#like remember when he asked him if he has a lighter after apologizing and looking at him like That and sand simply went
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Just a comic about two people catching up again [Angel AU]
[ID: A Trigun comic of Wolfwood after his death in Trigun Maximum.
Abbreviated ID: Wolfwood is now an angel with wings and a halo tied to his grave. He cannot be seen or heard by others, but Livio visited his grave and mostly filled him in on the finale, and Wolfwood waits for Vash to show up. When he does, Wolfwood is stunned and worried by his black hair, though he deems Vash fine when he pulls out drinks for them both.
Vash pours the drinks and talks. He confesses that he killed someone and calls himself a coward and the worst, apologizing for being selfish and not saving Wolfwood. Wolfwood angrily shouts that everything was his decision, and Vash is an idiot for blaming himself.
He says that Vash has done so much for Wolfwood and for others, and he calls Vash brave. Vash falls asleep with tears in his eyes, but he seems lighter when he wakes up. Vash leaves, promising to return, and Wolfwood says that he'll "watch him from afar... again." The title is "#1 'What happened to your hair?'". Full ID below readmore in 21 paragraphs.
The comic starts with a dark, noise-filter panel of the Punisher being used as Wolfwood's gravestone, with the quote "Nicholas D. Wolfwood has died" written over it.
Below that is Wolfwood, who has wings and a halo. He sits pensively and narrates, "At least, that's what everyone has come to believe, including me. Yet here I am, still roaming on this damn barren planet... But I wouldn't say I'm quite alive anymore. Since I couldn't feel hunger or thirst like I used to." He thinks, "'Ghost,' like those horror stories was it?"
He narrates over sketchy panels of himself frowning while floating next to his grave and yelling at Livio. "There, are other things I found that fits the term, like how I can't bring myself to far too far from my grave, or how others can't see me at all." We see Livio tearing up and saying "Nico-nii..." while Wolfwood furiously waves his arms and shouts, "I am!! Here!!!!"
Livio is shown speaking with a teary smile while Wolfwood leans against Punisher and listens. Wolfwood says, "Livio is the first and only person I've met so far. And luckily, he was quite a storyteller. I was able to get a grasp of the situation, and its aftermath. And what happened to him in the end."
Livio smiles and says, "It's been three months ever since... But even if we couldn't get ahold of him now, I'm sure he'll come back to you someday." Wolfwood narrates, "—And knowing that idiot, he probably would."
A close-up of Vash's coat in the wind as Wolfwood narrates, "So it didn't come as a surprise to me when he visited my grave. I'd even thought up of things to say when we meet again. Everything was thrown out of the window when he appears, of course. I could vividly remember the one question that burns in my head..."
Wolfwood looks shocked as Vash, hair fully black, waves cheerfully, "Yo! It's been a while, hasn't it? Wolfwood." Below the two floats the question: "#1 'What happened to your hair?'"
Wolfwood sweats, "Spikey, your hair. Doesn't it mean... Are you okay???" Vash smiles sheepishly, "Ah, I hope you're not mad I didn't come sooner, don't haunt me please..." Wolfwood shouts, "That's not the problem right now!!" Vash pulls something out and exclaims, "But look what I got for you!! Alcohol!!!" Wolfwood shouts, "What sort of person do you see me as!?"
Vash excitedly pulls out a bottle and two shot glasses. "It's not the only reason why I'm late, but it did took me a month to hunt this down... I recall you said you wanted to try them, right?" Wolfwood buries his face in his hands and says, "Where the hell are your priorities... You know what, yeah. I'm not gonna ask anymore since you look fine."
Vash smiles a bit tiredly and says, "Hmm,, I'm glad this place hasn't turn to ruins yet~ I've still got lots I need to tell you that's happened out there! And I thought it's better to talk about it with drinks on the side…" He clinks two glasses together. "So, cheers! ..."
He and Wolfwood are both awkwardly silent, and Vash sweats and frowns nervously. Then he pours a glass onto the ground, and Wolfwood furiously shouts, "D'ya really expect me to drink off the ground!? Stupid needle noggin!!!!!"
Vash laughs sheepishly, and he speaks via empty speech bubbles while Wolfwood listens, drinking with a small smile. Vash says, "... And when that happened I..." He drops his gaze and says between long pauses, "I..... When that happened......" Wolfwood watches him seriously as he says, "... Say. Wolfwood, is this how you've felt all the time?"
Vash looks down sadly. "You I see, I... killed someone in the end." He laughs, eyebrows drawn in. "I guess you're right. I am bound to choose someday." He takes another sip, then downs it and falls backwards. "Isn't it funny? That I've called you a coward once for killing... But guess who's the coward now~? It's always been me, isn't it?"
Vash lies on his back and laughs. "... Haha. I wonder if you're laughing too. I really am the worst, aren't I?" Wolfwood looks down as Vash continues, "You've done so much for me, but all I've caused you are troubles. I was selfish, always chasing after my own goals... That you couldn't ask for my help. That I couldn't save you. Just what kind of friend am I?"
Vash scrubs his eyes with an arm and says shakily, "Sorry... Wolfwood... I'm so sorry..." A close-up panel of his mouth shows Wolfwood saying, "... Just so you know--" Expression unimpressed, he exclaims, "There's no way in hell I'm accepting that lousy apology! You drunkard!"
He stands up and seems to kick Vash, who's still on the ground and mostly out of sight. Wolfwood demands, "Why are you even sorry for something like that, huh?? I chose my own path. It was all my decision! How many times do I say it to get it stick in that thick head of yours? Stop. Blaming. Yourself. For the things. You've not done. Idiot! Stupid spikey hair!!"
Vash's face is cut off, but a tear in his eye can be seen as he weakly says, "... oof.. wood..." Wolfwood looks tired and sighs, "... Ha... Don't feel bad about me. Until when will you realise just how much you've done for us? You've done more than enough for me, Needle Noggin."
The perspective zooms out to focus on the sky and two moons, including the fifth moon. Wolfwood's wings and the Punisher can just be seen at the bottom. Wolfwood says, "And you're brave, to go against what you've been taught your whole life. You're not a coward. You faced them until the end. So don't sell yourself short like that next time, okay?" We see Vash's face, smiling with tears in his closed eyes. Wolfwood concludes: "I'll get mad."
Wolfwood narrates, "—He passed out right after for the whole night on the cold ground. I realised how little I could help in the situation." He tries to drape his coat over Vash, sweating, and wonders, "Wouldn't it just pass through ...?"
Time passes, and Vash gets up with a sneeze and rubs his eyes. Wolfwood watches him with his eyebrows raised, and Vash laughs quietly and a bit nervously. Wolfwood narrates, "As if he'd heard my voice, a burden seems to be lifted off his shoulder when he woke up. That, or maybe he'd forgotten what happened last night. He was quick to take his leave right after.
"And so, Vash the Stampede went on a journey with a promise." Vash waves goodbye, turning to leave with his bag in hand. "I'll be sure to bring back more stuff next time!! See you later!" Wolfwood concludes, "While I watch him from afar... again." Wolfwood sits below the Punisher and waves back, saying with bemusement, "Has he never heard the phrase 'do not disturb the death?' He really throws me off..." The title is named, and it says "/ END." End ID]
[link to Image ID reblog post!]
#''if you can't go to see the world I'll bring the world to you instead'' post trimax vash who often comes back to ww bringing things he foun#and it piles up. alot.#i have up to 8 chp of these tho idt i can draw them all haha#vash the stampede#nicholas d wolfwood#trigun#trigun maximum#trimax spoilers#trigun maximum spoilers#vashwood#centric#/p
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Okay I was thinking about a born from wal with the reader and rafe in the future after college maybe married or something with kids like I just want more of them
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inspired by this ask!
Even when you’re arguing, Rafe opens and closes your car door for you. It’s a habit he started back in college after your first date and it stuck.
You step out of the SUV, both wearing scowls and semi-formal clothing, tension thick between you.
Your daughter kept you up last night. You’re both operating on just a few hours of sleep, which definitely contributed to your argument this morning.
You snapped at him about the mess he left in the kitchen, he snapped at you about how the mess wasn’t even a big deal, and since then, you’ve been ignoring each other.
You called him short-tempered. He called you stubborn. The babysitter arrived and the thirty-minute drive to your old college was filled with nothing but silence.
This isn’t how Rafe pictured Sigma Chi’s ten-year reunion. He wanted to bring the you that’s his best friend, not the you that rolls your eyes at him.
Maybe he was a bit harsh this morning. But so were you.
Being back on campus feels already feels a little like a blur, but once you step into the loud, full frat house, you’re disoriented. The nostalgia hits you hard.
Rafe immediately reverts into the loud, charismatic frat boy you fell in love with when he sees his brothers. You thought you’d have to fake your smile, still upset about the fight, but you’re genuinely happy once you’re around everyone again.
You make conversation and even though he’s mad at you, Rafe’s heart feels a little lighter as he watches you smile and chat and laugh with the guys you got to know so well over your college years.
He loves this about you. That you don’t let people see when you’re in a fight.
Sam shouts in greeting when he sees you. He stayed a good friend of Rafe’s after graduation, even coming to your wedding and your daughter’s first birthday party.
“He behaving?” Sam asks you, nudging Rafe.
“When has he ever behaved?” you quip, sharing your first smile with Rafe today.
“Can I steal him?” Sam says.
“Please do,” you tease. Sam laughs and pats Rafe’s back, leading him towards the back of the house to grab drinks.
You stand by the front window alone, looking out at the street, thinking back to how many times you walked up the pathway to the house once Rafe moved in.
Just a few feet away from where you’re standing was where he first propositioned you. I’ll let you practice whatever you want with me was what he said. And damn, did you two practice. You practiced until you fell in love with each other.
“How’s life treating you?” Sam asks Rafe, tapping his beer against his in cheers.
“Toddlers don’t like to sleep, man,” Rafe says. “At least mine doesn’t.”
“Neither did you back in college,” Sam laughs. “I remember seeing you two in the kitchen at four in the morning.”
Rafe chuckles. He remembers that night.
It was right after he moved into the house. You stayed after a party, hooking up in his new room, and ended up talking for hours in bed.
You eventually went downstairs, searching for snacks in the kitchen, whispering and giggling, waking Sam up, who was passed out on the couch.
Rafe had so much fun with you. He still does. Even the mundane shit is fun with you.
He hates that you’re in a fight. It’s stupid to waste time in an argument.
About ten minutes later, Rafe finds you in the living room. He’s holding a plate of food he made from the refreshments this year’s frat had set up.
“I shouldn’t have snapped,” he mumbles, holding the snacks out. Offering you some sort of gift has always been his favorite way to apologize. Well, after make-up sex.
“The mess wasn’t that big of a deal,” you say. All the irritation had left your body now that you’ve had time to cool down and reminisce about everything you’ve been through together. “Sorry.”
“Yeah, you were dramatic,” Rafe jokes. You nudge his shoulder with a gasp, albeit smiling.
“We’re both just tired, I think,” you say.
“You haven’t eaten,” he says, pointing to the plate. You beam at him, taking a bite of the food. You took forever getting ready and didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast.
“I prioritized getting pretty,” you say.
“You’re always pretty. You know you’re a total milf, right?” he mumbles quietly. You laugh and kiss his cheek.
“You hitting on me?”
“Do you even have to ask?” he says with a smirk.
Another frat brother spots Rafe and comes over to make conversation. Others join in slowly, forming a small group.
A few minutes in, Rafe checks his phone instinctually to see if the babysitter has called.
One of his buddies notices his lockscreen. It’s a photo of you asleep with your daughter on the couch, your lips pursed in the same exact way.
“What a softie,” he jokes.
You look at Rafe and laugh as he gazes down at the photo with a smirk.
Ever since the night of the Sadie Hawkins formal, you’ve been his lockscreen photo. At first, it was the Polaroid of you. Then, it was you sitting up in his bed, smiling and wearing his baseball hat and Greek lettered t-shirt. He kept that one for ages. Eventually, it was your wedding photo.
Now, it’s his girls, the two most important people in the world to him.
After the reunion, you get into the car and notice Rafe isn’t turning the key in the ignition. He’s just staring down at the wheel, chest rising and falling slowly.
“I love you, okay, baby?” he says. “I don’t say it enough. But I do.”
“You say it in your own way all the time,” you console him. “You’ve always been more show than tell.”
“Can I show you, then?” he asks, dragging a hand over your thigh.
“Rafe,” you laugh. “Where would we even go?”
He points to the backseat with mischievous blue eyes.
“Been a while,” he says lowly. His voice, his gaze, his touch… He hasn’t lost his charm, even so many years later.
Rafe is thinking the same thing about you.
You lean forward, kissing his lips, smiling at the man you’ve chosen to spend your life with, and tell him to find somewhere to park.
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redone prompt
I skipped prompts on April 1 because I figured it would get lost amongst The Boopening. (And also I was chasing the 1000 boop badge. lol.)
Today’s prompt is a post instead of an Ask reply because I decided to rewrite the prompt that I answered and then deleted on March 31. I’m glad I did! I like this version much, much better than the other one.
The prompt:
@mystical-magician asked:
Ironstrange prompt: arranged marriage. Maybe with royalty au, maybe magical shenanigans, maybe it's canon background? Maybe something else completely.
-
Tony leads his new husband to the suite of rooms that has been prepared for them. He wishes he could follow, instead; the back of his neck is prickling like crazy, and the words of the negotiators who hammered out the marriage contract are echoing in his ears: The negotiations were too easy. They hardly asked for anything. They must want something else. Be wary of your new husband.
Tradition forbids armed guards on the marriage night. It will be only the third time in Tony’s life that he’s been outside the reach of his guards. It’s the perfect opportunity for Stephen Strange to murder him, if that’s what Kamar-Taj wants.
But when the suite doors close behind Strange, all he does is pull off the elaborate headdress his traditions call for and drop it and the heavy marriage robe on the floor, leaving him in a much lighter, royal blue tunic. “Thank the Vishanti,” he groans, taking a seat on one of the low settees in the suite’s receiving room. “Whoever made those so heavy when they have to be worn from dawn until dusk is a cruel man.”
Tony is left dumbstruck for the first time he can remember. Strange looks up at him and takes on a sheepish expression. “I apologize, I know no one has explained anything to you. The Elders couldn’t decide whether or not it was permitted prior to the marriage, and ultimately they decided to err on the conservative side. But I can explain now.” He gestures to the other settee, placed perpendicular to the one he’d claimed.
After a moment, Tony shrugs out of his own marriage robe and sits. “The negotiators did suspect something else was going on,” he says. “I take it they were right.”
“Yes, but nothing political.”
“I’m a prince and you’re The Ancient One’s prize protege,” Tony says dryly. “It’s political by definition.”
Strange snorts a little. “For you, maybe. Not for Kamar-Taj. We didn’t need any of the things we asked for in the negotiation. It just seemed like the done thing.”
Tony frowns. “Then what did you want?”
Strange looks slightly… embarrassed? “When a Sorcerer of Kamar-Taj attains the rank of Master, a spell is performed. It reveals their most ideal romantic partner. You’re mine.”
“Your most ideal romantic partner,” Tony repeats, staring. Strange nods. “This is… a love match?”
