice Emperor now.

"Zane-" He starts before his mouth is sealed shut with a layer of ice. Brain freeze hits first, sharp and cruel and like an icepick up through the roof of his mouth. Frost invades his mouth and glues his teeth together, crawling halfway down his throat. It hurts all the way to the roots of his teeth and he thrashes on instinct, bouncing his head off hard stone before he can control his reaction. Every part of his face hurts. There's a terrifying moment where the ice spreads over the back of his throat and seals off his sinuses and he's certain the Emperor has finally decided to kill him by suffocating him to death.

But the ice recedes almost as quickly as it came, though the Emperor keeps his hand over Kais mouth as a reminder not to slip up again. That was worse than the first time he'd done it, Kai doesn't want to know how bad it might be next.

The Ice Emperor's face is terrifyingly blank, a mask that gives absolutely nothing to Kai, so empty it scares him more than anything he's done so far. The interest in his eyes has fractured, and underneath is a hatred that makes the black of his pupils seem darker.

"You and your friends," his voice is still gentle, chillingly calm, "I hate all of you so much. I do not know why, but I do. I want to punish you."

Kai’s heart is jack rabbiting in his chest, beating at his ribs as adrenaline floods his system with nowhere to go. Fight or flight and he can't do either.

He takes his hand off Kai's mouth, "Speak." He orders.

Kai is woefully unprepared, stumbling over himself to try and come up with some way to remind Zane who he is. Lloyd told him that Zane said he loved them in his goodbye video. Why did that change? Was it the staff corrupting his mind? But the staff can only feed feelings that were already there. Did some part of Zane, some small part, really hate him?

"You're sick," he tries, his tongue darting out to try and wet chapped lips but its been hours since he's had a drink and his mouth is dry, "The staff is altering your mind, Zane. This isn't you. We're all friends! We love you!" He isn't above pleading and he pours desperation into each word, "You have to remember! I love you!"

The Emperor tilts his head inquisitively to the side as his expression flickers along the edges. Kai still knows Zane well enough to pick up on the minute changes- not a hint of it is kind. Whatever Kai said picked something loose, but not enough. Not enough. The light In his eyes changes but not in any way Kai can understand. He presses his finger to Kais mouth and seals it with another layer of ice, stopping his words. The air is thick, fraught with a tension so strong Kai can barely breathe through it. The Emperor looks at him. His eyes are so dark. He can still see Zane in everything the man does.

"I waited for you," the Ice Emperor speaks slowly, sounding out the sentence as if reaffirming its truth. A piece of Zane, just a sliver- a curiosity for the man crouched before him. It's a feeling, a certainty of a grievous crime, "And you never came."

It's bone chilling hatred.

It's betrayal.

Kais heart drops through his stomach and cracks to pieces on the icy floor. No no no-! He can't wrench his jaw free of his muzzle but he tries desperately to. He tries to scream, to howl and pour heat into his mouth- fire reacts to his devotion to his family, rushing through his body but again Kai is not enough.

We didn't know! We couldn't have known! We came as soon as we could! He thrashes on the floor, tries to bash his jaw down to shatter ice. He wants to grab the Emperor by the shoulders and shake shake shake him until his head pops off. I would have torn apart the sixteen realms to get to you! He's crying and the tears sting where they drip down his face. I would do anything!

He slumps, boneless and sore where his skin bruises on stone. He's thirsty, he's starving, and he's so so cold. The fire flickers out of him back down to an ember, faint and comforting if not much else. He blinks the wet from his eyes and sees the Emperors white white robes are stained with blood at the bottom. Above him, the tyrant moves.

Kai pushes himself back, the reality really sinking in. He was going to die here. No! he couldn't! He couldn't let Zane do this because when they got him back- and they would get him back, Kai has to believe that- he would never forgive himself. His back hits a pillar of ice and he looks around wildly, trying to figure out some way to get out of this, a smoking gun, a dues ex machina- anything! To stop what's coming.

He can do nothing. He squeezes his eyes shut as the Ice Emperor cups his cheek gently- but there's no ice stabbing into his brain, no agony of a literal ice pick lobotomy. The Emperors thumb wipes away an errant tear. A heartbeat passes before Kai hesitantly looks up at him.

The Emperor's face is still and serene, "I am not going to kill you, Kai." There is a moment of relief, even an inkling of hope before the chill comes.

It seeps into his skin from the Emperor's hand, down down through his face- It pours like slush through fat and muscle, cutting through his cheek to burn his gums and freeze the nerves in his teeth. It gets colder. Kai tries to dislodge his hand but the Emperor jerks forward and slams him down, holding his head against the stone floor as he pours ice into his blood faster, more brutal. Kai can't scream, his jaw locking against the bite of frost. It gets colder. It burns like the road rash he’d gotten the first time he’d wrecked his motorcycle, but a million times worse. Pain overwhelms all of his senses until he forgets how to breathe, hyperventilating and trying miserably to suck in enough air through his nose. His mouth is still sealed shut, he can't get enough air- he can't- His vision flickers with black spots.

It gets colder.

Feeling stops, numbness spreading like a balm over dying nerves. He stops struggling, taking advantage of the respite to catch his breath. His chest hurts with how hard his heart beats. His head is spinning. He looks up at the Ice Emperor with exhausted eyes and finds no pity, and especially no mercy. As Kai had struggled and sobbed in agony, he’d watched it all happen. He’d just watched. Kai is aware of the hand in his face by pressure alone, feeling blissfully gone.

The Ice Emperor takes his hand away.

He lays there and breathes, a tingling feeling spreading over his cheek. Pins and needles that turn sharper and sharper. With the loss of cold, feeling creeps back in and Kai is slowly aware of every inch of dying skin the frostbite has decimated. It hurts- it hurts like nothing he's ever experienced. He can't comprehend the pain, his mind blanking out as the blood roars in his ear. His vision goes gray at the edges as he struggles to stay awake. He can't pass out- he has to bring Zane back. He has to. He can't let him hurt the others. He can’t fail him like he did with the fight against Aspheera. Kai has to be enough. Please let him be enough.

The Emperor cards a hand through Kai's bangs, deceptively gentle as he wipes sweat slick hair off his forehead.

"I want you to suffer."

#ninjago #kai ninjago #zane ninjago #ice emperor #ice emperor ninjago #ns11 #blood #gore #frostbite #violence #graphic descriptions #injuries #serious injuries #torture #mentions of past self harm #mouth trauma #threat of death #ask to tag #spinchip fic

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ifellinlovewithpersona · 11 months

Text

So I was listening to SMT V soundtrack again on Spotify and I was listening to Jouin High Theme and Tokyo Daybreak (song that plays when you are on map of "humanity's Tokyo") and it made me realize how pointless that elements of the game were. Like... Besides reporting to Bethel and talking with your classmates on rooftop or going to shrine (where you couldn't interact with almost anything anyways) you literally couldn't do anything there lol. Like sure, you unlocked Leiline Fount to Tokyo and you could techically go back there anytime you wanted even during main missions but it was pointless cause there wasn't anything to do there.

So yeah, while listening I got some ideas how this area and segment of the game could be improved and given its own flavor (and actually making us to use that Leiline Fount to Tokyo once in a while), without making it too much like a Persona:

[and before any hardcore SMT fans come at me with "so you just want another Persona game" a disclaimer that it was Atlus' idea at the first place to give us ability to come back home between acts and I'm just giving my ideas how could they improve this segment that is already in the game and again, it was already Atlus' idea to make it happen, not mine]

- I think this area of the game would improve greatly if we got some sort of a small shopping district in the humanity's Tokyo where you could buy HP/MP/battle items that you can't normally get in D'aat, and also we could have some sort of a demon that likes collecting human things like Collector Manikin was in Nocturne that could give us some quests to retrieve something from human's world for them in exhange for items and maybe we'd have to do actually something in human's world in order to retreive them (I can totally see the Trauma of Puzzle Boy: Electric Boogaloo happening lmaooo)

-In addition to point above: I can totally see a problem happening with: "okay SMT games are using Macca but in humanity's Tokyo they are probably still using Yen as money", so here's my idea of a solution of that problem: Either at that Collector Demon or Chironnupu, or in Gustave's Shop, you could have a "money exchanging service" feature where you could exchange Macca for Yen and the other way around, so you could buy the items in humanity's Tokyo as well

-okay that one is kind of a silly but: A demon rescue quests :P Like we could find and bring back to D'aat some not-so-bright demons or demonic kids that wandered to humanity's Tokyo and don't know how to come back. Example of a demon rescue quest: We would meet an adult Jack Frost in D'aat that is worried because his lil' Frostie hadn't returned home yet and he heard Frostie mentioning how he wants to see human's Tokyo before, so he would ask Nahobino to go look for him in human's world, and as a reward, he would agree to join his party etc. I think it could be a interesting use of this area as well.

