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valiantstarlights · 9 months

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[Hamilton AU] Keep Me in Comfort For All My Days

Leon (Hob with amnesia) is sick. Mr. Murphy (Dream) takes care of him.

This is a @dreamlingforukraine fic commission for @bazzybelle . ✨️ Thank you for your generosity and your patience 🙇‍♀️ I hope you like it! 😊

The title is from the song, "Non-Stop" from the Hamilton soundtrack.

CW: period typical homophobia. Contains fluffy fluff. 🖤

Some stuff you need to know if you opted not to read the story on AO3:

Hob has amnesia and is going by Capt. Gideon "Leon" Roberts.

Dream is masquerading as a rich foreign lord named Mr. Thomas Murphy to better keep an eye on him.

This AU is also an American Gods crossover. Hob!Leon is living in a two-storey house (called Reverie House), and his housemates are Slavic gods (The three Zorya sisters and Bielebog/Czernobog).

They have a Caucasian shepherd dog who answers to Little Bear and Ovcharka (which literally means sheepdog). 🐶

Leon blinks groggily awake, and the first thing he sees is Mr. Murphy reading a book by his bedside.

A glance towards the window shows him that it is currently dark out. A fire had been lit, but it is a small thing, and he is thankful that it is. He feels like he's burning up.

He could hear the muffled sounds of Mr. Czernobog and Ms. Polunochnaya talking downstairs. And if Ms. Polunochnaya is awake, then it must be around midnight.

He must be dreaming. Because while everything else seems normal, his room has this hazy quality about it, and there is also Mr. Murphy's unexplained presence.

Were he really awake, Mr. Murphy would not be in Reverie House in the middle of the night. And for that matter, he wouldn't be sitting by Leon's bedside, of all the places to sit and read.

So yes. This must be a dream. A dream where he is allowed to look upon Mr. Murphy for a long time without anyone to judge him negatively for it.

Mr. Murphy looks as stunningly beautiful as always. But in the low firelight of Leon's room, he looks otherworldly. His blue eyes now so dark, his raven black hair unbound, the skin of his neck and collarbones showing, his shirt unbuttoned...

Leon should look away. He should not be having these thoughts about Mr. Murphy's sharp jaw, his long eyelashes, his lips that looks so soft--

Mr. Murphy's eyes flick towards him then, and it causes him to blush. Lord have mercy on him. What was he thinking? It's a good thing Mr. Murphy cannot read minds, or else he would have thought Leon dirty and unnatural.

"Good evening, Captain Roberts," Mr. Murphy says. Leon tries not to melt from the sound alone, but it is difficult. The sound of Mr. Murphy's voice is a balm to his soul ever since he first heard it. "How are you feeling?"

Leon opens his mouth to reply, but only a croaking sound comes out. Before he could even begin to feel mortified, Mr. Murphy is already moving.

"Here, allow me."

Without another word, Mr. Murphy stands up and leans over Leon to prop him up in bed, then sits down beside him and pours water into a glass waiting on the bedside table.

Leon did not have time to voice his protest before one cool hand went to gently hold his nape while the other held the glass in front of his lips.

Leon is feeling about ten thousand things right now, from pleasure to panic, all contributing to him feeling unreasonably warm in the face. Mr. Murphy's cool hand on his nape feels good on his heated skin. He wants to lean against it, but keeps himself still and focuses instead on getting hydrated.

When Mr. Murphy suddenly withdraws the glass before Leon could drink his fill, however, he whines and leans his head forward shamefully, chasing the glass with his lips.

"Slowly," Mr. Murphy says. Leon manages a nod, and the glass is offered to him again. When he has drank his fill, Mr. Murphy withdraws the glass again and, to Leon's shyness, wipes the corner of his lips with his thumb.

"Mr. Murphy," Leon says. He does not fail to notice that his voice still sounded hoarse, like he had not been speaking for a long time. His limbs also felt weak, and the room might be swaying slightly around them. Are they on a ship? Why is Reverie House on a ship? "Am I dreaming?"

The corner of Mr. Murphy's lips tilts up at his words, and Leon finds his gaze focused there. What would it be like to make Mr. Murphy smile? What would his laughter sound like? How lucky Leon would be if he got Mr. Murphy to laugh because of something amusing he said.

"You are not dreaming," Mr. Murphy says. "But you do have a fever."

Oh. That explains a lot. Leon leans back further into the pillows to help the room stop spinning.

"Mr. Czernobog has informed me that Ovcharka found you collapsed in the fields while it was raining," Mr. Murphy continues, and this time there is censure in his voice. "What were you doing?"

Oh. Leon blushes, remembering. "I was sketching."

"Sketching," Mr. Murphy repeats dubiously. "You were sketching the field?"

Leon blushes even harder. It makes sense for Mr. Murphy to sound dubious. Soldiers don't sketch, and common-born soldiers certainly do not indulge in the arts during their free time. "I was sketching wildflowers," he says to his hands on his lap. "Because...when we first met, do you remember? You said you like them best of all the flowers. And I saw that there was a patch of particularly beautiful wildflowers in the fields when I was walking by and..." He sounds so silly. A lovesick fool. "I didn't want to simply pluck them from their homes and give them to you in a bouquet, especially when you mentioned that you love their determination to live despite the harsh environment they're in. And, well... I thought to sketch them instead. And give you the sketch, when I finished."

In hindsight, it was incredibly stupid of him to do that. He is no great artist, and the sketch itself must be heavily waterlogged by now, if not torn completely. His heart grew heavy. He really did give that sketch his all.

Mr. Murphy, who has listened quietly throughout Leon's entire explanation, remained silent for a few more seconds before he says, "You sketched wildflowers so you could give the finished piece to me? Instead of simply taking the flowers? Because of what I said about them?"

Leon nods miserably. Even Mr. Murphy thinks he's ridiculous. And the sketch he had so lovingly done must be torn to pieces by now. Because Ovcharka might have found him, and perhaps Mr. Czernobog had carried him back home, but there is no way his sketch survived. Mr. Czernobog is not a man who appreciates art, and would have left Leon's papers and pencils behind because it's a higher priority to get him home, and Ovcharka would have trampled all over his things with her large paws, not knowing the damage she was making and only worried for Leon.

Leon does not blame either of them for his loss. Mr. Czernobog, despite his stern appearance and curt words, is a kind man, and Ovcharka is a good and loyal dog. It is not their fault, but his. For taking too long, for staying out too long, and for not paying attention to the darkening midday skies.