“Well, not yet,” Strange says, blushing slightly. “But unless something goes very wrong—and it can, this isn’t a guarantee—it will be.”
Tony can’t help it: he laughs so hard actual tears start leaking out of his eyes. Every time he thinks he’s going to stop, he looks up at Stephen’s bemused expression and starts laughing again. Eventually, he sucks in enough breath to gasp out, “They thought— They warned me you might— might try to kill me.”
After one gobsmacked moment, that sets Stephen laughing, too.
Not a bad way to start a marriage.
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Room & Board - Part 19
paranormal fantasy
vampire x human
eventual triad (x werewolf)
Anonymous asked:
For the prompt submissions a vampire that feels guilty after feeding/attacking someone so they leave obscenely valuable ancient artifacts as payment/an apology?
Links under cut!
x x x x x
Part 1 | Previous | Masterlist | Next
x x x x x
In your quickly fading consciousness, you realize Tabaeus has let go of your hands. Their own grip at your shoulders, long spindly fingers trembling. Turning your face toward the hand on your right, away from Tabaeus’s feasting mouth, you find your sight blurring.
Before unconsciousness claims you, you press a gentle kiss to the back of their palm. Driven to somehow comfort the vampire, even at such a discordant juncture. Their fingers flex, claws digging into your skin as something akin to another sob bubbles up from their mouth.
That’s the last thing you hear as darkness pulls you under.
---
The next morning, Tabaeus is gone.
They must have called to Lachlan in the middle of the night, swept off into the darkness. Faintly, you remember a touch on your cheek, whispered words, but it is all so muddled in your groggy head.
You sit in the kitchen, hunched over the table, head in your hands. The bowl of cereal you had blearily made for yourself sits uneaten, growing soggier by the second. Heat burns in your eyes, but the tears don’t fall. Just hover at the edge of your lids and burn at your nose.
“They thralled us while we slept. Probably to keep us dead asleep while they left.” Across from you, Ewan sits sprawled in his chair. His head leans back, his hand pressing to his own forehead. “Feels like a godsdamn hangover.”
“That fucking asshole,” you sigh, shoving your cereal further away. You cross your arms and lay your head down on them, trying to ignore the anger and sadness churning inside your chest. To know Tabaeus would still thrall you, even after you bent to their request, makes bile crawl up your throat.
You don’t even look up as Ewan asks, “What’s our plan now?”
“What do you mean, what now? Tabaeus is gone,” you mumble, words muffled by your arms. Depressed resignation weighs heavily in your chest and in your words.
You catch movement as Ewan shifts. Something in the air shifts and you think he’s looking at you now. “You don’t want to go find them?”
“Can we even find them?” Hopeless, you cross your arms atop the table and flump your head down into your arms. Lachlan was obviously powerful and Tabaeus was no schmuck when it came to his powers either. If neither wanted to be found, could you and Ewan have any hope to track them down?
Ewan’s silence answers your question. If Tabaeus didn’t want to be found, if he was so intent on just disappearing from your lives - both of your lives, really - could either of you find him? You don’t even know what kind of underground society vampires operated in. How hard would it be to dig them out? How many had centuries of experience, of power, to wield?
Silence descended on the two of you, as you both stew in woe. It was only when a small, unfamiliar voice interrupted the pity party that you looked up, “You can find him.”
On the table, the rodents Tabaeus had brought home stare at you. Confused, you push yourself up in a proper sitting position and glance around, ignoring the fact the sugar gliders somehow got out of their cage. The only other person present, however, is Ewan. And he’s staring wide-eyed at the sugar gliders. Without realizing it, you have braced for his question before he mutters, “Why are the sugar gliders talking?”
“We’re imps, thank you very much,” Liuva, the lighter of the two gliders, titters as their nose twitches. At the disbelieving look that you and Ewan shoot, they comically heave a sigh that makes the sugar glider equivalent of shoulders rise and fall. Before your very eyes, the sugar gliders shift, the fur falling away and becoming a cape, leaving two very small, human-ish figures standing atop the table.
Both spindly figures had dark black eyes and markings on their grey-toned skin, long pointed ears peeking out from their hair. The only distinct difference between the two was the color of their hair - wild tufts that looked as soft as dandelion fluff - which happened to be the same shade as their respective capes. Your eyes flicker up to Ewan, but he appears as shock as you are. Perhaps the two imps had perfected sugar glider stink to the point even a werewolf couldn’t tell the difference.
“When were you going to tell me this,” you hiss, returning your attention to the two imps. Another question rammed into your head as you leaned forward, eyes narrowed. “When was Tabaeus going to tell me!?”
Carelessly, Bjarka and Liuva shrug in response. Neither seem particularly wary as you loom over them.
Taking advantage of your outraged quiet, Ewan steps in, “What's your story, you two?”
The two imps half-turn toward Ewan, before exchanging glances with one another. A silent conversation seems to transmit between the two, before both give a relenting shrug. Liuva speaks first, their eyes flicking from you to Ewan as they speak, “We just wanted to be pampered.”
“We saw how humans cared for pets and took the form of something cute and fluffy.” When Bjarka speaks, you realize they were the one who spoke first. Their tone is deeper than Liuva’s own. Bjarka sighs dreamily, hands clasped together and pressed to the side of their face like some sort of 1950s schoolgirl lost in a pleasant daydream.
“Tabaeus knew what we were right away,” Liuva takes up the line, admiration coloring their voice and pitching higher. “But they were kind.”
“They didn’t treat us like problems,” Bjarka adds, their nose wrinkling as their tone sours.
That bitter tone is mirrored in Liuva’s voice as she adds, “Like annoyances.”
Turning to you, Bjarka’s expression turns dire and genuine. “But Tabaeus did want us to behave.”
“So we did.” Liuva solemnly nods, though you could swear you see their hand move behind their back. It’s a movement that reminds you of a child crossing their fingers behind their back.
The story seems rather scant, you think. Why would they choose to willingly be people’s pets? What about the man who ‘sold’ them to Tabaeus? You bite your tongue on the very questions. Those curiosities could wait. There is one question gnawing at your head, wanting answers more. “Why didn’t they tell me about you two?”
Once again, Bjarka and Liuva exchange looks. Concern crimps both their faces, but it is Bjarka who turns to you. “They were looking for the right time, but it never came around.”
“They were worried about freaking you out,” Liuva mumbles, giving you yet another shrug.
Swallowing heavily, you ask, "Did you see them leave?”
"Yes, they were with another vampire. Slimy and sleazy.” Raising their little hands, Liuva wiggles their tiny fingers and makes a face.
Ewan and you nearly speak as one as you both knowingly say, "Lachlan.”
Both imps shrug and make a sound as if to say ‘if you say so.’ Both sets of dark little eyes flicker between you and Ewan, quiet now that they had brought you up to speed of their own circumstances.
Your brain is still trying to process yet another turn when Ewan gets the conversation back on track, “Alright, so how do we find Tabaeus?”
Bjarka, the imp with the darker furred cape, turns those ink-deep eyes on Ewan. Something in their expression glimmers with vague amusement and practicality. “You already know a witch.”
“Jemma?” Ewan perks up and you can almost see a pair of canine-like ears standing tall.
Your head snaps to the werewolf, your eyebrows raised. “Jemma’s a witch-witch?”
Awkwardness causes Ewan’s shoulders to pinch, a wince of a smile tugging across his lips as he nods an affirmative to your question.
You knew your co-worker was into the esoteric stuff and some spirituality. Tarot and gems, woo-woo paranormal stuff, and the like. But those were just trends flooding the mainstream now. It didn’t seem like that much of a stretch to just believe she was simply a human dreaming of something more to life.
Then again, you were currently in your kitchen, discussing how to find a vampire with not just a werewolf, but two imps. Could you really be surprised?
“When did my life become a paranormal drama?” You groan and press your face to the table, arms outstretched around the two imps. If it bothers them, they don’t seem to notice. One of them - Bjarka you guess, judging by the position - pats your forearm consolingly.
You hear the apologetic smile that crosses Ewan’s lips as he teases, “I think that’s just what happens when you befriend a vampire.”
---
Soon enough, you find yourself at Jemma’s studio with your supernatural entourage. Jemma’s apartment is what you expected it to be, with all her witchy implementations in plain sight. Perhaps that was why the occult had gotten a boost in recent years. Magic users and the supernatural were tired of hiding.
Jemma’s home is cluttered, but comfortable. Being a one-room studio, there were no walls to delineate the kitchen from the living room, though Jemma had hung up curtains to separate her ‘bedroom’ from the rest of the space. Plants overran the kitchen, with leafy fronds hanging from the ceiling and pots clustered around the sink. A long table, covered in bottles and candles and even a small cauldron, separated the kitchen from the living room. Books and trinkets scattered about on any available surface.
“I might be able to track them through scrying,” Jemma sighs once you have brought her up to speed. Her lips purse and her eyes narrow as she admits to her potential inability, “but if they’re part of an old coven, they may be protected.”
By your side, on the frayed couch in Jemma’s living room, Ewan growls a quiet curse. You stare at the coffee table in front of you, eyebrows furrowed. A fabric drapes over the squat table and, upon the cloth, a candle and box of closed tarot cards sits. You still feel adrift, unable to think of anything effective in the situation. Perhaps it’s Tabaeus’s lingering thrall keeping you unfocused.
Against your chest, you feel Bjarka and Liuva shift in an inside pocket on your jacket. You’re not sure if it’s an imp thing, to sleep as often as they do, or simply a luxury of their life as pseudo pets. The thought invariably leads back to Tabaeus, how they had cared for the imps and how the imps had spoken so darkly of their usual treatment.
Before you know it, you hunch over, your face falling into your hands. You dig the heels of your palms into your eyes, the pressure relieving the pulse of frustration in your thoughts. Ewan’s warm, heavy hand sympathetically presses to your shoulder a beat later. There’s a long moment of silence as you breathe, before you drop your hands and glance to the man beside you.
He offers you an encouraging, if weak, smile. You return a smile just as flimsy as his. It’s Jemma’s rough voice that breaks your gaze from Ewan’s eyes, “Did either of you let them feed from you?”
“Yeah,” you reply, trying to fight down the embarrassed flush as you meet Jemma’s critical gaze.
“I did too.” Ewan raises his free hand, flinching under the look you and Jemma shoot him. His expression takes on a bashful edge, his gaze bouncing between the two of you though not meeting either look head-on. “It happened in the van after you fell asleep and we were, uh, getting to know each other still. They needed a boost.”
Unable to help yourself, you snort in amusement. Especially as you catch the increasing blush beneath Ewan’s stubble.
“Well, I think that's your answer.” Jemma leans back in her wooden chair, arms crossing over her chet. “If vampires feeding on Tabaeus, or vice versa, could remain connected, then you should have a connection too.”
Your attention flicks back to your co-worker, a furrow pinching between your brows. “How do we tap into that?”
“That is the million dollar question, isn’t it?” Jemma’s narrowed eyes rove over her work table as her fingers tap against her biceps. Just as you start to think this will need more research, Jemma stands and heads into the kitchen, riffling around in a drawer. She returns with a fresh pack of sewing needles and two little glass vials that remind you of bead containers from a craft store.
Jemma shoves the vials and needles toward you. “Prick your fingers and give me a drop, both of you.”
You and Ewan comply, carefully drawing and collecting the blood. Once the vials are handed over to Jemma, she turns away. In the short amount of time, she has her little cauldron filled with purple liquid and bubbling over a hot plate. The room fills with an indescribable scent as liquid boils in the small bowl and the witch references a number of books. She hums to herself as she throws more bits into the occult stew, making the liquid glow a gentle blue.
As Jemma toils, insecure thoughts creep into your brain. Should you even be doing this? Tabaeus chose to leave and wanted you safe. Hell, he might even be the reason why your brain is so fuzzy every time you try to think about saving him. By going against his wishes, could you really bring him home? Or would he stay where he was out of a sense of duty? Dread swells up in your stomach, pinching at your expression.
You feel Ewan’s arm snake around your shoulders, tugging you into his side and startling you from your thoughts. “Don’t worry, we’ll find them.”
“Maybe that’s what I’m worried about,” you admit, casting a glance up to Ewan’s face. Confusion paints his expression and so you go on, “Lachlan seemed powerful and who knows how many vampires are under his leadership? Even Tabaeus felt powerless against Lachlan.”
Ewan is silent for a long moment, his eyebrows dipped into a ‘v’. You don’t expect he’ll have anything further to say, but he surprises you by slowly feeling his words out, “I think that’s just what Lachlan wants Tabaeus to believe.”
“What?” Straightening a little from your slump, you gaze intently up at Ewan, trying to determine if he’s just trying to make you feel better or if he’s being genuine.
“Lachlan smells like a power-hungry creep and what better way to maintain power than to keep a threat under control?” Ewan’s gaze is no longer on you. He’s staring off into some middle distance, his thoughts churning in directions you can’t possibly imagine. Briefly, you wonder if this had something to do with his old pack. “Tabaeus is old and, from what I know, the older a vampire is, the stronger they are.”
You press your lips together, acknowledging Ewan’s point, but still worried. “Even if they were created as a Memory Keeper?”
“That I don’t know, but no one else seems to know either.” Ewan shrugs, offering you another of his helpless but hopeful smiles. For the first time since Tabaeus left, the expression makes something stir in your chest. Maybe a little of that hope is rubbing off on you.
Settling back, you consider what Ewan has said. No one else seems to know a blasted thing, that is true. Maybe there is hope to find Tabaeus, to bring him home, to rid all of you of Lachlan. The problem simply is figuring out how.
#vampire#werewolf#monster romance#monster lover#exophilia#monster x reader#vampire x reader#werewolf x reader#exo writing#monster love#vampire romance#werewolf romance#paranormal romance#room & board#r&b#rab#room and board#tabaeus#ewan#reader#amata
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hii a little bit ago I ask if you could write loc dead x fem reader who self harms and I loved the one you wrote but could you please write another one 💕
I will hold you
warning : hurt/comfort, self-harm, emotional, kissing, no use fo Y/n
Info : Yeah I remember your request hope you like this one and have fun reading even if it's a little short but regardless have fun reading ;)
masterlist
Disclaimer : I don't want to glorify anything it's about the actors who play a role, not the real events.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Pain. Pain is something that everyone feels at some point, whether it's when you hurt yourself cutting fruit, when you get a stomach ache from laughing or when you're just sad.
But there have also been days, weeks, months, years and decades when you can't get rid of pain. Something that gets stuck in you and hurts you with every passing day.
He knew it, the blond singer of the band knew this feeling, he experienced it every day and could only soften it slightly through the music with his heart by his side. But exactly this pain had captured him and his girlfriend, the one he loved, who was like the light at the end of the tunnel. But even this light can grow dimmer from time to time.
A light that is permeated by pain, a light that has been destroyed by fire, by ice, by metal and by his own body. He had tried it himself and had gone into this spiral abyss, but he had overcome it for a few days at a time and had now somewhat accepted it and survived.
But it was always painful for him when he caught his heart interrupting him and he went home to the room in the house they all shared. He didn't feel the smell of fire after a fire, it was different.
