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pursuitseternal · 13 days

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“Stealing:” the Raven and the Ascendant at it again in “Our Blood is Thicker”

(Ascended) Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 4K

🎨 by @marimosalad full more NSFW ON X and below the cut

Summary: Returning home, Cordhelia gets her hands on Astarion’s old tunic. What better way to tease him, just like she used to… by stealing his stuff.

CW: busty!Cordy, the Raven and the Ascendant’s continuing journey, dirty talk, taunting, and praise, marriage bond flashback, floor riding smut.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 22… Stealing

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“Love?” Cordehlia called as she trudged her way up the stairs of the Palace. Her hand left a few streaks of blood on the handrail as she climbed higher towards their chambers. She rolled her eyes as the new colors he had chosen for the Palace, intimidating darks and burning scarlets and burnished golds. Everything the world expected of the Vampire Ascendant as he made his new domain on the ashes of his former Master and tormentor.

She huffed through her nose. The Crimson Palace. Of course he’d take that literally.

Cordehlia couldn’t even look at the massive sprawling portraits of his face that dotted the place. She, more than anyone, knew his ego could rage if unchecked, shaking her head, she recalled all that dripping arrogance as the young lording of their people. Now add wealth, unparalleled power, and the title of Hero of the Gate…. Cordehlia sighed as she reached the master bedroom.

The sunset’s light poured into the room through the colored windows, a wash of blues and greens and goldens like the forests of their youth. For as bloodied as the rest of the Palace had been made, this… this was their sanctum. Their private retreat from the demands of power and expectation. A place where the Vampire Ascendant and his Consort were just… them. Walls, bedding, decor, it all was burnished in golds and colored in verdancy. Airy and light and simple. A breath of fresh forest air in the throes of the City.

“Astarion?” Cordehlia called once more, starting to unlace her bloodied black leather armor. Those Bhaalists had been easy. Too many to dispatch quickly, but easy. She slipped off each piece to set it carefully by the door. The blood collected and dried in the little carved feathers all along her armor. For as fearsome as she looked as the Raven, it sure was hell to clean after each night she went out. Fortunately they had servants now. A palace full.

Besides, he liked the way she looked in the armor he had bought her, when she was covered in black leather and cape, face half concealed beneath her new helm. His little harbinger of death, his own fierce Right Hand to work in the shadows.

The fall of the Netherbrain had only been a beginning, the rest of those tendrils… or tentacles… of the Dead Three’s power still needed dismantling. By day, they rebuilt the City, funding projects and attending galas, by night they crept in the dark to finish what had begun months before….

When they weren’t here, in this bedchamber, still making up for centuries apart from one another.

She smiled, still looking around the room for any traces he was home. But given the pristine cleanliness, the answer was a resounding negative. His meetings must have run late, she concluded, heading to the bathing chamber to draw a warm bath. Bhaalist blood, she had learned, tasted worse than it smelled, and she was eager to be free of it.

Today had been a special battle, one opportunity to try to cut the Bhaalists off at the root, and it had taken her nearly all day. As she sank into the warm and soapy water, she felt the tension leaving her muscled frame. A few moments to herself sounded like balm to her weariness. After all, if she truly needed him she could simply tug gently at that new bond that connected them mind to mind, not just soul to soul. No, for now, she could enjoy herself alone.

Maybe it was her lost in the scent of the perfumed soaps, of moss and sweet grass and wildflowers that wafted on the steam. Maybe it was her, lost as she wandered through her memories of times before, of their young, carefree and bloodless days.

Whatever it was, Cordehlia’s heart brimmed with nostalgia.

As the sun lowered, it slatted through the cool colored stained glass of their rooms, bathing her in a flood of green and blue light. Cordehlia smiled, remembering the mossy banks of their youth in the forests of the Yuirwood. So far away, and so long ago, she could feel the same longing for nature and the open air. The water had grown cold, the only sign of how long she had been soaking away the sweat and blood of her day. Stepping out carefully, she dried her cool and pale skin, heading into their bed chamber to find something comfortable for the evening.

She took a deep breath as she crossed their large chamber. Her hand ran over the leaves and scrollwork of the patterns on their wardrobes. For all the comforts she had at the tips of her fingers now, she missed those days on the road, fucking in his tent, falling in love with him all over again for the man he was now, the reflection of her own inner darkness made sharper inside him.

The door opened easily, her elegant gowns and lingerie hanging perfectly inside. Such finery. Too fine for her. She glanced at the bloodied leather armor across the room, grappling with that lingering pain in her heart at the darkness she was trying to use for good, for justice… for cleansing the City. Still, her heart longed to go back to simpler days, innocent days. She craved those moments when Astarion was with her, making her heal from that demanding darkness that was her nature.

Her hands searched the bottom of the wardrobe, a pile of their old clothing from their adventures on the road pushed into the darkest, furthest corner. Carefully, she fished out her old flowing tunic, the bell shaped sleeves still forever stained from dirt and blood and Illithid slime. The nostalgia was so great, her heart thrumming with the memories of joy and angst of it all. Another pale, stained linen shirt laid beside it.

Those ruffles, that deep v cut and lacing sent a thrill of recognition instantly to her heart, and her core. Soft as she remembered, she held the shirt in her hands, reverent almost, as she pressed it to her face. Breathing deeply, her heart thumped slowly but steadily with the rush of joy it gave her.

His. His shirt. Old and repaired countless times and eccentric. Just like him.

A tug of a smirk at her lips, and she settled it over her body. She had grown a little rounder, fuller, and curvier since their days on the road and in battle. Well-fed, cared for, adored, her curves strained against the narrow cuts of his shirt. Her breasts nearly poured out from that deep v of his collar. An embrace of his shirt all over her torso.

She smiled. Oh, he would be livid to see her in this, she smirked. Not that she liked irritating him or inciting him to be annoyed. She didn’t like doing that… she loved it.

Just as she was imagining that irritated furrow to his brow and his nasally and whiny voice, his near-silent footsteps climbed up the center stair. Her stomach leapt, oh, she would taunt him mercilessly in this. She glanced over her shoulder, impish as she bent down to rummage more in the bottom of their wardrobe. She made sure the hem of his shirt rested on the crest of her hips as she bent forward.

Giving him a sight to behold as he entered.

Reckless, mischievous, Cordehlia held her breath to savor the sounds of him. The click of the door, the sharp inhale into his undead lungs, the softer gritting of his teeth and racing of his pulse as he took in the display of his Bride as she presented herself so… lewdly. So perfectly.

“My…” he couldn't even get out a pet name without his voice cracking at the sight of her bent over like that. He could smell her bloodied, discarded armor beside him as he closed the door. “A successful raid against the Bhaalists, it would seem, my little Raven.”

Cordehlia smirked, her face the perfect picture of startled and breathless. Too perfect. “Oh, my love,” she turned completely around and stood strength, a hand on her heaving bosom as if she had to catch her breath. “I didn’t know you were home…”

His eyes narrowed, an irritated smirk on his thick and sensual lips. “Yes you did, my little minx,” he rasped. “You’re senses are too sharp for that excuse, they always were,” he grunted as he crossed to her. Crimson eyes scanned her body, taking in the sight of her shirt.

His shirt.

“Where did you find these old rags?” he purred, that privileged, judgmental tone cooling his voice as he crossed over towards her. His finger picked at the ruffles as if they offended him. “I’ve bought you dresses, exotic silks and shifts and gowns for the bedroom, and this…” he sneers a bit naughtily, “you pick my old shirt?”

“I did,” she smiled back, so haughty and taunting. “For as… nice as your gifts are…” she trailed off, making her eyes big and innocent and teary, “they just don’t smell or feel like you against my skin…”

His eyes dilated as he watched her hand against her skin, watching as she teased his shirt over her body. “It’s a little snug, however,” she chuckled, picking at the collar that her breasts were positively spilling out from.

All fangs and breath, he kissed her, consuming her. Hands clawed at those full and supple breasts she couldn’t stop mentioning. His fingers squeezed like a vice, a moment of aggression followed by long and sensuous caressing. Cordehlia groaned, arching against him, trying to lift the shift from her body.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted in mock chastisement. “You made your choice of apparel. And I must say, I might even look better on you than me, my love. But now, you’re going to have to live with the consequences of your choice.”

“You mean, getting fucked is the consequence of my choice, don’t you?”

Astarion only gave that low, reverberating chuckle. “Now, I liked the sight of you before, why don’t you bend over again, my bride, and I’ll give you what you were clearly seeking?”

She looked so innocent as she smiled up at him. As if she hadn’t just been bent over to taunt him, as if she hadn’t been caked in the blood of their enemies before that. “I don’t know what you mean, she replied so calmly. “I was just looking for a little something comfortable to slip into.” She tried to back away, eyes darting as he started to unfasted the clasps of his ornate jacket before it landed on the floor for him to step over. “You’ll never believe…” she smirked, impish as she backed up some more, “I thought it was my tunic, it felt so familiar until I put this old thing on.” Letting out a small giggle, she only smirked harder as he closed that distance she kept insisting on making.

His ravenous smirk only widened. “You always did like games of chase as a girl,” he replied, voice like gravel from his growing desire for her. “And you always were such a tease and a horrible liar.”

Cordehlia let out a giggle as she turned to dart away. But he was all the faster, too many decades of these same kinds of games to not know her every next little move. Swiftly and suddenly, her vision was filled with bright blues and greens of the stained glass windows as he caught her and pinned her tightly beneath him. “I think I’ve won, my darling,” he rasped in her ear, his body pressing against her back and his hands running up and down her bare legs.

“For now…” she purred as she pushed away from the window just a bit.

“How about, for now, you let me enjoy the sight of you in my shirt, you adorable thief,” he chuckled, a hand reaching around her waist, the other pinning her hands above her head and against the cool glass of the windows. The bare skin of his chest radiated heat, his temperature seeming to burn hotter the more his hand slunk over her belly, the more it teased the ancient fabric of his old shirt. “Little light fingered Cordehlia, always getting in trouble…”

She huffed a laugh, hiding the groan in her voice as his fingers found their way between her legs. “Usually getting caught because of something you made me do with you, little lordling.” He tried to lift her head away from the window, but his hand just squashed her harder, pressing her breasts against the cool glass harder, making her shiver where her skin touched it from the cut of his shirt.

“Now, now,” he groaned, grinding his hardened cock against her bare ass, “you got me into trouble just as much, from what I can recall.”

Cordehlia gave that low and musical laugh, her mirth broken by a few pants as his fingers determinedly sought out her clit. “From what I

remember, you loved it…”

Astarion hissed, his cock aching to be so confined, but that feeling and scent of her own arousal was too delicious to pull away from. Closing his eyes, he felt her mind, her memories tickling in his own brain, an invitation to join her. The blue and green light of the room faded from reality, the sun of the Yuirwood bathing their youthful faces as her memories came to life….

“You give that back!” Astarion’s voice called after her, that red-haired terror he loved to be around. Loved to be around… until she did something utterly irritating, like stealing his new book from his mother.

“I’m not going to break it,” she taunted back over her shoulder, her rosy lips turned in a teasing, impish grin. “Not like you need another book for your massive collection, Astarion, you spoiled brat.”

That made him grind his teeth and sprint all the faster after her. Reaching one hand, he caught the trailing ends of her hair, pulling her up short and making her tumble into the mossy forest floor.

“Fuck you!” Cordehlia hissed, barely breathing as the wind got knocked from her lungs. Astarion towered over her, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Doubly naughty,” his voice creaked from thirst and exertion. “Stealing my book,” he snatched it from her hands as she laid in the dirt, “and using such foul language for a she-elf of breeding.”

She sneered a smile, her fist landing at the back of his knee making him crumple to the dirt beside her. Swift and graceful, she pinned him down. “You’d think you would know, by your age, I am not just some she-elf of breeding…”

“By our age, you should know that it’s unbecoming and unattractive to steal things from your closest of friends. We aren’t just little elflings anymore.” He grunted, his face growing pink as he fought against her hands that braced his fists at his side, as he tried to throw her off from how she straddled him.

“You know I hate when you do this?” He spat.

“Do what?” Cordehlia pouted, holding on to him tightly. “When I beat you? When I outsmart you?” She taunted, reaching for the book from his side to flaunt it in his face.

“I hate when you pin me like this, like some little brat of a she-elf,” he grumbles. But Cordehlia only held on harder, pushing him to the earth more beneath her legs. She moved to toss the book away when…

“Astarion, is something the matter?” She looked at him, his eyes were dark, his face was flushed. “You don’t look right…” As she moved to set the book down, she felt something under her. “Something wrong with your stomach? You have a bump…”

He hissed and threw her off. “I said I don’t like it,” he grumbled, grabbing his book and holding it over his lower stomach. “Stop taking my things, Cordehlia, and maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll share them with you instead.” He sniffed and turned to stride away.

Her laughter broke the spell, their memories fading as the palace’s walls and colored windows took shape again. She rammed him backwards, sending Astarion flying most ungracefully to the carpet behind him. Sprawled out, he caught his breath, opening his eyes to see her feral, cunning leering face descend on him to pin him down. “Little did I know then just how much you actually loved when I was pressed against you,” she purred, sitting astride him the same as in the past, her hips grinding down on his confined cock, hands splayed on his bare chest.

He groaned under her, teeth bared and hands tight on her hips.

“Don’t look so cross with me,” she panted, grinding her slick folds on the velvet of his breeches. “How can you be angry when I look so adorable in my purloined shirt?”

“Because…” he grunted, “one, it’s my shirt, and two…” he slid his hands to the band of his trousers, forcing them down to let his cock finally free, “if I don’t do now what I wanted to do with you then, I’m afraid you’ll find me far worse off than… cross…” he smirks up at her, fangs glinting with mischief.

“Oh, you can be so much worse than cross,” Cordehlia teased, “spoiled for instance, annoying…” that smooth, hard skin of his cock pressed deliciously beneath her, and biting her lip, she tilted herself to catch it. Sinking on to it, groaning to be finally filled and satisfied to have him under her power.

Astarion bucked beneath her, a pleased, arrogant grin on his lips as his eyes closed. “Well, at least I’ve learned over the centuries how to play nicely with one person.”

“Ha! Barely,” Cordehlia scoffed as she slowed down on him. Sitting perfectly, frustratingly still, she teased his shirt on her body. Her strong and lithe fingers brushing her skin where her breasts pushed up through the cut of his collar. Lifting up its hem, she brought that ivory fabric to her face and breathed in deep. Astarion’s eyes went wide, dark and dilated as he watched her own pale belly and the curves of her breasts slowly come into view. Every breath she took, he could feel her muscles expand and relax around his cock. And then she sighed, “Still smells like you, my love. Like your salt and sweat and musk… like how you smelled after a long day of fighting and killing and…” she dropped the shirt and grinded on his length again suddenly, “fucking.”

He sat up with so much strength, wrapping her body in his arms, face nuzzled into her shoulder. His breath flowed over the crook of her neck, sending shivers to scatter down her spine. “Honestly, darling, now it smells like you… mouthwatering and fresh and fierce.” He smirked at her, slowly lifting his head to brush noses with his love. “And I think I like it better that way…”

Fangs sank gently into her neck, making Cordehlia buck erratically on his lap, the sudden movement making him pull away quickly with a snarl. Blood on his chin, dripping down her neck, he looked her over with lust-blown eyes. Lips pressed against his gently, her breath sweeter than meadowgrass as she slowly rode him. A steady tempo, a rocking of their union as she took her sweet time to buck on his cock. Craving every inch, every ridge and vein of him single her, she wanted to feel, to remind her that they had made it.

They had won.

Her undead heart palpitated in her chest, or maybe it was his own heart beating so hard beneath his ribs it resonated in her very bones. He bent in worship of her, giving her the very air from his lungs and blood from his veins to sustain her as they moved like water over rocks, so pure and fluid. Warm touch and strong fingers clung into her hair, tugging her head back, angling her mouth just right for his tongue to delve deep inside, to skate over her fangs and feast on her taste. Breath growing short, her aching muscles flooded with the need to finish, to chase that release he always, always gave. Arms hugged her tight, a gesture that was once so innocent between them now something so full-blooded and thick with heavy desire. Her own two arms, capable of so much violence and strength, clutched around his neck, pulling his mouth to fasten against her own.

The fading daylight bathed them in the softer blues and greens through the windows of the palace. It warmed their skin from without, even as the slow friction of their coupling warmed them quickly from within. His breath grew harsh and stilted, his teeth biting hard on themselves, jaw tight, and every muscle drawn tense; it was enough to shove Cordehlia into her own wave of climax in the same breath as him.

Her lungs burned as all the air disappeared, her aching muscles bunched and fluttered, all she could do was gasp to fill her empty lungs with air. Every breath was laden with his scent, ancient and familiar from his shirt caressing her body, and that all-too-familiar perfume of elegance, of citrus and herbs and brandy.

Catching her breath, she felt his head fall against her bosom, the Ascendant laid low as he caught a second wind cradled against his love’s body. “To bed?” he whispered softly. Drenched, Cordehlia slid off his lap, locking eyes with him as looked up at last.

His eyes might have been kohl-lined now and crimson, his teeth like weapons, and his back forever scared by his torment, but in the bath of blue-green light, he stole her breath. This mighty Ascendant, and yet still the same cocky elven boy who smirked, stealing her heart… he looked up at her with wide loving eyes.