"I will ask the Zorya sisters if your things have been retrieved," Mr. Murphy assures him. "But that is a task for later. For now, I wish to know how you are faring."

Leon wants to tell Mr. Murphy not to worry about his silly little sketch, but his throat closed up at the last second. "I'm fine," he says instead. "Or, I will be. Fevers never really keep me down for long."

"Oh?"

There was a curious note in Mr. Murphy's voice, but Leon is still too out of it to be certain he heard correctly. "Yes," he says. "I have contracted a fever a few times during the war. Some of my fellow soldiers die from it but," he chuckles grimly, "not me. I was even shot in the shoulder, but I healed pretty quickly from that as well. Minimal scarring and no pain afterwards. Hence the nickname Lucky Leon."

He does not mean to sound bitter or ungrateful to be alive. But for every time someone calls him that, Leon thinks about every other soldier who died from the same thing he has survived, and he feels rotten. Why should he survive when more deserving men die of such simple wounds and sickness? They have wives. Children. Loved ones they long to return to.

Leon had none of those. Still has none of those. Perhaps if the war happened now, he would have the Zoryas to think about while he and Mr. Czernobog are drafted to go to war, and Mr. Murphy is someone he would fight to return to, but the men he fought with had actual families waiting for them. Children who will never see them again. Wives who will never kiss them again.

So why should he be the one to survive?

He felt Mr. Murphy's hand touch the back of his on his lap, and stay there. "You have a dark look in your eyes," Mr. Murphy says gently. He's always so gentle with him. Leon does not know what he has done to deserve it. "I guarantee thinking dark thoughts will do you no good. And," A pause. "I, for one, am glad you have not succumbed to illness or grievous injuries."

Pleasure suddenly suffuses him due to Mr. Murphy's words, and he feels guilty. He does not quite know what to say to that, however, and so he simply says, "Thank you. I too, am grateful to be alive."

Because surviving the war means I got to meet you.

Mr. Murphy's hand is delicate and fine boned, but it feels right resting on top of his own rough one. Leon longed to turn his hand, palm facing up, and intertwine their fingers together, but does not dare to. Mr. Murphy will not welcome it. And he would be taking advantage of his friend's kindness if he were to attempt something like that.

"Would you like to have some soup?" Mr. Murphy asks. "The older Zoryas have prepared a vegetable soup earlier. I could have a bowl brought up for you, if you wish."

Leon blinks quickly a couple of times to help him not be overcome with emotion. Mr. Murphy is so kind and considerate. How lucky his wife must be, whoever she is.

If only Leon were a woman, he could have...

Well, not marry Mr. Murphy, certainly not. Mr. Murphy is a rich and important lord, and Leon is just another soldier, common born, and one just lucky enough to survive the war. But were he a woman, and were he pretty enough, and rich enough, he might have caught Mr. Murphy's eye and...

There is an image that surfaces in his mind. Him, dressed in rags, watching a long-haired Mr. Murphy walk away into the night. He wanted to kiss him, but knows that he shouldn't. He knows it would not be allowed. He is too dirty and worthless. Not fit for his Stranger at all--

Mr. Murphy's hold on his hand suddenly becomes tighter, and he has inhaled sharply.

Leon blinks, and the weird vision and the thoughts accompanying it disappears. "Mr. Murphy?"

There is a strange emotion in Mr. Murphy's eyes, and he is looking at Leon like...

Like how Leon wants him to look at him.

With hunger and barely concealed yearning, his body only being held back from moving closer due to propriety.

His heart flutters in his chest. 'I want to kiss you,' he thinks. 'I want you to stay with me. Never leave me again. Please. I will die. I will suffer endlessly.'

Mr. Murphy's other hand, the one not holding Leon's own, has risen to cup his jaw, and Leon could not look away. Mr. Murphy's eyes, a darker blue in the low light, looks even darker now, almost close to black. There seem to be stars twinkling from deep within them, like glittering jewels at the bottom of a lake at midnight.

"Mr. Murphy..." Leon licks his lips unconsciously, and watches as Mr. Murphy's gaze stray on his tongue. He looks like he is about to lean in and...

Leon's heart is beating so fast in his chest. Is he hallucinating? He knows it could happen at the peak of one's fever. For the sick person to see strange images, as well as imagine all their wildest dreams coming true.

He would do anything for this to be real.

Mr. Murphy leans forward, closing the distance between them, and his lips press against the corner of Leon's mouth, the very same corner his thumb had touched earlier.

Leon gasps, and his unoccupied hand reaches forward to clasp Mr. Murphy's expensive coat. His intention is to pull him closer, but he is too weak to do so right now. He wants to turn his head and capture those lips in his, but his heart is now pounding in his head, and the room is tilting dangerously--

"Mr. Murphy," he moans, high and embarrassingly transparent in his desire. "I want--"

He is delirious. He wants everything. He wants his Stranger, who is right here, impossibly, at his bedside, kissing him.

'Love me. Please, love me. I am here. I have been waiting for you for so long. My Stranger. My Stranger. My love. I love you. I love you.'

Mr. Murphy groans against him, pressing their bodies closer together, and his breath smells so sweet, like the scent of home. A place where one is cherished and adored. Leon feels his toes curling under the blankets.

He turns his head to kiss him back, to kiss him properly, and his lips grazed against Mr. Murphy's own before the room tilts on its axis and he is suddenly overcome with vertigo. He turns away and fights against the bile rising in his throat.

Mr. Murphy holds him tighter, but this time he is only assisting Leon so he could rest fully against the pillows. He too, has leaned away now, and his eyes are only full of concern.

Maybe there is something more in them after their kiss, but Leon cannot decipher it properly. He has managed to stave off retching, but he is still too disoriented to think.

"I will have some soup brought up," Mr. Murphy says as the room slowly stops spinning. He sounds apologetic, and Leon knows he must surely regret...

"I will not leave you," Mr. Murphy assures him, and squeezes Leon's hand. Leon manages to squeeze weakly back, earning him a small smile.

"I will call for Little Bear," Mr. Murphy says, and Leon is about to ask him how, because Ovcharka is a bit stubborn sometimes, when Mr. Murphy whistles a thin high note. A couple of seconds later, Ovcharka comes bounding in, woofing softly, then grinning her silly dog's grin at Leon when she saw that he is awake. To Leon's surprise, she does not jump on the bed like she sometimes does, and instead sits on the floor.

"Little Bear," Mr. Murphy says, "Will you please let Zorya Polunochnaya know that Captain Roberts is in need of something to eat?"