,,Darling! I'm back!" he called into the house, hearing something fall to the floor before he ran upstairs to her, the door to the room was torn open without a lock before he saw that she had thrown the lighter to the floor, the knife lying next to her, but the look of fear, rejection, pain he saw on her face was the most painful thing he had ever seen. That look he knew was a cry for help, a scream that only gave surface to her pain.
A pain they both knew, something they shared and yet hid prematurely. Sometimes, however, they bumped into each other and saw what was going on inside the other.
But the fire they both had not seen for a long time. ,,Wait, darling, just wait a moment," he said hastily, running out of the room and into the bathroom where he grabbed the first-aid kit, which was still more than half full, but it would do.
The crying he heard from her was sad and lonely in her current state. Something that bothered him she shouldn't suffer and yet this was easier said than done as he knew it was painful.
They both knew that this life was painful but life should never be like this. ,,Here I am," he said and knelt down in front of her, wordlessly yet gently taking her arm, the burns and cuts not too deep but the pain of this brief redemption was something she had felt without seeing the end.
,,I'm sorry," she murmured, tears flowing down her cheeks and hiding behind her hand as her friend touched her. She tried to soothe a little while he disinfected the wounds and cleaned the burn cream they had bought just for this.
,,It's not okay, I'm here…it could have been worse but my heart I'm here okay it's going to be okay" he talked to her as he sealed the bandages around her wounds with tape and pulled her into his arms.
Her sniffling mumbles of apology only caused him to hold her tighter. Just stay with me for today, we'll get through this," he reassured her, kissing her head softly, listening to her crying gradually become less and less.
Maybe she even had hope that she could now see the light at the end of the tunnel and not the other way around. He was her light in times when she knew how hard it was. But in the end they would make it, they had always made it somehow and they were making it today.
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Please can we have the conclusion to the lipstick ask? I wanna hear what Viktor has to say and how he's gonna apologize for being dumb
Final (fourth) Part!
[Part 1] [Part 2] [Part 3]
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Viktor x fem!Reader (18+)
Content tags: enthusiastic blowjobs | face sitting | Viktor being kind of a tease | vaginal fingering
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-You stand in your doorway, frozen. Of all the people you’d expected to see at your door - a stranger, a delivery driver, one of your neighbors - Viktor is not one of them. After everything that had transpired between the two of you, you were certain that he wouldn’t have wanted to seek you out.
-After staring at him for a moment though, completely perplexed, your gaze darts downwards, to where he’d fidgeting with his hands. Or rather…to where he’s fidgeting with…a potted plant?
-It’s just a small pot, with an even smaller leafy thing in it - scraggly and viney and drooping all over the edges. The poor thing almost looks pathetic, with how wispy it is, but what’s most notable about it are its flowers.
-Bitty bundles of miniscule blooms, so pale that they almost glow in the gloom of the evening.
- “You don’t like it when people behead flowers just to give them as gifts,” Viktor says, finally breaking the silence. “You think it’s mean. But I…wanted to get you something, and you mentioned a while ago that you’d never seen the little plants that sometimes pop up between cracks in the undercity.”
-You frown slightly, trying to think back to when you’d even had that conversation. It would have been years ago, by now. Had he really somehow retained that information?
- “You said that they were hard to find,” you nod along, only somewhat remembering. “And prettier in person. Viktor, what are you doing here?”
-He glances a couple times between you and the flowers, searching desperately for words. He opens his mouth a couple of times, taking a breath to start speaking, but…nothing comes out, save for a soft croak.
-Pink rises to his cheeks, darkening to a substantial flush the longer the two of you stand there. You have half the mind to be annoyed with his sudden appearance, especially after the kind of emotional hell he’d put you through: was this him trying to apologize? Trying to make things right after carving your heart out and grinding it into-
- “I had a whole speech planned,” he finally mutters, his somewhat-hopeful expression falling. “Some grand gesture, explaining everything from my perspective. Explaining how inebriated I was over the weekend, explaining that my mind was not where it should have been.”
-Oh.
-So he’s apologizing for sleeping with you.
-...why does that hurt so much?
- “This morning, though,” he continues, “You…you said that you…told me how you felt. That you, despite all odds, have secretly been harboring romantic feelings for me for years, and I’ve been stupid and oblivious.”
-He rubs little circles into the crisp clay of the pot in his grip, his lips pressed into a thin line.
- “I don’t remember,” he admits, then.
-You’re fully taken aback.
- “I don’t remember you telling me how you felt. I don’t remember much of our conversation at all. I just…remember laughing with you. Having a good time. Feeling lighter than I have in as long as my memory goes. And I…I don’t remember a lot of what happened…later.”
-Judging by the hue of his cheeks, you know exactly what he’s referencing, and you pop out of your little trance long enough to realize that you’re still standing in the doorway of your home, out where anyone could hear what you were saying.
-Everything in you is screaming at you not to trust him, to not fall for some kind of ploy again, but you decide to ignore it: because maybe you’d been wrong from the start. Maybe you’d been given the incorrect information, and you’d made assumptions, and maybe it’s a misunderstanding.
-Unlikely, but…you’ll hate yourself for it later if you don’t at least hear him out.
-So you quietly step aside, allowing Viktor to stride into your apartment enough for you to close the door behind him. Casting you both into a new type of silence as you both idle at the end of the hallway for a couple seconds.
-Before you nod him further in, and lead him to your quaint living room. Your couches are mismatched, and dated, but they’re comfortable and you don’t really care about the fact that they clash. The two of you find your seats across from each other, and Viktor sets the little plant down on your wobbly coffee table.
-He wastes no time in continuing his explanation.
- “If I had remembered what words had been exchanged between us, I wouldn’t have called that night a mistake,” he tells you, with the utmost seriousness. “I woke up beside you with broken, mismatched fragments of everything, and I fear I pieced them together incorrectly.”
- “I assumed that you would be angry with me,” he admits. “We got drunk, we had sex - I figured-”
- “That I would have thought it was a mistake,” you finish, your shoulders drooping with the realization. “You forgot that I told you I loved you, so your mind went to the worst place. God, Viktor.”
-You push yourself off the couch and nearly trip over your own feet as you move your seat to his side. “I wish you’d just told me,” you chastise him, pressing yourself right up against his side. “We’re adults, which means we can have a grown up conversation.”
-He at least has the sense to look ashamed of his actions, even as you run your fingers through his hair and draw him into a hug.
- “I forgive you,” you sigh, squeezing him a little harder when he hesitates wrapping his arms around you, and only once he does so do you continue speaking, “But you need to stop trying to predict my reactions, okay? Even if you’re anxious about what I might say, I need you to trust that I’ll face any issues with compassion. I need you to trust me.”
-His sigh tickles the soft hairs on your neck, but you’re still able to feel the minute shift in his body as he nods.
- “Okay,” he agrees quietly. “I- okay.”
-The two of you stay like that for a little while, wrapped up in each other’s arms, enjoying the closeness and allowing all the negative feelings from the day to slowly dissipate. And they do, eventually - as you allow his warmth to seep into your bones, your anxiety fades, your anger fades, your sadness fades - mostly.
-You’re still saddened slightly, by the fact that his first instinct was to prepare for your anger upon finding out you slept with him. But you suppose you can’t fault him too much: he’s spent most of his life being an unwanted second thought, despite the fact that you have never seen him that way.
-But…that’s a talk for another time.
-For now, you pull back from him slightly, just enough to rest your forehead against his to stare into his pretty honey eyes. You want to warn him about what you’re going to do - after everything that’s happened, you feel like you should. But he beats you to the chase.
-Closing the small gap between you, his lips find yours. Barely a fluttering touch, soft and simple, but enough to coax you forward into something deeper. Something hotter, sending off millions of little flutters within your chest as your breath mixes and you press yourself harder against him. Or perhaps he draws you in closer.
-You’re not sure.
-You suppose it doesn’t matter.
-You’re fumbling with the buttons of his shirt after a couple of minutes, trying your best to pull away from him enough to see what you’re doing: though he’s having none of it. His lips locate some other patch of exposed skin, latching on with mischievous intent as he begins trying to leave a bruise.
- “I’m trying to get you naked,” you grumble, without any sort of malice. You can feel him grin against your throat for a moment, before he sinks his teeth in hard enough that you have to pause what you’re doing, a soft whine falling past your parted lips.
- “I’m not stopping you,” he replies, breath tickling your skin. You fight the urge to roll your eyes at him, though you feel nothing but affection.
-He doesn’t make removing his clothes easy for you, not by any means. He teases you relentlessly throughout the process, making little quips and remarks, just for the sake of driving you up the wall.
- “I don’t remember you being this chatty,” you huff, finally removing his shirt in the most offended manner possible. You’re covered in little bite marks by then, and riled up beyond the point of impatience: you never knew that Viktor of all people was prone to running at the mouth.
- “Perhaps you should find a way to shut me up, then?” he suggests, grinning up at you where you sit on his lap.
-It pushes you over the edge.
-You stand up without a word, shoving yourself off him in a frustrated flurry. He looks startled for a couple of moments, and you can practically see the gears turning in his head: wondering if he’d done something wrong, or if he’d overstepped, or if you’d changed your mind.
-You soften by a fraction when you realize he’s probably just nervous. He’d recently been of the mind that you were angry with him, after all, and you’re willing to bet that he’s got some residual anxiety.
- “Go and get comfy on my bed,” you tell him, nodding towards the open door that leads to your room. “If you want me to shut you up, then I’ll do so by putting your mouth to use. You seemed pretty keen on it last time, too.”
-It takes a second for him to understand what you’re implying, but the moment the pieces click into place, he’s on his feet. You don’t think you’ve ever seen him move so quickly in all the time you’ve known him, and you worry for a brief second that he’s going to cause extra trouble for his knee later.
-But he’s eager to draw you out of your thoughts, gaining your attention once he disappears into the depths of your bedroom. “I thought you were going to do something,” he calls, and you can hear the brief shuffle of clothing, followed by the creak of your mattress.
- “Janna, you’re impatient,” you grumble, though you’re unable to hide the crooked grin that tugs at the corners of your mouth.
-You find him comfortably settled in the center of your bed a couple moments later, and he’s been courteous enough to divest himself of his trousers. Left them in the middle of the floor, mind you, but that’s a problem for later, you suppose.
-He smiles sweetly at you from where he reclines against all the pillows you keep the company of, and lazily gestures towards his face. “You are taking an awfully long time,” he quips.
-You narrow your eyes at him, only breaking contact when you pull your shirt over your head. You’ve half a mind to feel shy about baring yourself to him the way you are, until you remember that you’ve been here before. He might not entirely recall all of the weekend’s events, but you’re quite certain he wouldn’t forget what you look like naked.
-Despite all this, he stares. Watches with rapt attention as you kick the rest of your clothes off and carefully fold them over the back of your door. Lets his lovely honey gaze trail across every curve of your body, almost lecherous and without an ounce of shame.
- “You’re still not sitting on my face,” he tells you, though it’s less of a demand and more of a whine.
-In any case, you decide to have mercy on him. You slowly clamber onto your bed, and make your way up his body, stopping every couple inches to lay kisses to the pale warmth of his exposed flesh. Stopping for a few moments to tease him.
- “All we’ve been doing is kissing,” you murmur, staring down at where his cock lays against his tummy, already hard and flushed the prettiest shade of red at the tip. “You really want it, don’t you?”
-A sharp sigh passes his lips when you stoop down just slightly, to lick a flat stripe up the side. It’s barely enough to be considered pleasurable, and yet such a simple touch sends little tremors through his body. You watch entranced as a pearlescent bead wells from the tip of his cock, and begins drooling down towards his stomach.
-Well that won’t do, you think, and wrap your hand around him.
-His soft little sighs turn into broken cries, when you bring his length to your mouth. Closing your lips around him, you slowly start bobbing your head - it’s messy and filthy, and you can feel your spit dripping down over your fingers, slicking him up and making it easier to slide your fist around him.
-He’s less chatty now, as you’d put it, but he’s no quieter. Debauched little moans fall past his lips, without a care in the world, as you continue your onslaught. Tightening your hand by a fraction, stroking a little faster, sucking a little harder. You can feel his thighs quake beneath you, strung tight with pleasure.
- “Wait-” he gasps, and you freeze.
-You pull your mouth off him, worried for a moment that you’d done something wrong…until you see the way he looks at you.
-Breathless and hazy, half-lidded honey eyes nearly eclipsed by the black of his pupils. Looking at you like you’ve given him the moon, cheeks flushed and lips parted…
-Oh.
- “Are you really about to come?” you wonder, giving him a few teasing strokes. He whines again in response, and bats aimlessly at your hand until you finally release him.
- “Alright,” you agree, continuing your path up his body, “I guess I’ll be nice this time.”
-You stop briefly at his face, smiling softly at him before bringing your lips together. It’s a tender kiss, almost innocent with the way you melt into each other, though it doesn’t take long for the mood to settle back in. You pull away from him, with one last bite to his bottom lip, and hoist yourself upwards.
-It’s a little bit awkward, you’ll admit, hovering above Viktor’s face like you are, rather than being on your back. Part of you worries that you might squish him, or somehow suffocate him, even though you know he’d be happy to go in such a way.
-He wraps his arms underneath your thighs, scooting you a little further up.
-Staring at you.
-Nudging you down towards him.
-You humour him a little bit, lowering yourself down a couple centimeters, so that you’re close enough for him to reach you. But apparently it’s not enough. His grip tightens on you, and he urges you to come closer still, despite the fact that if you do, he’ll have nowhere to move his head.
- “You’re supposed to sit on my face,” he quips, with a quirk of a brow. “You know, like a chair? Sit?”
- “I don’t want to kill you or something!” you whine, embarrassment creeping up the back of your neck. “What if I like - I dunno, break your spine? Or your jaw? Or-”
- He seems to lose some of his patience then, pulling you down with strength you didn’t realize he possessed. You gasp at the sudden shift in position, but you’re barely able to collect your thoughts before his mouth starts moving against you - and oh god you almost forgot how divine his tongue is.
-He eats you out like a man starved, working his tongue against you in differing patterns, so that you never know what to expect. Closing his lips around your clit to suck gently on it. It sends a warm wash of pleasure over you, until he flicks the tip of his tongue against it within his mouth.
-If you’d been hovering over him at that point, your legs would have given out. A cry nearly punching itself out of your lungs. The white hot, unrelenting sensation between your legs.
-You have to grip the headboard so you don’t tip over.
-Slack jawed and holding on for dear life, you cry and moan and tremble as Viktor brings you closer to the edge. Lapping up every drop of fluid as it drools out of you, as if you’re the finest delicacy he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting.
-And oh, when he slides two slender fingers into you.
-You’re gone. Too lost in your desire to come to care much about appearances. You all but grind against his face, feeling his digits working inside you. Spreading you open to prepare you for his thick cock, curling them perfectly against that sweet little spot within you.
-You don’t even have time to warn him about your oncoming orgasm. It crests over you with sudden ferocity, tensing every muscle in your body as it fully encompasses you. All you can feel is Viktor, easing you through it, groaning as he drinks you in and witnesses you at the height of your pleasure.
-Basking in the fact that he’s the one who’s made you feel good.
-It takes a good thirty seconds for you to come back to yourself, breathless and trembling, leaning heavily against the headboard while you try to gather your thoughts.