Astarion, even more lithe and sleek since his ascension, stood and pulled his trousers all the way off. Without warning, he swept her in his arms, catching her back in his grip and her lips in his kiss. Their bed caught her as he slipped in beside her, on her, everywhere at once.

Attentive, lusty, and passionate—just as he always had been since he first laid claim to her heart, and then her body, and now her future. Finally.

The room darkened as the sun set, verdant greens and lush blues turning to black again as night fell outside their little haven of a bedroom. But they were far from finished.

Pants and sighs and the slaps of flesh filled their room for hours, but even the undead eventually end up collapsed in a pile of bliss. Resting her head on his chest, the pounding of his heart was her lullaby, that ancient pattern that had soothed her to sleep for years, and Cordehlia drifted off into sleep, still hugged tightly in his old shirt.

Hand in hand, he held her body, not just in his arms in their palace, but in their minds. In their dreams, he found her, bathed in the real soft greens of the Yuirwood. Her confident face looked at him with all the love she had preserved for him for centuries, her eyes a mix of silver and crimson, the oneness of who she had always been and who she was now. His bride, his beloved, and his Raven. Bringing her dream-lips against his, he could taste her breath again on his real tongue.

Lost in his touch, Cordehlia clung to his body and soul. For that moment, even among the dream-like trees, she could smell him, feel him, that boy that stole her and became her everything.

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Just a bit nsfw… so we post it here, by @marimosalad

Hope you loved these menaces 💞

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the-hole-in-terzos-shoe · 1 year

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Cast Out

Papa Emeritus III (Terzo) x Fem!Reader

Warnings: smut, mentions of binding, mythical creatures, idk it's mostly pretty sappy

Word Count: 6.8k

It's finally here! For some reason I really hit a wall with the smut and it slowed me down, ALAS I hope you enjoy Miss Reader falling terribly in love with the angel she found in Primo's garden 🥰

Photo credit: @nabizboslugu

You stand nearly frozen, peeking your head out from behind a shrub, frightened as you stare at the massive heap of black feathers curled up in the garden maze. Unable to look away, you watch as the figure shakes with angry tears, punching the ground hard enough to feel like an earthquake. You can't make out much about them, just seeing a shred of pale skin here and there, and that raven black hair... darker even than the dusty black wings.

"H-hello..." you stutter out, not even sure what your own tone meant. The figure stops; facing away from you, they continue their heavy breathing, perhaps trying to calm down. Their wings lower slightly giving you a better look at their profile: short dark hair that fell just above the ears, sharp jawline, and muscular shoulders. They cut their eyes at you, whether to look at you without turning or out of anger you aren't sure.

In what is likely a stupid move, you step out from behind the bush that had been keeping you safe, "Hey... Are you okay?"

The huge black wings curl around the figure in a protective manner, and he turns slightly to you. Still at a distance from him, you can't make out his features perfectly, but he looks handsome despite the scowl, and you catch a twinkle of something in his left eye.

You hold your hands out to him like you would to an injured animal and take a step forward; he immediately recoils. "I- I'm sorry..." you whisper, staggering back to where you started. Tears start to well up in your eyes. 𝘚𝘰 𝘥𝘶𝘮𝘣. 𝘞𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘪𝘧 𝘩𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘴 𝘵𝘰 𝘩𝘶𝘳𝘵 𝘺𝘰𝘶? 𝘠𝘰𝘶 𝘥𝘰𝘯'𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 𝘸𝘩𝘢𝘵 𝘩𝘦 𝘪𝘴.

You think about turning away to go get help when you hear a raspy, "You're scared, too." You can't tell if it's a statement or a question. You look back up, finally making eye contact, seeing the white eye for certain this time.

"Yes, I am, but I won't hurt you. I just want to help you," you tell him honestly, with as clear a voice as you can muster.

"That's... brave. Talking to a 𝘤𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 like me." He cringes at the word. "I used to be beautiful..." he utters quietly to himself.

"Don't call yourself that! I mean- it's just- you're not a creature... You're quite lovely," sure enough, this little encounter has you blushing as you step closer to him again. "Is there anything I can do to help you? You're not hurt, are you?" you offer before any awkward silence has a chance to settle in.

"No, no, I am alright. I'm not even sure what I need. It's been a long time since I've been on Earth," he looks at the ground forlornly.

"What exactly does that mean, umm?" You inquire his name, sitting on your knees near him.

"Oh, uhhh, Alessandro," he supplies.

"Alessandro..." you try the name out on your tongue before replying with your own. "So were you somewhere else?"

"Sì, I was. I, uhh-" he looks away from you, like he doesn't want to disappoint you. "You will think I'm pazzo."

You giggle at his Italian, having picked up a little from working in the church, especially around Primo and Secondo. "You're not crazy. The church here that I'm a part of... We believe in some pretty, um, unconventional things. Why do you think I didn't just run screaming in the other direction?"

That pulls a small chuckle from him before he bites his lip, really looking you over for the first time, "You're very lovely, too, cara."

Blushing yet again, you refocus the conversation, "So where were you before you came here?"

"Heaven," Alessandro answers bluntly.

"Heaven? Are- are you?"

"Un angelo caduto? Sì."

"Wow..." With your eyes wide, you have about a million questions you want to ask the man in front of you, but only one comes to mind, "Do you want to go inside?!"

He seems a little taken aback by your question.

"In the church," you gesture towards the towering brick spires of the building overlooking the gardens. "You can stay with us, and Secondo will know just what to do to help you."

"S-Secondo?" he has an outwardly confused look at the name, meaning "second."

"Yes, Papa Secondo and his brother Primo. They'll help you. I've only read about fallen angels before, but rumor has it that they've met some," you had taken on quite an academic tone, happy that your studies had finally paid off.

"Their names are First and Second?" the angel grumbles to himself.

You continue rambling while he is stuck in his thoughts, but he is promptly pulled away from his musings when you place your hands on his cheeks. The intense eye contact shared between you silencing both of you.

"Do you wanna go inside?" You repeat your question in a shy whisper this time.

The thought of going anywhere other than where you were going seems less appealing to the angel. "Sì, I'll go with you." His mismatched eyes continue to search yours until you try to help him stand.

You're certainly met with an eyeful as you're reminded that he is, in fact, naked. "Oh, umm," you mumble, covering your face with your hands like a child, "Here, take this." You use one hand to slip off the veil of your habit off your head.

"Oh... How should I?"

"Just hold it!" you demand, carefully uncovering your eyes to see Alessandro holding your veil in front of his nudity. You quickly help him tie it around his hips, before leading him into the monestary you call home.

• • •

After a quick stop by the Siblings' quarters to drape him in some proper robes, your next stop is Secondo's door. The leader of the ministry was rarely in his office, so you head straight to his suite.

A loud knock on the door is met with "Fuck off!"

Another insistent knock. And another response, "Who is it?! What could possibly be so important?"

The grim man swings the door open, face paint smudged and in a robe. 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘶𝘴𝘵 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘢 𝘚𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘦𝘳--𝘰𝘳 𝘴𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳𝘢𝘭--𝘸𝘢𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘥. He opens his mouth to berate you for bothering him, but he stops cold when he sees Alessandro.

They both immediately notice the shared white iris.

"Fratellino?" Secondo whispers to the angel, still in shock. He straightens up, taking in a sharp breath, signature scowl returning to his face, "You must come with me."

"No!" the angel yells, shocking even himself. "Not without her," he declares, grabbing your hand.

"Nonsense. The things we have to discuss... Well, they're bigger than her, frankly." He doesn't mean to be offensive; he's just straightforward--kind of to a fault.

"I don't know you. Why would I go with you? She's gone out of her way to make me welcome here, 𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘵𝘦𝘭𝘭𝘰," he cuts at Secondo. You'd never seen anyone talk to him that way. Papa's eyes widen like he might take the angel's head clean off his shoulders, but he concedes. This issue is bigger than you, after all.

"Fine. The Sorella can come." He huffs before storming off; Alessandro never let go of your hand as you follow Papa, who quickly beats a coded knock on Primo's door before leading you both to some kind of meeting hall.

Sitting in silence at the long table, you squeeze the angel's hand, letting him know everything will be okay.

"What is it, fratello? Is Nihil- Oh," Primo enters, immediately noticing the elephant in the room.

His black wings towering over the back of the ornate chair he sat in, Alessandro asks, "You must be Primo?" Perhaps trying to make a better impression than he had with Secondo.

"Sì, and your name?" The older man extends his arm across the table for a handshake.

"Alessandro."

"Ahh, Alessandro. Nice to meet you, fratellino. And Sorella, good to see you, as well." He cut a questioning look at Secondo.

"Our fallen angel here insisted on bringing her," the antipope gruffly explains.

"Well, it's nice to have a friend, sì? As long as our Sister of Sin can keep a secret?" Primo was always softer than Secondo felt he should be; they balance each other out in this way.

• • •

"You're all fallen angels?!" you blurt out, this being the first time you've spoken the whole meeting.

"Sì, Sorella, what do you think makes Papas special, sets them apart from other humans?" Primo gently explains. "Lucifer chooses the one most likely to dissent from God, just as he did, and places us at the head of his church." Both you and Alessandro feel like your heads are spinning, him because he's just found out why he was cast out of heaven, and you because you feel like you've learned about some secret ancient order.

"Well, with the new Papa sent for us, I suppose we'll need to get him ready for ascension, which is good, because I was getting ready to retire, eh, fratello?" Secondo jokes to Primo.

The angel grabs your hand tightly under the table, overwhelmed. His first day on Earth and now he'll be the leader of some Satanic church?

"Actually, that's perfect," Secondo continues, gesturing to your clasped hands, "La Sorella can help you with your new face paints while Primo and I discuss this with Sister Imperator. Glad you've finally arrived, 𝘛𝘦𝘳𝘻𝘰." The figurehead pats the angel on the shoulder before him and his older brother make their exit.

"I have to have one of those stupid names now?" His eyes are able to search yours for the first time since meeting his brothers.

"Well... I think Terzo sounds much nicer than Primo and Secondo. Rolls off the tongue, nicely." The compliment at least attempts to make him feel better about all this. "I had no idea you would be our next Papa when I brought you in here. I'm sorry if you don't want it-"

"Shhh... Clearly this place means a lot to you, cara mia, and my God didn't care enough to keep me in the place that meant so much to me. Maybe your Dark Lord has a better plan for me, sì? Besides... What did Primo say? It's nice to have a friend." His hands caress yours.

"You shouldn't do this just for me. You should only do it if you want to." It's important you let him know that; you didn't want to clip his wings, so to speak.

"I can't describe it... But I trust in you. Maybe I'm meant to do something great here, sì?" You can't deny the hopeful look in his eyes as he thinks about his future here.

• • •

You sit across from Terzo at his vanity in his new papal suite; it had been prepared for a long time, the brothers had been expecting another fallen angel. It is kind of stuffy in the room since it hadn't been used a lot, but a few open windows help it to feel more fresh.

The angel sits, wringing his hands together staring at the little pans of black and white face paint before him. The thought of covering such a beautiful face... now that's a sin. "I don't know... I think it should be, erm, softer than theirs. It seems they really embraced the scary thing with their looks." You can tell it's a half hearted effort from the man in front of you; he's clearly still having reservations about all this, but you'll do your best to make him feel at home, to make him the best Papa he can be. It feels like a lot of responsibility for one Sister of Sin.

"Okay, so, maybe no teeth like Secondo?" you posit.

"No teeth. And clean lines, unlike Primo."

"What if we give it sharp angles? It'll make you intimidating but not scary."

"Like that?" He points at the stained glass window over the claw footed bathtub. It's an art deco style abstract design; clearly this room was added on after the rest of the abbey, but it's still antique. It makes you wonder how long they've been expecting this new angel, and how old Primo and Secondo actually are...

"Yes, like that! Do you like that?" Your excitement over making a new Papa fights with your concern for how he's feeling.

A small smile cracks on his lips, "Sì, I do like it. I think it looks..."

"Cool?!"

He chuckles at your childlike wonder, "Sì, 'cool,' I suppose. As I said, I trust you, cara mia."

Now, you were no expert artist, and neither was he, but after about an hour of passing the brush back and forth and about a million makeup remover wipes, you had some kind of product.

"What do you think, Ale- Terzo?"

He stops looking in the mirror for a second to give you a playful side eye, "AleTerzo, eh? A new nickname already? I joke, tesoro. You can call me Alessandro if you like, I don't want to lose my old self entirely."

The thought is actually kind of sad, but he's handling it so well.

"What do you think, cara?" His fingertips on your jaw pulling you from your thoughts.

"Alessandro... I think it looks so good," your eyes admire all the hard work you had both put in on his face, "It's totally different from the other Papas, but the dark eyes really bring out your scowl, and the angles on your jaw and hair line certainly bring out your best features... Leaves something to be desired. The other Siblings of Sin are going to freak out when they meet you."

He's happy to be covered in paint so his blush isn't so evident after your tirade of compliments. "There are others like you?" he asks innocently.

"Oh yes, lots! They'll be your biggest fans."

"Fans?"

"You know, like supporters. They'll scream and cheer for you, applauding your name every time you enter the room," you grin at him, already proud of all the things he'll accomplish.

"Oh," he can't help the smile on his face, blush creeping up to his ears. "I shouldn't be so prideful. It's not good to sin."

"This place is all about sin," you urge, grabbing his hands, "Be as prideful as you want, and you'll fit in well here, Papa."

Calling him by his soon-to-be title did nothing but stroke his ego, but he may have also felt some heat gathering in his thighs hearing it come from you.

• • •

The next few weeks were almost a blur, as your days were packed to the brim with preparing Terzo for his new role: fittings for new suits and vestments, of course this was preceded by Secondo teaching his new brother how to bind his wings so no one would know about them, practicing speeches, getting better and better at doing his face paints, learning prayers and rituals. He had to become an expert on Satanism in no time at all, but he constantly reminded you that he would be fine with you at his side; you had sort of become his personal assistant unofficially.

Oh, and the whisperings around the halls of the ministry run rampant. Secondo had already announced his retirement, and Sister Imperator made it known that there was already a new Papa being prepped for ascension.

Ghouls twitch about with excitement, but of course the Siblings can't help but run their mouths.

"What do you think he'll look like? Do you think he'll be hot? Hopefully better looking than Secondo."

"No way, no one could ever be sexier than our Papa Secondo!"

"Maybe he'll have hair..."

That last one made you snort as you passed by the group of chattering friends.

"Well I heard he came from another Abbey! They've been hiding him away for a long time. Maybe we should reach out to see if our extended family knows anything!"

"Oh who cares where he came from? What matters is where he's going, which is hopefully to bed with all of us!!"

They all squealed with giggles at the thought.

However, some of these comments came directed at you with your closest friends knowing something is up:

"You're never on your duties anymore, you get up early, you come to bed late, and you never say a thing about where you are all day!!"

"You've seen him haven't you, the new Papa?!"

"Ohhh I bet she's his new Prime Mover or something! Is he good in bed?!"

"Will you guys shut up?!" you yell at them, hopelessly trying to cover the flush on your cheeks.

"Satanas, it's true! Look at those rosy cheeks!"

"He must be dreamy if he caught your attention, prude!"

Your friend catches an elbow in the side for that one.

"Listen, I can't say anything," you start in your best gossip-y voice, "but perhaps the rumors aren't too far off. Except for that last one about me, that was very off base."

The small Senior Siblings lounge fills with fits of laughter and excited anticipation over this mystery man.

• • •

"Cara, I don't know if I can do this," your new Papa grabs your hand, moments from the metaphorical curtain going up.

"All week you've been so excited about meeting everyone, where did that go?" you coo softly to him, trying to soothe his nerves while picking a piece of lint from his vestments.

He addresses you by name, a serious look in his two-toned eyes, "What if they don't like me?"

"Trust me, Papa, they're going to love you."

You calling that always does something to him, and he pulls you impossibly close to him with an arm around your waist. He lingers on your lips for a moment but thinks better of it, instead leaning his forehead to yours, noses touching, his eyes are the only thing you can see.

"They loved Secondo didn't they? And you know how gruff he can be," you attempt to reassure him again, drawing a breathy laugh from him.

He holds you like that for a while, relishing in the peace you always bring him, "Thank you, amore. I couldn't do any of this without you."

"Oh hush. You're Papa Emeritus III now, you can do anything!"

"But you made me into Papa. Your Papa. Just how you'd like your leader to be."

Pink starts to creep up your neck; you guess he has a point, "I just did what's best for the ministry."

"Maybe you should be Papa then, no?" He giggles at you.

"No no," his flattery getting to your cheeks again, "You were sent for us, remember? That makes you special. I'm just a Sister of Sin, and I'll get lost in the sea of Siblings once you meet all of them..."

"Shh! How could you say that? You will always stand out to me, tesoro," his hand cups the back of your head, feeling your soft hair. You both close your eyes.

"Alessandro..." You can feel his breath on your face.

𝘒𝘕𝘖𝘊𝘒 𝘒𝘕𝘖𝘊𝘒 𝘒𝘕𝘖𝘊𝘒! "Two minutes!"

The loud bang and Sister Imperator's cold voice pushes you about a mile apart. Terzo looks at you with a wicked grin and giggles like a school girl.

"What?!" you ask pointedly, trying to get your nerves settled, as you smoothe down your habit and veil.

"You are Papa now, see?" he starts snickering as you look in the mirror of his dressing room. Sure enough, there was white paint on your forehead and black at the tip of your nose.

Grabbing a makeup wipe and scrubbing your face, "Satanas! We have got to start setting your face with powder."