Ovcharka woofs softly once more before she pads out. Possibly to do the task.

"You know she can't understand all of that, right?" Leon asks. The room is stable once more, but he still feels dizzy. He is pretty sure that dogs can only be taught simple commands like sit and stay and roll over; not fetch a human to get some food for another human who is currently sick. And how would Ovcharka even convey that to Ms. Polunochnaya?

Mr. Murphy simply smiles at him, just his tiny one, but to Leon, every smile feels like the entire universe lighting up. "Perhaps. But I intend to stay with you, and so I have entrusted Little Bear to go get you some food."

Leon imagines Ovcharka carrying a tray with her mouth, balancing apples, and huffs with laughter. "You're funny, Mr. Murphy," he says, before his eyes slowly droop closed, and before he knows it, he is fast asleep.

When Leon wakes up, it is still dark outside, but Ms. Polunochnaya has just entered the room. When she notices that he is awake, she beams at him. Her face is glowing softly, like moonlight. She is holding a tray filled with fruit slices and a bowl of vegetable soup, as well as a pitcher of cold water and some eating utensils.

And Mr. Murphy is still sitting beside him on the bed, not having moved from earlier. He is still holding Leon's warm hand in his pleasantly cool one, but now their fingers are intertwined.

#dreamling hamilton AU #dreamling #the sandman #my writing #dreamlingforukraine #good job my thumbs #bold of me to call this a hamilton AU when not a single hamilton character is in sight rn #oh well 🤷‍♀️ the fluffy fluff was my priority and I feel like I have delivered ✨️

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euphoricpixiee · 1 year

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*ੈ✩‧₊˚ night sky (rewrite): chapter one

a/n: i'm going through a dark time right now and I thought I would give this to the world again since it was made from one of my darkest times. I'm currently rewriting chapter two. I hope you all find this redefined story good or at least help you in your darkest times. I love each one of you and you will find your happiness, it's in our future.

wc: 1.2k+

warnings: dark themes, swearing, talk of mental health(?), etc.

pairing: fem!oc x ruhn danaan

Nothing she did was ever good enough. Zorya tried to be like her older sister, Fury, but she couldn’t capture the clever, beautiful, and level of her bravery. Thoughts of never living up to her parent’s expectations weighed on her. She sat on her bed with her laptop perched on her knees while she looked out into the night sky. It was beautiful and also haunting as she watched stars shoot across the sky. Maybe if she worked harder and didn’t take breaks, then she could at least be enough. That’s all she wants, for someone to look at her and tell her she’s enough.

Tears sting the rim of her eyes and her chest caves. She needed to get out of that house and get some fresh air. Yeah, fresh air will help. Whenever her anxiety grew within her, she knew she had been cooped up in the house too long.

Once she saved and shut down her work, Zorya threw up her onyx hair into a bun and pulled on a lilac sweater over the pink tank top she already wore. Then, she managed to get black jeans on without feeling like she tore up her room in the process. Her clumsiness wasn’t a good trait for her. When putting on skinny jeans, it’s a full-blown act not to fall over and/or break something.

As she slipped on her sandals, she heard her father walking down the hallway and into the kitchen. If she was lucky she would be able to get out of the house without him noticing or paying any attention to her. Not that he did anyway.

Gently, she opened her door and tiptoed her way down the stairs. From the stairs, it was a straight shot to the front door. But she froze the second she heard her father walking back to the stairs.

Move your ass, Zorya!

Without another thought, she dashed to the coat closet and hid. If he knew she was sneaking out, he would definitely kill her and most likely ground her, even though she was old enough to make her own decisions, he still liked to make them for her and monitor her like she was a teenager.

As soon as he shut his bedroom door, she pushed open the closet door and quickly exited the house. Swiftly, she made her way down towards the Istros and didn’t look back.

____

Ruhn wasn’t entirely thrilled that he was a rebel now. He knew it was for the greater good but still, if everything went south, he would be dead. The same fate would happen to his sister if they found her, and he needed her for the throne. She was going to be the ruler of the Valbaran Fae, not him.

He watched the water ripple as several otters played out in the distance. He wished he could be as carefree as they were at that moment. He would give anything to go back to his sleeping in and partying all night days but now, it was always one big strategic move to get ahead of the Asteri.

His thoughts faded as he sensed a female nearby. Her scent wasn’t familiar but it was calming. The clank of her heeled boots echoed through the air as she got closer but he didn’t look back at her. For the most part, he didn’t want to spook her but then again he wanted to see her. When he looked over his shoulder, his heart skipped several beats. She was beautiful and everything he thought was attractive in appearance.

Please let her have a beautiful personality too…

____

Zorya stopped in her tracks as she saw a male sitting in her favorite spot on a bench that overlooked the waters. He had long braided hair and she knew exactly who it was. It was the prince. A true prince that glowed underneath the moonlight. Perhaps, she should have turned around and not bothered him but it was hard not to look away from him. He was beautiful in the most masculine way. Probably even the most beautiful male she’s ever seen.

If only she was good at flirting and not awkward around other people, then maybe she would have a shot with him. Butterflies erupted in her stomach as she took a few steps closer to him and the waters.

“You going to stay back there or are you going to come to sit down?” His tone was anything but mean. It was a genuine question. So, with all of her courage, she got closer until she was sitting on the bench. Her cheeks had to have been red because a smirk tugged on the prince’s lips.

“Sorry, I’m not used to others being here at the same time I am and I didn’t want to bother you.” She admitted. His violet eyes met hers and he grinned.

“It’s alright, I’m not usually out here at this time.” Because he was always at parties with his friends, she assumed. But she didn’t say that. She only nodded once then looked out to the waters. “You seem familiar,” his eyes narrowed slightly at her, “like I’ve met you before.”

Zorya quickly shook her head. He probably saw her sister in her and that’s why he might have recognized her. That could have been the only he could know of her. “We haven’t met but you may know my older sister, Fury Axtar.” The words left a bitter taste in her mouth as she said them. He only nodded once and then asked another question,

“Why are you out here by yourself? It’s not safe.”

“Needed to get out of the house.” It was true but it wasn’t the full truth as to why she wanted out of the house. She needed to get away from her parents and get out of the house. They only made her anxiety worse whenever she was near them. And that happened to be every day. Ruhn hummed in answer and looked back at the water.

“Why are you out here?” She couldn’t help but be curious as to why the prince wasn’t at a party on a Friday night. Fury had always told her to stay away from who she called “the frat pack”. Fury told her everything from them doing drugs to sleeping with women at each party they held.