-Viktor’s hands, slowly stroking up and down your thighs, drawing little patterns into the supple squish of your hips. Your eyes meet for a brief moment, and he grins up at you with the most shit-eating expression you’ve ever seen him wear. Entirely too pleased with himself.
-You can’t help but share the sentiment, mirroring his smile.
-You crawl off him a couple moments later, now intent on bringing the same rapture to him. Only…his confident smirk turns somewhat sheepish, and the moment he turns around, you see why.
- “Viktor,” you’re barely able to withhold your delighted glee. “Did you come from eating me out?”
-You watch as an embarrassed flush travels up his neck, across his cheeks and out to the tips of his ears. He stumbles over his words for a few seconds, trying desperately to explain himself and promise that he’ll be ready to go again in a little while.
-But you don’t care.
-You flop down beside him, and pull him into a deep, tender kiss. Pressing your body flush against his, drawing him impossibly closer by crooking your leg over his hip.
- “You’re perfect,” you sigh, before his lips find yours again.
#viktor x reader#viktor arcane x reader#arcane x reader#viktor headcanons#though it's more of a bullet point story#requests are open but slow!
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please ignore this requests aren’t open, i’ve just seen people ask for the drabble prompts!!! could you do 6 with jiro?
Yamada Jiro:
Tears: What does the character do when they accidentally make you cry.
It was a very unfortunate accident.
Jiro had just been doing what most teenagers his age do, screwing around with his friends, skating on things he shouldn’t be to test his skills, getting yelled at by adults who hopefully didn’t know his brother. He couldn’t help but want to let loose especially after working so hard day in and out; he’d be apologetic later if he had to be but the laughter he shared with his friends made him feel so much lighter. He wasn’t paying attention as much as he should’ve been, not realizing until it was too late that he was speeding toward an innocent civilian.
Of course it had to be you. The person who never spoke to him, who moved like a ghost through the halls, but who always drew his eye. You had only exchanged a few polite greetings and he'd asked you a question once in class just to hear your voice, but Jiro has had a crush on you for longer than he can remember.
It makes this situation that much more mortifying.
You’re sent crashing to the ground in the blink of an eye, the fear causing tears to gather more than any pain. Jiro had managed to direct the skateboard elsewhere and while he couldn’t stop himself from knocking into you, he planted his hands on the ground to brace himself and to stop his own body from crushing you. It brings you eye-to-eye with him so he can see the pain and scared look you’re giving him, your lower lip quivering as you tried to silently get yourself together for the sake of not embarrassing yourself in front of a bunch of rowdy high school boys.
His friends are calling out to him and urging him to just get up and come back to them but he waved them off, thinking it was probably time to head home for the day.
“H-hey…” Jiro rubbed the back of his head, wincing at the friction on his skinned palms, “I didn’t mean to- I mean, I’m sorry that I…”
You’re still sniffling but you nodded at him, looking at his other hand that’s extended to you.
“Did I hurt you? D-Do you need me to-?” He was going to ask if he should get the first-aid kit from his house but there’s a suddenly anxiousness that overcomes him; if he took you home then you’d meet his bratty little brother who would make him look even worse. He’d already ruined his chances of you seeing him as anything other than a bumbling oaf, he didn’t need Saburo to make your impression so bad you’d walk in the opposite direction whenever he approached.
“I’m okay,” You mumbled, wiping the dirt off your own clothes, “Your skateboard… If you don’t get it, it might get ran over.”
Jiro panicked for a moment, rushing to the street to grab his board before it met a fate worse than death; he’d really have a hard time explaining to Ichiro what happened there. Still, he didn’t feel much like riding it anymore, letting it hang uselessly at his side.
“I have to make it up to you somehow, right?” Jiro sighed as he tried to wrack his brain, wondering if it would be rude to ask to ‘phone a friend’ aka call Ichiro to find the best solution. “Uh, I could… Uh, make you lunch?”
“You don’t have to.”
“But I gotta apologize properly…” Jiro sighed again, “Look, I’ll make something extra good. Your lunches for a week, okay? Look forward to it!”
Did he even know how to cook…?
It looked like you were going to find out one way or another.
#Hypmic#Hypnomic#Hypnosis Mic#Hypnosis Microphone#Hypmic Imagines#Hypnomic Imagines#Hypnosis Mic Imagines#Hypnosis Microphone Imagines#Hypnosis Microphone x Reader#Hypnosis Mic x Reader#Hypmic x Reader#Hypnomic x Reader#Yamada Jiro#Jiro Yamada#Yamada Jiro x Reader#Scenario#Drabble Prompts
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V's a living legend at the Afterlife, he's got a stylish new mansion, and his head is one consciousness lighter. And he's not handling it well. V knew Johnny had to go or they'd both die, but he wasn't prepared for how empty he'd feel. Emotionally and...physically? Psychologically? The turn around between Jackie dying and Johnny getting wiped was too quick, V hadn't had time to process all of it. Any of it, really. He could say he feels numb, but that's not right. He feels too many emotions all at once, but he can't express anything. "System overload" would be more accurate.
When a room is quiet for too long, V can almost hear Johnny's voice in the back of his head, an indecipherable murmur. When he's alone and hears a voice, he assumes it's Johnny's. He replies accordingly, often to the room's confusion. Sometimes he responds in his head, forgetting he has to move his lips and vocal cords for others to hear what he's thinking.
It's been a long and difficult adjustment, but Kerry understands. He remembers hearing Johnny's snide, critical remarks echo with every strum of a cord. He remembers staring at his guitar from across the room, listening to a repeating memory of Johnny's fingers on the strings. Distinct. Inimitable.
That doesn't mean it hurts any less when V calls him "Johnny" by mistake. After 50 years of trying to escape that Silver shadow that loomed over his life and career, and finally succeeding, it feels like a major step back. Kerry's been patient--something V has profusely thanked him for--but he's snapped more than once.
Kerry wonders if this is how V felt when they first met. He had such a hard time separating the two in his mind at first, despite being able to tell them apart easily. V's a rebel, an anarchist, an edgerunner to the bone, but not in the same way Johnny always was. V had expressed, when they started dating, that he didn't want to play second fiddle to Johnny. If there had been--or still was--anything between Johnny and him, Kerry ought to come clean. V tended to be a little sensitive to comparisons at the time, but since Johnny's removal, he hasn't shown any signs of insecurity.
Insecurity is now Kerry's burden to bare. He knows in the forefront of his mind that each time V uses the wrong name, it's simply an accident. The last person around him day in and day out was Johnny, so it follows that after moving in together, V occasionally uses the name of his previous "housemate." But Kerry's feelings of inferiority hiss and screech on instinct, like a bat brought to the light, each time he hears the late rocker's name. He's never held his tongue before, but he holds it for V. The marc apologizes ad nauseum each time it happens, and Kerry tells him it's alright.
And it is, he thinks. They've each gotten better; Kerry's reactions are less visceral now, and V is getting used to it being Kerry in his peripherals. Neither will ever be completely without Johnny, much to their dismay, but he's less a part of their daily lives now.
Life, as it were. They've adjusted well to living together. Both men are busy frequently; V's thievery is better done under the cover of night, and Kerry's shows run late due to multiple encores. But when they converge at home in the wee hours of the morning, the world stands still for them, giving them a precious moment to bask in what little time they may have left together.
V's still looking for a permanent cure. Kerry worries his lover won't outlive him. What an odd thing to hope for, he realizes, to die long before V. Before he finds his first grey hair; before he begins feeling the weather in his joints; before he starts groaning whenever he stands from the couch.
V's eyes catch on Kerry's from across the living room. He hadn't realized he'd been staring.
"Wha'cha thinkin' about?" V asks, inquisitive hazel eyes adjusting like a camera shutter around void-black pupils.
Kerry smiles as he replies without hesitation, "Thinkin' about how much I love you."
They haven't said it a lot, only when things get really bad. When V wakes up searching for Johnny, when he has nightmares of Jackie bleeding out and not being able to stop it. When Kerry gets another email from his custody lawyer, when he battles with his label to renegotiate ownership of his masters.
V rises from his seat and joins Kerry on the couch, kissing his forehead as he sits. "Everything okay?" He rubs his hand firmly up and down Kerry's thigh.
"Sure," Kerry lays his arm across the back of the couch, coaxing V to lean into him. "Just feel like I don't remind you enough, that's all."
V grins as he scoots closer. "Well feel free to remind me as much as you want." He grabs Kerry's free hand in his, interlocking their fingers and squeezing tightly, whispering as he leans in for a kiss, "I love you too, Ker."
#idk i just wanted some domestic shit#kerry eurodyne#cyberpunk 2077#cyberpunk kerry#cyberpunk 2077 v#male v x kerry#kerry x v#kerry x masc v#masc v#male v cyberpunk#kerry x male v
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you've heard of shotgunning Rosquez and VR46 Marc? you can now have both
Marc crashes in Japan [yes it pains me to write this after the actual race we had but I need this timeline wise] and it's not gonna cost him Indonesia but it does damage his previously injured hand a litte.
A couple of days after Marc has come back to Madrid, Valentino appears at his front door. He says "I had stuff to do around and I thought I could check up on you" and there are a lot of things going on in Marc's mind when he hears those words but he's too tired to call Valentino out on something he doesn't even understand, so, he just lets Vale in.
When they move to the living room, Valentino finds out about the football game Marc was watching and he apologizes for interrupting him and they end up watching the end of the game together. [And there is Valentino with a smile on his face every time he watches Marc react in Marc fashion to one of the Barça actions, but we don't talk about that.]
After the final whistle, Marc says, "You really didn't have to come, I'm fine."
Valentino looks at the way Marc is flexing his hand -he promises it's more out of habit than anything-, tilts his head to the side, considering him. "Are you on any meds right now?"
Marc shakes his head. "Finished the anti-inflammatories this morning, didn't feel like taking pain medication tonight."
Valentino nods and grabs the jacket he had discarded earlier next to him, pulling a small box out of one of his pockets.
Marc can't say he expected the joint and the lighter that Valentino pulls up in front of him. "Do you mind?"
It's not an offer, not quite. Marc shakes his head again. Valentino gets up to open the large window to their right. When he sits back down, he's much closer to Marc than he was during the game, maybe a meter of space between them.
Valentino lights up his joint and Marc watches the line of his throat as he leans back to blow a heavy cloud of smoke over himself.
"Did you really roll this before coming here? Can you even roll? Don't tell me Uccio did this for you."
That makes Valentino laugh in the middle of a puff and he starts coughing, his voice all fucked up when he says, "Yes, Marc, I can roll. I've been a teenager with time to kill. You can't really use the bike to keep busy at night, so."
Marc's mind is immediately assaulted with the image of young Vale -blue haired Vale or longer hair Vale (he doesn't know which version is the more damaging for his brain right now)- using a grinder with a focused face and licking rolling paper with his tongue.
"It's not like you haven't seen me smoke before," Valentino comments when Marc is fully blanking out on an answer there.
Marc watches as Valentino grabs the now empty beer that he'd grabbed for him earlier during the game and uses it as an ashtray to discard the ashes building at the end of the stick.
"Yeah, I know, I do remember [name of the city that I have to decide at some point]."
"You do?" Valentino's eyebrows go up a little and Marc wants to pull them back down. Don't act surprised, fucker. "I almost thought you didn't considering you never mentionned it again."
Valentino has a smirk proudly sitting on his face. Marc feels hot. The smoke must be getting to him.
Eventually, Valentino takes pity on him and he says, "It's fine," with a smile and yeah, fine, Marc will be even finer if they don't mention that night again, he already had too much trouble trying to stop thinking about it the first time around.
"You've never taken a puff on your own, have you?" Valentino asks when they've both been half watching TV, half smoking (Valentino) or half pretending they're not watching Valentino's face when he pulls on the joint (Marc).
"I think you already know the answer here," Marc chuckles. "Not really interested in trying, don't think I'm ready to cough a lung on you just yet."
He's also fairly sure it would hit him harder than someone else blowing already inhaled smoke back into his mouth. He's been severely drunk around Valentino but high? He's not sure alone with Valentino is the smartest context for that.
Valentino laughs but it's not mocking so Marc can't have said something that silly. He feels observed for a moment, Valentino considering him, and then— "Do you want a shotgun again?"
Marc's survival instinct should probably have him say no.
[Something something about how the last couple of months have him gain trust in Valentino again, Marc thinking about some memories, etc etc. And as things stand, he nods.]
Valentino scoots himself closer and places his left hand on Marc’s neck, thumb at the hinge of his jaw. He almost expects Valentino’s fingers to move -squeeze, rub, pinch; whichever- but they don’t. Marc shivers anyway.
I can stay still on my own, he doesn’t voice outloud.
I trust you, he doesn’t say either.
Marc watches Valentino pull on the joint and he closes his eyes, waits for the impact like he’s just been thrown off his bike from a highside.
He's more ready than the last time and it might have been a decade but Marc's a good student. He opens his mouth when Valentino's lips touch his and he takes a sharp breath in, manages to hold it in for a hot second before he exhales, only coughing once despite the burn in his throat.
When Marc opens his eyes, he finds out that Valentino hasn't moved. He's still close to him, bright blue eyes even more dizzying than they usually already are.
Maybe Marc will blame the drug that has barely been processed by his body at that point. As it is, Valentino’s mouth is right there and Marc has to chase it.
He’s a little too brutal with it, too eager maybe, and their teeth click for a second. Valentino does apply pressure on his neck, then. Marc readjusts.
The next press of his lips to Valentino’s is gentler but still hungry, Marc pushing and Valentino keeping him steady.
[Some more kissing and Marc freezing when they both break apart to take a breath and he realizes what he's been doing.]
"I'm sorry," Marc says while feeling the most mortified he's ever been.
"No you’re fine, don't worry." Valentino tries to reach for his wrist. Marc draws back like he’s been burnt.
"I wasn’t thinking," Marc says, his eyes struggling to find a place to look at. On TV, journalists are still analyzing the game.
"Weed will do that to you," Valentino comments in the most matter-of-factly voice possible. It sounds odd. Marc doesn’t know how to read it.
"Look, is it really a shotgunning session with your friends if you don’t make out with them a little?" Valentino asks. His tone is awkward and Marc’s face is on fire and they still can’t meet each other’s eyes. "I can even make a list of the people this has happened with, if that can make you feel better."
Imagining Valentino kissing other people is the last thing Marc wants to do, what in the actual fuck. He can’t be hallucinating, can he?
"Maybe I should go," Valentino eventually says when Marc’s brain refuses to come back with anything for a long moment. "I have an early plane tomorrow and you need to rest."
"Right."
Valentino grabs his abandoned bottle of beer when he gets up and disappear in the kitchen with in, to dispose of it despite not knowing where the glass trash bin is, Marc assumes.
He closes the open window and stands behind Marc, forcing him to crane his neck around from where he still hasn't left the couch.
"Take care," Valentino says. Marc sees his right hand move, almost expects Valentino to squeeze his shoulder or ruffle his curls, which— silly.
Marc’s heart is still going haywire by the time Valentino has closed his front door. His pulse is throbbing in his hand.
It hurts.