-(This one is more my personal wish, not a gameplay idea I have) I wish we actually were able to explore Jouin Dorm fully, not just the rooftop. Imagine how much of a headcanon/fic potential we would have if we would be able to see V-kun's dorm room (like in the previous games we could see how Kazuya's room looked like in SMT I and also we saw some glimpse at Naoki's room in Nocturne's Freedom ending so I don't understand why we couldn't see V-kun's room as well) and/or other character's rooms - that way we could learn more about them just by being able to see what they keep in their rooms. Also I believe it would be a great opportunity for Atlus to hide some easter eggs to their previous games- like perhaps someone had some Phandom merch on their shelf, maybe V-kun had some drawings on his desk and one of them depicted Magatama from SMT III, maybe someone had manga with characters from Catherine on the cover etc etc. That is totally pointless idea gameplay wise but it would be cool for storytelling/worldbuilding or just headcanons/fics purposes in my opinion

Yeah, so that was just my ideas that in my opinion would improve "humanity's Tokyo" fragment of the game greatly, cause I think it was massive lost of a potential from Atlus's side. Hope you enjoyed my idea dump haha

#lilly's talking #my ideas #fixing SMT V #smt v #shin megami tensei v #smt tag

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tagedeszorns · 9 months

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I can't believe I'm doing this ...

I found this neat nugget on my doorstep.

Edit: At this post, to be precise. Just for context.

Well, @beril66. Okay. Normally I'm the nice explainer-bear in this part of the woods, answering even the strangest questions in a friendly and detailed way. Normally I'm the damned Credible Hulk who even feeds trolls with lore until they are round and peaceful or at least waddle away into the wilderness again after the winter feeding to survive the frost period …

But this … this is beyond my boiling point!

Listen, you clown - you come traipsing into my blog, obviously didn't even bother to look at the last three posts, obviously don't even know who Saqqara is and therefore don't see the irony behind letting a diabolist explain the world - and instead of just keeping yourself nice and closed, you throw up something like your comments on my living room carpet? What went wrong in your childhood?

But you know what? I just can't help it. I should end this text here, block you back under your bridge and go back to drawing naked Astartes. But instead, once again, I can't get out of my skin and feel the urge to reply.

I can't say now that you give me much to work with. Nothing but "No, it's not like that, I think it's great and you're stupid". That's not exactly the level at which I usually discuss Warhammer - but I'll make it work.

So: If you had looked at my blog even superficially you would know that I like TTS. I am therefore looking at it with a very friendly eye. The fact that I'm not upset about the portrayal of my absolute favourite characters Lucius and Fabius should give you the additional hint that I have no problem at all with something I like being made fun of. But I am not wearing the ultimate fanboy-blinders and am able to keep my distance and can therefore say that I do not find both Magnus and Dorn portrayed "in character". Extensively readable in the Heresy novels (for Dorn and Magnus, by the way, many of the characterisation gems here can be found in the later anthologies. Which explains a lot of the mistakes in TTS, as not much of it had been released yet when they started their project and set the characters. So the creators couldn't know any better. The fact that angry fans are now shitting their incendiary speeches at my feet here is of course then rather unreflective. But I can't blame Alfabusa and the team for that. You don't choose your fans). That you conclude from this that I think the Emperor is great and am humourless is in itself extremely amusing. But you're probably right.

He's the best. I aspire to be like him. Also, please educate yourself about the difference between "well written" and "being a good guy". Because the Emperor is well written in a lot of cases, he just isn't a good guy.

For me, TTS is not the problem. It's people like you who obviously don't want to delve further into the subject matter, but turn memes into canon. No one needs to have read every scrap of lore. I myself am very selective in what I read and I know far too little. Learning new things, changing my mind accordingly - that's a big part of the fun I have in fandom. I allow myself the luxury of challenging my fan-ness with books and opinions that don't line up with mine. At best, I'm even wrong and can add something new to my private Warhammer treasure chest.

I recommend you do the same. Don't stop where you are, read the books. Realise that, contrary to what you seem to believe at the moment, they are not humourless and unreflective, but on the contrary have wit and irony in many shades (quite a few of those shades are called "sledgehammer", but that counts too!).

Now that was severely abbreviated, but I'm tired of it.

Run, little troll! Run, you are free!

#Warhammer #I fed the Troll #Credible Hulk #TTS #Lore #Meta #I am tired

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babblydrabbly · 2 years

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Day 11 | Rick Flag x Reader

a/n - @flufftober which I am probably going to finish by December lmao

prompt - poetry/art/music/craft

fluff - 750 words - warnings: nudity. implied relationship. scars mention. food and drink mention. one smooch. canon divergence post-suicide squad 2016.

“This is how you see me.” His soft tone is laced with something you can’t place. Confusion? Disbelief?

A heat creeps up your face as you shift in your seat. Rick’s breath is soothing against your cheek, but you can’t help fidgeting as he reaches past you; feel his chest touch faintly to your back as you let him examine your work up close.

Rick posed still and stoic as ever this evening, his pinched brows accentuating his expression thoughtfully for twenty minutes at a time. The community center’s spacious art room, normally cold, was warmed to combat the unexpected frost outside. You smiled at Rick kindly from the back of the room as the other artists doted on him before the session- making sure he was comfortable with the room before he would have to work poses for an hour or so.

You dragged your pencil gently across the canvas as he sat. Gently, but with thrumming intention. The other artists in the room did the same in silence as they drew inspiration from the man on the small platform.

You didn’t want to be a cliche. To be a painter with more than just admiration for their muse. But Rick Flag had captivated you. He was one of three or four regular models who volunteered their time to your group, but there was something about the way Rick gazed off into the distance as he stood bare before you.

You expected him to only try it once and never return. He told you after his first session that he’d never done anything like this before. And while it wasn’t stage fright that made him question his place here, it was the peace he had experienced while posing for you that had affected him in a way he didn’t expect.

You knew now, after nights of spending time alone with the ex-colonel, that this volunteer work was suggested to him through a therapist. And it filled you with pride that your studio was what made him feel welcome.

You tried to fight the way Rick inspired you to paint, but how could you?

“This one’s a little more…” You reach for a different piece laying flat on your desk. Propping it up on the easel over tonight’s sketches, you feel emboldened now that he seems to like your work.

Rick throws his brows up at the oil painting. You normally did landscapes, but Rick’s body, twisted and held in a sculpture-like stance, is the centerpiece here.

His skin tone is a little more golden, to compliment his summer tan that’s been fading as the months grew colder. And instead of making his many scars subtle, you’ve highlighted them. Scar tissue reddened and embossed in their own layer. As if to say Look. Look right here. And here.

Rick turns his head to look at you instead. He conceals the quiet storm of thoughts behind his eyes well. With a light-hearted scoff he stands up straight again, his hands retreating to his flannel coat pockets.

“You sure make me look good.” He smiles dryly.

You flash him one in return as you stand from your chair. “It’s a life drawing class. I just… copy what I see.”

The man shakes his head. Reaching up, you brush back the long tufts of honey blonde hair that have started to form a handsome swoop at his temple. Rick tilts his head a fraction as his eyes flicker down just past your eyes, sending your stomach into flips.

“Are you in here, Richard?”

The two of you quickly step away from each other with awkward smiles. But not quickly enough. Doris, a fellow painter, enters the doorway with a knowing smirk.

“I thought I’d find you here. Will you be joining us next week? I’m bringing a tray of my special pumpkin blondies and coffee for snacks.”

“Tuesday and Thursday, Mrs. Halloway.” Rick chuckles. “I’m not missin’ blondie night.”