It didn’t matter to Zorya though. Ruhn’s intentions were good as far as she knew, and that was all that mattered.

“Just need to clear my head about some issues going on.” His nail polish was chipped on the edges and he twirled one of his rings around his finger, maybe from a nervous habit. She wanted to calm him but she restrained herself, but he wasn’t hers to calm.

“I can understand that. Maybe not your exact situation but something similar.” She twisted her fingers in her lap and lowered her head.

Ruhn glanced at her and she saw a flicker of something in his eyes but she couldn’t place what emotion it was. But after a beat of silence, he spoke, “Want to go to my house and hang out? I know you don’t really want to go back home. I have a few friends that can make anyone smile,” he said with a grin.

“I would love that.”

#if you would like for me to continue this #please tell me #crescent city #crescent city fics #sarah j. maas #ruhn x reader #tristan flynn #ruhn danaan fics #ruhn dannan x reader

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mrfelixfischoeder · 30 days

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watermelon, peach, pineapple

Whichever OC you'd like. ♡

I'll go ahead and choose Olena!!

🍉 [WATERMELON] What will your OC take to the grave?

This is an interesting question and idk. To be HONEST: literally, i feel like Olena would create a tomb like some sort of pharaoh and take her prized version of each instrument she plays and her most prized outfits and be buried with them.

Emotionally? Im not sure... There's a lot she probably doesn't get to say to Zorya - or Skwisgaar. I think she won't take secrets, but regrets.

🍑 [PEACH] How do they show their kindness? How kind are they truly?

Im sure Ive chosen her 'love language' before but heck: it's time with you. Not that kindness and love language is exactly the same. Her kindness, It's a hand on your shoulder. It's covering for you if you don't have a lie sorted. It's buying you another beer if you haven't got any more money. She's giving, and giving, and giving when she knows she can trust you not to run. It's a quiet kindness; she isn't chatty, but she will do things for you when you aren't looking.

I think Olena has a lot of kindness to give, but might have issues knowing who to give it to: she's brought up taught not to trust anyone, and she has friends once she leaves Finland but she is still fairly isolated. Getting into college, then joining COMZ and then moving into Mordhaus is her first real experience being with people other than her sister 24/7. And she will give all of herself - perhaps too much - when she realises they are her friends.

🍍 [PINEAPPLE] Pineapple on pizza or not?

She likes pineapple, she likes cheese, why not!!!

#mtl oc #olena #olena auvelomaa #olena and zorya are both 'do kind things behind peoples backs' and for entirely different reasons #olena doesnt like the attention cause it flusters her #whereas zorya is used to being the mean one #so doing nice things brings her attention she isnt used to which makes her jsut do things in secret #so much easier to just be the persona youre given #not to make this post about zorya #but i love her #zorya

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lylailaeth · 1 year

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A proud mother of two

My girl Zorya, her vampire sister Samantha and their Sire Jessica.

#vamily #tremere #clan tremere #vampire the masquerade #vtm #vtm oc #vampire art #vtm art #oc artwork #art

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thelastofthebookworms · 1 year

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I've made polls with other characters that you'll find in my 'gaiman's female characters' tag on this post. If you're looking for a popular one (ahem, Death, Anathema, Wanda, Delirium etc), it's likely in one of them.

Suggestions are still welcome !

#polls #gaiman's female characters #the sleeper and the spindle #american gods #sandman #the calendar of tales #the facts in the case of the departure of miss finch #the problem of susan #the thing about cassandra #probably the most difficult one for me so far

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art-is-art-is-art · 1 year

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As a Russian, I am always disappointed when a Slavic movie character is portrayed by a non-Slavic actor. You wouldn't hire a non-Latina person to play a Latina, would you? Or a non-Asian to play an Asian? It happened in Breakfast at Tiffany's and in Twin Peaks, for example, but as far as I can understand, nowadays it's seen as something entirely disrespectful and silly. But in American movies and series people of Slavic origin are still played by non-Slavic actors more often than not... Red from Orange is the New Black, Natasha Romanoff from The Avengers, Villanelle from Killing Eve, the Zorya sisters from American Gods... They are often given a few phrases in Russian and they butcher every word! It's easier to forgive some older movies like Goncharov – of course an authentic portrayal of Russians wasn't a priority in the 70s – but Robert De Niro as a Russian emigrant?? And Katya's dramatic lines that are supposed to be "in Russian" but sound nothing like Russian... I wouldn't understand a word without English subtitles, and it ruins the pathos of the final scene for me

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ofstormsandsaints · 2 years

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❤ - voice

✮ - sleeping habits

✍ - writing style

For both of them!

questions are from this post if anyone else wants to participate

𝐌𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐨𝐧

𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞

in this post, I theorised how his (singing and talking) voice would sound like - as a choir kid, he kept some pretty good singing reflexes after all. But overall, Marion's voice is rather mellow and warm, close to Reiji's deep modulated tone but more French and -oh surprise- less snooty.

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

listen, he has a fucking alarm programmed and attached directly onto his brain. No seriously, he could have spent the worst week of his existence; long hours of training, even longer hours of studying, the weather is shit, his sisters fight, mercury is in retrograde, he stupidly accepts every and any mission given to him, spends the night away out in town, hunting or partying like Armageddon was near but all in all, he will always, always wake up between 6:45 and 7:10am. Like??? what kind of superpower is that?? You can imagine his sleeping schedule is an obscene mess. And this bitch doesn't even have really bad eye bags. Give him a good resting night or two and he'll be fresh and ready to live life to the fullest with a perfect smile. how dare he.

But yeah, back to his sleeping habits. Very simple: he is sound asleep when laying on his right side, an arm tugged under his pillow, topless most of the time (maybe he'll wear a cotton tee on cold nights), wearing a dark blue short that is probably the softest piece of fabric in his closet (he's been using for years the same softener that gives a fresh, subtle scent of lilac and pear to his clothes). Always tries to aerate the room before going to sleep, even in winter. The colder, the better.

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

Marion should have been left-handed but his dad never allowed him to use the 'Devil's hand' - he was taught (forced) to learn how to write with his right hand. He actually was quite precocious and knew how to read and write basic words before he even started school.

But whenever he would reach for a pencil, a brush or a fork with his 'wrong' hand, his dad is here to slap it away and then stand next to him, sternly judging if his son kept on obeying - thus his current handwriting : it is not that bad, but you easily understand that now, Marion's writing style is all about effectiveness and quickness. Writing is a nuisance, he just wants to be done with it.