#rpf#valentino rossi#marc marquez#my writing#vr46 marc au#cw drugs#fun fact : I haven't shotgunned in a very hot sec so I had to do some research and I found this discussion from 2009 in a forum#and people were like “I've seen two dudes do it but it was pretty gay”#oh internet#also yeah I refuse to create a gdoc until I have a full timeline ready so tumblr it is for now#we don't talk about how this is 1.4k
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What had started out as a casual meetup after school every now and again turned into… whatever this is.
Billy stares up at the ceiling. Blissed out, having been rewarded for doing the bulk of Eddie’s algebra two homework with a joint that was just shy of overstuffed. He would have helped regardless — he already has, actually, on multiple occasions. But Eddie insists.
The guy is hard to argue with. Especially when he flicks his lighter open and presses the butt of the joint to Billy’s lips himself.
Smoke is always sweeter on his tongue when it’s sucked through the tips of Eddie’s fingers.
Billy takes in the view from the bed. Studies the posters tacked to the walls and admires the guitar that hangs among them — Gina, he was informed was her name — Eddie’s favorite. He wishes that Gina would come down so Eddie could play her right about now. Fill the muggy air in the trailer with some vibrancy. Maybe wake Billy up a little bit.
He turns his head, looks at where Eddie lies next to him, and studies what he can see of his sleeping face from under his bangs. Head tucked safely into the crook of Billy’s shoulder.
The blond sighs. Elects to just card his fingers into Eddie’s hair, listens to him hum a happy sound under his breath.
Then there’s a knock at the door.
Every cell in Billy’s body lights up at once, the crackles of fireworks running up his spine as his brain starts screaming excuses. Apologies.
We were just studying, nothing happened, please don’t be mad—
The door gently cracks open and Wayne peaks his head in. He’s still clad in his work clothes, eyes tired, but offers a smile anyway. Billy remembers to breathe because he wasn’t before, and tries not to look like he just narrowly avoided a heart attack. He leaves his hand in Eddie’s hair.
“I’m gonna go out for a bit, do you want anything from the gas station?” Wayne asks quietly.
Billy feels— he melts into the mattress. Smiles.
“A pack ‘a reds,” he whispers. It almost comes out as a sigh, and he looks down at Eddie when an arm slings across his chest. A jean-clad thigh sliding between his thereafter. “And some Skittles for sleeping beauty.”
Wayne nods. Chuckles to himself as he pulls the door shut, leaving it open a handful of inches before he takes his leave.
Billy must stir too much when he rubs a hand over his face and huffs a relieved laugh, because Eddie shifts. Presses closer into Billy’s side and flattens his palm against his chest.
“Man, ruined my fuckin’ dream…” Eddie sighs.
“Sorry, critter.” Billy scratches softly at the brunet’s scalp and coaxes a pleased puff of air out of him. “Go back to sleep.”
Never in his life has Billy been so gentle with someone before. Sometimes it catches him off-guard, the way his voice is smooth and almost a coo when it comes out.
“Nah, I’m up,” Eddie yawns. “Dick.”
Billy snorts at that. Watches as Eddie sits up and stretches his arms above his head.
Maybe it’s a little white lie that he’s been telling himself, that he doesn’t know how to be soft. Billy feels something warm deep in his chest when he watches Eddie try his hardest to understand his homework, when he hears him play Gina like he was born knowing how to make her sing just right. But he’s noticed that the softness has started to trickle into other aspects of his life as well.
To other people.
Car rides with Max aren’t as tense as they used to be. She sometimes has her Walkman while Billy surfs the radio stations, and sometimes she slides one of her tapes into the stereo so they can both listen. Sometimes she steals one of his, and Metallica or Ratt blares from her headphones as she skates to class.
People in the hallways at school seem… less skittish, when he walks down the lines of lockers. Less afraid.
He’s not sure when it happened, the breach of softness, but he knows that it was somewhere between when he started joining the Hellfire table at lunch and when he quit the basketball team. Around the same time that he stopped picking on Steve Harrington and began to actually join Max at the arcade rather than just drop her off.
It all gets muddled together in his memory.
“Do you wanna stay over here for the night?” Eddie asks, pulling Billy from his thoughts.
“Thought that was implied.”
Billy smirks, and Eddie tsks at him.
“Yeah, but I just wanna skip over the part where you pretend like you wanna go home and I have to convince you to stay.” The brunet skims over the papers and notebooks scattered all over the bed, pulls a hair tie from around his wrist and ties his hair back into a bun. “My uncle thinks we oughta get a spare bed and move your shit over here as it is. He’s mentioned it more than once.”
“I can’t just… move in.”
“You’re eighteen years old, you can do whatever the hell you want.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Eddie shoots him a look over his shoulder, eyebrows raised comically high. Then he slaps his books shut and shoves them onto the floor along with all of the papers, crawling over Billy and straddling his hips.
“Spit it out, big red,” he prods.
Silky. Sweet, like when he sells to the preppy cheerleaders and kicks the charm up to the highest notch.
Billy huffs. Crosses his arms over his chest and averts his eyes, ignoring the weight on his abdomen as Eddie shifts up. Sits right on his belt buckle and fusses with the lining of Billy’s shirt.
The closeness was hard to get used to for the longest time. Eddie has no regards for personal space, constantly finds excuses to sit too close or keep his hands busy on some part of Billy at all times. But now it’s welcomed. Appreciated, even.
A warmth rises to Billy’s cheeks as he thinks about just how much he likes when Eddie gets clingy.
His eyes flick back to the brunet when he hears a little snap. Then he scoffs.
“Quit biting your nails, Munson,” he tuts.
Eddie pauses. Brings his thumb away from his mouth and lets Billy examine his hands. Sure enough, his nails are just a hair too long, and he looks on as Billy reaches over to the night stand for the nail clippers.
“Habit,” he says.
“I know.”
It’s quiet for a little while. Billy focuses on the task of clipping his nails for him, thinking absently about how he would never have done this a few months ago. But Eddie doesn’t like to do it himself, always complains about accidentally going too short or giving himself hang nails, so… Billy doesn’t mind. Especially when it helps him keep his fingers out of his mouth.
“So, you’re spending the night?” Eddie asks.
He admires his nails once Billy finishes and dumps the clippings into the little trash can next to the bed. Playfully flips him the bird and earns a smile.
“Mm.”
“You gonna sleep in here this time?” A finger traces lightly against his exposed sternum. “I’m getting kinda tired of making up the couch like I’m your maid or something.”
Billy sighs. Rests his palms against Eddie’s thighs. Squeezes softly.
“I don’t mind setting the couch up.”
“C’mon, Hargrove, just stay. My uncle doesn’t give a shit and he works the night shift anyways, so he won’t even be here.”
He wants to say yes. He really does. But something in his mind is kicking and screaming at the thought — it’s one thing to study in another guy’s bed, to use that as an excuse for any physical contact that happens thereafter, but sleeping? That’s too vulnerable. Too intimate.
The excuses start coming in droves, flooding his mind, but he doesn’t get to use any of them because the front door opens.
Then there’s a polite knock on the doorframe.
“Can you boys fend for yourselves for dinner?” Wayne asks.
He peaks into the room, plastic bag in-hand, and Eddie merely glances over his shoulder at him. Doesn’t move from the compromising position.
“Yup.”
Wayne nods. Steps further into the room and reaches into his bag, unearthing a pack of cigarettes and a bag of skittles, which Eddie takes.
“Stay outta trouble. I’ll see you in the morning, and Edd, make sure you get that homework done before Monday.”
“Will do, pops.”
Eddie claps a hand on his arm, which earns a smile before Wayne takes his leave. The door is cracked a few inches once again and Eddie, as if making a point, slaps the pack of cigs down on Billy’s chest. Smirking maniacally.
He flattens his hand against Billy’s abdomen, pushes his fingers beneath the open folds of his shirt.
“C’mon,” he coaxes. Squeezes Billy between his thighs. “Stay with me.”
And that’s it. Billy Hargrove has officially gone soft. Whatever this is, he’s glad to have it, because the weight on his hips is one of the closest things he’s felt to home since moving to Hawkins.
Second only to the plush press of lips against his.
#mungrove#billy hargrove#eddie munson#eddie x billy#come get yall juice#ficlet#my writing#i hc that Eddie has sensory issues#which is why Billy clips his nails and shit for him#everyone at school probs thinks that they’d be assholes together but they’re both just soft#and I live for that#wayne munson is an✨ally✨
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Apologies if someone's already asked previously and I've missed it, but as a fellow enjoyer of the threesome of Trey, Riddle, and Che'nya, I'd love to hear your general idea of the dynamic on these three as well as any headcanons you may have! (I'm someone who adored TreyRiddle first and am just genuinely surprised that it's such a far and inbetween ship in terms of popularity so it's always just very refreshing to see and hear other's views on it!)
I talked about both of these ships, but I don’t remember talking about them together! this is an interesting topic, Anon. Sorry for the wait, it took me some time to think about this.
I do have some headcanons! But I kind of got carried away a bit lol so the first three are focusing on the psychology of it all… in a way. I can’t help it, these guys’ brains are too fun to examine:( I ended the list with a couple of lighter/hornier ones though.
Also, it might seem like there is a Trey/Riddle bias, but it depends on how you look at it I guess. It’ll make sense after the first one. Hopefully! I guess.
Their dynamic is pretty balanced, but not really symmetrical: Che’nya loves Riddle, but he isn’t someone to be committed to one person or get jealous at all; and Trey has been in love with Riddle ever since they were kids and wasn’t able to move on even during the years of their separation. Che’nya wouldn’t mind stepping aside at some point and leaving these two together, but for that to happen he needs Trey to fully admit his feelings and directly confess to Riddle and ask Che’nya to leave. That doesn’t happen, so nothing is stopping Che’nya from having fun with Riddle~ Che’nya sleeps around, but Riddle is one of his favourite boys.
Their first time together happened pretty spontaneously, Che’nya pretty much provoked the other two. I picture something similar to this drawing, but these three had a lot of moments of mutual tension prior to this. Che’nya just started appearing at their dorm more and more often at some point and teasing Riddle, both to enjoy himself and to poke Trey towards facing his own feelings. What a friend!
Riddle is very confused about the whole thing and doesn’t want to think about it. Because if he starts to think, it falls apart in his head: he can’t have relationship with both Che’nya and Trey, he shouldn’t be doing these things even with just one of them, let alone both at the same time. Whenever Riddle is with them, he gets this nasty feeling in his heart that he is prohibited from having fun with them (ah nice memories), but at the same time, he mentally returns to his happy place… I’m not sure if this whole thing is therapeutic or traumatic to him lol It feels right, but as if it’s too good to be true. Thus, he just shuts his mind off whenever they start making out.
And it’s surprisingly easy for Riddle to stop thinking when he is with these two! It honestly surprised Trey and even Che’nya a little bit, even though Che’nya was like “of course he is like that, who wouldn’t melt when his chin is getting scratched?” as if what he does is exactly that… In actuality Che’nya just touches Riddle everywhere and licks his body with his rough tongue until he starts whimpering.
Riddle was very surprised when he got bitten for the first time, but he figured that it’s probably natural for Che’nya who is a beastman. What he didn’t expect is that he would find not only Che’nya’s bite marks, but also Trey’s. Riddle is usually to aroused to notice what exactly is going on, so he had no idea that Trey was biting his sides, arms and chest too…
Che’nya is kinky, and he knows that Trey is kinky too but is too afraid to scare Riddle away, so a lot of times he just starts messing with Riddle and pushing his buttons to show that even if Riddle protests and gets all red, he enjoys things that Trey would’ve never even considered as acceptable. Riddle also wouldn’t…… but there he is, getting all hot and bothered because he got aggressively tickled.
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early in the morning, especially when it rains, and a little before noon. (3)
erwin x fem!reader
chapters: (1) | (2) | (4) | (5) | (6) | (7) | (8) | (9) | (10) | (11) | (12) | (13) | (14) | (15) | (16) | (17) | (18) | (19) | (20) | (21) | (22) | (23) | (24) | (25) | (26)
summary: I basically took Isayama’s work, forced it into a romance story, and made Erwin the love interest. Commander meets cadet and they fall in love (not instantly though)
notes: very berry canonverse (but some events were modified to fit my narrative), wasn’t intended to be this long, but it all is in the details right?
content warnings: smut where it fits (or where I make it fit. Also, reader is NOT underage, so likewise, MINORS DO NOT INTERACT, please.) slow burn (I really mean it. I’m not olympic diving into any form of smut for the first chapters). no angst. I dislike angst. I would never. I could never. (Although angst can be somewhat subjective so take it with a grain of salt?)
wc: 2k
“Your academic performance was impeccable, indeed” your superior concluded after reviewing your profile for the second time “Your previous instructors all have good things to say about your abilities to manage tasks. Let’s see… aha… it says… displayed talent for organization, scheduling, prioritizing…” the man repeated as he skimmed over the piece of paper he held on the morning the new recruits were being assigned to their respective tasks. “Soldier, it’s been decided that you will work directly with the commander. He always has his hands full, so he could use the extra help. Think of yourself as an assistant. You start tomorrow.”
-
“Please take a seat” Erwin Smith stood up and offered you a warm smile that contrasted with the glacial hues present in his irises.
Hair, well-groomed. Clothes, well-ironed. Beard, clean-shaven. Oh, and a bolo tie to bring it all together. Yes, he just so happened to look exactly like the last person you would want to disappoint. It looked as if his presence alone would be enough to make incompetence and ineptitude offer to show themselves out. And as sudden as it had come, your previous optimism had started to dissolve. Your brain, however, had started to ask questions. What if I can’t d-
“Now, I would like to apologize in advance for how boring and repetitive your days are about to get. I assume you had slightly more exciting prospects in mind when you decided to join us.”
No, sir. Boring and repetitive are a far better prospect than what I had in mind. You replied in your head, trying your best to pay no mind to the sensation of inadequacy that you could already feel taking over you. What if the expectations he-
“I would also like to apologize for the fact that you happened to arrive in one of my busiest days. This, although unfortunate, was completely coincidental. I promise.” He tried to reassure you, a gentle smile never leaving his lips. And you found it rather comforting, so you smiled back.
“Today, some of the squad leaders will be joining us to discuss next month’s expedition beyond the walls. We’ll be meeting them soon in the room next door.”
As he filled you in on details about both the meeting and your new job, you found yourself growing a little more comfortable in your chair. You noticed that, despite his towering height, in the daylight your new boss looked far less intimidating than you remembered he did a couple nights ago.
“Oh, and I almost forgot to mention” he said while heading towards the door “unless I’m in a meeting, you don’t need to announce yourself before coming in. You first.” He added, making way for you.
“Yes, sir.” you replied, feeling a little lighter than before.
-
“The support teams will only accompany us to the old city area”
While the commander spoke, you scanned the people in the room. The short man to his right could be none other than the legendary Captain Levi himself. And he was certainly special, not necessarily because they called him ‘humanity’s strongest’, but because he was the only person you had never heard people in the capital bitching about. To his left was a short woman with strawberry blonde hair who had come with him and Captain Zoë, whom you already knew from that one lecture about titan physiology she had given your class a few years prior. And beside you was a man who hadn’t stopped sniffing you since you came in, and you wondered if you had done a poor job of showering that morning.