Less than a minute later, some ghouls enter the room in their new silver masks to lead Papa out to the chapel's altar. You quickly slip his mitre over his jet black hair, and wish him luck before he exits the room.

Even from the little dressing room behind the stage, you hear the eruption of clapping and shouts. You sit in the room alone for a moment, taking it all in. Likely, you'll go back to your regular duties after this; after all, you'd only been included in the plans because you'd been the one to find him in the garden, and the upper clergy wanted as few people involved as possible.

𝘔𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘢𝘴 𝘸𝘦𝘭𝘭 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘣𝘦𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘤𝘦 𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘩𝘦 𝘤𝘳𝘰𝘸𝘥. You take a deep breath and leave the little space, heading to the back of the chapel to watch the new Papa take his reign.

Man, he far exceeds your expectations. He works the crowd beautifully, reaching down to take Siblings' hands, kissing some knuckles here and there, and he takes his time with it. He doesn't rush in, and perhaps that only makes him more alluring. Through his speech and greetings, he is surprisingly charismatic, though you suppose it peeked through in little ways when he was with you.

Among the chatter, you heard Siblings gawking over how hot he is, how they can't wait for their chance to warm his bed, some even saying they might use alone time in the confessional to their advantage. Hiding a laugh, you think 𝘛𝘩𝘪𝘴 𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘨𝘳𝘦𝘨𝘢𝘵𝘪𝘰𝘯 𝘤𝘦𝘳𝘵𝘢𝘪𝘯𝘭𝘺 𝘩𝘢𝘴 𝘢 𝘧𝘢𝘷𝘰𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘴𝘪𝘯. You can only imagine how Alessandro will handle those kinds of comments. 𝘏𝘦 𝘮𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘯 𝘭𝘪𝘬𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘦𝘮. And there it is: the familiar pang of jealousy in your stomach.

The thought wouldn't leave your mind. Of course everyone else talked about getting into bed with him, but it hadn't crossed your mind about him actually wanting that. You can't help it; you need to leave. Although you're incredibly proud of how far he's come, you don't want to ruin his first night as Papa Emeritus III with this stupid little crush.

• • •

As Terzo enters his rooms, he calls for you, "Cara mia! Tonight was excellent! Did you have a great time?" He leans back on the heavy wooden chamber door and is met with silence. "Piccolina?"

Normally, you always wait for him in his suite after your long days working. Why should today be any different?

He calls out your name, moving into his bedroom, then his bathroom looking for you. His eye catches the stained glass above the tub. "Where is she?" he asks the window as if it would respond.

His mind starts racing, thinking back to when he'd last seen you. It dawns on him that he hadn't seen you at dinner, and he'd been so overwhelmed with the crowd in the chapel that he would hardly remember any of their faces. Was the dressing room really the last time?

Terzo rushes over to the heavy wooden door again swinging it open, but he stops dead in his tracks when he realizes he has no idea where to look for you.

"Hey! Ghoul!" He isn't good with their names yet. "Could you please send for my dear assistant? I can't find her anywhere. Oh, and please bring leftovers from the kitchen, too."

The Ghoul quickly heads off, grateful that the new Papa at least says please when asking something.

• • •

Quickly being carted into Papa's room by a Ghoul had you nervous. 𝘏𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘐 𝘥𝘰𝘯𝘦 𝘴𝘰𝘮𝘦𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝘵𝘰 𝘢𝘯𝘨𝘦𝘳 𝘩𝘪𝘮?

Through the door, Terzo comes into view, pacing back and forth across his living space. Suddenly you're made very aware of the fact that you're only in your night gown and robe. "Papa, I'm sorry I'm not in my habit, it just seemed so urgent, and I didn't wanna keep you wait-"

"Shush, il mio bambino," he quiets you, scooping you into a hug, "You know I don't care about those habits. I may make it a rule to get rid of them. I'm just happy you're okay, tesoro." He steps back, looking you over for bruises and scratches as if you were an injured animal, "Where did you go this evening? You weren't at dinner, and you weren't in my room when I got back."

"I, uhh," you start, looking down at the floor, "I wasn't feeling well, so I just went back to my room... Besides..." Your face scrunches up, trying not to tear up. You were going to miss working with him all the time, you'd grown so close over these weeks.

"Besides, what, piccolina?" his face cups your cheek; he longs to look into your eyes again.

"Well, it's... it's not really my place to wait in your chambers anymore. I'm sure they'll be assigning you a new assistant soon. A real one who knows what they're doing."

"Tesoro, who ever said a word about getting a new assistant?" he demands, picking your chin up with his index finger.

"No one. It's just the way things are around here. People get assigned to jobs or committees when they're needed, then reassigned when the job is done. Now that everyone knows you're Papa, you don't need me anymore." Tears threaten to spill down your cheeks, but Terzo is quick to wipe them away, snatching off his white cotton glove to do the trick.

"How many times must I tell you, amore, I'm stronger with you by my side?" The look he bores into you is almost too much to take, but it means he's serious. "I'm Papa now, so you stay where I choose."

Clearly understanding the power of his new position, he holds you close, letting you know you won't go anywhere if you don't want to.

"Thank you, Alessandro," your voice comes muffled from where you held your head against his chest, the thump of his heart calming you down.

"Please, tesoro, come sit. You need to eat."

You peek over his shoulder at the spread on the little coffee table by the couch.

You sniffle a little before apologizing, "I'm sorry I missed your first dinner as Papa."

"Nonsense, we have dinner now, and I'm still Papa!" His goofy tone made you laugh as you relaxed into the plush furniture. "Please, eat. I must get out of these clothes." His words left no room for argument, but you did like the thought of him getting out of his clothes... Besides, you knew exactly what that looked like from your first meeting. You fight the heat coming to your face by stuffing your mouth with food, and Satanas, it's so good; you're so grateful Terzo thought to have this brought up for you.

You had probably taken down half the plate by the time he saunters back into the room, papal robes discarded, wearing nothing but a pair of silk pajama pants hanging low on his hips; even the paint is gone.

"Excuse my appearance, cara, my wings couldn't take the binding anymore," he explains, getting comfortable next to you on the couch, "and my skin can hardly take anymore of that paint!"

You both share a laugh, before you remind him, "Secondo says you'll get used to it, give it some time, pretty boy." Your eyes stray from his face, carefully observing the tone of his muscles and the dusting of dark hair across his chest, leading south to-

"So you think I'm pretty, eh?"

"It's just a saying," you mumble, trying to brush him off.

"Ah, but you said it, no?" His argument barely makes sense, but he still has a smug grin on his face. "I think you are pretty, amore mio, così bella..." His eyes are practically burning into your soul as he pesters you. "At least I can be honest about it," he tuts his tongue at you.

"Fine!! You're pretty! Are you happy now?!" you nearly explode at him.

Cheekily, he leans over, laying his head in your lap and looking up at you. It was a miracle you didn't take a wing to the face. "Sì."

"𝘚𝘪," you mimic him, sticking your tongue out.

"Ahhh, la ragazza dà la lingua ora, sì?" (Ahhh, the girl gives tongue now, yes?) He bites his lip, which definitely draws your attention to them.

"Non a ragazzini stupidi, no," you fire back. (Not to stupid little boys, no.)

"Bella mia..." the surprise and excitement in Alessandro's eyes is undeniable, "tu parli italiano?" (You speak Italian?)

"Un po', sì." (A little, yes.)

"Mmm, dovrò vedere cos'altro può fare quella lingua," he jabs at you, sitting up in front of you, one eyebrow quirked up. (Mmm, I'll have to see what else that tongue can do.)

There's a notable silence as you flush a deep red color at that remark. For the second time that night, your faces are only centimeters from one another, and Terzo doesn't intend to miss his chance this time. Gently, his fingers curl into the locks of hair just behind your ears, tilting your head back ever-so-slightly before closing the space between your lips, his nose nuzzling against yours.

Your eyes flutter closed, and your hands nervously fumble for his skinny little waist. The kiss is soft and sweet, but it sparks a fire between you.

Taking your time, your hands slide up the slope of his back, nimble fingers making contact with the base of his wings. His breath hitches in his throat as your angel pulls off of you, not going very far though.

"I'm sorry, Alessandro..." your apology is whispered.

"No, bella, is okay. Continua così," he pants out, his lips soon back on yours.

With a delicate touch, your hands explore his wings once again, the dusty black feathers soft but strong beneath your digits. It seems like Terzo staves off a moan as he moves to straddle your lap, warm hands returning to your face.

One of your hands continues gliding itself across the massive appendages cocooning you both while the other threads itself in the short black hair at the nape of his neck. Curling your fingers tightly in his locks earns a whimper from the man on top of you; it sounds needy and has that fire in you moving toward your core.

Finally, after making him wait so patiently, you open your hot mouth to him, letting him know 𝘦𝘹𝘢𝘤𝘵𝘭𝘺 what your tongue can do. As the raven haired man presses himself closer against you, you find his desire has already manifested itself as his cock stands at attention in the loose silk pants, pressed between your bellies. He wraps his arms around your shoulders, needing to feel as close to you as possible, even digging his nails into your skin a bit as he works your robe off your shoulders.

It was only when you both could no longer breath that Alessandro broke the kiss, opting instead to attack your neck with his open-mouthed lust. Immediately drawing a sigh from you, your grip on his hair tightens. Unable to take your lust-blown eyes off the beautiful feathers your fingers tangled in, it took one word falling off your lips to make your new antipope come undone, "...Papa..."

In a snap, Terzo had you pulled up off the couch and already walking you backwards to his bedroom. Your knees hit the back of the bed, but before you can fall, soft fingertips slide the thin straps of your gown down your form, leaving you bare in front of him. "Bellissima..."

You lean up, kissing him slowly but kind of sloppy. Pressing your hands to his chest, your mouth starts it's descent, leaving hot open mouthed kisses and love bites trailing down from his jaw, his neck, his shoulder, following his happy trail until your warm breath traces over the waistband of his tented pajamas. Your knees form depressions in the lush carpet, while your fingernails drag at the silk separating you from him. He looks down at you with so much anticipation, hand cupping in your hair, as you start to palm him through the thin fabric.

Seeing your face nuzzle up against his sex drags a groan from him, a small wet spot forming at his tip. Freeing his erection at last, your mouth quickly envelops him, tongue swirling around the tip before taking it as deep as you can while your hand works the base of his shaft. Terzo huffs out a breath, wings really showcasing how much he relaxed at the sensation. He fights the compulsion to move his hips, although the warm wet of your mouth feels so divine on him.

"I finally see why Satan rewards sin so fruitfully, Sorella..." That phrase really made it sound like he'd embraced his role as Papa. "I may see stars if you don't stop."

With that, you leave him with a lewd pop, a harsh juxtaposition to his poetic words. The pad of his thumb wipes the saliva from your swollen lips, and he pulls you to your feet and into a fiery kiss, tasting a hint of himself on you. Another groan flutters from his vocal chords when you feel feathers pressings against your curves. Wings caress you carefully, almost protectively, as the soft plumes tickle your nude form.

Unfortunately their warmth leaves you, but it's quickly replaced by Terzo hooking your knee over his hip so he can walk you back onto the soft bed. Soon as your head hits the pillow, your lover finds his place beside you, hands exploring the folds he so desperately wanted to familiarize himself with. As his middle finger softly flicks over your clit, it elicits a jolt from your muscles, and Alessandro delights in bringing you such pleasure.

Your arms wind around his neck, hands finding themselves in his soft hair once again, while his fingers tease at your entrance, sliding a digit in only a knuckle deep. Your wanton moan lets him know you need more, and he obliges, diving his finger in to the hilt. Before long, he's adding another one; he just can't help but want to pull more of those beautiful sounds from you. His roaming eyes stop on yours and you end up locked in a heated make out, muffling your whines and moans against him.

Already wanting more, your hand trails down his form, lightly scratching at his neck, his chest, his abdomen, before fingers hungrily grasp his hard length. Now it's his turn to moan. He hadn't realized how neglected that area was until you start pumping your hand lazily up and down, up and down.

You could almost stay happy like that, masturbating one another, but you both know it won't suffice. Another moment lingers until Terzo is pushing your knees apart, making room to reside between your legs.

Now on top of you, lips hardly ever leaving you, you're both gasping as he grinds his sex against yours. Noticing the black cocoon of feathers around you once again, you reach out for them, brushing your fingers through some individual blades. It causes the man above you to furrow his brows with his jaw dropping open and eyes nearly rolling back.

"Please, amore," he begs, head falling right next to your ear, "let me make love to you."

Feeling him fill you earns him probably the neediest moan that's ever left you; it just feels so good, his hardness pressing against your walls so deliciously. You want him so badly you don't even want time to adjust, simply urging him on with a heel pressed to his lower back.

Intimacy had never felt so... intimate before. With one of his hands laced with yours, and the other cradling your head, never letting it hit the pillow, you'd never felt so close to someone, so vulnerable yet so cared for. It's as if he's locked in a trance worshipping you.

His lips trace the softest kisses across your collarbone, heightening you sensitivity there, before nipping lightly with his teeth. It causes your legs to tighten around his waist, only motivating him to move his hips against you with more fervor. Your free hand scratches at his back, holding a death grip at the base of his wing when the tip of his cock drags across that sweet spot inside you.

"Hell... Sweet Satanas, Alessandro, again!" He kind of likes being ordered around by you, so he quickly indulges you, bending one of your legs at a sharper angle, allowing him to find that spot with every thrust. You simply can't stop the near screams that come from you as he seeks to pleasure you in every way he can.

It takes no time for your release to creep up on you, "Oh, oh, Ale- I'm!"

Your toes curl and your thighs twitch, while you bite back the sound of your climax. This won't do for the man above you; his hand finds your jaw and gently urges your mouth open, wanting to hear you. And he's rewarded with a stream of whimpers and whines and his name falling off your lips. That combined with your nails scratching at his wing is all it takes for him to follow you over the edge, himself also letting out a few very needy sounds as he fills you with his seed.

His muscles practically give out on top of you, and he lets all his weight rest on you, enjoying the last few moments of bliss before he has to leave that tight, wet heat that feels so good around him. He eventually does pull out, but not without a kiss to distract you.

Rolling off of you, he pulls you onto your side to face him, not wanting to let you go very far at all. "Stay with me, sì?"

"I don't know... I don't have any clothes here." You want to stay, but you're worried you'll get in trouble.

"No no, piccolina, you will stay the night; this is not negotiable. I ask if you will stay by my side? Be my 'assisstant' or whatever silly title I must give you so I may see you every day?"

"If that's what you want, you're Papa after all," your rub your thumb across his cheek, taking in his beautiful mismatched eyes.

"Sì, I am Papa, but is this what 𝘺𝘰𝘶 want, stellina?"

You think about it, really considering the gravity of what he's asking but not really saying. Of course you want it.

"Yes, Papa, I want to see you every day," you nuzzle your nose against his.

"No no, call me Ale like when you cum," he giggles at you, really liking the accidental nickname.

You attempt to hide your blush by burying your face in the crook of his neck, "Yes, Ale, I want to see you every day... Is that better?"

"Perfetto."

You both fell asleep cradled in each other's warmth with one black wing draped across you.

• • •

Your eyes crack open suddenly with the realization you aren't in your quarters. Sitting up and rubbing your face, you look at the clock. 𝘜𝘨𝘩, 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘦𝘢𝘳𝘭𝘺 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘶𝘱, 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘰𝘰 𝘭𝘢𝘵𝘦 𝘵𝘰 𝘨𝘰 𝘣𝘢𝘤𝘬 𝘵𝘰 𝘴𝘭𝘦𝘦𝘱. Carefully and quietly, you move Terzo's arm from around your waist and slide out of bed. You grab the robe he had hooked on his bathroom door, bundling up in it, although it wasn't much compared to his warmth.

The soft orange of the sky catches your attention. 𝘏𝘰𝘸 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘺 𝘴𝘶𝘯𝘳𝘪𝘴𝘦𝘴 𝘩𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘳𝘦𝘢𝘭𝘭𝘺 𝘸𝘢𝘵𝘤𝘩𝘦𝘥 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦? As the golden hour spilled in the large windows, the amber glow of the sun caught the angel's sleeping form so beautifully. Aside from the gentle rise and fall of his chest, he could've been a Renaissance marble sculpture with the way his hair hung over his eyes and the sheet clung to him, draped in all the right places.

Taking in a deep breath and attempting to open his eyes before squeezing them shut again at the bright sun coming up, he just groans and waves at you to come back to bed. He purrs in delight when he feels your weight on the soft mattress, pulling you right back to the spot you'd fallen asleep in.

"Don't ever leave me again," he mumbles with a small smile on his face as he nuzzles his forehead into your shoulder.

"You're so dramatic, you know that?" you whisper in his ear.

"Me? No... It is you who ran off last night, no?" He knew he had you with that one.

"Oh shut up," you try to act mad.

He tuts his tongue at you, "That's no way to speak to your Papa, now is it? Especially your Papa who loves you so much?"

"Ale, you- you?" You can't even repeat it.

"Sì, amore," he kisses you on the forehead, "Ti amo. And I will tell you this every morning you wake up in my arms."

"I love you, too," you declare to him.

You're met with a series of soft kisses that feel suspiciously like the way all of this got started last night. Who knows what you're in for with this angel you found in the garden? All you know is that you wouldn't miss out on it for anything.