Careless letters, hurried yet nonchalant airy loops, one time well spaced, another tighter, depending on his mood, his pen sometimes barely touches the paper and he will not take the time to correct it if the word is wrongly used or barely decipherable. Being out of school for such a long time didn't help either - it in fact worsened the problem making it very tough for him to properly take the time to write a proper paper and not a rubbish mess.

The only time when his ambidexterity shows is when he's painting - only painting though, he sketches with his right hand.

𝐙𝐨𝐫𝐲𝐚

𝐯𝐨𝐢𝐜𝐞

Hauntingly clear and powerful.

Zorya has a very stable ambitus and a considerable amplitude - her voice is an instrument for her. She plays the silvery charming tones and the lower intimidating notes alike. It is a voice for assemblies and intimacy.

Posed and mastered. She never needs to shout.

The voice of a leader and a teacher. Somehow low, there is a strange, celestial coldness to it. thrummed consonants, purred syllables. an omen hides behind her every words.

Ending sentences in hushed tones, her breath carries an uncanny wisdom.

(please, don't ask for a voice claim, I already know I'd hate doing research on that)

𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐞𝐩𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐡𝐚𝐛𝐢𝐭𝐬

She is an extreme light sleeper. The faintest sound, touch or smell can wake her up. A theatrical queen who adores sleeping in silk, linen, or even completely naked to be honest.

Zorya has a spasmodic sleeping schedule :

two hours of sleep. wakes up. has a walk and looks at the stars' journey. back to bed with a book and an herbal tea. a bit of sleep. rises anew (with the sun even if it is different in the demon world). works a few hours. sleeps again. repeat.

Even though she adapted it over the years, Zorya is still disciplined on a certain routine; especially regarding beauty and health care, shadow work and spirituality. Whether it'd be oiling, combing and braiding her hair, rearranging her ointments, channelling her magic - using joss, taking care of her physic garden, cleaning her stones and jewellery and blades while chanting in a forgotten tongue, she's mostly alone. She has the time.

Sleeps on her side or on her back. Never on her stomach. After so many years, the scar still hurts oftentimes.

𝐰𝐫𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐬𝐭𝐲𝐥𝐞

If her voice carries a large amount of power - dear heavens, you don't want to know what her hands can create.

Friendly advice ('tis for you Marion): never, ever try to open one of her books without her permission.

In fact, Zorya could have never learnt how to write in the first place. Oral tradition was predominant at her time - even among the old demonic races. But her mother taught her how to read and write as she knew it'd be useful in the future: the highest spheres of power were always the ones holding this knowledge after all.

Naturally left-handed which was convenient because for a long time, the official language of the demon realm was in a right-to-left script (like in Hebrew or in most Arabic languages). But she obviously adapted over the time. - The writing system evolved mostly during the second era of Founders' hegemony. With the rise and establishment of clans in determined territories. A national sentiment grew in spite of their allegiance to the First Bloods and they all developed their own dialect, declined from the high demonic alphabet. The centralisation of knowledge spread beyond the Founders' territories and knew its fastest assimilation in the Vampire Clan first (thanks to Karlheinz's former friendship with Giesbach and Krone), then the Adlers, Viboras and finally the Wolves.

Zorya mostly remembers the sibylline curves and sharp lines of the northern dialect and nowadays, her handwriting looks like if Cyrillic and runic alphabets had a fancy child.

#diabolik lovers #diabolik lovers oc #ask game #marion barsotti #zorya #wow maybe i got a bit too much into lore for such a simple question #anyway #thank you for showing interest in those two <3

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sparklywatercolors · 4 months

Text

Zorya looked down at the pregnancy test. Positive again. It was the fifth one they took this week, just to make sure. But each one, no matter the brand, was saying positive. They held onto their white sink, keeping the test on the counter, not wanting to poke at it or touch it. Their skin became cold.

"A baby?" Zorya whispered to themself, "A baby."

A gentle knock came from the door, their favorite voice came after it, "Zoryana, are you okay in there? We have to go soon to your friend's house."

"Oh yeah! I'm okay just getting ready I'll be out in five minutes," Zorya replied, straining to give a proper response to Ivan. Zorya took a deep breath as they heard him walk away from the door.

Zorya's eyes darted around the bathroom, not knowing what to do. After they cleaned the pregnancy test, it still read positive.

Zorya felt hot tears pouring down their face, their lips trembled. They had wanted a baby for so long, their own little one to raise and love and care for.

And yet, they finally got their wish and it's scary

It's scary.

Zorya lifted up their festive dress, and looked down at their stomach from the mirror. Slowly they placed their hand there.

"Hi whoever you might be, I love you," Zorya whispered.

"Zoryana dear who are you talking to?" Ivan asked from outside the bathroom.

"Ah myself," Zorya replied, their voice slightly trembling. Ivan laughed.

"Okay my dear sunflower, whatever helps you," he replied.

Zorya shook their head and listened for his footsteps to go away again, they glanced down again, "Don't mind your Papa. He's a gentle giant."

They lowered their dress again and noticed the flowers and holly in their hair. Taking a bit of each they carefully wrapped it around the test. And then left the bathroom, stuffing it in their pocket.

"Oh Zoryana!" Ivan smiled, his cheeks turning pink, and his violet eyes sparkling, "You look lovely my dear."

Zorya smiled back at him, "Your sister helped me pick it out. I'm sure she'll be happy to hear it."

He leaned down and placed two kisses on their cheeks.

Zorya grinned and then glanced away, "Hold on I have to scribble something down for later."

They pulled away and rushed over to the stationery station set up in their kitchen. Quickly without Ivan getting a chance to see they grabbed on e of the leftover gift tags and wrote a quick Merry Christmas on it. Carefully they took a piece of tape and applied it to the tag.

They stuffed it in their pocket with the test, and fidgeted around to stick it on.

"Is everything okay Zoryana?" Ivan asked, his voice growing with concern, and a grown spreading across his face. Zorya paled.

"Ah I was just thinking about how one day we'll have our own babies to spend Christmas with," Zorya laughed, holding back from glancing down at their stomach.

Ivan nodded, "I know you want one so bad dear. We will have one."

Zorya laughed, "Oh yeah. Could you imagine you come home and they cover our home in decorations."

"It better be for January," he laughed. Zorya shook their head.

"Oh no. They'll be raised with both Christmases," Zorya replied, their fingers slightly trembling in their pocket as they held the test and it's flowers still.