Doris disappears back down the hallway to leave you to your goodbyes. Rick reaches a hesitant hand up to caress your face for a moment. His callused touch is a pleasant, electric feeling across your cheekbone. “See you in class?”

Listening to check if the coast is clear, you quickly push up on your toes. Rick’s lips meet yours halfway with a firm kiss before you’re both pulling away again.

You grin at the look in his eyes- the one that’s considering more than another chaste peck.

“See you at home.”

#flufftober #flufftober 2022 #day 11 #dceu #rick flag #rick flag x reader #rick flag x you #mywords*

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askthedarksidersfam · 2 years

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Ultimate Forms

Because the forms need some lovin’, this is headcanons about the Four and how they behave in their forms around their S/O!

Death (or Reaper):

(This is the only good gif of the Reaper)

Although incapable of speech, Reaper is just as capable of sass as he is as his normal Nephilim self. It just projects differently with cocking his cloaked hip dramatically, quick turns of his hood and guttural growls that suspiciously sound like groans of disgust. You are not immune to the sass.

Death is however, far more touchy in this form, preferring more physical contact than he’d usually take normally. He’s always making sure you’re close by with quick brushes of his bony hands against your arms. Hovering so close to you when danger lurks near you realize he’s chilly to the touch.

There’s an atmosphere that swirls around him like a cold autumn night. Perfect for staying cool in hot weather. Beware though, for if you stay too close for too long your body temperature might actually drop. His temperature will actually plummet if he’s under any stress or anger, nearly into the negatives under the worst circumstances. Frost actually accumulates in his bones and on the ground below him. It makes his bones creak something awful.

In the billion to one chance the Grim Reaper himself cannot hold his ground against a great foe and needs to retreat, he’ll whisk you away. But not before wrapping you in his cloak to ensure you don’t slip free of his bony hands. He can’t risk anything. Surprisingly, his robes aren’t too rough to the touch, and retain enough heat to keep you warm against his cold exterior. The fabric is surprisingly thick. Perfect for naps, and he’ll allow you to use them by draping the robes over you as he seats himself over you, vigilante in keeping guard as you get some well needed rest.

Cradles you when he has to travel and you’re otherwise unable to walk. Or just don’t want to. Reaper is a bigger softie than Death and is more lenient on letting you push him around. Death would never admit it, but he enjoys feeling your heart thrum in his hold. Just don’t get too adventurous with climbing him. He draws the line at being a jungle gym.

On the one time you were able to put your hands on his skull, he’s been smitten with the contact. You’re so plush and warm he actually emits a rattling purr. He will try to deny he likes it, but yet he can’t find himself to pull away when you attempt again.

Fury

(poor darling doesn’t even have a gif of her form ;-; so I settled the forms color scheme)

Just like her Nephilim self, Havoc is just as rough around the edges as she can get. A big, hulking figure of pink won’t change that’s all. Call her the Pink Menace of you will. Not that it would do you any favors.

She’s rough, and a bit more heavy handed when it comes to handling you. On the off chance she needs to carry you about, expect a roll of the eyes and an exasperated sigh. How she can do that with no mouth is beyond you. But then again, the Watcher spoke without a mouth…

As mentioned she’s more rough, especially with human handling. She might squeeze you a tad too tight leaving bruises behind or dropping you on the ground a foot too high. You need assistance in being put down! She may have tossed you like a bowling ball once, but in her defense, you’d never run fast enough to make it past a swarm of undead angels and to safety. How thoughtful…

Doesn’t really trust you to not wander, not that she’d ever let you know. Havoc’s methods of keeping you on a leash are less than savory I.E. being yanked back by an ethereal whip and to the safety of her side. It gives you literal whiplash you swear she’s going to break your neck. Oh little human stop fussing! She’s just trying to save your life, Creator knows you’re not exactly the most ferocious thing out here. If you’re really upset Havoc will spare you a pat on the head if it means you’ll stop with that face.

She will carry you on her back to maximize the use of both hands. Hold on tight, she does a lot of flips! It’s probably best you have something to strap down. Havoc will forget her worries when you’re chilling on her like a human backpack. Take a nap while you can, she’s nice and warm.

Sleeping arrangements will wildly vary depending on her mood. On the norm, you’re likely to just hunker down as Havoc keeps a respectable distance, keeping guard as you get your rest. However, if Havoc is in a most agreeable mood or the place you decided to sleep in is completely safe she’ll curl up and let you lay against her for a pillow. When you’re especially deep in sleep, she’ll indulge herself in stroking your hair, grumbling contentedly.

Strife

(son boy has no real close up gifs i can access I’m miffed)

One word: Clingy. I’m talking a smitten puppy clingy. Anarchy is the most emotionally open of the Four. Or should we say emotionally disastrous? Either way, Anarchy is keeping close to you whether you like it or not.

Most physical of the bunch. Expect lots of nuzzles, bumps from his head, being held and licking. You’re just so small and vulnerable he needs to fulfill his protective urges lest he explode. Deny his kisses and expect him to be pouty. Don’t be rude, go and apologize! He just wants to give you some affection, it’s the only time he really can let you know. As if it’s not obvious as the gun attached to his tail.

Anarchy likes to keep you close as possible, exceedingly so. At best you’ll be at least arms length away before he decides it’s too far away. If he can’t reach you by his single arm, expect a tail to herd you back to his side. However, if you’re particularly lazy and can’t be bothered to walk, he’ll happily oblige! Why didn’t you ask sooner? Anarchy’ll plonk you on his neck to sit on the tangle of hair protruding from his neck. He will have no problem being your ride.

How Anarchy carries you varies from time to time. He’ll cradle you close to his chest like a beloved doll if he is at a leisurely pace. Another moment is by nestling you on his back, right in the tangled mane of his. You can use those as handles, it doesn’t hurt one bit if he’s moving too fast. The last is rather unorthodox as he utilizes his tail to coil around you and hold you when his hand is unable to hold you. Don’t get mad if the sharp tip or stray spine scratches you. Or do. Either way Anarchy is licking you clean as he gives you a whining apology.

Sleeping is rather uncomfortable unfortunately. With one arm a Gatling turret, Anarchy can’t wrap both his arms around you and keep you close to his chest. Nor can he nuzzle you as you two sleep. Watch out for those horns too, they point forward and are a stabbing danger. How sad. Oh well, he’ll have to settle with you resting between the space in his arms as his impressive tail wraps around you both, serving as his pillow and yours as well.

Anarchy is warm, but not blazing hot with flames but good old fashioned body heat. It is however thrown off by the armor he sports and rough skin. But his purrs are great to fall asleep to, as if it’s meant for lulling you to sleep.

War

(My son, my boy has no real gifs either. Had to search the internet for a crumb.)

The largest without a doubt. He’s a b i g boy, and just like Fury, he’s a bit more heavy handed than he intends. However, he means you no harm as Chaos tries to make up for it with precision gentleness. He cares a lot, it’s very touching. Sweet thing.

He’s a nice balance between being too clingy and too touch repulsed on the norm. Keyword norm. He won’t brush away your touches, but he’s prone to being overbearing when you’re stressed or hurt. Chaos will pin you down and stuff his nose in your chest and proceed to lick away the wounds and purr away the pain. Fun fact: cats purrs have been proven to have healing abilities! So in short, let Chaos purr, he’s trying to heal you in the way he knows.

In terms of traveling, he trusts you enough to know when to stay close and when to get behind him, so he has no qualms about letting you wander. However, he will let his instincts get the better of him and if he’s anxious about a possible ambush or accident in the making, he’ll snatch you away with a giant paw or toothy maw to grab your shirts scruff. Chaos rumbles when he checks you over, fussing over you more than he should.

He carries you several ways depending on the availability of his hands or the situation. Cradling you with a single paw is somewhat common if you can’t clear an obstacle like him. But if he needs two hands, expect to be perched between those little wings of his, the limbs folding in a way to help pin you down in place to help you from falling.

Now one that Chaos is very particular about is you nesting on the curve of his huge horns. At least he can see you at all times and you weigh nothing to him, but you’re susceptible to falling. It makes him a bit nervous. Being held by the tail doesn’t happen much, but usually is used for emergencies. You fall off his back? Tail to the rescue! Too out of reach? There’s a tail on the job!