#ahhhhh i hope you love it ❤️#i already have more things planned!!!!!#ghesties i have so much brainrot for these Papas #and you get to reap all the benefits!!!!!!#the band ghost #ghost band #papa emeritus iii #papa iii #terzo #papa 3 #papa terzo #fallen angel #secondo #papa primo #they're in this #au #fanfic #oneshot

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gaypirate420 · 1 year

Text

Waiting for you.// Dream*

Dream of the Endless* x male!reader.

Part one. Part two.

Summary: Meetings in the rain after a hundred years.

The raindrops began to hit his black coat.

The Lord of Dreams enjoyed the freedom, the air, the breeze, the water on the grass, the clouds and dim sunshine.

He walked between the crowd, eyes avoiding him not very discreetly.

"Hey, boss, where are we going?" Matthew asked landing on his shoulder.

"I'm looking for someone, Matthew." He responded as he walked towards that mansion, that place where everything started.

He suddenly stoped.

A museum.

Your home is gone, and there is no trace of your whereabouts.

"Need some help, boss?" Matthew asked landing on the stairs, Morpheus looks at him, the raven shakes any water on his feathers.

"I could send you after him but I have to find him myself." He answered and started walking again.

Matthew caw but Morpheus kept walking.

"Return to The Dreaming, Matthew." He ordered, the raven cawed again giving the dream lord one last look before starting to fly.

Morpheus thought about where you could be, to maintain a low profile and not raise any suspicion about an inmortal man just hanging around with the townsfolk.

He doesn't believe you're dead.

That dark thought did cross his mind while he was captured, many times but he could feel you and your profound sadness generated by your love for him.

Where could you be?

Maybe your parents cottage home was still around.

He walked and walked, filled with hope that you are alive and well just like a hundred years ago.

The rain soaked him completely but he kept walking out of town.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Morpheus stood infront of the cottage and his mind is flooded with the happiest of memories, he smirked but his happiness doesn't last long.

There is no light, there is no sing of something.

He looked down and grabbed his pouch of sand, maybe he'll find you in your dreams.

He turned around giving a last look at the nature that hold many emotions, after a sigh he began to let the sand fall on his hand, slowly almost defeated.

Someone calls his name, his blue eyes looked up immediately.

"Morpheus." You whispered again.

The Dream Lord walked towards you with hesitant steps.

"My love." He spoke low while stepping closer, you stayed still looking at him with wide eyes.

You missed the sound of his voice. You saw him getting closer and closer, your eyes filled with tears.

He got under your umbrella and your faces were inches away.

He tries to grab your hand but you don't let him, you take a step back getting away from him.

"This—is a dream isn't it? Another nightmare." Your voice broke.

"My darling, this is no dream nor nightmare, I am real and I am here with you again." He acknowledged softly.

Your finger touched his cheek, testing your own sanity.

"My starlight." You whimpered, it felt so strange to recite those words again.

You cupped his cheek and the tears rolled down your face. Your hand traveled down his shoulder, you looked at his eyes.

You hugged him, burying your face on his chest, you sobbed against him, his hearth aches with every whimper.

"It's okay, my dear." He whispered, wrapping his arms around you.

"I'm with you again." The Dream Lord remarked, it sounded more like he was trying to convince himself.

You looked at him, admiring him but Morpheus leans over, his soft lips meet yours and you feel it again.

The taste of stars, galaxies and dreams.

His hand cupped your cheek, your body melts against him.

"I missed you so much." You whispered against him.

"I know, my dear. Let's return to our home." Morpheus spoke, you kissed him once again.

He called your name.

"Yes?" You pulled away from him, he hold your hand against his chest, he kissed it softly.

"Be mine— forever. Rule The Dreaming by my side, be my lover for the rest of our days and even after we no longer exist, stay with me in whatever comes next. Please." Morpheus begged you with a soft tone and glazy eyes.

"I can't resist another day apart from you. Please, my love." He whispered.

"Y—yes, of course!" You shouted with glee. He smiled softly and leaves a tender kiss on your forehead.

"I will gladly live for the rest of eternity with you, Morpheus." You spoke.

"Then it is time to return to our kingdom and start a new era, my love." Morpheus announced, you squeeze his hand.

A last kiss on the lips and there was sand surrounding you.

All that sorrow, all that sadness was gone.

Your hearth was complete again.

You called his name, he called yours before smirking.

You smiled, he will be with you for the rest of time.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: heyyy took me some time but here it is! Part four will be soon!!!.

#the sandman #the sandman x male reader #the sandman imagine #the sandman x reader #x male reader #morpheus x male reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus #dream of the endless

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worshippin · 10 months

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It’s not unusual for her to watch him as he flies away– always away–, into the dark storm and dodging lightning. A bright purple strike of a lightning bolt cuts the sky, then the air and land beneath.

She feels it all, the static, the buzzing of electricity. But he’s too far away to touch. He’s too far away to hear her prayers; and far too focused on his task to realize she can feel him flying, through every raindrop, every breeze.

Keyleth usually wakes up abruptly, with black feathers under her pillows and sharp thuds on the window. This time, however, he flies around and then floats closer as he suddenly turns from a murder of ravens into a pale-skinned half-elf, a curious look of recognition on his face.

Her chest aches and she gasps as she’s caught there, reaching for him with her whole soul just as he reached for her through the decades, sending her flocks of black birds (well, mostly ravens) to simultaneously haunt and brighten her every waking moment.

“Vax?” She calls out, her voice hoarse like the echoes she hears are different versions of herself screaming and singing his name.

He doesn’t answer, though he stays there, unmoving, the puzzled expression never leaving his face.

“Vax, can you hear me?”

She holds a hand against her chest, realizing her own heavy breathing. The storm gets heavier.

“I hope you can hear me,” she adds in a hushed tone. Her face is wet, but she holds onto the fire she carries inside to keep talking, keep seeing him. “I hope you remember… I still haven’t forgotten. You promised me Zephrah. ”

There’s a spark of something for a brief moment, a glint in his eye for a fraction of a second and Keyleth’s entire body fills with hope. But then it flickers, and a mask covers Vax’ildan’s beautiful face, inky dark mist spilling from the slits where the eyes sit as it turns white.

It’s not his voice she hears when the figure speaks. [[MORE]]

“It is not yet your time, child.”

Pure fury rises inside her as she answers without thinking, “I made the last being who called me that regret it. Were you not there to catch her soul?”

Suddenly, the mask rushes in her direction and stops inches from her face, triplicating in size, imposing with the rest of its form revealing: the long dark veils, pointy hands, swirls of magical threads.

Vax remains at a distance; untouchable.

“You are trespassing, Tempest,” the Matron says, her voice somehow gentle and echoing. “It is not yet your time.”

Keyleth tries to take a deep breath. The raindrops are now suspended in the air, halfway through falling, and she can no longer smell petrichor. Maybe it’s why she feels repulsion and not hatred: she is a druid, after all, one who not only worships but is the elements and life itself and here is the presence of her antithesis, plain death and no rebirth.

“No, it’s not,” she says, voice cracking. “I know that.”

The masked figure leans down, its massive form still towering over her and still growing, trying to encompass the horizon.

“But here you are nonetheless.”

“I can’t help it. I won’t ever stop dreaming of him.”

There’s a pause.

“Careful, Archdruid. You may yet live for a very long time, but you are not actually immortal. Do not disrespect me.”

Keyleth frowns in confusion.

Vax, still out of reach, takes a step closer. And immediately gets pulled back by an invisible force. He shifts, from raven feathers to floating pools of blood to the sharp sound of knives clashing to cloaked humanoid to naked angelic omen and over and over and over again.

Keyleth forces herself to see and in her mind’s eye it shows itself: a singular thread of pulsating light pulled taught, more evident than the sea of threads all around him, connecting Vax’ildan to something far beyond. Like a ley line or a bridge rope or a leash .

She breathes in and out.

So it is not just a dream.

“I respect you, Matron,” she affirms, doing her best to ignore the massive masked head nearly blocking her vision now. She keeps her gaze on Vax in the distance, back to shifting from mist to feathers to person-shaped, moving through time and space, occasionally searching her eyes and faintly grinning. “But I can’t pretend to believe to be beneath you. You were once a mortal too so maybe I understand your loneliness, since the other gods probably have their qualms with you.”

"If you wish to honor me… and him," the Matron interrupts, roiling smoke and loose bright strings more clearly pulsating around her now. "You shall leave this place, Tempest, and seek to never return until fate makes it so."

Keyleth clenches her jaw, her heart beating loud in her chest and something boiling around it, spreading through her body like rage. Her fury has no place in Exandria and all the planes together wouldn't be able to contain it. It's been so long and she's still so goddamn angry , so deeply wounded. How dare– ? How cruel .

She holds her hand to her chest in a fist.

Fate.

The word reverberates inside her heart as she doesn't look away from Vax. Her hand opens like a flower blossoming, reaching for the sun.

Fate…

“No," she says, voice stern and composed, as she feels herself tremble not out of fear but as a testament to her control, to her power and her prowess. "I can't do that. It’s been many long years. He won't stop visiting me. So I won't stop reaching back."

The storm starts over, big raindrops falling and twirling in the harsh wind. It nourishes the soil, sprouts roots and vines and trees, tall as mountains, flowers and fruit luscious and ripe. This is not a dream, yet it flows through Keyleth like anything in nature does.

Vax tries to take a step forward once more, but he’s still so, so far away. Still so beautiful, and frozen in time like her.

Keyleth feels flames licking up her shoulders, her head, the side of her face, her eyes. At her feet the rich wet earth dries and cracks and a pillar grows to propel her upwards, closer to the deity. She hovers in dissipating fog, under the brightest moonlight of Catha with the red hue of Ruidus on her back.

"I hope you understand that I really do respect you, goddess," she continues. "But I can only treat you as an equal, because…”

Facing the Matron of Death but watching the lost love of her life, feeling in her element perhaps more than she's ever felt, Keyleth promises:

“Because it’s as an equal that I will take back what you stole.”

#critical role #vax'ildan #keyleth #vaxleth #cr fic #cr fanfic #otp: kiki x vax #i know kiki is a lvl 20 archdruid but i think she should be allowed to have an extra level of barbarian. as a little treat #im obssessed about the thought of vax being free and kiki saving him you dont understand.#but this is also not gonna go the way you think it is #my fic #cr1 spoilers #cr1 #cr3 #bc solstice #kudos & comments appreciated btw lets be unhinged together <3

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amor-immortalem · 23 days

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A Shocking Twist

Summary: in which, someone who was thought to be dead and gone suddenly walks through Arella’s front door.

a/n: I came up with this plotline like 2 years ago but never really had the time to sit down and write it… I’m just glad I’m actually getting around to it now.

“Mum, I got those boxes you wanted.”

“Thanks, Azalea. Just set it on my desk for now.” Arella looks up from the email she’d been writing just moments ago.

For the past two weeks, the human and her daughter had been staying in the human world on a girls’ trip while RAD was out on summer holidays. Today, the pair were going through the house and clearing out all the junk in preparation for Arella to sell her childhood home.

“This is nice and all but why now all of a sudden sell your childhood home?” Azalea asks seemingly out of the blue. “I thought it’d just become one of those ancestral properties and you’d just leave it to me or my brothers when ya kicked the bucket.”

“I could do that,” Arella hums, “but I figured it might be worth more to sell it and just buy a more modern place in one of the boroughs of London. To be honest, the property it’s placed on is beautiful, but I’ve always hated that it was so isolated from everything.”

“Huh… well anyway, since you’re gettin’ rid of all this shit in here, can I look through it and keep whatever I want?” Not waiting for her mother answer, the half-demon starts rummaging through the boxes she’d just set down.

“I suppose telling you ‘no’ would be too little too late now,” The human chuckles, “but sure, keep whatever you like. Think of it as your reward for helping me.”

“Sweet.” As Azalea is digging through the boxes, the front door can be head swinging open- something that catches both her and Arella’s attention.

“It’s probably just the realtor come to do an appraisal.” The human replies when her daughter shoots her a concerned look. “You can join us once you get bored.”

“I ain’t never heard of a realtor that just walks into someone’s house without knockin’ though.” The white-and black-haired girl scoffs as she and her mother head downstairs to greet the mystery visitor.

When they reach the ground floor however, they find a man just standing awkwardly looking at some of the pictures that lined the entry wall.

He was tall, well over six foot, with a tan complexion. The man’s hair, clearly once as back as the feathers of a raven, was now streak with gray and while he wasn’t looking directly at them just yet, it was difficult to miss his striking green eyes and the constellation of freckles that lined his cheeks.

To the average on looker, he looked no different than just some guy you’d pass by on the street- so plain one would almost never remember his face if asked to recall him but to Arella he almost looked like…

No… she shakes the thought away before it can even take hold in her mind. that man passed away many years ago.

“Can I help you?” The human’s voice comes out timider than she’d be pleased to admit.

The man turns his head at the sound of her voice and the way his eyes light up when they fall upon her makes both her and her daughter uncomfortable.

“‘Relly…” his voice is so soft, smile so warm that it freezes Arella in her place. Only one person had ever called her by that nickname.

A trick…? Emerald eyes search the face of the man in front of her for any imperfection that might confirm the thoughts in her mind. A transformation spell? Reanimation? No, I don’t sense any foreign magic here… Could it really be?

“Dad?” Tear prick at the corners of her eyes.

“Yeah. It’s-” He takes a step forward but stops when Azalea puts herself between him and her mother.

“Look, man, I don’t know who ya are, and I don’t really care at this point but if you take so much as another step towards my mother, I’ll rend ya to shreds and feed ya to the worms.” The growl in the half-demon’s voice makes her words not so much a threat but rather a promise.

“I mean no harm.” He puts his hands up in a non-threatening gesture. “My name is Trevor- Trevor Thompson. I’m your-”

“Get out.” The interjection of Arella’s seething voice catches them both off guard.

“‘Rell-”

“No!” She shouts. “I don’t know who you are or what kind of sick joke you think this is, but Trevor Thompson has been dead for decades!”

“Please,” the man calling himself Arella’s father tries to explain, “just give me a chance to-”

“Hey Bozo, you did hear ‘er, right?” Azalea asks as she cracks her knuckles, ready for a fight if it comes down to it. “She said beat it. Now you can either listen or I toss ya out myself. Pick yer poison.”

With a defeated sigh, the man rummages around in the pocket of his trench coat and produces a business card. Setting it on the small table next to him, he gives Arella on last mournful look- one she meets with a glare.

“I’ll go. I just… wanted to see my little girl again. I know this is a lot to take in at the moment but if you change your mind, my contact information is on the back of this card. There’s so much I want to discuss with you.”

With that, he takes his leave the way he’d come in. As the front door closes behind him, Arella lets out a breath she hadn’t realized she’d been holding in.

The sight of her mother’s state only makes Azalea frown, having never really been good at cheering others up, she figures that maybe a sarcastic comment might lift the mood. “So much for a nice peaceful girls’ trip, huh?”

・・・〆・・・

Sitting on her bed, Arella holds her head in her hands. Getting so worked up has left the human with a migraine that just would not let up.

“Hey Mum?” Azalea whispers, poking her head through the doorway. “I’m gonna make dinner. Do you want anything special?”

“No… I’m quite fine, sweetheart. Thank you though. And please be careful with the knives if you’re using any- I don’t want you nearly slicing your thumb off again.”

“Will do.” She disappears back down to the kitchen.

With a sigh, Arella digs out her DDD, thinking about calling one of her partners just to vent about this. And she almost does until her husband’s name pops up on her screen.

“Hey,” she starts, “perfect timing. I was just about to call you.”

“Yeah, a little birdy told me I should probably check up on ya.” Mammon replies. “So, what’s up? You doin’ alright?”

“Not really if I’m being honest.” Arella sighs. “A dead man walked into my house today and I don’t know what to think about it…”

“Ooooh yikes… like a literal zombie or are you sayin’ that as like a figure of speech?”

“I meant it as a figure of speech, love. The undead didn’t actually walk into the house… anyway, he left his business card with me with his contact information. Said if I change my mind to reach out but… I don’t know, Mammon. What should I do?”

“Who even is this mystery man anyway, Babe?” The demon asks inquisitively.

“My dad…”

“…Really?”

“Yeah, really.” She sighs as lays back on the bed. “That’s why I asked what I should do. Should I call him? Should I just ignore this and pretend it never happened? He’s been alive all this time, yet he never bothered to show back up until now. He’s got to want something, right? And why would he fake his own death to begin with? Wouldn’t it have been enough just to ask my mother for a divorce and call it a day? I don’t get it.”

“I’d hear the guy out if I was you.” Mammon replies, “I mean what could it possibly hurt? Maybe askin’ for a divorce was outta the question, or maybe he saw some shit ‘n had to go into witness protection. You’re never gonna know unless you talk to him ‘n find out.”

“I know… I know… but…” Arella groans in frustration, “things would have been much better if he would have just stayed away.”

“Hey, listen, whatever you choose to do will work out in the end.” There was a loud crash on Mammon’s end of the line and Arella can hear the demon scold Cyrus and Aurelius about roughhousing in the house even as he does his best to muffle the phone in his shirt. “Sorry, Treasure, I gotta go deal with whatever the hell that was. Love ya and I’ll see ya soon.”

“Love you too,” the human smiles, shaking her head as the line disconnects. “Never a dull moment at home.”