"Is that so, it sounds like you're planning it already," he laughed. Zorya bit their lip and without thinking they pulled out the test and shoved it into his hand.

"What's this?" he asked.

"Look," Zorya replied. He looked down. His mouth opened wanting to speak but the words wouldn't come out.

"It's real," Zorya replied, "So they're celebrating two."

He looked up at them, his eyes widening in slight fear and excitement.

Neither of them spoke as he pulled them into a hug.

After a few minutes he finally whispered, "Fine, they can celebrate two Christmases."

#Merry christmas #Personal #My writing #Self ship #Self shipping #tw pregnancy #Zorya is still nonbinary pls don't call them a woman thanks #ivan braginsky #Self ship prompt #please give me feedback #queer writing #Queer writer #Christmas #pregnancy test #Holly #Flowers

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christmas-shenanigans · 4 months

Text

Session 4: Fri 22 Dec 2023

Last session before Christmas! I was out last week so let’s see if I can catch up. Halbrecht is late; we get a WhatsApp message: “I am late.” We are joined this week by Bosley, and his pseudodragon Guts!

(Apologies if I have misheard some of the following...)

We need to speak to the Kayak to get access to the fey world, in order to locate a potion of flying from that place. (I know it's Cailleach. I can't be bothered typing that every time.) This is the final ingredient needed by Cuthwulf Toggleswock, who is trying to make a cure for the Bleaching, a condition that afflicts gnomes who have been away from the fey realm for too long.

We have a key, which we can try to offer the Kayak as payment:

Who is most diplomatic? Valeros has a plus 8, so we shove him forward. He tosses his hair and looks nonchalant as he holds up the key. The Kayak raises an eyebrow. “Careful with that, boy.”

Wee Jock bangs his hammer on the ground and demands that she “show us the way to Christmas Land, hag!” He gets kicked from Roll20 before he can roll Diplomacy. He rejoins and rolls a 5. Valeros slaps a hand over his mouth, and they roll contested Dex checks; Valeros wins, so Wee Jock drops his hammer on Valeros’ foot.

The Kayak looks at Skabb and says that she bears the mark of her sisters. She says that if the goblins wanted to know something from her, they would have sent their wisdom. We call the ugly goblin forward - she’s a Wisdom! Skabb produces the little pet things as well and exhibits them. Mini Wise One!

You haven’t come here on behalf of Pinereek, the Kayak says. No, but we’re here because of Tallywhacker! Wangledong! We’re here to help save the gnomes! Skabb makes a Diplomacy check. 20!

The Kayak points at the Key. “Bring it here.” Skabb brings Valeros forward. He is holding the key between his tensed pecs; he jiggles them. She snatches the Key. How many of us have been to the Fey world? The Kayak points at Half-Brick. “Your Gods have no sway in the First World.” His magic will be patchy over there... She gives him a token to make his magic work when we get there.

Nothing we kill will stay dead, and no damage we do will be fatal, we are warned.

She gives Skabb a scroll to help her open the gateway. We will need to perform a ritual. She has given Klipp Klopp the knowledge of the location. Perform the ritual there and the gate will open.

There is a guard that will attempt to prevent entry to Christmas Land; the only way in is to defeat him.

We head back to Pinereek for a rest. (Before we go, Valeros just wants to check - she doesn’t find him at all attractive, does she? He receives a flat ‘no’ for an answer.)

The goblins are still working their way through the gert squiggler. (Skabb stuffs some in Zorya’s mouth; she spits it out. Skabb waits until no-one is looking to scoop up the discarded squiggler and put it back in her pocket.)

We rest, and get back all hit points, spell slots, and focus points. (Not normally allowed in Pathfinder, but it’s Christmas. Yay!)

Valeros drinks heavily when we get back, staring into a mirror and wondering why the hag doesn’t think he’s the sexiest thing she’s ever laid eyes on. He begins crying uncontrollably. Skabb offers him a paper bag “so you don’t have to worry about how hideous you are!” Mialee pats him half-heartedly on the shoulder, and Halbrecht offers him some cheese.

While we are drinking the door opens and Rokmoxa appears looking angry. “Where is she?” Skabb tries to scrabble away, but she grabs her by the ankle. She’s looking for Zorya. “Where are my herbs?” Zorya plays innocent and starts turning out her pockets. Skabb wants to know what she has and starts sniffing her. There is a faint smell of herbs about her, but we’ve just been in the Kayak’s cave. Rokmoxa warns Zorya to watch her back if she ever comes back to this village. Zorya, laughing: “Okay!”

We must follow Klipp Klopp the following morning, to the place where we are to perform the ritual to open the gate to Christmas Land. Skabb spends the journey trying to convince Klipp Klopp to come with her after this adventure, to no avail. We traipse through the forest for quite some time before we see this:

In the woods near the portal is a half orc and a pseudodragon, eating cheese. It’s Bosley and Guts!

He knows some of us, so he puts his cheese down and joins us.

We take out the scroll. Skabb will need help casting the ritual - we have an arcane trickster and a cleric who might be able to do the job. Cheese Boy 1 and the Tricksome Elf step forward.

Arcana check from Mialee - nat 1 for a 14 total but that’s enough. Zorya notices low-grade magic appear as Mialee sprinkles powders, but nothing has changed yet. Halbrecht nat 20’s his Religion check! Some of the snowflakes on the portal start to glimmer and shine. Skabb is next with her Primal magic. 14 Nature check, and that’s enough after Halbrecht’s crit.

The portal opens and we go through…

Bosley mentions that he saw someone else come along and try to open the portal earlier, but they apparently failed.

Skabb looks down at her pocket full of squiggler to see Guts trying to get a bite; she feeds him some.

Zorya finds some bugs for Skabb; they are shiny and not gross at all. She waits until the others are occupied to give them to her and quietly apologise for spiting out the squiggler. Skabb is very pleased and squishes them to make them gross enough to be palatable. They tinkle as she crushes them. (And scream, I think?)

We remember about the Guardian; Wee Jock readies his hammer and farts in preparation. Skabb scuttles up a tree and readies a fireball. Mialee and Zorya also scale trees. Bosley readies his crossbow. Valeros scouts ahead, with Wee Jock following.

The snow gets heavier, almost blizzard-ish. (Valeros is still depressed. Wee Jock: "Would a prostitute help?" Valeros: “I shouldn’t have to pay.” WJ: "Don’t worry, I’ll pay." V, cheering up instantly: "Goddammit, I’m in!")