Sleeping arrangements are a blessing in the cold weather. He’s a living heater, and with those flames licking his skin it’s perfect for staving off the chill. But be aware it might work too well and you will wake in a sweat. Chaos will keep close when you sleep, curling around you as he makes himself a living shield, protecting any weak points. He will purr a lot as a way to help you sleep. It’s the least he can do to help you in the Apocalypse after all…

#darksiders #war #strife #fury #death #reader #ultimate forms #war got too long ;-;#darksiders 3 #darksiders 2 #darksiders genesis

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wanduhhh · 2 years

Text

Ease My Mind 18+ chapter 2: Where Are You Tonight?

Tw: (Talks of anxiety, suggestive writing, teensy tiny bit smutty, Wanda wearing a dress)

thanks to sweet baby @goodebyee for proofreading for me x (and being cute enough to force me to update)

https://wanduhhh.tumblr.com/post/692143479697047552/ease-my-mind-18

enjoy gays

The months seemed to fly in and Wanda had quickly become a staple in your life. You began to feel like a better version of yourself, no longer avoiding situations you normally would. Your therapy sessions with her pushing you to be better; but you could admit that it was not just with your own benefit in mind.

Wanda had cleared a path in your life for herself, and you didn’t care to see the rubble it could leave behind.

You were well aware that you had begun to develop an unhealthy reliance on your therapist, a statement that most people met with “who doesn’t” and a laugh. But this was beyond a laughing matter. She was on your mind constantly.

You hadn’t bought a box of pop tarts since that night in the supermarket, thinking of her reprimanding tone anytime you so much as looked at a box of frosted strawberry.

You had seen yourself going to the gym more than ever before, making sure you were eating at least 2 proper meals a day. All good things- all good for your body.

Your mind however, was powered by Wanda. Thoughts of how proud she would be the next time you spoke to her when you told her about your gym sessions. How she would smile at you when she asked if you had been eating properly and you could confidently tell her yes.

You were taking care of yourself not for yourself, but for the approval of the woman you were infatuated with.

One particular session you had been telling Wanda about how creative you had started to feel again. Speaking animatedly to her about how you had filled sketchbooks that had gathered dust, perfected drawings that now sat on aged paper. She had smiled so big, her eyes sparkling as she called you a ‘good girl’. It had swirled round your brain endlessly ever since.

Thinking back to the words dripping like honey from Wanda’s plump lips, almost daily. Whispering them to yourself as you desperately chased a high you couldn’t reach with your own fingers in the dark of night.

Wanda had recently given you homework. It was to leave the house at the weekend and do something that would make you feel good. No specifications, just that it had to make you feel good and you would be discussing it at the next session.

You thought about going with an easy option, going to a park and sketching or just getting sushi from your favourite restaurant. But you had being doing so good lately that you wanted to push yourself, rather than do something; you decided you would do someone.

You got dressed and had a quick shot to calm your nerves before heading out to a local bar. You had been in a gay bar once before, but something about this night told you that it would be different. Just stepping over the threshold had your fingers tingling with nerves.

You grabbed a seat at the bar and instead of lowering your eyes to your phone screen whilst you drank, you allowed yourself to simply relax and take in your surroundings. Allowing yourself for the first time in your life to truly people watch. Though your first hour or 2 saw lots of attractive women enter the bar, you found they all had one big thing in common. They weren’t Wanda.

You tried to shake the thought from your mind, slamming down shots and shaking the nerves out of your hands before you got up to dance. Swaying to the music with your eyes closed felt nice, and you began to think this was the part you would tell Wanda about on Tuesday. How weightless you felt in that moment and how it felt to feel careless.

Then a pair of arms wound their way around your waist, and you thought maybe you could think of something else that would make you feel good.

You let yourself fall further back into this mystery person, grinding against each other til there was no space between the two of you. And you still hadn’t even seen their face yet.

When you did eventually turn round you were pleasantly surprised. This woman had big brown eyes, soft brown hair that she encouraged you to run your fingers through. When she pressed her lips against yours they were soft. It was nice. You believed in that moment that this could work, this distraction could take your mind away from what you couldn’t have; and focus it on what you could have.

This feeling was abruptly wiped away when she led you into a bathroom cubicle. Roughly pressing you against the wall, she pushed her knee between your open thighs. As she sucked marks down your throat you moaned lightly, trying to live in the moment. Trying your best to not think of green eyes and red hair grasped between your fingers.

However, when her fingers found their way up past your dress and down the front of your panties; something snapped. All of a sudden it was suffocating. You thought back to the cold touch of your soon to be ex-husband, of how he would take his stress out on you when he got home from work. And it pulled you from the moment immediately.

You ripped her hand from your thighs and choked out a sorry before running as fast as your feet could take you. Finding solace in an alley behind the bar where there was no one else around. You sunk to the ground and the only upside of your hyperventilating was that it took the focus off of how you scraped the backs of your legs as you slipped down.

Your vision felt blurry and you couldn’t pull in a full breath, as you desperately tried to rake your mind for breathing exercises Wanda had showed you, your mind could only stick on the woman. You whimpered her name to yourself over and over as your fingers clumsily scrambled for your phone.

Frantically calling her office over and over you were too desperate to think of how it was past her working hours. After 4 attempts, you hunted for her email. The ominous ‘please help me Wanda, I need you’ was something sober you would most definitely regret, but you felt like you wouldn’t be able to breathe without her.

You received a reply almost immediately, with no words; just a mobile number. You rang it immediately and whimpered Wanda’s name to yourself over and over until she picked up.

“Y/n, what’s going on? Where are you?” Just hearing her voice allowed you to drag in a ragged breath. “Wanda I’m I- I can’t I’m” the stuttered words made you drag your nails up your thighs in frustration at yourself, wondering why it was so hard to simply speak.

“Just tell me where you are okay detka, and I’ll be right there” her calm voice soothed your mind allowing you to give her an address and your breath was almost back when she assured you she would be there in less than 10. If you were sober or calm enough, you would have honed in on the term of endearment she had let slip, but luckily for Wanda you were neither.

She arrived after 7 minutes, you know because you counted each second. It helped some to steady your breathing, but not as helpful as watching her walk towards you and crouch down to meet your eyes. You couldn’t help but let your eyes flicker to what she was wearing, soft pink dress that bunched up at the top of her thighs as she crouched over. A slip of her white lacy panties showing just slightly, your eyes met again when she coughed to get your attention.

“What happened y/n? Did someone hurt you?” She stared down at your scratched thighs with a deep frown, looking like she was about to go back in the club and find who had left you in this state. “No no Wanda, no one hurt me. I’m just. Fuck I’m sorry Wanda”.

The redheads heart ached to see you looking so broken, more so that you still focused on apologising. She knew this was beyond her duties as your therapist, and was most definitely crossing several lines but she couldn’t bring herself to leave you there.

“Shh shh honey, it’s okay. Come with me” she led you by your upper arms, your face turned into her chest as sobs racked your body. You were placed in a car, seatbelt fastened securely around your waist. Wanda drove beside you, eyes anxiously shifting between the road and you every minute. She had put on the radio and told you to hum along with her in order to steady your breathing. She said it worked a treat when she no longer heard you panting, but you knew it was just because the sound of her voice had calmed you.

She pulled up outside an apartment and wordlessly led you in the door by your hand. When she sat you down on a soft sofa and handed you a glass of water it dawned on you that this was her apartment. Dr. Maximoff had led you to her apartment.

You were lost in the absurdity of the situation, trying to think of what to say to the woman to convey how sorry you were for ruining her night. But instead all that came out was “you look really pretty tonight, were you going somewhere nice”.

She smiled as she lowered herself to perch on the coffee table in front of you, meeting your eyes before she answered. “Just for a drink with a friend, but it’s okay. I’m glad I came to get you when I did”. The words ‘a friend’ circled round your head, imagining that the woman had been on her way to a date that you had ruined with your dramatics.

You didn’t realise how deep in thought you were, too busy mentally cursing yourself to try and mask it on your face. “Stop it y/n” Wanda was using her professional tone, “stop thinking you’re a burden. You didn’t ruin my night if that’s what you’re thinking so hard about” mind reader “I’m a big girl and I chose to come help you, and I’m glad I did”.