“Once we’re past that, it’s completely titan territory. And once we’re past here” the commander said pointing at a mark done in red ink “we’ll go into long-range scouting formation”
The Long-Range Scouting Formation, from the little information you had gathered so far, was a strategy devised by the commander himself.
“The vanguard is to spread out in a semi-circle, but staying within visual range from one another” he explained as he pointed to the intricate and rather messy schema of dotted lines and geometrical shapes that had been laid in the table before them. Each geometrical shape had numbers and letters scribbled on them: the peripheral relay, the center command, the center on standby, center communication. This jargon was all too familiar to you from military science class. But one thing was to design questionable battle plans that you knew would end up crumpled up in the dustbin anyways, and another entirely different thing was to actually come face to face with a strategy devised by an expert like Erwin Smith. One, who had so many lives depending on the efficacy of his plan. And it was definitely so much more interesting here than it ever was back in the classroom.
“Hange, how are things with Eren Yeager coming along?” once he was done reviewing the formation, he turned to Captain Zoë.
“Eren is still unable to transform at will, so we’re mainly focusing our efforts on identifying possible triggers” there was a glow in her eyes as she spoke, one that evidenced that she had been waiting all morning for the commander to ask that question. “I have reasons to suspect that in order to transform he needs a clear purpose, but more testing is required” her boss looked pensive, but gave her a nod of approval “In the meantime” she cleared her throat before continuing, and it looked as if she was getting ready to make a big reveal of some sort “the experiments have been providing lots of new information about titan anatomy. You see, the hypothesis I was working under before was that quadrupedal ti-”
“Yesterday he transformed during lunch while trying to pick up a spoon. But luckily no one was hurt” Captain Levi interrupted in a flat voice that contrasted Captain Zoë’s excited tone.
The commander quickly turned his head to the short man, concern gradually taking over his features. He seemed to study the situation for a moment and then said calmly:
“I see. Report to me any new developments. Everyone is doing a great job. Today, we’re one step closer to the truth than yesterday”
When you turned your attention to the others in the room, you only saw trust and reliance in their eyes. They clearly found something reassuring in their leader. And you believed you knew why. He struck you as the type of person to whom no mistake would ever be grave enough. And you didn’t know why, but in that moment, your imagination started to provide you with mental images of yourself getting swallowed whole by a titan, and the commander calmly suggesting to ‘just be careful next time.’ And although terrifying, something about that made you chuckle to yourself.
-
On your second day as the commander’s assistant, you opened the door to his office to find a giant map spread out on his desk, and next to it, the candle you had personally replaced at the end of your shift the night before, now almost totally spent.
You eyed the map. It was your first time seeing such a comprehensive representation of the territory beyond the walls. It looked rather overwhelming and, truth be told, chaotic. There were several words scribbled all over, intricate lines either tangled with each other or connecting areas marked by symbols that you couldn’t understand at first, but that made sense once your eyes found the small black notebook that was lying beside the paper. It was opened in a page that contained the map legend, written in hasty cursive. And suddenly it occurred to you that the notebook looked like the kind one would use to record one’s personal business, so you quickly turned your attention elsewhere.
Taking advantage of the commander’s absence, you scanned his office. He was an avid reader, there was no doubt, as told by the countless books that decorated the walls. Also, there was an antique looking chessboard situated by the fireplace, and not too far, on a crystal table, a phonograph. You had only seen a few of those before. They were quite rare, even for the wealthy folk in Mitras.
Then, when your curiosity seemed satisfied enough, you decided it was time to get to work. So you refilled the inkwell, disposed of the candle, and after placing a bookmark on the texts he had been consulting, you piled them away neatly in a nearby table, unsure if you could yet return them to their respective homes.
Finally, you rolled the large map carefully, only to uncover another giant piece of paper. This one you knew: the formation plans you had seen in the previous day’s meeting. It was full of scribbles and annotations that you were sure weren’t there the day before. And the sight was enough to take you back to the military science classroom. You, sitting at your desk, trying to come up with some lousy strategy that would please your instructor even just a little, just enough so that she would let you go home for the day. How many nights did it take him to complete such a strategy? Moving all the pieces like playing chess, contemplating all the possible scenarios over and over in order to come up with the optimal structure. All this while carrying the weight of humanity’s survival on his shoulders. And suddenly you understood.
You understood that what rumors called insanity was actually called creativity. What they labeled as absurdity was actually intelligence. And recklessness was, most likely, leadership. And in the presence of such skill, you started to feel small. You realized it: this was not just any man you were working for. It wouldn’t take long for someone like him to figure out someone like you. You looked at the plans once again, he was a seasoned military strategist, years of experience under his belt; you eyed the bookshelves that covered the walls, an individual of high intellect; you remembered yesterday’s meeting and the looks on everyone’s eyes, one who everyone trusted. And you, you weren’t even sure you trusted yourse-
“You’re early” a husky voice pulled you out of your rumination. It sounded raspy, as the first words one says in the morning usually do.
“Commander” you immediately assumed an upright position “I thought I’d come early in case you needed me to clear your desk before y-” you tried to explain “if you find it inconvenient, I-”
“Quite the opposite actually. Thank you.” He gave you another one of those gentle smiles of his “Today we’re taking advantage of the weather to test the visibility of the signal flares under heavy rain like this one. So I’ll be on the field. You’re not required to come.”
“Yes, sir.”
You observed him as he stared out the window. And your insecurities almost brought themselves up, but that was before he started to talk about how pleasant the rain was, and you found that you wanted to hear more about that instead.
-
The sun had already begun to set when he returned. As he dismounted his white horse and headed towards the entrance where you stood, you couldn’t help but appreciate how fitting the elegant creature was for his owner. And you wondered if that had been intentional.
“Commander, a letter came from the capital while you were gone. Premier Zachary is requesting updates on Eren Yeager” you trailed behind him as he made his way into the castle.
“Send word to Hange and tell her to provide them with the reports.”
“Already did, sir”
He looked back at you briefly before continuing.
“Good. Also tell her not to be too specific about the silverware incident.”
“Already included a footnote suggesting so, sir”
The commander stopped in his tracks and turned his head to the side, just enough so that he could glance back at you. You had remembered the troubled look on his face when Captain Levi had mentioned the accident during the meeting, so you figured it was something the higher-ups didn’t need to know all the details about. Had that been a mistake?
But then he smiled, seemingly satisfied “Good. Very good.” and your chest swelled with something that felt a lot like pride, as you followed him down the halls that led to his office.
-
next chapter
#arteastica writes#attack on titan#shingeki no kyojin#erwin x reader#erwin x you#erwin x y/n#erwin smith x you#erwin smith x reader#erwin smith x y/n#erwin smut#erwin smith#erwin fanfic#aot erwin#attack on titan erwin#erwin snk#commander handsome#commander erwin#aot x reader#aot x y/n#aot x you#aot fanfiction#aot smut
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begin again
a lot of change happens in between Breath of the Wild and Tears of the Kingdom. let’s fill in the gaps.
zelda pov | zelink | totk spoilers | rated T
zelinkweek2023 | @zelinkcommunity
[first] [previous]
also on ao3
chapter 6
for the prompt "in another life"
Without the Sheikah Slate, it will take them almost a month to travel all the way to Hateno Village. Zelda promises to write when Riju asks before they depart, and it inspires Zelda to request the same of Tauro when they reconnect with his team passing through Kara Kara Bazaar. He responds enthusiastically and offers to send her copies of all his findings.
“Where do you port?” Tauro unclicks his notepad from his belt.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“Oh, my apologies. It’s an expression from home. I do that when I’m excited. The thought of sharing my research justfills my sails! Ha! See, there it is again.” He chuckles, and then takes a slow, calculated breath, rolling his shoulders back into place like he’s resetting something internally. “I mean to ask, where should I send it all? Where is your home?”
She hasn’t been back to Hyrule Castle since they defeated Calamity Ganon. Akkala Citadel stands hollow like a skeleton on a hill. Gerudo Town is familiar and welcoming, but her roots remain detached. She sees flashes of the various cots she’s slept on over the past two years and the familiar lost and lonely feeling begins to pour back into the space newly created with the haircut.
Zelda tries to fight it, reminding herself she’s lighter and that she deserves to be, and that explorers don’t need homes, even though Tauro’s just told her even he has one, but her voice gets trapped. She just stands there, silently choking, like there is a stone lodged in her throat.
“Hateno.” Link rescues her from herself. Saves her, again.
Zelda leaves the Gerudo Desert picturing her feet dangling over the end of a too-short cot for eternity.
—
A Rito messenger finds them just before the Dueling Peaks and delivers an update from Teba. The skies of Rito Village are finally clear. Vah Medoh rests at the bottom of Lake Totori.
“Interesting,” Zelda says after the messenger takes off back in the direction of Tabantha. Link looks at her and tilts his head. “That they decided to use the lake, you know?” When his expression doesn’t change, she continues. “It’s just, I remember reading that the Rito were once thought to be water dwelling.”
Link raises his eyebrows.
“Yeah, like the Zora.” Zelda nods. “Maybe the Rito and the Zora are connected? Who knows. The Royal Library contained records mostly to do with the Royal Family. Rito lifetimes are shorter than Hylian’s and their history is almost entirely passed down through oral tradition. I supposed I could ask Kaneli or Kass…”
“What about us? Hylians? Anything curious about our ancient ancestors?” He signs.
She feels a tug. He’s asking her for information. Wisdom. Hylia’s outstretched hands. The Zonai owl’s wide eyes. Notebooks carried like a weapon. “Not much survived from the time before the first Calamity. There was a great purging of information by the King who banished the Sheikah Technology, largely because it was all recorded bySheikah Technology. There are some clues, though, beyond what the Royal Family at the time decided to record or destroy.”
“Clues?”
“Sure. In the ancient ruins, what was passed down in secret like the Calamity Ganon tapestry. In other places, too. Like…well, here, show me the sign for ‘Hylian’, again.” Zelda nods eagerly. Link complies, framing either side of his face with his hands. He moves his hands away from his face, pointer finger and thumb gradually coming together to pinch the air several inches beyond his ears.
“Notice anything?”
Link shakes his head. Zelda repeats the sign for him and then gestures to the space between her ear and the point where her fingers meet. His face is blank. She laughs and drops her arms. So much for being a good teacher.
“Our ears. They used to be longer.”
—
“As you can see, my experiment was a complete success!” Purah squeals, spinning around twice before she loses her balance and topples over onto her desk. Link lunges forward to help her, but Symin is already there with both hands and a slightly exacerbated look.
“Perhaps you should wait until you’ve adjusted a bit more to wear the high heels, Ms. Director,” Symin pleads.
“Nonsense!” Purah bats his hands away and sets her glasses back into place on her face. “The fastest way to learn is to do. And besides, you’re just saying that to keep me short and away from your honey candies! I will find them. Mark my words.”
With the heels, Purah is taller than Zelda and almost a full head taller than Link. Any trace of adolescence is gone from her face. Snow white hair curls attractively along her jawline in a way Zelda’s shorter cut has yet to discover.
Zelda is immediately curious why Purah picked this age specifically, looking a bit older than she remembers her, but she resists the urge to fire off a dozen questions. They all pertain to technology she won’t have access to much longer. Why waste her energy stoking a dying fire?
“It’s incredible, Purah. Congratulations.” Zelda settles on praise.
“Just in the nick of time, too. SNAP! Oh, hm, I suppose I should ditch the kiddy catchphrase. Speaking of ditching, here’s the Sheikah Slate back, Linky.” Purah tosses the Slate at him. His hands hesitate until the last second before opening to catch it.
If Purah’s chucking the Slate, she must truly be ready to move on from the Sheikah Technology. Zelda glances over her shoulder, blinking furiously to ease the sting in her eyes. In the corner of the room, the Guidance Stone is dark.
Zelda clears her throat and forces herself to turn back. “Have you thought at all about what you’ll tell everyone?”
“Growth spurt?” Link grunts.
“Jealous?” Purah sticks her tongue out at Link, He laughs. She hobbles around the side of the desk, wincing every few steps, and then plops into her chair. “I told Impa and Robbie of my intentions to use the Sheikah Slate before I left Kakariko.”
“Really?” Zelda blinks. “So, no asking for forgiveness?”
“I wanted to offer them the opportunity to reverse their aging as well.”
Zelda becomes aware of her heart beating. She pictures Impa, all of twenty-five again, traveling alongside her across Hyrule. “What did they say?”
“Robbie was tempted, but he has a family he loves and he does not wish to outlive them. Impa,” Purah looks at Zelda over the top of her glasses. “said she’s lived long enough and is looking forward to, and I quote, ‘the obscurity of retirement’.” She rolls her eyes and starts sorting through the papers in front of her. Zelda deflates but her disappointment diminishes quickly. She understands the appeal, having wished for the same thing upon her return from stasis. Only she wasn’t afforded the option to resign.
And how can she forsake a duty literally in her blood?
“Think they’ll change their minds once they see you?” Link asks.
“No. Impa told me to give you the Slate once you returned so you could continue clearing the shrines. You only have Akkala and part of Central Hyrule left, right? I suppose you could stop by Robbie’s while you are up there, Linky, but they both seemed pretty confident in their answers.” Purah stands abruptly, the chair toppling over behind her. She ignores it and starts marching toward the kitchen. “Symin! Write this down: ‘Subject’s appetite remains voracious one week post re-aging.’ I suspect this will dissipate with time, but the nutritional needs following a rapid physical growth are important to document! Come Symin! Teach me how to scramble an egg. No, two eggs! I require protein!” She disappears beyond the wall and Symin follows after, shaking his head.
Zelda glances at Link. He’s looking down at the Sheikah Slate still in his hands. The map is displayed on the screen. Only a few constellations of blue remain. She half expects him to disappear in shards of light right then, but he looks up at her with those luminous stones, and just waits.
“Are you going to leave today?" Her mouth is dry.
He nods and then with his free hand, ‘I’m ready.’
He’ll make quick work of what is left. His body is strong again. She’s seen to this on the journey back, advocating for rest and hot meals, trying to model what he will need to do when she’s gone, all the while recording notes about the terrain she’ll soon cross on her own. Obscurity feels like too much of a stretch in this lifetime, but who knows, with this haircut and some travelers clothes, maybe she could aim for inconspicuousness.
“I would like to go with you…at least to Hyrule Castle, if that’s alright? To review the surviving historical archives? Please?”
He holds out his hand. The only person who is reaching for her is the one she needs to let go. She flexes her hand at her side. It’s almost time to, like sand through her fingers. And yet–
One last time, she tells herself and then she takes it.
—
The lone shrine within Hyrule Castle is conveniently located beneath the library. Link clears the shrine and starts in the direction of the passage up to the castle main. Although she wasn’t permitted to walk them herself, she knows the castle is filled with many secret pathways, including an underground one that leads all the way out to Castle Town. They were all built as a means of evacuating members of the Royal Family during a siege, but none considered the possibility the greatest threat to Hyrule could emerge from within the castle itself.