We hear an awful noise and coming up the path is this:

We make Will saves, some of us re-rolling with Hero Points. Even so, most of us are Frightened…

The Goose attacks Valeros, as he has found himself face to face with it. He makes a Reflex save against its Goose Chill, but fails and takes the damage. It makes a multi-attack against him as well.

Zorya shoots, but even a 22 doesn’t hit. She hides again.

Skabb had a fireball readied, so she is allowed to use it before she takes her turn.

(This Goose is a re-skinned regular D&D creature; Mialee guesses an adult white dragon and she’s right.)

Bosley uses his readied action to mark the Goose as his prey:

Skabb casts Elemental Betrayal, choosing to amplify Fire damage. She then casts Fireball. The Goose steps neatly out of the way. DM, smug: “He will take none of the damage, thank you.”

The Goose moves and does a Goose Chill, hitting Wee Jock:

It then does its Breath Weapon attack, hitting everyone but Valeros and Zorya:

Mialee is hidden, so can sneak attack - if she hits. 25 will do it! It takes 15 damage, which is more than she rolled… Cold iron weapon, likely. 12 is a miss, and she uses her last action to hide.

Wee Jock can rage as a reaction so he is already there. He has Titan Wrestler, so he has a go at tripping it. Athletics check against the Goose’s Reflex DC - he rolls a 24. That’s a fail… He swings at it with his hammer instead, and does an extra 6 Rage damage on top of the 10 he rolls for the weapon. It takes 21! Those are good numbers. He will grapple it! “I’ll grab it by the neck. That’s how you grapple a goose,” he says, knowledgeably. 28 Athletics this time. Can he scream at it as a free action?

Halbrecht heals Skabb for 27 HP. He casts Guidance on Wee Jock as well, by using an obscene gesture.

Valeros and Wee Jock make Perception checks; 12 and 17 respectively. Wounds start to heal over on the Goose… (Skabb asks Zorya how she would feel about stealing a heart out of a chest…)

Skabb and Mialee make Perception checks, as does Halbrecht - Mialee sees that some sort of magic has been cast on the Goose. Halbrecht can see it was healing magic, and Skabb sees that it came from behind the Goose.

Valeros scales the Goose - 26 Athletics. “Time to get slashy.” He stabs the Goose with a 32, which hits for 18 damage, and it takes 23. The Goose sprays some freezing blood on him, doing him 7 cold damage and slowing him for 1 round.

Bosley has never played Pathfinder before, he’s a D&D kind of half-orc, so there is a lot of sorting out that happens while he grapples with the mechanics of the game. He shoots the Goose first of all, 25 hits for 9 piercing! He moves over to a tree, and uses his last action to give Guts two actions. Guts flies up into the Goose’s face. He dazzles the Goose, meaning we are all Concealed!

Zorya crits her next attack doing 33 damage total! She hits twice more, earning herself two Hero Points and a new epithet - Goosebane. (She doesn’t bother hiding…)

Skabb tracks the source of the healing of the Goose. She uses an action to give Grabby Cat two actions and has her fly 25 feet straight up to look around for whatever is working against us. 21 Perception, but she doesn’t see anything. (Wee Jock, OOC: “Do you remember when 21 was a good roll…”) Skabb shouts “There’s a magic bastard healing this Goose!” She wants to vomit bugs at the Goose, but it will hurt her friends so she runs up and starts gnashing its legs with her cold iron teeth!

The Goose does a Ground Slam attack, forcing a Reflex save from everyone on the ground within 10 feet. It then does a multi attack at Valeros, Skabb and Wee Jock. It is dazzled, so it must roll a d20 before it can attack.

Mialee attacks for 13 piercing plus cold iron damage, then misses twice. Wee Jock swings his hammer and misses, all three actions.

Halbrecht wants to know who’s looking poorly. He could heal us all, but that would heal the Goose as well. He Heals Valeros instead, and casts Guidance on him.

The Goose’s wounds heal up again…

Skabb makes a Perception check - behind the Goose and to the north.

Valeros’ turn, and he would like to swing around the goose with a rope and tie its legs like an AT-AT. DM, dubiously: “… That’s going to be a hell of an Athletics check.” Valeros rolls; “… let me Hero Point that.” He rolls a second 11. “You are dangling there like a limp scrotum.”

He wants to get into its mouth and try to use his own body to choke it to death. He decides to swing to the ground and slash at its knees. 35 crit! 27 damage plus cold iron! He’s just undone most of the healing that our mysterious adversary has bestowed on it. He takes some Freezing Blood damage and is slowed.

Bosley slams a healing potion, regaining 15 hp. (There is a plus 1; he can add that to various saving throws.) His crossbow isn’t loaded. Can he throw it at the Goose? He uses an action to give Guts two, and has him do some damage. 27 hits! Guts does 1 piercing damage. 23 hits as well, as it’s flanked! Another 1 piercing damage.

Zorya shoots three more arrows; only 1 hits but she gets Sneak Attack because it’s flanked.

Skabb has a spell that sends out helpful wood spirits; can she have them search using her Perception modifier? She could, but Grabby Cat rolled really well and couldn’t see the source of the mysterious healing. The DM generously hints that she could use Detect Magic instead. She does that and rolls a Perception check. She gets a ping! She shouts to Mialee and Zorya to tell them where it is.

The Goose has spotted Zorya and flies over to attack her. 27 damage total… Ouch.

Mialee’s turn. She drops out of her tree, and hides in a bush behind the Goose-healer and starts stabbing it. “Stab!” She selects a square to attack as the healer is hidden - and gets the right one. It appears. It may count as a munchkin, and might be roastable:

(Bosley is very excited at the prospect of roast munchkin.)

Wee Jock runs up to the Goose and takes a couple of swings at it - his first attack hits but the second misses.

Everyone is tired, so we call it there…

#christmas special #dnd #pathfinder

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zarya-zaryanitsa · 2 years

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I was wondering what you could tell about the Zorya ? I’ve read that there’s either two or three of them. Also what can you say about the historical accuracy of the Zorya? Would you consider them to be a “real” deity/deities?

The Zaryas (or Zoryas, or Zori, or Zorze, whichever you prefer) are spirits associated with various celestial lights and the planet Venus. In appropriate Venusian fashion they were frequently called upon in songs about lovers or marriage, charms for finding a good husband, charms for gaining reciprocity in love, love divination and charms to gain favor. They also feature in many healing charms. As noted by Kazimierz Moszyński years in which Venus appears clearly on the sky were often considered lucky among Slavic peoples and Venus itself seems to have enjoyed some degree of cult and plenty of respect (hard to say definitely how much of it originated from her identification with Holy Mary).