・・・〆・・・

To be continued…

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me fanfic #obey me mammon #obey me oc #arella #obey me next gen #azalea

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wayfaringauthorofficial · 2 months

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Murder's Breach

The jet black corvid swept down from his nest, eyes peeled and ears ready. He wouldn’t go hungry tonight; all he had to do was go back to the other side of the forest, stay out of site. Sit. Wait. Wait. Pray that the guns would fire and their men would flee. But the prayers were always answered. The other demons that lurked in this place scare them away, just as easily as he could if he were a little bigger, stronger.

But his size didn’t matter. It never had, not when the boxes rolled and the guns were always loaded. Boots crunched on grass; soldiers gazed around his land for their next meal. He couldn’t leave his hideaway now. But he couldn’t get far, couldn’t flee as fast as the other creatures that took up residence here. So maybe he should, should just lay himself down and close his eyes. They would make it quick. Didn’t they always? It was the only gift their bullets brought, the only luxury any of his kind got from all this.

There was a time when his kind littered the forest floor, men too caught up in games and pride to realize that the world was being torn apart by their hand. But he didn’t want to think about that, only wanted to dream of fluttering down to them and ripping their flesh all the way off, leaving them to scream and bleed on the earthen floor until their lives were ripped away from them, too, until they took that last shaking breath.

He couldn’t do that, didn’t really want to. He didn’t want to hurt anyone, but maybe some of the humans deserved it. Maybe they should be punished for their ignorance, their little bit of fun that just so happened to be ruining the order of things, whether they cared to read into it or not. They never would. That wasn’t how the behaved; he’d watched enough of them, been hunted by enough of them, to know that.

And the pain plagued him every second of his miserable existence, but that wasn’t something he liked to dwell on, wasn’t something he had the luxury to try to heal from. Revenge would come. He would be fine at the end of the day. Wouldn’t he? He still waited for the men to cock their guns, to raise the barrels towards the sky just praying that he would swoop into their trap. He waited for them to fire. Maybe he should stop hoping he’d wake up in the morning. Maybe that would make all of this easier.

The sounds of his enemies filled his ears, making his tiny heart pound. Click, click, click. Thunder. Danger. Go. Go. Fly. Survive. A gun cocked below. What bullets would spring out this time, setting the barrel on fire as it reached to strike him?

Something snapped. What was it? Sticks. Feet. Metal filled his nose. Bullets. Guns. Danger. No. How could they be here? He’d worked so hard, flown thousands of miles just to be sure he would lose them. But that red feather in the hunter’s hat never failed to get his blood pumping, heart racing. How could it, when it was the source of all his fear, his pain? It seemed there was no escaping his enemies, not when they could find him in a split second. They tracked him, knew where he would be. They always knew. They would always know.

The raven dared to open his beak, sending a warning call to the heavens as he took to the sky, hoping he wouldn’t reach them. It was less than a beat later that darkness came to the sky and his peers did their best to join him. But they would fail. All the others did. Who could tell him this time would be any different?

Bullets. Too many bullets. His body caught fire… but there were no flames. His cry sounded like a choking baby. Pathetic, but all he could manage. How could he let this happen? How could he break, let them make him so weak, useless?

It was over. He was falling, but the strikes kept coming. One shot, two shots, three shots, four. He didn’t submit to this, didn’t want to leave his life in their hands. It wasn’t time. It wasn’t time-wasn’t time- wasn’t time. He had work to do. He couldn’t fall, couldn’t take one last cry as his body careened towards the earth, but his body hit the ground.

His gasps couldn’t save him. It was bright. He shook, wings flapping but he couldn’t get up. He had no strength left. All of the heat left his body. He was so cold, and he knew what it meant, though he didn’t want to admit it. He didn’t want to make this mean that he let them take him, too.

But they had. And as he took his last breath, he stared up into brown eyes. He watched two fists swipe him up as his blood coated their hands.

#amwriting #female writers #just wrote this #short story #yeah i'm depressed what about it #spilled ink #writers on tumblr #prose #poetry and prose #i really like this one actually #might not delete this time #i've been doing that a lot #new collection coming #but idk when just yet #probably in a few years because omg #i miss my friends #so i put them in stories so they can live forever #that doesn't make sense to anyone but whatever

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srose-foxfire · 2 years

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Innocence ~ Damirae Week 2022 (4)

Day # 4 – Hopeful (Regency AU)

~ “Please don’t go away…” ~

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Okay everyone let’s take five!” Ms. Fresha called, as she made her way around the room observing everyone as they were huddle in their own little groups either practicing their lines or working on the costumes. “Suzanna please continue practicing once everyone regroups, I’m gonna head downstairs and check on the scene crew. Maddy, how are we doing with costumes?”

“They will be ready for opening night!”

“Perfect! Music to my ears! Class, I will be back in ten.”

Damian slumped against the wall and allow gravity to pull him down as he slowly sat down on the ground. Raven was about to join him before Maddy, called her over to do a few touch up to her black dress she had brought. He watched as two female students following Maddy’s direction, help Raven slip into the black dress, it was simple, long with ragged ends, but the team had added black feathers over the bodice and added an arch on the back to represents wings. It was only the skeleton base, but by next week’s end, long black feathers will be attached.

“Wayne! How’s your costume coming along, have you been fitted?” Asked Suzanna who was holding up a clipboard with her lists of to do’s that needed to be completed before their big show.

“They made the final adjustment two days ago.” Damian answered.

“Great! Alright everyone by the looks of it we will be ready for our big show! We only have three weeks before the big day, let’s make sure we give this 100%! I am not failing this class!”

Some students cheered and others grumbled. As for Damian he didn’t know how to view all of this since he had gotten casted. He thought of asking someone else to replace him but the promise he made to Raven would come back. He had made a deal to see this to the end with her, no matter how horrifying it sounded. Then there was…

“I rather have you as my little in-law…”

Damian shook his head, was Connor being for real or was he just messing with him? Damian recalled their conversation and the way Connor spoke made it seem he knew, but if that was the case then since when? Damian could feel his face starting to flush and his heart started beating rapidly deep within his chest, his emerald eyes locked on Raven as she was twirling and smiling as the girls commented on her elegance.

Did she know? Damian thought, as he traced back to the moments, they had shared together over the past few years. If Connor knew, then so could Raven, she was smart after all, but if she knew then why hadn’t she ever talk about it with him?! They spoke about everything! Frustrated, Damian leaned his head against the wall and sighed heavily, perhaps that’s why she’s dating Malchior to let Damian off easy. Perhaps Raven ever saw him as another brother and never something else. His heart stung, at some point he had to give up this idea that he and Raven could be anything more than friends.

“Alright, can I have my two leads front and center? Let’s go over the first meeting scene!”

Damian stood and walked towards the middle of the room as Raven joined him, still wearing her black dress. He needed to act like he was falling for her but feared his true feelings might really be seen.

“Alright let’s take it from the top. We are set in the royal ball room attending King of Light’s annual spring masquerade ball. Everyone is wearing a mask so no one know who is who, our fair Queen of the Dark Realm is visiting to understand her enemy. Now Demon Queen enters, Raven if you would start.”

Raven cleared her throat and nodded, “This place is so bright, no wonder he is known as King of Light, but what could he want with my kingdom? This ridiculous war has been going on for many generations, I came here in hopes to find reason with the king, but he does not appear to be here.”

Damian watched as Raven took a few steps and walked forward mimicking that she was exploring the imaginary ballroom. He couldn’t help but admire her, she had been afraid to make a fool of herself, but Raven was acting with skills like a professional. All the time they spend together in her father’s study was paying off. He watched her as she walked to the center of the classroom as everyone in the room kept their eyes on her grace and poise.

Damian took a deep breath and walked forward, keeping his arms behind his back before clearing his throat. “I heard you speaking of the war, tell me have you lost someone to it?”

Raven turned around, confused to his statement. “Good evening sir, do you make a habit to eavesdrop on a lady’s personal conversation?” She watched him carefully as he didn’t answer. “Mm… to answer your question… yes I have lost someone. I lost my mother and my father, blind with rage headed off to battle to avenge his wife. I been on my own since I was a child. Tell me good sir, have you lost someone?”

Damian following his cue dropped his gaze to the ground, “I lost both my father and brother at the same time. My mother lost her voice and hasn’t been the same since. This war is maddening, and I wish there was something out there; some magical artifact that could put an end to all this bloodshed.”

Raven chuckled lightly, “That’s wishful thinking, you almost sound like a child. Even if we could wish for an end, one side will still fall.”

“I will not let that happen!”

Raven gasped at Damian who had raised his voice. A student grabbed their phone and started playing some light instrumental music, some students saw their cue and paired up and started waltzing to the soft medley. “I am new at this; would you care to demonstrate this kingdom’s dance?”

“You’re new?” Damian asked as she smiled and nodded. He smiled and extended his hand out towards her. Raven took his hand and walked closer as he gently wrapped his arm around her waist and place her other hand on his shoulder. They started to waltz slowly to the music but kept looking into each other’s eyes. This was it this was the moment that they were falling for each other, they burly met but their characters would come to connect with each other. Damian continue to eye Raven carefully keeping a warm and gentle smile just for her.

“That’s a wrap!” Suzanna shouted as she clapped her hands together. “Good job everyone and my main actors? You two are doing an amazing job falling in love! The whole school will surely see it!”

Everyone in the room cheered and started putting their things away as Ms. Fresha entered with the crew team. Damian noticed his shoulder was being tapped rapidly and turn to find Raven was looking down at the floor, tapping him.

“Um… do you mind?” She asked lightly a light flush grazing her cheeks.

Damian looked at her for a minute before it clicked. “Sorry!” He shouted rather loudly as he let her go. They looked at each other for a minute before Raven simply shrugged and turn around to have the dress carefully removed. Damian couldn’t help but watch her, he went to grab his things but carefully kept his gaze on hers. For just a brief moment he had been truly happy, he had truly felt that she was his. Damian groined and rubbed his face, again that was wishful thinking and Raven seemed happy with the guy she was currently dating, these little moments he had her all to himself were going to be his most cherished moments.

These were the memories he could call his own and hold on to forever.

#damiraeweek2022 #damirae #damina wayne #raven roth #day 4 #innocence

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the-trinket-witch · 1 year

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I need to start posting my Main Work on here, cause I desperately wanna give context for all the goofy shit I write. so Here ya go! NOTE: This fic is an Age-lift fic, meaning Everyone is at least 18.

“No matter which Dorm you’re assigned to, it’s all for your benefit. You have the Eastwind image to uphold, ‘Practically Perfect’, ” Albert muttered internally. It was difficult to even think with the sound of chatter throughout the dark cathedral, amongst a throng of equally dark-clad peers.

This was Albert Eastwind's second year of college, but his first year at Night Raven. Such bright halls and uplifting atmosphere sat only in his memory in stark contrast to the dark, candle-lit ceremony being attended this year. Strings pulled and papers signed, the transition had been rather smooth. He stood among the crowd as more and more students piled in through the mirrors or emerging out of coffins. The question lingered on his mind, ‘Which dorm would he be sorted to?’, alongside the nervous idea that all of the red tape had been for naught.

Albert had done his research into the school’s history, traditions and other points of interest to better assimilate into his new settings. He had taken measures to meet the requirements needed to even qualify to some, but the prospect of being sorted to any particular dorm made his stomach flip in anticipation. Each student progressed to be sorted in shortened queues before a set of mirrors. If not greeted by the Headmaster, each sortment would be greeted by their new Dorm Lead. Before long, Albert was up to face the Mirror to be sorted.

Some awful noise hushed the chatter of everyone else in attendance. of course it would be during his turn to be sorted. The yowl of some small beast rang out, along with a quick puff of blue flame. The coffin that had been the source of the noise soon rumbled and burst open with a blue flare. A good amount of attention diverted towards a person scrambling out of the floating box before they could be consumed in the inferno. Clad in a black cloak adorned by everyone else, they patted themselves before snuffing the flame through a rolling maneuver. Some small accompanying ball of fur launched out of the flaming box. Among the growing confusion, it had been difficult to discern what it was saying, before it apparently found offense in something either the person or the tall feather-clad attendant had said. Albert did hear its dismay at their exclusion. Something about its own supposed 'magical prowess being underestimated', but it seemed to fall upon deaf ears. It incited the grey beast to retaliate in another explosion of blue flames. The entire cathedral roared with heat among a cacophony of screams and yelling. The 6 figures who had been assisting students as they were assigned, rallied the student body to vacate. Through the crowd’s wails a harsh cry called out.

“ Off with Your Head! ”

A red-headed boy-quite a bit shorter than Albert-hollered a spell, manifesting a large, locked collar around the beast and snuffing out the magical fire. Another howl of protest mixed with the cries and shouts of the attendees was the weasel-cat’s answer to being shackled. In retaliation, it scampered off, followed by the not-yet-named person, trailed after by The Headmaster.

“You! What’re you doing, standing around? Help your dorm and let’s get these flames out!” The red-head, apparently named Riddle, demanded of Albert.

“I-my apologies! I hadn’t been sorted yet!” He replied.

“Well, don’t waste time on that, just find somewhere that needs help and get to it,” A much taller, blond man insisted.

Albert answered with a curt nod before retreating to help extinguish. His most instinctual spell allowed him to manipulate the air, creating vacuum pockets and choking out the flames in patches. Quick work was made of the blaze, with everyone’s efforts. Once that had been wrangled back into control, the ceremony seemed to wind down with the remaining students being sorted. Albert presented himself as The Headmaster returned with the still-nameless person and a now wrangled beast. He turned back to the Mirror, presenting himself for judgement.

“You have great potential, by the size of your soul, but the shape and color are extremely out of focus and undiscernable. I cannot assign you to any dorm until you have refined yourself. I am sorry.”

Those weren’t words he wanted to hear…at all. What did the Mirror mean ‘until you’ve refined yourself’? He already was a second year, how did he not have enough ‘refinement’ to be sorted?

“I-erm…Headmaster? I feel as if there’s some mistake,” He asked.

“The Mirror does not make mistakes! This is the first year in a very long time to have someone not assigned to a dorm. On top of that, we have an interloper. Quite the beginning of what sounds like an interesting year! I seem to have a bit of a conundrum on my hands, so I’ll need to ask you to accompany me, Mr. Eastwind,” The feathered Headmaster crowed.

Oh how he wanted to disappear in his cloak. First day at a new school and already he’d been singled out. There was no comfort in the length of his robes hiding his knees, now trembling under crushing stares. The best he could hope for was to keep his head down, hood up, and scurry off with the other two the Headmaster had wrangled. His bloodpressure spiked at the sight of what he’d assumed was the main Office. Was he in trouble already? Why why why ? As silent as he could, he sank into a chair while the other person had been ushered towards another large Dark Mirror.

“Dark Mirror! Please send this person back home!”

……

“I cannot. Their home is not of this world.”

“What? ‘Not from this world’? You can’t send them back?”

“No. I cannot see it.”

Albert couldn’t believe what he was hearing. This person just ‘showed up’ from a wholly different world? How? He shared a bit of concern with the person and the growing worry on their face. How would they get home? The Headmaster’s deep sigh cut through the confused silence.

“This is such a mess. All in one night, I have some fiery weasel about burn my school down, someone not even from this world slips in, and I have a transfer I can’t place! OOohhhohoo,” The feathered man wailed. His lamentation seemed cut short at an idea, “Wait-Since you have no assigned dorm, and I will need time to find this young person a way home, both of you will accompany me. I can’t simply kick you both out, For I am nothing but a generous Headmaster. Who would I be to leave a magicless person, with not a madol to their name, out on the streets? And who would I be to reject a willing transfer from Royal Sword to my college? One less for Ambrose, one more for me . Of course, this lost person would not even be able to participate in any classes. Young Eastwind, I will have you will assist in supervising our magicless friend here! Consider it like a…temporary Dorm Leadership role? This might actually be a rather beneficial situation for both of us if you’d agree~” His proposal seemed a lot less like a choice, but a last resort. He wordlessly agreed, hoping this would help smooth things over. “Now come-once we have you both with a roof over your heads I can start finding a way for this young person to return to their own world. I think you’ll both find these accommodations having quite a bit of...character.” The hesitation didn’t instill the confidence it was attempting to, at least for Albert.

A trip across campus led the three towards, to the naked eye, a rather unsightly building surrounded by headstones. Albert had to hold his tongue from making note of said state, doing so becoming more and more difficult as they actually entered the premise. The Headmaster had made an effort to talk the place up slightly, which didn’t help, but soon enough he made his exit with the promise of return. The two finally had a moment alone in the lounge, the silence punctuated by the patter of rain through the roof.

“Ah, well...That was certainly an interesting orientation ceremony. I guess for the time being, we’ll be ‘dormmates’ until Mr. Crowley is able to find a way to send you home. I’m Albert, and your name is?” He offered a hand in introduction.

>I’m______

“Interesting name, don’t find many folks named that. If you’re comfortable, might I call you ‘Yuu’? Well,” Albert sighed, moving his attention towards the new accommodations, “This isn’t quite a royal palace, still...Yes, I think we can make do with this; just needs a touch is all.”

As Albert wandered around the dilapidated halls, the yowl of abeast rang out. He whipped back to find, what had addressed itself as ‘Grim’, spitting back and forth with Yuu. Both went back and forth with their bickering until a third voice broke through. It wasn’t Al’s, though. Wailing stemmed the argument, but none could find where it came from. Albert scanned the room to eventually land on...A GHOST?!

“OooooOOHhhh! New friends-it’s been ages since we last had some friends to play with,” One wailed, “The last ones got scared of us and ran away,” another chimed in.