This only made your heart clench further, thinking about how selfless this woman sitting across from you was. How genuinely concerned with your well-being she seemed. It only made you crave her more.

“Thank you for doing this Wanda. I really appreciate you looking after me, even when you aren’t being paid to” you blushed, not able to meet her eyes, finding the rug much more interesting. “Hmm I still have time to charge you y/n” she let out a giggle as she spoke and your cheeks hurt from smiling back at her.

You almost told her you could think of a few ways to repay her kindness- but luckily your conscience held you back.

“So this is your place huh? Never thought I’d be sat on your actual sofa” you nervously scratched at your palms as you spoke. “Uh yeah it is. Not very appropriate I know, but I remembered you had mentioned you were living with your mom at the moment. I know how strained that is already and I just thought this was the best option in the moment”.

Her rambling made you breathe a sigh of relief, knowing you were both in the same boat of awkwardness. Not knowing where to go from here, you were sure you’d stay glued in that very position on that couch for all of time.

Wanda decided for both of you. “Okay let me show you to the guest room, I’ll give you something to sleep in”. It seemed obvious until now that this was how the night would go, especially with Wanda bringing you to her apartment so late. But now imagining yourself sleeping a wall apart, wearing her clothes- you were frozen to your spot.

“Oh Wanda, I have already been enough of a bother. I’ll just order an Uber and head home” her disapproving gaze stopped you in your tracks. “Absolutely not, you’ll sleep here and I’ll drive you back in the morning come on” standing and leading the way. She turned suddenly and you stumbled behind her, trying not to walk directly into her. Brushing some of your hair away from your eyes she smiled softly as she spoke, “and you’re never a bother”. People had died of spontaneous combustion before, and you were sure you’d be another statistic then and there.

But alas, Wanda continued on to the bedroom and you miraculously managed to follow her.

The room was sweet and you had a hard time believing Wanda hadn’t been expecting company with the way the duvet was folded over. It looked so warm and welcoming. You felt your feet walking you over without a second thought, sitting on it and bouncing up and down lightly. Caught in your own moment, you were only snapped out of it when you heard Wanda chuckle.

Looking over to the door you saw her perched against it, dress riding up her thighs again and a light smirk on her face as she watched you indulge yourself. Your eyes once against glued themselves to her soft thighs. Wanting more than anything to pull the dress higher up and kiss your way up, just knowing she would make soft little whines as you did.

Your eyes darkened as you watched the way she bit her lips, shifting on her feet as her dress moved further up. If there had been one more minute of tension you knew you wouldn’t be able to stop yourself from marching over to her and pressing her against the wall.

But her voice redirected your eyes to her own, “I’ll uh- go and get you something comfortable to wear”. And then she was gone. You dragged in a much needed breath and waited til she returned.

When she did your breathing was halted once more. Instead of the sinful dress she had been wearing she had changed into a much shorter pair of pyjama shorts. You couldn’t even bear to look at the matching strappy top- you knew your limits.

She came over to sit next to you on the bed, dipping slightly; shoulders bumping gently. A soft sweater was placed on your lap, and just from the movement of it passing you, you knew it smelled completely of the redhead. You couldn’t wait to burrow inside it.

“This was the cosiest thing I could find, it should be long enough on you to be comfortable” she stroked the fabric of the sweater that covered your lap as she spoke. “Thank you Wanda, for everything I mean. But also for the sweater that I will definitely give back”. She laughed gently and you headed for the bathroom to get changed.

When you walked back to the room it was Wanda’s turn to lose her breath. The sight of you drowning in her sweater left her speechless. The sleeves trailing over your wrists, held up slightly but your fingertips. And the way it rested mid thigh, leaving your legs bare. She didn’t trust herself to open her mouth. Lines were blending, if she was honest with herself she knew the second she responded to your email on a Friday night that the professional thing to do would be refer you to another therapist.

For the first time in her career Wanda felt herself yearning for something more than climbing up the ladder. She knew the progress you had made with her was unmatched, but that didn’t help with how conflicted she was feeling. You were her patient, and she could confidently say in her office she had been nothing but professional with you. How she felt however, was another story.

So many nights had seen her laying awake wondering what you were doing, if you were okay. Followed shortly after with complete guilt that she was thinking of a patient in this way. Still there was no denying it when she let her eyes rest on you that bit longer. Laughed at your jokes just a little too long, and constantly found herself stopping just short of giving you physical reassurance.

None of which was helped when she watched you walk back over to perch beside her once again. Bare thighs touching.

You were sitting so close together that a strand of Wanda’s hair moved each time you took a breath. If she turned her face closer to you she knew your noses would just brush against each other. The thought made her want to ruin you.

Chancing everything she had worked for she turned to meet your eyes, it seemed luck was either on her side or completely fucking with her; as you had the exact same idea.

Your lips brushed against hers so lightly you wouldn’t have felt it, had you not been hyper aware of her proximity. Wanda’s breath hitched at the light touch and before she could snap herself out of the moment you pushed forward. Lips finally pressing together. Cautiously at first, Wanda kept her eyes on yours for a second, too scared to give in. But when your tongue asked for entry she closed her eyes and gave in. Pushing her hands into your hair and dragging you closer still.

The kiss was making you so lightheaded that you felt Wanda’s hands were the only thing keeping you from floating away. When the need for air arose you pushed her soft red hair behind her ears, brushing your thumbs over the apples of her cheeks lightly before trailing your kisses down to under her ear.

Her nails dug sharply into the back of your neck as she pulled you closer, tilting her neck to give you more access. The little breathy moans you just knew she would make floated up to your ears, and you moaned back simply at the sound.

You sucked light marks all the way down to her collarbone and she pushed you back. Crawling on top of you, the smell of peaches invading your senses as her hair fell around you like a curtain. When one of her thighs slipped between your own you sucked in a breath through your teeth. So responsive to anything she was willing to give you.

Just as you began to grind down onto her thigh and Wanda felt how wet you were through your panties, it was like a bucket of cold water had been thrown over her. She pushed herself up quickly, backing away to put space between her and your soft lips and tousled hair.

“Y/n we, we can’t this isn’t. Um this can’t happen. I’m your therapist, I don’t want to undo everything we have achieved so far” you stood to comfort the frazzled woman. But as you took a step forward she took a step back. “Wanda please it’s not going to change that, you can’t just pretend to feel nothing for me”.

Wanda pressed her fingers to her lips as you spoke, wanting to wipe the kisses away but keep them there all at once. “No I could lose my job, this can’t happen. I’m really sorry I completely stepped over the line tonight. Just, try rest and we can uh- we’ll speak about this tomorrow”. She left before you could protest.

You lay awake the entire night, a wall apart. Whilst racked with guilt over what had just happened, Wanda still did not clean your wetness from her thigh. And if asked if she had stroked it with one hand whilst pushing two fingers into herself with the other, she would deny it.

#wanda fanfic #writing #wanda maximoff #mommy wanda #wanda #wanda smut #wanda x reader #wanda x you #ease my mind #therapist wanda

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astridianmayfly · 2 years

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why is there a SNORLAX in the ARCHIVES

Summary: Jon doesn’t know what a Pokémon is, and he’s far too busy with these damn performance reviews to find out.

His assistants have other plans.

on AO3

---

15 minutes before Jon’s due to have his very first performance review with Tim, he’s crawling through WikiHow in a desperate attempt to figure out ‘how to give advice to someone older than you without sounding condescending?’ All it’s giving him, incidentally, are articles such as ‘ How to Deal with A Condescending Boss. ’ That’s concerning. He hopes Tim doesn’t share his sources.

He wouldn’t, though. Probably. Jon is a very good researcher.

Tim is too, of course. Jon’s always prided himself on his near obsessive work ethic when it came to cases–one that Tim just didn’t seem to share. Tim does normal people things, like make friends.

Once he’d expressed this to Sasha. Not that his research was objectively superior to Tim’s (Lord, she’d rat him out five seconds flat), but that “ha-ha, gotta love that #relatable moment when you focus on something so intently for six hours that you forgo all your bodily functions!” She didn’t exactly look at him blankly , but she very kindly and very gently asked him if he’d ever discussed ADHD with a doctor.