Moszyński associates the Morning Star with dew and earthly moisture. In some places (Belarus and Ukraine in particular) where stories of Morning Star’s abduction were particularly popular draughts could be ascribed to the actions of a malicious witch taking the Morning Star off the sky and locking her in a pot in the pantry (witches taking stars off the sky to cause harm to someone are a theme that can be found in Slavic folklore due to the belief that stars are connected with human fate).

As you correctly noted they didn’t have a fixed number, there can be one, two or three, depending on the region. In charms they can be given a common feminine name or can be referred to as Morning and Evening (or Morning, Midday and Evening). They are often believed to have familial ties to other celestial bodies - depending on the region they could be imagined as daughters or sisters of the sun, sisters of brides of the moon and so forth. There isn’t so much a definite family tree as a loose set of ideas and artistic motifs. I found some mentions of them riding a black horse, which I assume is supposed to be the night sky. In later times (and later charms) Zaryas were syncretized with Virgin Mary and replaced by her.

As for the authenticity of their godhood I can’t offer any answers. There is simply no definite proof for it. While they may have been worshipped as minor deities they may have also been seen as simple personifications of natural phenomena or even legendary characters. Nonetheless seeing how they are frequently called upon in Slavic folk magic from various countries I believe there is a spirit to reach out to — even if it’s not one that would be considered divine.

#Asks #zorza #slavic folklore #slavic paganism

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mrfelixfischoeder · 4 months

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Can I have Olena for number 8 -- paired with anyone of your choosing, dear :D

THIS UH, GOT AWAY FROM ME A BIT HUUH-

The after party is, as usual, wild. And loud. The gig was a huge success – and the girl that made a majority of the music exist at all, is… Not there. Pickles is the first to point it out, but is being plied with shots so hasn’t made a move to look for her – “I’ll come look in just a sec, hey!” he promises. Skwisgaar looks over at the man Olena had brought as a date: Voss Von Vergberg. He’s talking to some dame at the bar. His nose scrunches up, and Skwisgaar heads out the room with a bottle of champagne.

It's not hard to find her – find the door that he is compelled to open and she tends to be there. Usually he hates that; it feels like it’s power he’s lost over his choices. But when he sees her standing lit only by the fireplace, blue dress sparkling like the ocean basking in the dusk light. “Hej.”

“Voi, anteeksi,” she dabs her cheek with her palm, but it’s so quick Skwisgaar doesn’t even get a chance to say anything about it, “You wants the room for… Stuff?”

“HM?” Skwisgaar almost forgets who he is – he shakes his head, closing the door behind him. He feels like it’s sucked out all of the noise with it, as the crackle of the fire is their only music now, “Oh, no, no. Not yet.” He’s not sure what compels him to say it – and something hurts in his chest when he sees Olena’s eyebrows meet and she looks at the fireplace quickly instead of him. He clings to the champagne bottle and walks over to her, putting on a smile, “You’re missinks your party! They’re all there for yous!”

“I’ve been here for hours.” Olena shrugs, the glitter scattered across her bare shoulders shimmering, “You’s only noticeds now. I’m fine.”

“But, your party…” Skwisgaar doesn’t get it, and she knows that. But he also knows she’s right: everyone’s using the party as an excuse to do their usual. Sure, the after party is to celebrate Olena’s success, her writing, her musical skill, but a party’s still just a party. But what the hell did he put this fucking cumberbunderund for if it wasn’t for her to feel good about herself, at least for once? If it wasn’t for Zorya to shut her trap and celebrate her sister, as intended? As deserved? For once? He takes a long drink from the champagne bottle, before offering it to her. She laughs, and Skwisgaar rolls his eyes. “C’mons, have sit.” He reaches his hand out to her to lead her back to a chair, and she does so, feeling the warmth of his palm inches from her chest.

He moves behind her, and gently tilts her head back, two fingers on her jawline, and he puts the bottle to her lips. It’s such a tender movement, Olena takes a long chug, and as he takes the bottle back, a drip or two of champagne slithers down her neck. He watches it blend in with the shimmer of her body glitter, and disappear down into the curve of her breasts. “You’s looking very beautiful tonights, you know?” he smirked, fingers still on her jaw as she gazed up at him.

“Mhm?” she tilts her head into his palm, perhaps consciously, perhaps not. His smirk nearly wavers.

“Almost enough to get an invite to my after partying.” He has to break the tension he feels in his throat, and again Olena starts to look away – starts to lean out of his touch – and he panics. He doesn’t know why, and he doesn’t like the sharp sting in his chest. Maybe the cummerbund is too tight and pushing all his organs up into his mouth. “You did reals good tonights.”

She stops. And looks up at him again. Her eyes are almost glazed over. But she doesn’t move. “Say somethings else nice.”

He hesitates, as if he doesn’t know what she’s asking: but he gets it. “You’re the most talented girls in the band.” He admits, softly, as if anyone might hear and disrupt. She’s relaxing, he can see it in the way her shoulders settle, the way her head rests more on his stomach as she gazes at him. “You’re the prettiest girl I knows, acktually.”

“Thanks, Skwisgaar.” She smiles, and that’s it. That’s why he wants to find her all the time. That’s why he likes making his way over to her on stage, that’s why he likes watching her play her music – because she has that contagious, ridiculous, wonderful smile on her face that he’s only ever seen music give her. “Dat was nice, I believed you for a second.”

“Why wouldn’t you’s?!” Skwisgaar doesn’t like that, “I coulds say it forever!” he’s indignant at the thought Olena doesn’t believe him. Outraged, maybe, but he’s not about to lose the comfort of having her so close, in his arm, hand still holding her head up, “I will, if I haves to! If dat’s what it’s taking to make you know it’s the truth!”

Olena moves, and he steps back – she’s standing, close enough that he can feel the sequin of her dress scratch his shirt. “Then maybe you should.” It’s the most confident he’s seen her, and it stirs something in him almost as much as the scratching sequin does. Her breath is hot against his chin.

“Den I will.” He repeats himself lowly.

#mtl #olena #skwisgaar #mtl oc #writing prompt #I THINK I SHIP THIS NOW #i ltierally could have gone on and on #but i need to stop writing so i can SLEEP!!#maybe... later......#ty so much for theask this has awoken something

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