“Oh! Apologies, we didn’t realize the space was occupied already; might we introduce ourselves? Albert Eastwind,” he started, turning then to the other two, “And these are my compatriots _____. We’ve been permitted to lodge here for the time being by Headmaster Crowley, but with any luck, we’ll be out of your spectral hair in no time.”

The ghostly band signed in disappointment, “Awe, we were hoping you could stay~” One floated teasingly around Grim, “We can have some scary good fun~”

Grim, in his frustration, shrieked, “We ain’t scared of you!” Behind him, Yuu had already been rattling off a prayer of banishment, clenching some small amulet on their necklace. Whatever intended effect it was supposed to have, only served to offend the ghosts. With a howl, the grey cat-beast lashed out at the spectral residents. Yuu made an attempt to corral the animal but resigned to just coordinating Grim to better effectively battle, and not further destroy the building. The ghosts eventually had their ‘fun’ and made their retreat. It seemed in good timing, as well, as by then Headmaster Crowley had returned. Grim tucked away, still knowing he wasn’t welcome.

“I’ve brought you both dinner, to hopefully make the adjustments here a little more bearable. Mr. Eastwind: I’ll leave you to attend to settling in, I have some business to sort out with our lost friend here,” he shooed Albert away, and turned back to the other. With that Albert took his leave to find a room to spruce up. He jumped a little in surprise, hearing apparently Grim’s discovery, which released a torrent of back and forth between the three. Albert pressed further up the stairs; he rather wouldn’t want to get further involved in the Headmaster’s radar.

The sun had barely crested the horizon by the time Albert had finished getting ready for the morning. He was on his way out of his room, only to be blocked by a small pack of specters huddled in the doorway.

“Ooohhh~ That’s not fair~ We couldn’t have any fun pranks with you last night, none of us could get in~” One wailed. “We tried getting in but something magically kept us out~” cried another.

Albert chuckled as he passed, the ghostly posse in tow down the hall. “My apologies, you see it's difficult getting sufficient sleep when having fun. That’s why a good night’s sleep starts with wards.”

The revelation spurred more wails of defeat as the gathering followed him to the kitchen. Clanging of pots, pans and other kitchenware signaled the morning for Yuu and Grim. The two stumbled into the kitchen, eyes much more bleary but seemingly worse for wear.

“Ah, just in time! I’ve bribed the ghosts with a bit of an offering, so breakfast might be a bit more peaceful than...based on what’s in front of me, last night,” Albert started. “It's a little meager for ones’ first day, but it’ll have to do in such… ‘up and coming’ circumstances.” His voice trailed as he scanned the kitchen and all the work yet to be done. “Speaking of: was Headmaster able to sort something out for you to return home?”

>Well, about that…

>He’s got us working as janitors til he ‘comes up with something’…

“Ah, I see… That sounds like a rather productive way to pass the time, I’d say. Wouldn’t see much merit trying to attend class with most of the curriculum needing magic to even participate. If I can find a moment would you like me to pick up a couple books, from the library, about anything?”

>Doesn’t sound like I’ll be getting a lot of time to read…

>If you find something on _____…

“Understood. Oh! Look at the time, I really need to go,” Albert scrambled for his schoolbag, and a quick rummage through it produced an umbrella that would not normally fit the bag it came out of.

“Oi oi! How’d you do that?” Grim asked through a mouthful of toast.

“Do what?”

“Pull that umbrella outta your bag! Does it collapse?” Grim took a quick peek under the table to ensure it wasn’t also a prank. “Ooh! That’s a real shiny stone on it too!”

“Oh no no no, my bag is just rather roomy is all. Oh, and this? Most students have a magical focus in their pens, my family tradition finds great use in making our focuses umbrellas. If for no other reason, they’re eco-friendly, fast, and portable transportation! Sorry for cutting the chat short, I really must be going. There’s time, there’s time...”

Albert finished collecting his things and bid his roommates a hasty farewell. Swinging the door to the outside revealed the previously mentioned Headmaster. He offered a wave and made way to allow Albert through.

“Ah, Good morning, Mr. Eastwind. On your way to class, I see? Enjoy your first day at Night Raven College, but might you point me to where I may find your dormmates?”

Albert nodded as he hastily opened his umbrella, “The kitchen, sir, first door down the hall; and thank you, Sir.” The umbrella caught a quick breeze, launching him into the air. By the time Crowley had a moment to look back from the dorm, Albert had already disappeared.

Classes came and went. He couldn’t run, on his first day, so he had to resign himself to answering the same questions over and over:

‘Aren’t you the guy that didn’t get sorted last night?’

‘Where do they have you staying?’

‘Are they planning on sorting you, manually?’

“I…was.”

“I’m staying in a shuttered building on campus.”

“I don’t know.”

They seemed like satisfactory-enough answers, based on the waning of them being asked as the day progressed. They seemed to be eclipsed by developing gossip around an incident earlier in the day; apparently one of the statues on Main Street had been scorched in a freshmen scuffle with ‘the new handimen’. Al could only groan, piecing together the situation.

Class couldn’t end soon enough. Even if it was dilapidated, once more he was back at his dorm, he could ease the tension he’d been holding all day. No sign of either of his dormmates. It was still early in the afternoon, so Albert shook away his concern and set to start cleaning and renovating. Starting top-down, he dusted what he could, testing the remnants of the windows if they could open once the air became chocked with debris. A spare room became dedicated to the ragged furniture with potential for salvage or selling. Dorm-wide sweeping built up a sweat, but Albert couldn't help but grin at the work accomplished for the first day. A broken window in the lounge sent him into a shiver, and prompted him to finish one more task: the fireplace.

Yuu and Grim trudged home, late that night, with their final reserves of energy after their fight. They teetered between the headstones up to their dorm-home sweet home. A sound drew their attention to the roof, "There you are! I didn’t know where to start looking, so I held the fort down til you returned," Albert waved from the rooftop; rope secured both him to the chimney along with a small basket.

"Wha-How'd'ya get up there?!" Grim shouted, "and is there tuna in that basket?"

"Of course! Just take the chimney, but mind the landing!"

>How are we supposed to…

>ugh I'm starving…

Both Yuu and Grim shrugged at each other but heeded his invitation. Their doubts turned to surprise as the chimney shot them both onto the roof, Albert taking their hands to steady their landing. The two lashed themselves to the rope before settling in.

Soot clung to Grims ruffled fur as he steadied himself, "I hope this wasn't some kinda excuse to use me like a flue brush, y’know!" A quick shake loosened the dust before he made for the basket. "How'd ya even find out the chimney did that?"

"Certainly not," Albert replied with a twinge of indignation, "and would you believe I wasn't aware, myself, until a while ago? Here, tuna for you. And Yuu, how do you take your tea? I’ve had family who’d occasionally enjoy tea on the ceiling, but this might be the next best thing. Anything of note on your first day of Custodial Escapades?"

>Well, pretty much…

>You're not gonna believe, but…

"No wonder you both look beat as a rug," he said, "but that's wonderful to hear, both you beating that...thing. And Headmaster actually is allowing you both to be able to attend classes! I believe that would automatically make you both Vice-Dorm Leaders, then." He turned his gaze to the burgeoning stars. Ones he’d seen a million times, but hazarded to assume this being the first time Yuu had seen them. His expression relaxed as he took it all in. "What a sight, isn't it? Quite the send-off to a rather interesting first day, wouldn't you think?"

"Yeah-the stars weirdly look extra pretty up here, than they do on the ground," Grim noted between scarfing down the tuna.

>....

Soon, Albert cut the contemplative silence, "It's getting late-we best come back in before any of us catches cold." He packed the small rooftop picnic and began to unfasten the rope from its anchoring. Grim voiced slight concern then confusion as Albert opened his umbrella.

"Wait, if ya untie that we could fall!"

"We are all still attached, and the chimney only seems to go one way, so if you're ready we can descend," Albert smiled, taking steps towards the edge.

>Hold on, what're you doing?

>Wait, we're still tied to you!

Before they could protest more, Albert had already made the leap, the tether dragging them off as well. Yuu was able to grab at his leg, and Grim theirs. Both braced for impact but it never came. They looked up to see Albert trying to stifle a giggle.

"My apologies, I don't usually have passengers so my pre-flight announcement still needs work."

The umbrella afforded a safe landing, and once on the ground, Albert folded it back to rest on his hip. The trio returned inside, both Yuu and Grim barraging him with questions.

"You gotta teach me that! Is that a spell? Enchantment? Can you do that with other stuff???"

"If I weren't able to provide a safe landing from an outing on the roof, well then, what kind of personal assistant could I hope to eventually be?" Albert parted past the two but turned before retreating upstairs, "I hope you both enjoy the rest of the night, but don't stay up too late, now that we all have classes in the morning."

>Personal Assistant? Like a secretary? Is that what he’s wanting to do after college?

>Personal Assistant? Like a butler?

#twisted wonderland #twst oc #twst fanfic #azul ashengrotto #floyd leech #jade leech #albert eastwind #Practically Perfect fanfic #my writing

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jerek · 1 year

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heimdall/oc 4 you know the girlie!

“Listen, you care more than I do. All I ask is that you find out how she got here, and the way’s stopped up. Besides that– by all means. Go. Go to her. Do what you want.”

“All-Father, what if there’s more of her?”

“What did I just say? It’s your job to make sure there isn’t. I’m dealing with quite enough trying to keep the world from ending, if you hadn’t noticed!”

“...Very well.”

“Come back when you’ve gotten it out of your system.”

Heimdall wanted to rip off every inch of his skin. He stopped two steps outside the Lodge, an icy breeze on his hot skin, and stood perfectly still– breathing in and out, in and out.

Would Odin ever believe him as much as he believed those who lacked his insight? If he lost his perception, grew stupid, maybe then the All-Father would listen!

It didn’t matter. He was dealing with a second offense: apparently, he had known. It was one of Odin’s ravens that perched and looked at him, that night. That saw him neglecting his duties. The watchman of the Aesir. His most reliable! He couldn’t even get a damn answer.

All-Father was right. He needed someplace to put the tension before it killed him. It wouldn’t be a sword or a spear, no. He would just explode eventually.

“You,” he hissed through gritted teeth. “Are never going to get that. Out of me.”

What, like Thor? Like Baldur? Every soul in Asgard knew how hard Baldur had tried to feel. Every woman in Asgard was probably counting their blessings that Sif had sacrificed herself for their lives. All-Father, he wanted to say: I have been so normal, so well-balanced, that if you ruin this for me, I will present the parts of me that fall off from overuse wrapped in ribbon at your feet.

He was cold as death and hot as shame. His hands clenched down on his arms, crossed over his chest like a swaddled babe, and he could imagine his brows cast a fierce shadow down over his face.

“Something wrong, Heimdall?”

It rose like bile. He swallowed down the murder, the massacre, and opened his eyes to meet… Thrud.

“Is something wrong?” he repeated, and craned his stiff neck to take in the sky. “I don’t see why there would be. It’s as good a day as any. Better than we’re likely to get for… quite a while, really. Why do you ask?”

“I figured you were just talking to Grandfather. Alone. You don’t do a lot of thinking here in the middle of town.”

He looked deep into her eyes. Smug, as usual. She figured she could bother him here, in front of the Lodge.

“I was, actually. Talking to the All-father… alone. And I’m sure you can guess, given that it was a private discussion, that the matter we discussed was also private.”

“Are you finally getting fixed?”

Oh, he did not want to deal with this now.

“Hm. Why don’t you try and spot what’s different about Asgard? Consider it… Valkyrie training.”

Thrud’s eyebrows raised… then she sensed the opportunity to blame him for something, and she smiled. “Gladly.” Off she went on her little half-march.

Now: where was the wallflower?

He stood very, very still again, and barely breathed. He closed his eyes and focused his hearing, listening for the double-thump that called back the memory of two syllables forming his name.

The scuffling of the Einherjar he could filter out. The gods were usually doing something besides… well, standing there. But he didn’t have to listen to find from what direction he heard a lonely heartbeat: no, he could smell it.

Black feathers gathered around him. In a storm of wings, Heimdall was gone from the Lodge and here at the hiding-place.

“There it is,” he announced.

And so there it was. Midha’s secret stash. A cloth pouch, paper inside it, and inside that, what he could only assume was some type of dried fruit. Traveling food. And was what he tasted before part of that, he wondered, or really just part of her?

One roll of it stuck out from the side of her mouth like a short, fat pipe. She watched him with blank eyes.

Did he have an apple with him? He patted his side, where his pouch was, and felt it there. So he took it out and offered: “Wanna trade?”

Midha blinked, then nodded. Heimdall knelt and handed her the apple, taking one of those rolls, and slipped it back in his pouch.

He rolled back off his feet and sat next to her. He wrapped his arm around her shoulder. “Good morning, Midha.”

His head rested on hers. He looked over Gladsheim: they were on a hill, backs to the ledges that built up to the wall. “All-Father and I spoke,” he said.

“About me?”

“Yes, about you. I don’t know that I’ve ever been so…” He sighed. “Livid. The boundaries of the realms are being torn asunder– did you know we’re preparing for war? Preparing for Ragnarok? And that would be enough, but I don’t think you came from that. I don’t know where you came from.”

“Azeroth’s timelines are full of holes, too,” she said. “It’s easy to get lost in time.”

So it was like blood flowing between two open wounds. The contagion wept from her broken world, and soaked into his.

“Look at me,” he asked. And she did… but, being who she was, it was only a glimpse.

He set his hand to her cheek– and wrenched her neck sideways. “Look at me!” As if probing the wound, he stared deep into her eyes, deep into the dark. What was it he’d seen before? Freedom?

It could have been. Now it seemed more like carelessness… or something worse. Unendingly deep, bone-pale doubt. Fear so strong as to rival a lover’s obsession. An… agnosticism that colored everything. Nothing was wrong, one might reason, when nothing was true.

He patted the side of her face. “You should try that apple. You’ll feel better.”

As soon as he pulled back, Midha sank her teeth into Idunn’s gift. Heimdall watched her face– he couldn’t see the bloom of color he’d expected, but he held one of her hands, and felt the warmth catch and bleed through her fingers.

There was a breath like she’d come out of water. The beat of the pulse in her wrist seemed a little jauntier with every bite, seemed to lilt.

“You’ll need the strength.” He chuckled.

She just barely turned her head to look at him from the corner of her eye. He acknowledged it: “Take your time, really. Savor it. I am about to take you to have a proper introduction with all the Aesir’s finest.”

Midha knew what would happen. She was without will, not without a brain. Plans to vanish flickered behind her eyes. Plans to sap, blind, move as silent as ink on a canvas.

What must it be like, to be a flesh-and-blood woman, and strive so hard to be anything else? How deep must those wants have been buried? All he could sense was that frail, frail guess at a world outside the promises she made: and the promises made to her.

He refocused his gaze, and saw her holding the core of the apple. Without a warning and without ceremony, he scooped her up and stood.

“No fight?” He scoffed. “I shouldn’t be surprised.”

And no more ravens. He shifted her in his arms, securing his grip, and then he went on a scenic walk back into Gladsheim.

Poor, poor wallflower. Even in the outskirts, everyone he saw was staring. It would be one thing if he brought in a corpse, but this was a living, breathing, hopelessly passive intruder.

He heard whispers. One of the Einherjar to another, “she’s still alive.” He grinned at them, and they fell silent.

Head after head turned to watch the parade of two. Not that he made much spectacle, but he did make it back into the heart of Gladsheim, within moments of presenting her to Sif or Forseti…

“Hm.” He bounced her in his arms, leaning on one foot. “I said ‘the Aesir’s finest,’ didn’t I?”

“You did.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Instead, bearing his prize, he made his way to the Black Thunder. He checked the door open with a hip, and left his sword by the entrance, only to slam Midha down on the nearest table and call out:

“Have any of you ever drunk mead from a woman’s navel?”

#gow heimdall #midfic

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gay-hypersexual · 2 years

Text

you can forget about mine

It hasn’t even been a minute… at least that’s what it feels like. He’s not sure if time works the same way here as it does out there.

What he does know is this: in one moment all he knew was pain, but in the next, he knew peace.

In one moment, he saw blood, swirling sands, a glint of steel stabbing through his torso. In the next, it all vanished, replaced by grassy fields, cherry blossoms floating in the wind, a familiar face (kind, gentle, loving) hovering over his own.

In one moment, his small hands found and grasped onto larger ones, that of his lover, husband, big moon. In the next, that of his traveling companion, oldest friend in the group, big spoon.

Fearne is there, Derrig is there, Will is there, and he thinks he’s in paradise.

But it’s a minute later (or an hour or a year or a lifetime) that that thought disappears.

Because now there’s someone only vaguely familiar to him nearby. A tall, lanky figure with long, black locks, feathers adorning their shoulders, a mask obscuring their features.

And there’s a… tear. In the sunset orange-tinted horizon of his paradise, there is a crack, disturbing the air, calling to Fearne.

The faun bounds over to it immediately, hand outstretched, but she stops. Turns back. The raven haired figure seems to only slightly mind, shifting from one foot to the other.

Fearne kneels down, wringing her hands, avoids eye contact. “I— just give me a minute, ok, and I’ll be right back for you, I promise!”

There is no immediate response, just a head tilt of confusion.

“You… you will go through it, right? When I cast it, when I reach for you?” Her voice is quiet, but their surroundings are still, so the waver in it is audible and cannot be ignored.

Small hands let go of bigger ones (hesitantly, reluctantly) and intertwine with hers. “I don’t know.”