The air is damp and heavy. It smells – she thinks about Link and the cave shrine – funnier than it should. Musty and mineral and sickly sweet, like something is rotting behind the bedrock. She opens her mouth, a joke about not drinking cave water on her tongue, but parts of the cavern suddenly look too dark for her liking. She’s aware that there are things hidden under Hyrule Castle, her father told her as much a century ago when he was still entertaining her questions. And like most of the castle above, she was forbidden from going anywhere near the tunnels. The only difference was the rule wasn’t unique to her. The entrance to whatever lies beneath the castle was completely sealed off to everyone. Even the King.
Zelda turns and hurries away from the smell and the dark up into the safety of the library.
They spend most of the day there. She wants to lose herself in information, have something of value to offer back to Tauro but as she suspected, the vast majority of the texts are beyond saving. Deprived of proper preservation efforts and exposed to the elements for a century, many disintegrate in her hands. She finds a few history books in her father’s hidden study, which remained sealed and undisturbed until Link discovered it toward the end of his journey. She recognizes her father’s handwriting and surmises he was copying older texts. Perhaps a quiet duty of the King or a hobby he never shared with her? She sits in his study for a long time, reading through recorded history of the Royal Family. Ancient wars and evil Kings and legends of gods descending from massive islands in the sky. Eventually, her brain stops absorbing information and she just traces the slant of her father’s impeccable penmanship.
Link leaves her be, disappearing into the castle to hunt down and take care of any monsters that wandered back within the walls.
He isn’t back when she finally emerges. Beams of dying sunlight stretch toward her through the gaps in the ceiling. Shadows begin to fill the sanctuary of her library, so she starts chasing the light throughout the castle. She wanders the battered hallways and lets her memory fill in the broken pieces. Her family’s colors are barely distinguishable behind the grime clinging to the rugs and torn banners along the walls.
She realizes where her grief has been taking her right before she enters the Sanctum. The main entrance to her chamber collapsed during the initial siege, but there is an additional entryway here, built so the Goddess-blood princess would always have access to the Sanctum for prayer. She follows the staircase up into her room and uses furniture to scale the wall up onto the upper level so she can access the bridge.
The ceiling to her study has been blown open. Miraculously, her desk is still standing, along with a few glass vials containing remnants of century-old elixirs and dehydrated plant specimens. She drags her finger along the dust on her microscope and pushes around pages of notes. The contents have been claimed by mildew and weather and time.
Her old diary lies open. There is a phantom pit in her stomach. The bitter aftertaste of mortification. She had been helpless to stop him when he found it in her room and brought it here to flip through it.
It was the only time she heard the Calamity laugh.
She pushes it aside and starts pulling open the drawers. Quills, dried up wells of ink, and charcoal for sketching. She retrieves the handful of ancient screws and gears she hid in the back from her father. Beneath them, her secret journal. Not her private feelings and unfiltered thoughts, but her notes on the Sheikah Technology. Pages upon pages of research, theories, and data.
Of course, it’s completely intact.
“Hey,” Link speaks up from behind her. She doesn’t jump. She knew he would appear eventually. “We should make a fire. It’s getting dark. We can leave in the morning, unless you want to–”
“No, I’m good,” Zelda grabs the notebook and a few other loose documents and pushes it all into his hands. “Here. For the fire.”
He frowns at her. She pulls open her adventure pouch, fishes out her Restoration Summit proposal, folds it, and adds that to the pile, too.
“Just burn it.” She hears her father in the harshness of her tone. There is ink on her fingers.
—
Her mood continues to sour as they clear the rest of the shrines in Central Hyrule. The guardian team has been busy consolidating all the guardian parts the Gorons don’t want, so when Link returns from clearing the shrines in the Lost Woods and Hyrule Ridge, all he has to do is point and click. She’s quiet and reserved, but no one seems to notice. There is an excitement building, a collective sense of accomplishment as they near the end of the clean up. A group cheers them on when they depart from the main camp. Link leads the horses in the general direction of the road. It will either take them back to Akkala or the Great Plateau.
They board the horses at the Riverside Stable. The golden horse pushes his nose into Zelda’s shoulder and she smiles, scratching the spot behind his ears he likes. She has yet to name him, but it’s getting hard to imagine herself traveling without him. It would make obscurity impossible, inconspicuousness a challenge, but he’s a strong horse and loyal, following her command over Link’s now.
Link looks southwest. In the distance, she can see the rise of the Great Plateau on the horizon. He reaches for her hand. They are going to fast travel right into the Shrine. Into the maw of the magic that healed his broken body. Trapped his soul.
You don’t have to do this alone.
She can’t go back on her word. Not now.
“Last time,” she promises herself and reaches for his hand.
He must think she’s offering comfort, because he smiles.
—
They make camp outside the cave when it's all said and done. Tomorrow, they will fast travel to Akkala and part ways. He’ll head north to clear the rest of the shrines and meet up with the guardian team there, and she’ll reconnect with Hudson in Tarrey Town to talk through his formal proposal for the next phase of the reconstruction.
Link’s cooking one of her favorite dishes: a simple meat and rice bowl. She glares at the cooking pot and watches the water start to boil. He pulls out the ingredients, carefully drops them in, and starts absentmindedly humming a cheerful, light melody as he stirs. She’s noticed he does this whenever he cooks. They are all wordless songs she knows she’s never heard before, and yet somehow, she instantly recognizes them. Could hum along if she would only let herself.
“What’s the song?” She asks.
He looks up at her through the curtain of his bangs. In the stillness, shadows dance across his skin in the firelight and he briefly wears different versions of the same face.
Just like the songs she’s never heard, somehow, she recognizes each one.
“The song you are humming,” She fails to keep the edge out of her tone. “What is it called?”
He shrugs, sets down the spoon, and signs, ‘I hear them in my head. Sometimes when I come upon a new place, or in my dreams. I’ve asked Kass and he says he never heard any of them from his teacher.’
Zelda softens a little. She pulls her knees up into her chest and wraps her arms around them. “Kondo. The court poet’s name was Kondo. He was a Sheikah.”
Zelda waits for Link to continue, but he’s fallen silent and still. Likely to allow her a moment with the memory of her former friend. It only makes her anger swell. She hugs her legs tighter, trying to steel herself against his kindness. It will only make it harder to let him go when it’s time to. “Does Kass have any theories? About where these songs come from?”
‘He thinks I was a musician in another life. Who knows, maybe I’ll take up an instrument when this is all done.’ He takes up the spoon and resumes his stirring.
She narrows her eyes and looks up at the clouds forming overhead. Storm clouds. In the distance, a ribbon of gray scales and lightning weaves across the sky toward them. Farosh. Perhaps summoned like the clouds by Link’s innocent humming, or, more likely, completely unaware of them or Hyrule’s restoration, or the passing of time itself.
Zelda thinks about Link’s final letter. About how seeing a dragon, this dragon, is what gave him the strength to meet his destiny; restored his faith in this land and the people living in it. She wishes the sight of Farosh could do the same for her. Or perhaps the memory of Naydra swirling free over her head on Mount Lanayru, or Dinraal’s fire blazing over the Spring of Power visible from the window of her room in Tarrey Town.
But the dragons don’t bring her comfort. They don’t inspire her. All she sees are symbols. Misery like lightning. Icy blue loneliness. Fiery rage.
“You should go,” she blurts.
Link looks up at her.
“I can make my way back on my own.”
He laughs.
“I’m…I’m serious.” Zelda lowers her legs and curls her fingers into fists at her sides.
He’s not even looking at her. His attention is back on the food. He signs with one hand in her direction. ‘I’m not leaving you.’
“Why not?” Every word stings pouring from her lips, but the pain is liberating. It fuels her determination to keep going. She raises her voice, practically shouting. “You should!”
Link drops the spoon into the pot and glares at her. Finally.
“What? What’s the difference? Tomorrow, in a week, in a month? You-your–” Zelda waves her hands, trying to catch the perfect word in the air in front of her, like a firefly in the dark. She growls impatiently and continues, “you are freefrom your appointment.”
‘Appointment?’
She throws her hands up. “I have no intentions of taking the throne once Hyrule is restored, therefore, I am no longer in need of a knight.”
“I’m not a knight,” he says.
“No. You’re not.” Pain rips at her stomach, threatening to tear her wide open.
He stares at her.
“Stop looking at me! Go.”
He doesn’t move.
“Fine. Fine! I’ll go.” She rises to her feet and dusts herself off. He stands with her. Unbearable heat builds in the back of her throat. She lifts her hand to push him away and immediately notices the scar.
It’s glowing.
Zelda erupts like molten rock from Death Mountain. Like the Calamity did into the sky that day all those years ago and ten thousand years before that. Something unchecked and vengeful and ugly rises up the darkest parts of her.
If a dragon is required for him to realize what’s needed of him, then, so be it, she’ll become one.
“The Master Sword is gone. You have not worn the Champion’s tunic since Calamity Ganon’s defeat. You recommended the destruction of the only source of value I had to offer Hyrule.” She aims her finger at him and jabs. “You did that to me.” She heaves the last word at him and takes a few steps back, circling, and then gets right back in his beautiful face. “I will help rebuild Hyrule in penance for my failures, I’ll play Princess again, since it’s a title I am unable to retire from. That I can’t just put back, like a sword. I-I will commit myself to research and uncover the secrets of the past and record them better so future generations can actually know what is important, instead of wasting time…wasting time…”
Tears stream down her face and collect under her chin. “You’re free, Link. You can let me go, too.” She mimics the gesture he showed her over a year ago. Invisible sand passing through her trembling fingers. “You have to do it. I’m not powerful or courageous. I am cursed with knowing and I know this about myself. It’s the last thing I’ll ever–” Her voice hitches.”I’ll ever ask-ask of you. Please, because if you keep looking at me like this I might—I can’t do it myself. Just let me go.”
Link stands there in the aftermath of her diatribe, like one of the tattered flags in Hyrule Field that somehow survived Calamity Ganon’s attack and the lonely century that followed. He’s wearing a rare expression of shock, probably processing the completeness of his freedom now that she’s violently discharged him.
He opens his mouth and then closes it. Lifts his hands and drops them. He does this a few more times. She wants to grab him, but she has no right to reach for him now. She starts wiping her face, trying to make herself look less pathetic, less in need of rescue, so he’ll turn and go.
“I won’t do that,” Link says it out loud, but he’s signing at the same time. His hands shake with urgency as he does. He signs the same words over and over again until she stops wiping her face and counters.
“W-why not?”
Link drops his hands. His voice sinks into a whisper. She has to lean forward to catch it. “I want to be with you.”
Without the rain, she can’t tell if she’s manipulating time again. She feels like she’s suspended in the air. Like she’s trapped in stasis again. “You what?”
“I put the Master Sword back to heal it so I could protect you. I don’t wear the Champion’s Tunic because it is precious to me and I’m afraid I’ll ruin it more than I already have. I recommended we destroy the Sheikah Technology to freeyou from the past. I will not let you go. If I wanted to do that, I would have left after we first got to Kakariko. I chose to stay.” He takes a step toward her. His entire body is trembling. He palms his throat when his voice won’t come any more no matter how hard he tries to summon it. He looks her directly in the eyes, tears swimming in his own, and moves his hands slowly, clearly. ‘I choose you. Do you choose me?’
“Y…you choose me?”
He nods.
“Why-why did you say anything? Do anything? All this time, I thought–” She shakes her head in disbelief. He reaches out and grabs her hands. His current explodes across her skin until every inch of her is buzzing. He’s Farosh climbing out of the spring, a candle in the dark, the taste of magic on her tongue.
“Important things take time.” He gave her the answer months ago. “I was waiting until you were ready. Everyone is. Hyrule sees all you’ve sacrificed, all you’ve done. We all see you and we are willing to wait for you.”
Her ears are ringing. Farosh glides across the sky above their heads. She’s never known the beauty of time granted, only the agony of it passing too quickly or the suffocation when it stops completely. All she’s ever known is pressure, so governed by it, she’s created it all herself in the vacuum that was left inside her when it was taken away.
Hyrule hasn’t been trying to bury her with the Sheikah Technology. It’s been making room for her. All of her.
“Are you ready?” Link asks.
Zelda looks at him. He waits. The electricity she feels between their hands is visible for a moment across his skin, and his eyes, those luminous stones, they don’t shine. They burn.
“I am,” she says.
Link lets out a single, cathartic sob. It’s heavy with breath, like he’s been holding it in for a hundred years. Like he was actually worried she might need even more time.
He releases her hands and starts to sign something, but then stops himself. He pauses, scanning her face, and then steps into her–impossibly, extraordinarily close. He grabs her face with both hands, fingers sliding insistently into her hair under her braids, and kisses her.
#botw#zelink#link#loz#legend of zelda#breath of the wild#zelda#tears of the kingdom#loz botw#botw fanfiction#totk#totk spoilers#loz totk#loz fanfiction#zelink fancficiton#zelink community#zelink week 2023#bahbahhhart#bahbahhhwrites#begin again
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Vash decides a few hours in that professional mixers are not his thing.
Or maybe it's this particular group that's a bust. He loves Nai, but the people he hangs out with are... something else; one blue-haired guy cornered him about "changing the world" and "showing the way" with his pupils just a bit too wide and his presence far too close. Another guy with a tuba tried to fight him over his senior thesis on UN peacekeeping tactics, and when he'd tried to hide in the bathroom, he'd received a loud "FUCK OFF" from someone smoking in the only closed stall.
Nai is thriving in the competitive, cutthroat future CEOs environment, and Vash just has a stomachache from eating twelve quiches and almost all the dessert charcuterie board.
He texts Nai heading out, meet back home before beating his retreat out the back door, pulling out his phone. Nai drove them here, so he's going to either have to Uber or find a viable bus route, but between the peak prices soaring with every second and the "forty minutes of walking" on the shortest routes home, neither really appeal to him. He saw some hipster doughnut shop nearby, so maybe he can at least make the way back more bearable—
"Hey, blondie."
Vash whips his head up, hand moving instinctively to the small, unused canister of pepper spray Meryl had given him after freshman orientation ("Trust me, you'll need it."), but pauses when he sees him.
He's under a streetlight, back against the brick wall, playing with a lighter. It's not a cheap BIC one, either; it looks like real silver, and the way it flashes through the twiddling fingers makes Vash pause like a moth to the flame.
The guy's handsome, too, even if he's wearing sunglasses at night—and Vash, although he's seen many Dateline episodes that begin like this, emits a "Hey."
"Hey yourself," the guy says, "escaping the party?"
Vash laughs. "Yeah. I came with my brother for moral support, but he seems to be doing okay on his own. You?"
"Same here—though mine wanted to try to walk around on his own for a bit. I'm here in case he needs to be bailed out."
Vash smiles. "That's nice of you."
"Hey, he's my little brother; I'd do anything for him. Except maybe stand in the same room as some guy talking about the pros of nuclear and biochemical weapons. "
Vash laughs awkwardly. "That might have been my brother. But I swear he's sane. I think."
The guy chuckles. "I'll take your word for it. By the way, do you have...?" He gestures to his lighter.
"Oh, no, I don't," Vash apologizes. "I don't smoke."
"Damn. Well, worth a shot." The guy grimaces, but sticks his hand out. "Sorry, usually I ask someone's name before I start shaking them down. I'm Wolfwood."
"Vash."
"Vash," Wolfwood repeats, drawing out the syllable. "Looking good."