Jon had given her an out-of-character thumbs up.

Jon has no idea what ADHD is. Absolutely Delightful Human Dear? Whatever. It’s probably one of those ‘memes’ Tim was always roping everyone else into. Likely some ridiculous Twitter trend that involved hashtagging nonsensical acronyms. The other day during their lunch break, Martin announced that he was the “DUFF of the Archival Assistants” (whatever that was), and Tim and Sasha started refuting the declaration immediately.

Jon liked to watch Martin being berated as much as the next person, but he’d just retreated back into his lair the minute this debate started. See, he had very important work to catch up on. Like his personal research into red salamanders (Jon had been taking meticulous notes on the Plethodontidae family for the better part of a month now.) It was not something an ‘ADHD’ would do. Probably.

He’d been so lost in thought about salamanders that Jon notices it’s already 15:20. Shit. He hasn’t even memorized this article yet.

Tim shows up at 15:22, hand-wavingly punctual, with a bright, “How’ve you been, Boss?”

Jon puts on his glasses to disguise his unpreparedness, as if Clark Kent was also a sexy-in-a-librarian-rat kind of way. (And owned a glasses chain.) “You saw me this morning, Tim.”

Tim pulls out a chair and snorts. “Yeah, uh, that was a whole three hours ago! How could I possibly know what goes on in the secret life of Jonathan Sims?” He furrows his brow while plopping down (with the back of the chair facing Jon. Tim straddles the seat–naturally). “By the way…why did we see you running to the break room this morning?”

“Poor circulation. Now, if you’d like to get this over with?” Jon stares him down.

Tim just smiles back, amicable as ever. “Aye-aye Cap’n.”

Jon’s just about to pull up the color-coded spreadsheet he’d created so that these reviews went off without a hitch (he hadn’t started Martin’s yet, but he could probably draw it out on the extra piece of tea-stained, crumpled-up loose leaf lying under his desk) when Jon hears an unmistakable bzzt.

Tim raises his phone and immediately goes ashen. Suddenly, Tim stands up so fast that he knocks his chair down. He starts making a mad break for the door, eyes still glued to his home screen. In the process, he trips over the legs of his fallen chair. It doesn’t even slow him down–already halfway on the ground, Tim’s suddenly on all fours and bounding towards his escape like a rabid dog or wolf or something. He doesn’t even open the door with his hands, instead opting to headbutt the frosted glass with an entirely animalistic grunt.

As Tim tears out of his office, Jon doesn’t even get up from his desk. He just watches the whole scene unfold, his jaw hanging open.

The sound of laughter and screaming (???) startles Jon out of his paralysis. When he pokes his head out of his doorway, he sees that Tim is literally galloping towards the Archive bathrooms.

“Good Lord, Tim! What is the meaning of–”

Tim’s already turning the corner. “Sorry, Boss! There’s a SNORLAX! In the ARCHIVES!”

Okay. (A Snorlax?) That was…well.

Jon takes a deep breath and tries to regain his composure. Tim was guilty by reason of insanity, but…Jon stomps over to his assistant’s accomplices. Martin and Sasha are still sitting at their desks. Martin’s head is bowed–Jon can’t see his expression. Sasha looks him in the eye, face as placid as ever, but her lips are slightly pursed and her eyes are…watering?

This disrespect had gone on for far too long. “Why is there a ‘Snorlax’ in the Archives?!?!” He demands.

That’s what does it. Martin’s head falls into his keyboard, his shoulders vibrating with growing laughter. Sasha tries her best to hold it in, and fails: she lets out a loud wheeze and joins Martin in their mockery of Jon’s honor.

At that exact moment, the sound of a stampede comes from the ceiling.

There's a pause, and then the floodgates open.

Everyone, everyone, is running unencumbered into the archives. They hold their phones in front of them like beacons, a crazed, manic look in their eyes.

Jon's a little disturbed. This must be what it's like to watch himself in his element. He watches Rosie and David and Sonja and Arden and John A. John X. and John D. and John H. and Michael L. and Michael S. and Michael C. and Michael P. and a bunch of other people he doesn't know. Interrupting his workday! God forbid. They start wandering in between shelves, tripping over loose statements on the ground, and--my God, did Emma just get a staple in her foot?

Sigh...Maybe Jon's flights of fancy and general behaviors do have an affect on those who surround him. Maybe they can be as disruptive as...this.

A disembodied voice comes from the bathrooms. “Guys, guys! I caught it!!!”

#more where this came from.#tma #the magnus archives #tma spoilers #jarchivist #my writing #that escalated quickly #jmart #jonmartin #jonathan sims #martin blackwood #tim stoker #sasha james #tma season 1

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frostdemigod · 9 months

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Welcome to my Page!

I'm Frost, a guy who's very normal about his OCs & does pixel art illustrations. I'm interested Anime, Pokemon, Arknights, Art, Touhou and Vocaloid too. But my interests aren't limited to just these. I love talking to people.

I might come off as overbearing, but I'd love to make new friends and moots so don't be afraid to shoot a dm or anything. I used to just live inside arknights twitter (I was that one cement arknights poster, you know the one yeah that's me). 90% of my reblogs are through a 2 post per day queue.

Profile Breakdown:

Art-Only Blog - You might just be here for my art, so that blog's for you.

Socials - If you want to find me on any other platform (I stream on YT & have a discord!)

#frosty ramblings - My posts, literally everything that isn't art goes here.

#AskFD - When someone asks me something once in a millennium it'll go here.

#pixelart - all my art is under here.

Original Stuff:

#oc_oxyntic - This is for all art of my first original Character: Oxyntic Arolpous. He's my Inland Taipan based baby and I love drawing and exploring his character.

#arolpous - This is for all text and art posts about Oxyntic's Brothers, (they don't get their own tags). This is also for OC worldbuilding.

#oxydize-manga - I'm making a comic all about Oxyn over here, I'll only update it like once a month but this will be where all his lore is thrown into (or shitposting comics).

Thanks for popping by my blog! I'll see you around.

#introductory post #frosty ramblings

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waltwhitmansbeard · 1 year

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low lights make me know that you're there (a my fair lady one-shot)

@crispysnake successfully peer pressured me into writing this, so you are welcome. based off of this post and this ask. please note that this takes place before some nights just seem forever lasting, so certain things have not happened yet! as always, you can find the entire my fair lady fic here and it has been inspired by @romeoandjulietyouwish's medieval au!

Winter's Crest is always one of Keyleth's favorite times of year. Yes, she loathes the way the dark creeps in earlier and earlier each night and the way the biting cold nips at her ears and nose until she is forced to retreat inside each day, but still, there is a magic in the air that even the frost cannot chase away. This year, the war with Draconia has once again put something of a damper on the general atmosphere of frivolity, but even war cannot prevent Zephrah from hosting its annual Winter's Crest Ball, widely considered to be the Ashari event of the year. Nobles, diplomats, and friends of the crown are invited to come celebrate the longest evening of the year with dancing and lights, and Keyleth, who usually hates any and all social gatherings, particularly ones in which she is to play hostess, cannot help but enjoy the glittering gowns and the air of levity and the wonderful community that comes together to mark the occasion.

She is most excited for this year's ball because of its newest guest. Vax, who spent last year's gala shadowing her in his capacity as her personal guard, has been given leave to attend as just himself, a sign of the sovereign's gratitude for a job well done. Keyleth has, as casually as she can, requested Percy's help in dressing Vax for the occasion, as Vax owns no vestments appropriate for such a formal event. Keyleth herself has chosen a flowing gray ball gown overlaid with sparkling stars and sheer sleeves to represent the thousands of lights that will be on display during the ball. The skirts are long and rippling, but not so much that they will interfere with dancing, which is, under normal circumstances, the last thing Keyleth ever wants to do in front of so many eyes. Tonight, however, she has the opportunity to dance with Vax, truly dance with him, and she will not let silly skirts prevent her from doing so.