Tears have started to collect. They fall faster as she shakes her head no, vigorous and defiant. “Tell me you’re going to come back with me!”

“Fearnie…”

“No! No.” Seafoam green curls fall in front of her face, a curtain to hide her distress. “Please! Please, don’t make me go without you.”

No answer, save for a sharp exhale— choked and sad.

“You and Dorian once said I should stop taking things that aren’t mine, but I can’t help it! I steal things I like, and I want to keep them. Some would say that’s selfish… well, I am!” She squeezes her hands around his tight, finally looking up, not a dry eye between them. “I’m a selfish person and that’s why I’m asking you to stay with me.”

The figure has taken a step towards them now, tells her she must make the choice now, to accept or refuse, before it closes.

“One more minute!” she pleads, pulling the halfing into a hug. She speaks even softer than before, her breath tickling his ear. “I just found my parents again and I really want them to get to know everyone, see what they’ve been missing out on. And we found out this connection with me and the moon? What does that even mean? I need you with me to figure it out!”

“Imogen, Laudna, FCG, we all need you with us! And Chetney and Ashton… they’ll go berserk without you! And Dorian—” She curls him closer. “I know it’s hard, I know! But I’m not ready to say goodbye. Please.”

A feathered arm reaches down, nudges Fearne’s shoulder, and gestures to the rip in space. “You have to choose, it’s been too long.”

Fearne stands up, starts backing into it, gaze never leaving her friend. “Please, Orym, please! I don’t— I don’t want to be without you!”

In a flash of white, she’s gone.

Left standing in the fields, he… just isn’t sure. Why should he leave? Everything he ever needed is here. Here, not out there.

Out there is only more hurt. Out there is chaos, fear, doubt, death.

He only knows happiness here.

He looks back, and that face of the man he loved— loves, is staring at him with compassion and understanding. “Whatever you choose, little moon, I will always be here.”

The correct answer is not within him, not right now.

But there’s no new tear yet, so he doesn’t have to decide now.

Not yet.

#critical role spoilers #critical role #c3 #Orym #Fearne #exu crew #cr c3e33 #this episode coming for us with a steel chair!#vax’ildan

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magnusmodig · 3 months

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Can you pls make more post about Fosterson? They’re my fav and I love your insights on them. They’re very wholesome! Love your posts btw 😄✌️

||. thanks !! and while i can't exactly promise a lot of posts about fosterson, since this isn't a fandom blog (there's no written definition but a fandom blog is essentially a tumblr blog that is focused on generating content, and reblogging content about a specific fandom and/or character (if applicable). this is a rp blog which is very different.)

that said ! you're more than welcome to send questions about thor or fosterson, etc. whenever you fancy, and i'll most likely answer them as headcanon or meta answers when i can.

#( ooc . ) — stories that leap from the page .#( answered . ) — black feathers fall to a raven's call .#anonymous #(//takes my entire 2-3 personals and holds you like little buttercups in my two hands)

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otakusparkle · 2 years

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// Yume IDV, Eli Clark x OCSona

~🔮😺~

It was a silent night. Snow's falling outside the window. A light sound of steps was heard along the hallway of the spooky Manor. A woman,with a traditional outfit, was walking towards her way to somewhere. Her hair is black as the raven's feather, as smooth as silk, was tight loose on her right. Her skin is fair as a noble, her eyes black and shiny as the galaxy of the nightsky. She looks at the window along the hallway, admiring the beauty of the first night of winter. The Shrine Maiden Made her way towards her room after some night stroll. She loves winter. A smile creep up on her face, forming a soft yet gentle smile plestered on her beautiful face. She walks as she was fighting the dark in the hallway to a find a door, a balcony door.

She closed the door and walks towards the edge. Who knows that, a little friend was greeting her. Well, a little company from an adorable owl was good choices, "Hello there. What a beauty of the night you are," She speaks as the owl scoot closer to her, rubbing her head on her arms. She immidiately pets her head, the owl was a spoiled little one, but the Maiden didn't mind at all.

The night was silent again. Only the songs of the winter lady was heard through out the cold night. A Maiden and an owl, was enjoying their time admiring the beauty of the first falling snow, who knows that someone also wanted to join. The Maiden didn't realize a steps behind her, "A lady shouldn't stay at this hour," A familiar voices was echoing through the balcony. Surprised, she looks behind. A man with black robe and blindfold was smiling at her. The owl didn't bother and keep perching on the balcony's edge rubbing feathery head to the Maiden's touch, "Mr.Clark?" The man was a Seer, the humble one. He walks towards the Maiden, and lean to the balcony's edge beside her. The Maiden was silent, as well as the Seer. The Seer decide to take off his shawl and give it to the Maiden, "It's the first falling snow, it's really cold this night. More than the winter wonderland," He said. The Maiden scoofed, feeling the warm shawl circled on her neck and shoulder, "Thank you, Mr.Clark," The man smiled, "I told you to call me Eli, My lady," The Maiden softly giggled, "And I told you to just called me Os," she said.

The two stood there in silent for who knows how long. Looking around the Manor from the balcony as well as the falling snow, the shining stars, and the moonlight. The wind slowly blowing their hair strand, making it dancing, "How cold," the Seer sigh, that sooner was changed to gasp when he felt a warm feeling on his shoulder, "Let's just share your shawl alright~" the Maiden said. Red was soon creeped to the humble Seer face. He never expected this, because he didn't dare to peek on the future about them together. Let them be, his heart said. The Seer softly cough, "In that case," he take off his gloves and 'handed' the Maiden his pale palm, "My hand are cold too. Would you mind to warm them up?" The Maiden giggled at his flirt attempt, "I'd love too," She hold his hand softly while smiling. The Seer then moved closed to her until their shoulder touching each other, "You really are warm," He said. The Maiden smiled, "I'm flattered. I'm also glad you enjoyed my warmth even though I'm a cold-blooded," the sound of happy laughter soon filled the cold night as the two distinct heart enjoying their time.

The Seer softly squeezed her hand, making the Maiden attention changed to him. The Seer's face was flushed in red, but he doesn't care at all, "Can I ask for 1 more thing ?" He ask in almost as a whisper tone, "Sure," the Maiden answered. The humble man bring his face closer to her, almost an inches away. The Maiden can feel his warm breath, as well as her flustered red face, "My lips are cold too. Would you mind to warm them up ?"

#yumejo shitposting #yumejo rambles #nekodroid shitpost #eli clark shitposting #idv shitpost

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solemn-siren · 2 years

Text

Storm's Calamity chapter 4

Chapter 4: The Fearless Eagle

Previous chapter: a falling star

A/N: Remember when I said I was thinking of writing a short story about Alouette? Well part 1/6 of it is now on the Poptropica Help Blog Read it here (And if you're from the PHB, hi!)

Also huge thanks to Dizzy Feather, Pegs (Eva), Mxnti (Mato and Carol) and Slanted Fish from the Poptropica Help Chat for letting me use your poptropica characters! The PHC is a nice place, come join.

The next morning was more bizarre than magical creatures suddenly appearing on your doorstep. Secrets never last long in this camp, and this one didn't even last a day. Only 7 hours. I think that's a new record.

The first hint of this was the eerie quietness of the cabin as I woke up and got out of bed. It was never this quiet. Never in a thousand years, not even a million. As I grabbed my usual black tank top and blue shorts the quietness grew more suspicious and alarming. As I continued brushing my hair, putting the red and gold rose in it's usual spot, and tying the laces of my boots, I knew it was never a good sign.

It was only after I put on my belt, checked that my dagger was by my side, and opened my dorm doors that the problem made itself known.

in the main cabin lounge, Slanted Fish, Dizzy Feather, and Eva were playing connect 4 and making jokes about it, but immediately stopped when I came in, as if I was a curse, an outcast, a burden to society. Like the raven back in my home.

"Hey what happened last night?" Slanted Fish asked, standing up and following me outside. Dizzy Feather and Eva followed as well, not even stopping to do anything else other than following me. At least Dizzy Feather was nice and didn't bombard me with questions, just reading a book and somehow not running into things. It takes skill to do that. I have no idea how she does that.

"Is it really true that a plane crashed here, in the forest?" Eva asked as we continued walking, well I did and they just followed us. I finally decided to sit down on a bench that faced the prophecy statue, which everyone avoided following yesterday's events. As predicted, they just stood in front of me.

"Okay be honest, how did you guys figure this out?" I asked them, cause 12am, people are asleep. "Did you guys not sleep as well?"

Everyone glanced at each other, before nodding. "It's so hard to sleep when you know there's a chance of the world ending." Slanted Fish said, sighing. "I've been at this camp for a long time, yet I never knew that statue could talk. Are you sure Maverick didn't prank it or anything? Sounds like something he would do."

"Actually, it was always built to talk and receive prophecies." Dizzy Feather said, showing us the book she was reading. It was called 'camp bravery: guide to finding your inner confidence' and the page she was reading had a picture of the prophecy statue, and a picture of a witch. "The statue was built by Eda Gold, or Magic Star. She was one of the four original founders and built this statue should the world need heroes. However like Amelia said, it never spoke until yesterday, and Eda died the day after, trying to protect camp from destruction."

Noticing the commotion, other campers came along, including Mato and Carol. We discussed about the statue and what it could mean, until a mysterious creature jumped out of no where, and it was very clear what is was, with goat like body and dragon wings.

"Jersey Devil! Run!" Mato shouted, and everyone, except myself, ran away screaming. I sighed, knowing who was really behind this.

"Maverick, was that necessary? "

"Hey you suddenly became famous over night did you know that? Gotta keep the grabby fans away." Maverick asked, taking off the costume, revealing his vibrant and chaotic outfit underneath. "Everyone's talking about the plane and the prophecy, and you off course! Know what no one's talking about?"

I shrugged. "Normal stuff?" I guessed.

Maverick made a buzzer noise, before revealing the answer. "What to do with the prophecy!" He said, talking while his hands moved around like crazy. ""Like, true heroes don't do nothing while some calamity is about to happen! Think about all those shows and books with prophecies!"

Just then the surrounding cheerful air faded to a nervous, anxious air of wondering when we were getting betrayed. "Why are we all so quiet?" I whispered to Maverick, purely confused.

Everyone was staring at a lone figure approaching the statue, a young male with messy blonde hair, blue eyes, and wearing a dark brown aviation jacket with flame like details. His gaze was stern, cold, and you could tell he was not afraid to beat you up. I have never seen him before, was he one of the newcomers?

"that, is the pilot of the crashed plane from yesterday." Maverick explained as the nervousness grew stronger among the campers. "He's from the Fearless Eagles, a group like us, except aviation focused, and more strict too."

"I don't see why this is something to be afraid of." I muttered, noticing everyone's scared faces "other than prophecy stuff."

"that's not the point." Maverick pointed out. "He isn't some random guy who knows how to fly a plane. No he's a killer, an assassin if you will, killed multiple animals either in self defence or on purpose, I don't know the difference."

"He's Felix Jones, or Icy Bird. A true Fearless Eagle, never backing down, or rejecting, a fight."

#stormscalamity #poptropica #poptropica story

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meg-moira · 3 years

Text

I did the thing. Based on this writing prompt!

What am I, you ask?

It was a question I, too asked myself, once upon a time. I ask it no longer, because I don’t much see the reason in dwelling upon questions which have no definitive answers.

I can tell you what others think I am. Will that satisfy your curiosity?

An aged deity they call me. A minor one, of course. For they know I never laid claim to the vast domains of the Great Gods. War, Knowledge, Death are all grand pursuits, but they are not to my tastes.

Besides, I would never claim anything so specific. To those who live in the village beneath my humble temple, I am the warmth of a tended hearth, the safety of home - and the joy of returning to it.

It is a quiet village, you know. And I know my people by look and by voice. They take turns climbing the steep hill to tend my temple.

I settled here for a reason.

Did you notice my temple? It’s nice, is it not? Wooden, round, and short enough that the adults must bend to enter. Inside, two rows of candles illuminate walls lined with dangling shells dug from deep within the earth. Shelves are stacked with pebbles, feathers, twigs, and flowers. Gifts from my followers and requests I planted in the minds of my most devout.

At the center of it all, bathed in the candles’ butter yellow light sits a gleaming stone. It is opalescent and a pretty enough sight to behold. It was recovered generations ago, a layer or two beneath the dug-up shells.

The humans believe that I reside in the Everstone. That’s what they call it. Everstone. It’s got a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?

I don’t. Live in the Everstone, that is. I don’t believe I live anywhere in particular.

Occasionally I sit in the stone, just for fun. I warm it sometimes when my followers’ reverent fingers brush the grooves. I like the sound of their surprise and delight. Other times I perch upon the temple’s roof, and drink up light from the first and second sun. And on rare instances, I expend the energy to make myself just corporeal enough to walk upon the hillside and feel the grass between my toes. I only allow my most favorite devotees to see me like this. It is strange and awkward to have limbs and take up space. I only do it because the sensation of touch is so entirely captivating.

Those who glimpse my walking form see someone who looks human in the same way that a painting of an ocean resembles the cold, untamable tides. I take up space, and within that space is the suggestion of personhood. They see a figure draped and hooded in ethereal white, brown skinned and with a face whose features are vague and changing. Human faces fascinate me, and I cannot always make up my mind about the features I want for my own. I-

Why would you interrupt me?

Did you not trudge your ugly boots up this steep hill to seek me out? And if you’ve come, as you say, from lands afar - why would you not want to make conversation?

...Could it be that it is not me you seek, but the one who, even now, lies crumpled and half dead upon my temple floor?

That is the truth of it. I can see it in your terrible war-bright eyes. You are no more human than the one who bleeds ichor on my nice wooden planks.

No. No. Don’t go lifting your ugly spiked weapon just yet. I’m not done talking. I can’t talk with the humans. At least, not like this. And the god currently bleeding in my temple wasn’t much able to make conversation.

He staggered up the hillside not an hour before you arrived. He had taken far more care in the crafting of his physical form than I, and I’d guessed right away that he was one of the visible gods. Likely in possession of both power and desire enough to parade himself about for his followers. To drape his body, wrapped in opulent cloth, across the velvet couch upon his temple dais.

Yes, I made the last part up. I don’t know that he liked to drape himself across couches like a subject waiting to be painted, but with his raven black hair, muscles sculpted by an undoubtedly delicate hand, and a pretty face which did not shift like mine was wont to do, he fit the part well enough.

His fine clothes were ripped and bloody when he staggered up my hillside. And his hair, which looked to have once been drawn back in a sleek braid, was mostly dragged loose, falling in wisps and tangles. His pretty face was cut and broken, and when he pressed a shaking hand upon my wooden walls, he left a smear of ichor, brutal and golden beneath the suns.

“Sanctuary,” he murmured, and his voice was cracked and broken as the rest of him.

I could have barred my door. He might have once been powerful, but it had been cruelly beaten out of him by something.

You, I presume.

No. Enough with the weapon waving. I said I was talking.

I let him in. Don’t ask me why. Maybe stripped of his power, he reminded me of my village devotees. Or maybe I just didn’t want his divinely made flesh to stink up my lawn.

He stumbled in as soon as I opened the door, and immediately collapsed, one hand clutching what was surely a severe wound in his side. If he was as human as he appeared, I’m sure he would have died.

No, he’s not dead.

It was touch-and-go for a while. But, as I’m sure you know, gods are not so easy to kill.

I helped him, pouring some of my own energy into his form. It was like feeding oxygen to a faltering flame. As I worked, he lay limp as a doll, lips half pressed to my wooden floor as his voice rasped, filling the room.

His people call him Praesaro. He told me of how you killed a great number of them, cutting a path so you might reach him. His tears of saltwater and gold dampened the temple floor as he spoke, and where they slipped between the slats of wood, wild clovers sprouted from the soil. His throat was dry and grief-wrung, but I did not need to hear him to feel his overwhelming, aching loss. He’d seen his followers cut down, all while he, their glorious protector, was powerless to stop you.

You smile. Does pain amuse you?

I see. It is not just any pain you seek, but a god’s pain. You cared not for the city you slew, did you? You only wanted the god who protected it. So are you the God Devourer of which the wind has been whispering of late?

I hear conflicting tales of you. The wind says that you came from the skies - or perhaps the heavens. The rocks deep within the earth say that you are not of this world. And the oceans say you smell of strange waters. But all of them are in agreement on this point: You come to consume. And you will not leave until your boundless appetite has feasted upon this world.

And now you do lift that monstrously spiked weapon. You intend to destroy my temple and crush the last of the divine life from poor Praesaro - I can see it in the set of your jaw, the way you bare those sharpened teeth.

You intend to devour me too. In my little temple on this little hill, I probably seem nothing more than a snack to you. But before you unhinge your salivating jaw, dear god eater, let me ask you this:

Do you know why I remain here, on this little hill, above this little village?

It is because I like it here.

Do you feel that? The way the earth trembles beneath your bloodied boots? Or perhaps you’ve noticed the wind and how it nips at your skin. And what about the clouds that darken, bearing down upon my little temple on this single, lonely hill.

I was not entirely honest when I told you that I do not know what I am. Or rather, I have a guess.

You see, I remember when oceans covered these hills, and I remember when tiny creatures filled the shells which are strung up in my temple. I knew where each had burrowed, because they were buried in my soil. The feathers collected for my temple were carried here on my wind. And the pebbles smoothed in my streams.

To these people, I am a minor god, because that is how I wish to be perceived.

But for you, Devourer of Gods, I will deign to stretch out, unfurl.