"Have we met before?"
"I would have remembered someone as beautiful like you."
Oh, a real charmer. Vash isn't opposed to it, though. "Same here—" he begins, lowering his voice.
Then it hits him. "You're the asshole from the bathroom! You told me to fuck off!"
Wolfwood bursts out laughing. "Did I? Well, I'm sorry about that; I was avoiding that blue-haired guy who was clutching my arm and asking me what faith meant to me."
"Oh. I get it now. Do you think he's a Scientologist? He had that energy."
"Has to be. Definitely something evangelical. I'm familiar with that." Wolfwood plucks something underneath his shirt, frowning.
"Oh?" Vash doesn't know if he should pry further, but Wolfwood shrugs.
"Grew up in a cult, actually."
"I'm sorry?"
"It was a long time ago," Wolfwood mutters, then flicks off the lighter with a sharp click. "But we got out in the end."
Vash moves to lean against the wall, feeling the bricks dig into his back. Wolfwood is a comforting presence, somehow, next to him. "It must have been tough, especially with your brother, too."
"Like I said, I'd do anything for him." Wolfwood shakes his head. "But this isn't the conversation I want to be having with you."
Vash takes the opening: "And just what do you want to discuss? Politics? Etiquette? Global—" His eyes veer to the curb, where an undoubtedly fine motorcycle is parked. "Or that?"
Wolfwood grins, excitement dancing in his eyes. "Angelina? She was rescued from the scrap heap and restored. You know about bikes?"
"No," Vash confesses. "I haven't even ridden one."
"No?" Wolfwood straightens up and slips his lighter into his pocket. Vash mentally sighs; no cigarettes, no bikes, that's as good as three strikes, he's out. At least doughnuts haven't let him down...
But Wolfwood surprises him.
He turns his head and crooks his finger at Vash. "That settles it. Let's go."
"Weren't you supposed to wait for your brother?" Vash asks, heart jumping.
"We can just take a few laps around the parking lot. Coming?"
Yes!
But Vash puts his hands on his hips. "Do you have a helmet?" Some things Rem instilled in him still remain.
Wolfwood snorts. "Yeah. Look in the basket."
Vash opens it and sees exactly one. "What, nothing for you? Don't you care about your head?"
Wolfwood sighs. "You're sounding a lot like Livio. Do you want a ride, or are you going to quote danger statistics, too?"
Normally, Vash would, but... He's a simple man in the end. "Just be gentle, " he warns, with a mischievous smile as he buckles the helmet, "It's my first time."
Smirking, Wolfwood swings one leg over the seat and pats behind him. "Certainly. Arms around me tight, sweetheart."
The engine roars to life, seat purring and vibrating underneath his thighs, and Vash grins, nestling his chest tight against Wolfwood's back. "Like you had to ask."
#vashwood#trigun#my fic#totally based off a few of my mixer/party experiences#unfortunately the dude did not have a helmet at all so i did not take that offer but vash gets to have fun
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Asking for clarification for a few things for... reasons (an artist's reasons!)— I hope you don't mind!
Pendragon colours are red and gold, right?
What's Lothia's colour? I get the feeling black's gotta be one of the colours of House Leudonus, what with Gareth's room being decked out in ebony, and bears definitely gotta be their signature animal (by the way, I love love love your description of Gareth's room: how it's full of bears but there definitely are hidden snakes, like how he's seen as Lot's but he takes after Morgana in many aspects, also gives the feeling he's a hidden trap in the shadows, poised to strike at the right moment. Very much cunning vibes, even if we haven't seen him be cunning and sly just yet— Y'know what I'd love to see? Merlin vs Gareth in a battle of wits, constantly plotting to undermine each other. I think Gareth could do it. He'd rival Merlin in being this puppet master in the shadows. Also love how Mordred now knows “where to look for [the snakes]” and my Mordred has a good relationship with their brother, does that quote still show up for Mordreds with bad relationships? If that's the case my headcanon/theory doesn't hold water but I like to think that that quote is a demonstration of how they know their brother inside and out, how they 100% trust and love each other, Gareth will never be the one to strike Mordred from the shadows [or ever, really] and Mordred will never hurt Gareth either. ANYWAYS THAT WAS A FUCKING RANT I'M SORRY)
If the Leudonus duo colours include black, and Pendragon colours red, I can imagine my Mordred wearing clothes that are red-and-black, a hint at their true lineage! The black is mostly there to honor Gareth, as eventually I imagine Gareth would become the only person they trust with their whole heart (Morgana is... complicated)
What are Le Fay colours? I can imagine Gareth having subtle features of Le Fay colours in his everyday attire, blended with the black of Leudonus.
I saw your other ask and no, I don't remember getting anything so tumblr must have eaten it - unless this is the original you sent? Anyway, on to the answer!
So yeah, the Pendragon ones are red and gold - though red alone is very much associated with them too, gold comes from their dragon on their emblem.
The Leudonus colors are dark green, (it's described a few times as moss green throughout chapter 4 tho that's only on Patreon/Kofi, and at least once in chapter 3 which is public - Accolon wears green armor when fighting Lancelot and I think it's mentioned as being Lothian colors, but this was a later edit I did to add more description so it's easy to miss). The brown bear is their symbol so it's more of a dark brown and green combo.
The Le Fay colors are blue and gold (the serpent). It's sort of a lighter blue, an azure shade.
And regarding Gareth - don't apologize, I always love hearing people's thoughts! Yeah, the quote differs depending on your relationship - if it's good, it's the one you mentioned; otherwise Mordred says they would have missed the snakes if Morgana didn't tell them she'd taken care to include the details. And oooh, Gareth interacting with Merlin is definitely something we will see but saying more is spoilery!
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One shot - Pause (Morten)
It was a Sunday morning. A day where I didn't have to work or even think about it. Last few weeks have been stressful and I've been longing for a day where I don't have to go through a feeling of heaviness. Maybe, I was asking for too much. Okay,fine..a little bit of difficult emotions,but not a lot.
I woke up at 6 AM, forgetting that it was a Sunday. Only,to realize that I was in Morten's arms. His face looked tired, exhausted and a bit stressed as I found his eyebrows frowning a little. God, knows when he had returned home from the studio and when he actually slept and the desperation to get into slumber. By snuggling me, he was trying to make sense of living in a work obsessed world, just like me.
I remembered how I was criticized at work and how it made me feel. My heart became just as hurt as his might have been.
I dropped myself back to the bed, not wanting to get up for another hour...But as I looked at him, I realized how much I was holding in my heart. As I looed back on all the problems that I've been going through recently, I began to ponder the cruelty of the world we lived in. How it affected both of us. How I was hurt by the apathy of everything wrong that is happening as well. Tears swelled in my eyes as I looked back on how my last two weeks have been, and how difficult it had been for me to keep asking for reassurance.
I felt bad and I had to hide it for so long. But not anymore, now that I had someone to hold on to.
I wrapped my arms around him and wept on his shoulders, even though he was fast asleep. I whispered how difficult work has been and how much I missed being in touch with him and with my feelings.I also apologized for being selfish. I could sense Morten's fingers fighting through his slumber, stroking my back. He mumbled occasion as I wept.
My chest became lighter as I felt touched by his reassuring presence. I felt safe and sound. I felt less guilty about my emotions.
After a while, I saw an expression on his face that I couldn't read. He was frowning, but not so much. And, I wanted to give back the love that he had given me so much.
I sighed and looked at him, trying to figure out how to make him feel at ease. I gently removed a fringe from his forehead with my dainty little fingers. I gave a feather light stroke on his forehead..trying to help him relax (and it worked?)
The silence was beautiful. It was calm and quiet.
Morten let out a huge breath, hummed ,moved a little and held me tight again. He snuggled up next to my shoulder. I felt his soft lips brushing my arm by accident as he shifted his body towards me. I blushed as I snuggled back to him, embracing his heat all over me. The same heat my body failed to recognize when it arrived back then.
I slept again for about 2 hours, when it felt like forever. I felt he and I were in the clouds. Sleeping together. Floating. With no care about anything else happening in the world.
While the sun shone brightly, illuminating our room at 9 AM, we both woke up. Atleast, I woke up? I looked back at him,admiring his beautiful, peaceful face as he slept soundly. I gently leaned towards him and kissed his cheek. I whispered "God Morgen" to his ear. I looked at him one last time before I headed to the bathroom.
As I walked out of the bathroom, he was already out of the bed. I realized how clear my mind was, since the last night. Earlier, my mind was so foggy I couldn't pay attention to what was happening around me. But, all of a sudden..i was able to appreciate things in a better way.
I heard him shower in another bathroom,next door. I looked back at the bed and deeply admired how neat it was. The sheets were folded really well and everything was just in place.
Morten returned to our bedroom as he was gently wiping his hair, post warm shower. He looked at me with admiration as I was blow drying my hair. We both blushed as we shared eye contact.
As I was wiping my hair again, trying to get rid of more water, Morten gently walked..and reached out his hand. He asked as he was standing behind my back " can I?"
"Sure" I nodded.
He took my towel and gently wiped my hair. Later, he took out few squeezes of my hair serum and gently massaged my hair for next 5 minutes. I felt my heart was smiling from within. I missed acknowledging that feeling.
After a short while, I offered to blow dry his hair. He obliged as he sat down on the chair as I did it. Morten's face displayed a feeling of warmth, calmness and admiration. His smile wasn't the usual twitching of his lips, but a slight twitch. He looked like he was in a trance, in peace.
I yawned as I headed to the kitchen, with Morten walking behind me. He asked what I wanted for breakfast. I just couldn't think of anything in the mind so I told him to decide on it. He nodded as he took 4 slices of bread and jam (which he made) and kept it on the table. I made coffee for both of us.
We sat in the dining room, watching the sunlight creeping through the curtains and making our home alive.
Morten shifted his chair and moved close to me. Much to my comfort. He took my hand and gently stroked my fingers. It was as if, he was truly in need to make me feel admired.
I reciprocated. I played with his fingers that stroked my hand. We held hands and we felt great. He didn't mind.
Then, came a moment of clichè. In the midst of a calm morning. Finally, one of us opened our mouths to speak.
And it was Morten.
"How are you?"
"Better " I replied
"You were weeping last night?".he made a concerning face
"Y..yeah" I replied as I looked down
"Was it because of the work? I read your long text messages while I was on the way back home"
"Uh..yeah."
"Listen..I know you've been feeling incredibly overwhelmed. I don't know what to say..I..it's awful. It really is...do you want to tell more?"
"Oh God..no..I..I'm..I...It's..it's a lot ..i want to...but... if I talk about it.. this day won't be calm anymore. I'll..I'll feel sad the whole day..and you'll be sad too..and it's our day off.." I stammered
"Hey" he said, as he gently squeezed my hand
"It's going to be okay. I'm ready to listen." He assured
"You had a tiring day too.." I was hesitant
"I know I did" he replied
"And..I want to talk too...since you had been working on a stretch too.." I stammered yet again
"See..the fact is..we had difficult days. And all we can do is...talk about it and go though it..together. it's not going to help both of us to deal with problems unless we take careof ourselves, which includes...accepting how we feel...and talk"
"I see.." I had to surrender. He really got me there.
"I know it's hard...but trust me..it will be less painful when we acknowledge it"
We both talked in the dining room. We both realized we had been burntout and mentally exhausted. We both listened as we let our hearts out with pain. It was overwhelming at first...but later...my mind became clear. And so was his.
As we had our breakfast, I also couldn't help but notice that Morten was looking at me, with admiration. I looked back at him and smiled. Later, I felt my cheeks were heating up, and my heart commanded that I keep my head down in shyness.
"You are beautiful" he broke the silence
"You too" I blurted out
He said nothing. He did nothing but smile, not knowing what to say. He looked down for a while and later looked up. After a short while, a chuckle escaped from his mouth and a beautiful smile appeared on his face. He looked at me as if I was the only interesting being in the world, nothing but me.
Not knowing how to respond,I smiled back again..and made a bad attempt to mirror his body language. As i made eye contact with him, i began to notice how beautiful he looked when the sunlight embraced his face. He looked refreshed, happy, warm and relaxed. It was so beautiful, I wanted to capture that moment. I tried to lean forward, wanting to get closer to his face and peck him on his lips..as my instincts requested that I give in to him.
But I got startled by the noise that my chair was making. Morten giggled as a response to the noise, finding the chair to be amusing. I looked back as I felt embarrassed, realizing that I "ruined" the moment. I hastily got up, hoping to wash my face and feel more prepared. I felt I wasn't good enough to ...do it.
Morten saw through my face. He knew what I was upto. As I got up from my chair with an embarrassed, less confident face..Morten took my hand and said..
"Stay"
"Uh..okay?" I sat down, feeling a bit tensed
"Now..you can do it"
"Do..what?
"You can do it, love" he leaned forward, moving closer to my face and a smile written on his face
"Uh..you mean...this?" My hands shaked as I attempted to touch his lips. He took my hand, and gently pressed his lips on to my knuckles, giving a small kiss.
"Yes" he whispered
" um..okay"
I leaned forward again. But stopped.
"Uh..Morten?"
"Yes?"
"Can we go to the sofa? The chair might make that noise again if I try to lean closer,and my body might hurt ..because..chair? Is that okay? I hope that's okay..I'm so sorry if I was being awkward "
"I absolutely get it. Besides..it's..more comfortable on the sofa" he scratched his head as he got up from his chair. He larer realized that our empty plates and mugs were still on the table so he took them up and said "just a minute " as he headed to the kitchen.
I took the opportunity to comb my hair and look presentable. I headed back to the living room and sat on the sofa, waiting for him to arrive.
Then, he did. He was finally there. He sat down, next to me and closer to me..with a hint of curiosity and admiration written on his face. He stretched and leaned towards me, as he rested his head to the palm of his hands,looking at me.
I felt my heart shiver at the moment...just the moment before I would do it. As a second attempt ,I came closer to him. This time, I didn't embarrass myself. As my lips came closer, Morten closed his eyes and his face became more serious.
I pressed his lips out of nothing but admiration. The initial touch was a small peck. Later,it became passionate. As I kissed him more, he began to cuddle me and stroke my hair, enjoying every little moment. Much later, I could feel his lips pressing mine as well, at the same time. We looked at each other for a second, surprised but elated by that gesture. We kissed again with more care and more passion.
After a while we closed our eyes and rested our foreheads with each other. We later hugged, stroking each other's back and our hairs. That hug, was one of the longest I've ever had. He held on to me, tight and gentle. He was holding me as if I was going to leave and that it would be his last hug (fortunately it wouldn't be) , he was also hugging me in such a way that he was trying squeeze all the sadness and stress out of my body. So did I.
I kissed his cheek and rested my head on his shoulder. He kissed my forehead in response. We could still feel the pain and stress from the last few weeks..in our hearts. But it became more bearable with each other's support.
Maybe love is all about that.
It felt as if the pain encrusted world came to a stand still.
A pause of comfort, painful reflection, reassurance and admiration.
In the middle of the hug, he whispered.
"What are we planning to do today?"
"Nothing. No plans. let's do what we feel like doing" I replied
And that felt like a perfect way to start.
I hope this is okay @thehurtingreflex , I wrote this after 5 years 😅
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