It is actually about an hour into the official start of the ball before she sees him. Her attention is so consumed by greeting all of their guests that it takes a while for her to spot him near an enormous ice sculpture of a stag, seeming for all the world as though he is deeply out of his element. She politely excuses herself from whomever she's speaking with, some halfling mage who has apparently been helpful in the war effort and whose name she has already forgotten, and makes her way over to Vax, who bows appropriately low at her approach. "Your Highness."

Those words, when spoken out of duty and not teasing affection, cut like a blade. "Vax'ildan, are you finding the festivities to your liking?"

His eyes travel the length of her gown, hug the curves of her bodice and seem to count each star along the skirts before he answers. "I have never seen an evening of such beauty, Your Highness."

Keyleth can already feel her skin getting warm, too warm for such a cold evening, and her own eyes are drawn away from his face to admire the tight fit of his deep blue doublet and the magnificent sparkle of his silvery breeches. "Well, the sovereign is as ever grateful for your...dedication to my safety and well-being."

His gaze burns into her skin. "There is little I care for more than your...well-being."

Her cheeks heat even more; she cannot be sure that he is attempting innuendo, but she hears it all the same. "Well I would hate for your first Winter's Crest Ball to be spent hiding behind ice." She extends a hand out toward him. "Would you care for a dance?"

His brows furrow in a doubtful question, and she smiles to reassure him. He places his hand in hers, and she draws him out toward the dance floor, where several dozen others already spin around to the music of eight or so of the Ashari Nation's most talented musicians. He bows, then pulls maddeningly close, keeping his hand respectably high on her back. They begin to twirl, and she is surprised by his ability to lead.

"Where did you learn to dance so well?" she asks, keeping her voice low.

His cheek is so close to hers, she imagines he must feels the heat from her flush. "Syngorn. Father cared for little else but our proper education."

She hums. "Well, I see it is to my benefit, then, for you are most excellent on the dance floor."

His answering laugh makes her toes curl. "I am always happy to be of service, Your Highness."

Oh, to be able to spin him away, off of this dance floor, far from the guests and the wine and the music, to take him under the long night's stars and finally find out the extent of his exquisite services. "This is such a gift," she whispers, so quiet she worries he might not even hear her. "To dance with you. To hold you, in front of others." She watches his throat bob at her words. "It is such a cruel thing, to get the taste of one's deepest desire, only for it to end when the song does."

His arm pulls her in just a millimeter closer. Her heartbeat is an unsteady rhythm. "Shall I come to you tonight? Will you be as excited to see a fancy man in full feather, as opposed to your usual man of the shadows?"

Keyleth turns her head just enough to catch his eye. "You always excite me, Vax. Your shadows and your feathers."

Vax blinks, and it breaks her heart, the surprise in his stare. Does he not understand? Does he not see? She is enamored, besotted, consumed. This is the longest night of the year, but here in his arms, she feels as though she is bathed in midsummer's heat. If she could, she would take him by the hand and present him to each and every guest at this ball, make them genuflect before him, step back and say look at him, look at him.

"What of your sister?" she asks, breaking the moment before either of them makes a costly mistake. "Surely you would like to spend Winter's Crest with her."

"We celebrated this morning." A teasing smile curls the edges of his mouth. "I believe she will be passing this long night with Lord Percival."

"Ah. When do you suppose they might retire this game they play with each other? This pretending that there's no feelings involved, whom do they believe they're fooling?"

"Well, that's Vex'ahlia for you: the game is her favorite part."

And this is Keyleth's, the feeling of his hand in hers, the steady rise and fall of his chest as he leads her through the steps. She is so accustomed to leading, so familiar with guiding the steps of those around her, that to give in to him, to let him pull her between the other dancing couples to the rhythm of the music, feels like the greatest luxury. She has to stop herself from resting her cheek against his shoulder and letting her eyes slide closed, because her body is never more relaxed than when pressed against his.

The song is winding to its close, and in just a few moments, they will have to separate. The very thought of pulling herself away from his warmth could make her weep. As the last notes drift away, they stop their spinning, and for just one heartbeat, he tightens his hold on her, brushing their cheeks together. Then he is gone, bowing low, and she can barely move her limbs enough to duck into a curtsy. Her mind still swirling with the loss of his presence, she's swept away into another dance, though for the life of her she does not know with whom. As she spins, her eyes find his, wherever he may be, wherever he watches her, and though this ball is such a lovely, bright affair, she cannot help but count the minutes until it is over, and her true Winter's Crest celebration can begin.

Though he must admit to even himself that he cuts a fine figure in these borrowed vestments, Vax feels most uncomfortable in such formal attire. He is far more used to the cotton and leather that allows him to move without restriction. Still, he found himself preening, just a bit, when Keyleth eyed him hungrily during the Winter's Crest Ball, which is why he moves through the catacombs now still in Lord Percival's doublet and breeches. There's a strange twinge of pride in his chest in being able to look his best for her, to earn that spark of heat he could feel in her skin as he twirled her around the dance floor.

Oh, what a feeling, to pull her in, splay his fingers across her back, and spin her around, her ethereal skirts whirling around them like the stars in the heavens above. For those brief minutes, she was his, entirely and unequivocally, and every person in that ballroom could see it. They could tell themselves that the dance was chaste and professional all they like, but he and Keyleth knew the truth behind every step, every breath. She smelled like jasmine, delicate and night-blooming, and every inch of him yearned to draw his nose up the column of her neck, breathe in the most tantalizing scent of her.

He stands before the secret door to her chambers, and he must take a few deep breaths to slow his racing heart. As much as he wants her, as keenly as he wishes to peel back her layers until he has seen every piece of her that she has never shown another soul, he must remember that she is a princess, one whose reputation and virtue are of utmost importance. His own base desires should never override his sense of honor, and so as he quietly taps to be let in, he steels himself for the sight of her.

When the door opens, the first thing he notices is that she is glowing. He has to blink to understand what he's seeing: her in that dress, already crafted with some sort of magic, surely, to make it sparkle like crushed diamond in the moonlight, but now she is lit not by the grand chandeliers and candelabras of the ballroom, but rather hundreds of tiny, barely-flickering candles, surrounding her from behind on every flat surface of her rooms. She's looking at him with that smile that he's come to know better than his own face in the mirror, the one in which her doubt for his coming just masks her excitement for his arrival. She is the most beautiful thing he has ever beheld, and for a moment, he is stunned, unable to move or speak.

"Well?" She reaches forward to grab his hand and tug him inside. "You'll catch a chill if you stay down there all night."

His hands drop to her waist, hugging the curve of her bodice. "You are..." He can't find the words, so he abandons the effort, instead looking around in awe at the countless candles casting infinite dancing shadows on the walls. "How have you done this?"

She wrinkles her nose. "I'm a princess, if you've forgotten. Procuring candles for Winter's Crest is the least difficult thing I've done in a month." Her mocking grin turns sheepish. "I thought...I don't wish to make any sort of presumptions about what your celebrations with your sister are like, because they are obviously personal and precious, but...I just thought, I don't know, I'd show off a bit. Give you the kind of royal Winter's Crest that I have taken for granted all my life."

She looks almost apologetic, which is the most ridiculous thing Vax can imagine, because how could she be sorry for bringing him into this most incredible world, one full of light and warmth? She's right to assume that he's never celebrated the occasion in such a magical fashion before; this morning, he and Vex'ahlia lit the customary single candle in their window and exchanged their gifts before both too-casually mentioning vague 'plans' for the evening. But this, all these tiny flames like fireflies, her in this enchanting gown, this is an experience unlike anything he could have imagined for himself.

He ducks his head to press a lingering kiss to her lips. "How lucky your people are," he murmurs, "to have such a kind and generous princess."

He can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. "I—well. I also have a present for you." He reluctantly lets her pull away from him, watches her cross the room to her bedside table and pull out a long, thin box from the drawer. Instead of returning to him, she walks to the settee in front of the fire and sits. He joins her, excited and curious by the box she hands him. "I had this made for you by one of Master Gilmore's contacts in Kraghammer. Go on, open it."

He pries open the lid and his jaw drops. Inside the box, nestled in a bed of blood red satin, is a dagger, wonderfully shined and coming to a curved point. The handle is matte black and has vines and tiny blossoms etched all along the grip, with the Ashari crest carved into the pommel. It is simple, but effective in its beauty. He lifts it from the box and gasps at its weight, or rather its lack thereof; it is the lightest, most well-balanced blade he's ever held, and he knows instantly that if he were to throw it, it would hit its target true with very little effort on his part.