You came to feast upon gods, little one. I wonder, how will you contend with a world?

You can support my writing on Patreon!

#my writing #prompt #short story #original fiction #fantasy #fantasy fiction #gods #story #writing #spilled ink #prose #writeblr #fiction #short fiction #simple gods

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gryffindors-weasley · 3 years

Text

For The Very First Time

Sirius Black x Reader

Summary: Sirius Black just might be more sentimental than you think when he takes you on a trip down memory lane.

Prompt used: “Sorry how do you spell that?”

Word Count: 4.1k

Warnings: mild angst, smoking, fluff, kissing

A/N: This is for @sweeterthansammy ’s 1k writing challenge! I hope you enjoy. Flash backs are italicized, and the prompt I used is bolded!

The weather was a little bit chillier now that the sun was dipping down in the sky, chilly enough for a sweater or a light jacket. Something you didn’t have much time to think about with the spontaneity of Sirius’ plans and just how urgent he’d been making them out to be. Really, there was no rush and he knew that, of course he knew that, but he was far too eager for his own good and you knew that.

You were certain he’d under dressed when you found him standing by the front door, leaning against the frame in that tattered old jean jacket. The one there’s no chance in him getting rid of, not in a million years. It’s got a myriad of holes here and there in the faded, washed out denim, the cuffs having seen better days as the frayed material dangles down half torn. A miscellaneous pin from James is still on there, even that bright yellow smiley face is stuck on the collar that you’d put there ages ago. It was more than a well worn article of clothing, that much was for sure.

You managed to break away from James and Lily’s conversation, more so Lily, and any other time you wouldn’t have minded a single bit. You absolutely wouldn’t have, but with Sirius calling you from the floor below in the small Potter home, you find yourself having no choice but to give in to saving the conversation for later in favor of quieting the raven haired wizard.

You walk down the stairs until equally tattered converse come into view, then those same old black denim jeans, the those frayed jean jacket cuffs. You smell the distinct smell, something that’d only further been confirmed as you reach the very last step.

“Either I’m a fool, or time just stopped,” he says, flicking the ashes from his cigarette as he smiled down at you.

The corner of your mouth quirks up, the kind of smile he knows isn’t a hundred percent sweet.

“I think you’re just a fool, Pads,” you say, that smile widening a fraction. There it is. He walked right into that one and he knew it, rolling his eyes. “And I don’t think Mr. Potter would approve of you smoking in his beloved family home.”

“Which is exactly why I’m standing outside,” he grins before bringing the cigarette back to his lips, throwing his hands up as he takes one step backwards through the threshold of the doorway just so he can officially say that he is in fact outside and not at all breaking the rules of the residence.

Sirius Black liked to bend the rules when he could, he liked to walk on the wild side just about every chance he got no matter how trivial it may be. He claims it’s the only way to be, claims that’s what having fun is all about and anything less is boring. Nonchalance is simply in his nature.

“Yeah, I’ll bet you are,” you counter, hopping off the very last step when he tugged on your hand to urge you out the door.

He pulled the door shut behind him and stopped you in your tracks, making you turn on your heel before you could take another step forward. You look up at him with a narrowed gaze and await an explanation as to just why it is he’s gone and stopped you when all he’s done the past ten minutes is tell you how desperately he’d wanted to go. So you stand and your stare and you watch as smoke blows past parted lips, lips that quirk upwards in a smile as he looks at you.

In that moment, he dips down, pressing his lips on yours in a kiss that’s as smoky as ever and the gesture alone has your smile pressing into his kiss. A smile that’s genuine just as much as it’s teasing.

“I thought we had somewhere to be?” You say, breaking away as you look up at him with a raised brow.

“We do,” he says, taking another puff before you snag the cigarette right from between his fingers, dropping it to the little stone walkway before putting it out beneath your boot.

You take notice of his pursed lips that fight a smile, at the squinted gaze he’s got set on you as you spin on your heel and walk ahead, leaving him to stand there and stare after you for a fleeting moment or two. You’ve got all the amusement in the world sitting on your expression and he doesn’t even need to see it to know it, he can tell just by simply hearing the laugh fall from your lips. He can see it as he catches up to you within a second’s time.

“How very rude of you,” he says in faux offense, but it’s not too long before you feel the tips of his fingers brushing against yours.

“How very generous of me,” you counter, and his scoff doesn’t go unheard.

The next time you look up at him, he’s got those sunshine yellow shades on, those obnoxiously yellow sunglasses that sit on his nose seemingly more often than not. James had gotten them for him at the town fair just a few years back, a gift just for laughs that he’d gotten with the rest of his tickets. They were bright and they were bold and very much fitting for the year nineteen-eighty-one, but he’d gone and kept them. Of course he did.

Sirius Black kept every single thing his friends have ever given him no matter how ridiculous or trivial it may have seemed. Even when he was just a child still stuck in his dreaded family home, he’d saved a shoe box from a pair of dress shoes he absolutely hated wearing, one pair of dozens that inevitably got scuffed up just a little too much for the liking of his parents before they’d gone and bought him a new pair to look more presentable for the family image. Aside from that, he’d kept a shoe box, one that he had tucked under his bed.

Inside were all the letters that James and Remus had sent him by owl over summer break, each and every letter even if it was simply James complaining about some nonsensical thing or a joke or if it was Remus writing to see if he’d gotten his Hogwarts letter yet. He kept all of them. He kept the four leaf clover James had stumbled upon, and he kept that special quill Remus had swiped from Snape. He never knew his best friend had a knack for being mischievous until that moment.

He’d read those letters on his best nights and his worst, read them just for so. They were tattered and worn at the creases where they were folded, but he didn’t plan on getting rid of them any time soon.

Over the years that sentimental collection grew and grew, adding to it a myriad of pressed flowers and leaves from Lily, and bookmarks from Remus, postcards from James that were the absolute most ridiculous he could find. You added to it with miscellaneous letters and a guitar pick you thought he might like. He never used it, he didn’t want to ruin it. He kept that feather boa you’d found and even that lucky coin. He kept it all.

Sirius Black was more sentimental than he let on, he’s got a softer heart than he showcased to most, he kept every one of those things no matter how stupid or trivial it may seem to someone else. But he’d never in a million years admit it. James had found it once, but he never said a word about it.

“You never did tell me where we’re going,” you say, kicking a pebble out of your way as you walked along the cracked sidewalk.

“I believe that’s the point of a surprise, love,” he says, and you catch his smile as you look up at him, lips pursed as you nudge him with your elbow.

“You’re terrible at surprises,” you tease, your smile in your voice and had he not been wearing those sunglasses at sunset, you’d have been able to see his eye roll. But you knew him well enough to know he’d gone and done it regardless of the visual confirmation.

“Have I ever told you you’re a pain?” He asked, his chuckle following his words as he grins ahead, glancing down at you briefly.

“Yes, and I take that as a compliment,” you say, hearing his continued laughter as he shakes his head.

You try and put the pieces together, try and pick up any hints to put together any form of information that just might lead you in the direction of where you could possibly be going. It was in town, that you knew for certain. It was somewhere, local otherwise he’d have taken Mr. Potter’s car. The attire was no use in a giveaway because there was not a single chance there’d be an occasion where you’d find Sirius taking you somewhere in which you’d need to dress to the nines. The days of pristine suits and freshly polished shoes were far behind him, he hated dressing up with everything that he had.

He didn’t even dress up above and beyond for James and Lily’s wedding; well, he did, but he dressed down his suit with a half loosened tie that wound up being a headband and that tattered pair of converse. And he even wore those same old yellow sunglasses.

It was early evening, and things don’t tend to stay open for that much longer, so that narrows things down just a little bit more. Makes things just a little bit clearer, but it all proved to be not as helpful as you’d like it to be.

The small town was dotted with street lamps casting the area in a warm glow as it began to get darker and darker outside. The surrounding trees held reddening leaves that dropped and fluttered to the ground when the breeze sifted through them. And it’s only then that it hits you, the smell of coffee and spice that wafts through the air the closer you get. The sweetened air the closer you got. You even heard that familiar little clang of the bell over the door.

It wasn’t until then that you’d realized that maybe this was his surprise, that it absolutely was judging by the way he’d been biting the inside of his cheek to stifle his grin.

“Sirius Black, is this what I think it is?” You ask, your brow raised as the corner of his mouth quirks upwards.

Your question is answered when that smile breaks through, when you do indeed stop in front of the door to that ever familiar coffee shop and he holds the door open for you to step inside. It’s noticeably warmer than the chilly weather outside, cozier than ever as the smell of coffee washes over you. It looked just the same as when you were here last, felt just as inviting as it always did.

There were a few carved pumpkins sitting outside the door, an assortment of fall decorations littering inside the small shop. Each of the little wooden tables have cozy orange table cloths, and string lights are hung. The entirety of the shop smelled like fall festive drinks and what was left of the pumpkin rolls and muffins, not to mention the sweeter than sweet scented candles that were lit.

He tugged on your hand as he stepped up to the counter.

“Can I get a black coffee with two creams and a hot chocolate?” He asks, dropping your hand to dig around for his wallet in the pocket of his jacket.

That was another thing, Mr. Potter had gifted him that very same wallet a handful of years ago. It was a hand-me-down, but that was the least of his concerns when he was given the leather wallet. He didn’t care about the scratches or worn corners. That was the first real gift he’d ever gotten that had true thoughtfulness behind it.

He remembered your order like the back of his hand, and he’d gotten the same thing every single time.

The drinks were ready in no time and he put some money on the counter with a little extra for a tip, handing you yours as he headed towards that ever familiar table tucked away in the corner by the window.

He ran his hand through his hair, sitting those sunglasses back on the top of his head once more to push his hair out of his face. Your smile was fond as you looked at him, a stubborn chunk of black hair dipping over his forehead and brushing against the tip of his nose anyway.

“Remember this place, love?” He asks, a knowing smile playing on his lips.

“As if I’d ever forget,” you say, a laugh leaving your lips.

Of course you did, it was hard to forget the one and only place you’d met Sirius black in a few years back.

It was a hectic afternoon, customer after customer flooding into the coffee shop especially now that the fall season was sweeping in at last. Things were always busy around this time of year, things were always busy around this time of day, so you’d come to expect the rush hour by now after all this time you’ve worked there.

Things were fairly simple once you got the hang of it, once you were able to do things with a practiced ease and it made the line of customers a little bit easier to move along. Most of them you knew by name, most of them you knew their orders because they never failed to get the very same thing each and every day that they came in. Some of them came in every day, some of them came in every week, some of them even had a select day of the week that they stopped in for their usual order.

It was one of the things you liked about working there. The regular customers were friendly as ever and made the workload a little easier given the prior knowledge of just what they get and how they like it, and it makes the time fly just a little bit faster.

The day hadn’t been your finest, you’d gone and spilled half a cup of hot chocolate on your apron, one you didn’t have the time to swap out and you’re quite sure you’d still had a smear of flour on your face from catching up on baking that morning before opening time. But that clumsiness was only in your nature and it was everything you expected from yourself.

“Y/n, can you cover up front? There’s someone waiting.”

That clumsiness only heightened at the sight of a new face, one you don’t believe you’ve seen frequent the shop before. He’s got a mess of black hair he keeps tucking behind his ear, yellow sunglasses dangling from the collar of a Queen t-shirt as his gaze focuses out of the window to his left. He’s got a pack of cigarettes tucked in the front pocket of his jean jacket and pin on the other.

You quit your staring, you quit while you were ahead as you smoothed your coffee stained apron.

“What can I get for you today?” You ask, capturing his attention as he looks at you.

You swallow thickly as your gaze meets gray eyes, a half smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. You take notice of the dimple in his chin and the strands of dark hair that dip down over his forehead as he leans against the counter.

“Just a black coffee with two creams, please,” he says.

“Your name?”

“Sirius.”

You nod with a smile as you snag a cup and the marker from your pocket, turning on your heel to head towards the coffee as you uncapped your marker before you very quickly made that realization and spun back around. In the process, you nearly tripped over your own two feet and you can feel the heat blossoming in your cheeks.

“Sorry, how do you spell that?” You ask, biting the inside of your cheek.

You hear the softness of chuckle as he looks at you, surprisingly not out of mocking even with the way you just made a fool of yourself in front of him. He spelled it out for you with a smile, and you turned away without tripping this time. You made his drink just how he’d asked, your heart racing in your chest the entirety of the two minutes it took to make it as you thought about his smile.

You tried your best to stall, to steal a little bit more time before you had to go back to the counter to face him once more. To give yourself a little more time to let the heat in your cheeks cool off.

You pressed on the lid to his cup and took a breath, turning around and heading back to the counter where he stood leaning against it still.

“One coffee with two creams for Sirius,” you say, setting the to-go cup on the counter as he dug around his pocket for some money.

He counted it out in his palm as his hair fell in his eyes, quickly brushed away as he ran his hand through his hair and set the money down in exchange for his drink, and a little extra for a tip.

You notice the way his gaze lingers on you for a little bit longer, you notice it as the seconds pass and your heart races. It lingers on you and you can see the way the corner of his mouth quirks up as he does, spinning the cup in his hand out of an absentminded habit as his gray gaze finally meets yours.

“You’ve got a little something on your face, love,” he says, pointing to his own cheek as a signal for your own face.

Your hand shoots up immediately to swipe across your cheek, the heat in your face flooding back once more as you swipe your fingers across your skin, pulling back to see that dreaded flour on your face that you knew was bound to be there from that morning.

“Oh, uh, thank you,” you say with a laugh and a smile, his following soon after as he nods.

There’s a sort of tension that simmers as you meet his gaze once more, as it bounces to his smile and you’re not quite sure if time actually stopped or if this is some cliche moving moment happening to you in the middle of your shift, or neither and you’re just being ridiculous. That, it’s probably that one.

Either way, you find yourself interrupted by the ding of the bell to your side on the counter from a customer growing impatient, a call of your name sounding over your shoulder just behind you. It all brings you back to reality.

“Have a nice day, Sirius,” you say, watching as he nods.

“I’ll see you around.”

With that, he offers you that same smile that had your mind on it for a ridiculous amount of time, that smile that made your heart race, and he turned away and headed out that door with a little ding of the bell over the door. He headed down the sidewalk as he snagged a cigarette from his pocket, lighting it before he disappeared around the corner.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?” Sirius asks, grabbing your attention as he gazes at you over the rim of his cup, gray eyes full of amusement.

“About what?” You ask, playing into it with a half smile even though you know you’re bound to be met with a tease.

“That time you tripped over your own two feet. I mean, do I really have that effect on people, love?” He jest, feeling you kick his foot just under the table.

There it is.

“Must you be so cocky, Pads?” You ask, your gaze glimmering with amusement as you purse your lips.

“I’m afraid I must,” he says.

You roll your eyes as you sip on your drink, eyeing the smile forming on his lips. “What?”

He chuckles as he shakes his head, his gaze dropping down as he swirls his drink in his hands and bites the inside of his cheek. His stare is more amused than ever as he looks at you again, that same lingering gaze set on you in the very same way it had been all those years ago and you knew it couldn’t have meant anything good. If it was anything like that very first time, you were bound to feel your cheeks grow hot even though you’ve known the troublemaker for years.

He doesn’t say anything at first, quiet as he lifts his hand and swipes it across the top of your lip and all the way to the corner of your mouth. He’s just as amused as he wipes away some hot chocolate that’s been left behind from your sip, his chuckle immediate.

“You’ve got a little something on your face, love,” he says, and you hear that teasing tone in his voice that he’s always got, that mischief dancing in his eyes.

“I truly think it’s you that’s the pain,” you huff, biting back your smile.

He chuckles. “‘S that so?”

You nod as you smile at him. “Very much so.”

He bites his lip momentarily as he looks at you, that pesky chunk of his hair falling back down in his face. “I take that as a compliment.”

He used your earlier words, of course he did, that’s just how Sirius Black is. Taunting and teasing in the most lighthearted of ways and that’s something that’s always been so, that’s something that always will be so forever and ever.

He’s got the tip of the arm of his sunglasses between his teeth, having given up on using them to hold back his hair as he looks around the little coffee shop where it all began, as he looks out the window at passers by, the corner of his mouth quirking up when he feels your gaze on him. It widens a fraction as he feels you get up, feels you swing around the edge of the table to take a seat in the booth bench next to him rather than sit across from him.

You’re quiet for a few moments as you rest your head on his shoulder. The foot traffic in the shop was dwindling as it neared closing time, growing less and less busy until it was starting to become just the two of you there. But you weren’t so focused on the details, not when you’ve been in your own little world with the one stealing your attention right next to you as you sat in your usual booth in the corner.

This was it, this was where it all began, this was where you’d met the chaos that is Sirius Black. The chaos that’s brought nothing but good into your life, nothing but a thrilling excitement that only he could bring.

You lift your head and look up at him, his gaze falling on you within a moment’s time. You see that smile, that smile that makes your heart race a mile a minute. You see it and you mirror it as you look at him. It’s only a matter of seconds before you lean up and press a kiss to his lips, soft and sweet and tasting of hot chocolate and coffee and a little bit of that smoke that never quite left his lips.

You kiss him before you wrap your hands around your cup, feeling his eyes on you. You take a sip as you stifle your smile, the arm of his glasses between his teeth once more as that smile he’s got remains as you look at him. You smile when you look away, head shaking as you nudge his foot with yours.

This is where it all began a handful of years ago. This is where you met Sirius Black for the very first time.

—

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