"Kiki..." he breathes, twisting the hilt around and around between his fingers. "This is a thing of beauty."

She's beaming with pride. "I told them I wanted the lightest, most effective dagger they could create. I had a bit of an influence over the design, including..." She reaches out to gently pry his fingers away and turn the blade so that the short side of the grip is facing up. He lifts the dagger closer to inspect it, and he sees, just barely visible, the words my life in your hands in curling script. He looks up at her, and her eyes shine in the firelight. "I just want you to know. How much I trust you. Completely. Implicitly. Not just with my life, but...with everything that I have, everything that I am."

Vax's heart flutters in his throat. For half a moment, he wonders if she's talking about what he thinks she's talking about, but he shakes the thought away, determined once again not to let his better sense be subsumed by his want for her. He takes her hand from the blade and brings it to his lips. "That is the greatest gift I could receive, Kiki. As exquisite as this dagger is, no object will ever mean as much as your trust in me. I do not accept it lightly."

She brushes his cheek softly. "Thank you. It is not always easy for me to give." She pauses. "If you should not care for the dagger then..."

He whips it behind his back. "Absolutely not. It's mine and you're not getting it back."

She laughs. "Very well then." He can see it in her eyes now, the desire to ask for her present conflicting with her unwillingness to presume she will be receiving one. He could string her along, just to tease her, but after her remarkable generosity, he cannot bear to make her suffer the uncertainty.

"I suppose you should like your gift now."

She gives a little half-shrug. "You know you don't have to get me anything."

He hums. "I know. But I enjoy that face you make when I surprise you too much not to get you something anyway."

Her eyes narrow. "I do not make a face."

"Is that so?" He leans back into the settee with a satisfied smile. "Go on then."

She frowns, confused. "What?"

He waves a hand toward one of her bureaus. "Second drawer from the bottom."

Her eyes dart between him and the bureau suspiciously, and then she stands and walks over to it. She opens the door and gasps, pulling out a large, bulky package wrapped in burlap and twine. "Vax!" She scurries back to the settee, her face bloomed in surprise. "However did you hide it there?"

"You always forget that I am first and foremost a spy, Your Highness. Sneaking in here to hide a present, why that was child's play." He leans forward to tuck her hair behind one hair. "That, by the way, is the face of surprise I love so much."

She sticks her tongue out at him petulantly before carefully untying the twine to open the package. When she does, she finds a thick knitted blanket in the colors of the Ashari crest, with a white border into which small images have been stitched. Eyes wide with curiosity, she inspects them, and finds small references to their relationship, from the flowers curling around the corners to the flickering fireplace to the queen and knight chess pieces reflecting the many times he has been utterly humiliated by her in the game. Her face shifts through a myriad of emotions as she passes the fabric through her hands, seemingly mesmerized by it.

"Our next door neighbor, Rami, you remember her? She's the one whose chickens terrify Simon—anyway, she very kindly crafted that for me. She is quite the talent, and excellent at not asking too many questions."

"It's gorgeous, Vax," she whispers, hugging it close to her chest. "And quite warm; are you sure this isn't more of a gift for you?"

Gods, she is so beautiful when she's teasing him. "I will not be mocked for being cold, Your Highness. I am from the south; this weather is unnatural and I will not apologize for it."

"Well, let me warm you up then." She leans forward and kisses him, slow and languid, and sure enough, he is warmed down to the toes in his boots. "Between this lovely blanket and tonight's dance, this is the best Winter's Crest that I could have ever asked for."

He cups her face with one hand. "Never forget that you are the greatest source of light and warmth in my life. No darkness, no cold could ever touch me while you are near."

She smiles and presses her face into his palm. "When I am with you, I am, for the first time in my life, not alone, and for that you will always have my love."

"Come here." He pulls her in, tucks her against his chest so they are lying together before the fire, both still in their evening's finery. As he strokes her hair down her back, he closes his eyes, and knows that on this, the longest night of the year, there is no one under the gods' watchful eyes as warm and content as he is now.

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thequeenofthewinter · 1 year

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If I Were a Betting Man

Happy (early) Birthday to @nocturnalswarehouse! This is a little gift fic which I have written between Adi (their OC Dragonborn) and Brynjolf, the love interest. May your next trip around the sun be blessed, friend.

Link to the fic on AO3

The sound of soft footsteps echo out quietly as they push down on the frosted grass around Lake Honrich, creating a noticeable crunching under the leather soles of Brynjolf’s boots no matter how carefully he steps. However, he is beyond caring at the moment about whether his presence is perceived or not. He has been out searching for Adi in every conceivable spot she might hide for the last two hours. And when he finally spots her sitting on top of a hill underneath a great poplar tree, he is more than relieved.

“I could never hide from you, could I?” Adi doesn’t bother looking behind her as she already knows who is approaching her. She would know the sound of those footsteps anywhere. She is a well-trained assassin, after all.

“What are you doing up here all by yourself, love?” He asks her as he takes a seat next her. In typical Brynjolf fashion, he doesn’t wait for an invitation. He takes it for himself as if entitled to it.

He has known her since they were both teenagers, and there isn’t much that Adi can hide from him. He already knows her habits, which if she were asked, she would say is an unfair advantage.

“Thinking.” She answers vaguely, not bothering to look at him. Her eyes are focused on the slowly rising moons.

“Uh-uh. And what are you thinking about?” He insists.

Adi presses the heels of her hands into her eyes to rub at them tiredly. “Just stuff, Bryn. I don’t really feel like being bothered at the moment. I don’t have the energy for this right now.”

“C’mon, lass. You know I know you better than that.”

She is unsure if the uncanny way he has of reading her is a weakness in her emotional armor or if it’s just the carefully-honed skill her partner has refined over his long years of thieving. However, Adi sincerely wishes he wasn’t so damn good at it right now.

“It’s just that—“ She stops, unsure if she should give voice to her wandering thoughts.”

“What?” He takes her hand, squeezing it lightly. “You should know by now that you can talk to me about anything.”

“It’s so stupid, Bryn. You’re going to laugh.”

“I would not dare.”

Finally, Adi turned to him, assessing the—for once—very serious look on his face. “I have been thinking about us, and I was wondering…when the other boot is going to drop. Things have been going so well between you and I, and normally, when I have a spot of good luck or fortune, something comes along to smash it. When are you going to look at me and say that you’ve had enough? I—”

He silences her with a single word which rings out over the empty rolling hills of the Rift. “Never.”

“But—“

“You know what, lass?” He places a hand on her cheek. “If I were a betting man, I’d put down every last septim I had on us. No hesitation.”

Adi looks up at him, her eyes shining with a vulnerability Brynjolf has not seen since her days in Honorhall. “You and me, until the bitter end then? Whatever that may be.”

He tips her head up to him and softly presses his lips to her before whispering. “As it always should have been from the first moment I met you.”

Adi reaches a hand up to the taller Nord to press on him playfully, “Who know you were such a romantic, or that you could be serious about anything?”

He takes her hand in his and moves it over his heart. “Ouch, that hurts, lass. Especially because you’ve managed to steal something from me, the greatest thief the Guild has ever seen.” He flashes her a charming smile, setting everything from her head to her toes on fire.

She knows exactly what he is talking about, but she indulges him anyway. “And what would that be, Bryn?”

“My heart.”

While she was expecting this exact answer, it still draws a small smile from her lips along with an eye roll. She rewards him for his actions anyway, standing on her tip toes and drawing him closer.

“Don’t think you’ll be getting that back anytime soon. It’s mine now.” She smirks at him before breaking away from him and getting up from her seat on the grass.

“Where are you going, lass?” He asks, confusion written on his face.

Adi laughs, a rich sound bubbling up from her. Only Brynjolf could elicit such reaction from her. She puts on her most serious face when she gives her answer. “You’ll have to follow me to find out.”

And with that she runs off back in the direction of the town, leaving Bryn to sit by himself in the dark to stare open-mouthed after her.

#skyrim #skyrim fanfiction #brynjolf #happy early birthday friend #winter writes

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