#silvrin

[gingervitus]

screaming. crying. throwing up abt them.

[gingervitus]

I have no context for this because there is no context but I have to say it out loud into the void.

In a modern AU setting, Silvia and Davrin absolutely go line dancing at some point. Lace is probably there too because as I've learned Lace Harding is the center of the universe.

There is no explanation or drabble or anything. My brain is running away on me and said "Davrin possibly wearing a cowboy hat line dancing"

[gingervitus]

WIP Wednesday

thanks for the tags @epiphany-jones and @sorrygoldfish

some tags for some friends @mythals-whore @juniper-and-dragonthorn @thatgaymerguyb @cute-ellyna @thedissonantverses

have some modern au

She squints down at the scrap of paper he's left on the counter thinking he would be long gone by the time she found it. Bold of him to assume she would even wander into his shitty kitchen before tumbling into her car and straight to the nearest coffee shop. "What does this even say?" she calls out as she attempts to adjust the angle at which she's reading his chicken scratch, like that would even help.  From down the hall, she watches Davrin emerge from the steam filled bathroom. Like a picture from stupid rom-com Lace convinced her to watch, he dabs the towel against the side of his head. The towel—which might as well be made of brillo pad—hangs from around his shoulders. Those stupidly well built traps, complemented only by even more impressive pecs. Damn this fucking guy and his incredible tits. "What does what say?" he asks with nonchalance that is incredibly audacious for a man with water droplets rolling down his goddamn abs. Determined to keep her eyes to herself, she waves the little scrap of paper. "Your little love note." At least that's what she figures it is. "Or your declaration of war. Who's to say?" He scoffs when he sidles up beside her, snatching the paper from her grasp to analyze it himself. This close, his soap washes over her like a ten foot tidal wave. Teakwood and amber. Something earthy and sweet. It's never the same. Whatever he finds that is on sale, so she's begun replacing the bars when they run low. Scents she thinks will suit him. This one, however, takes the cake. "It says to watch out for dog poop." And just like that, the fantasy is ruined. "What?" she spits out. The paper floats back down to the counter, landing amidst her various fixings for dinner. Just a very thrown together stir fry. Peppers. Onions. Mushrooms. Beef. A note about dog shit in the middle of all this feels sacrilige at the very least. She picks it back up, peering back down at the note. "There is no way this says anything about dog poop." "It does." Crunching down on a pepper he plucks from a glass bowl that's traveled from her apartment to his house, he points down at his note. "'Watch out for dog shit. Dingus pooped right near the door.'" Her nose pinches. "No," she states plainly, shaking her head. Hands crumple the note before tossing it on the ground. "No, I refuse to believe this." That laugh almost pulls her out of her unnecessary rage. Honey toned. Hearty. Full. The sort of sound that draws her into his chest time and time again only to be enveloped by strong arms as they laugh together about something stupid no doubt. "I didn't get a chance to pick it up before I left." His smile rivals the sun. Bright. Beautiful. Though that could be said for anything about him. But she needs to remain strong. This is a matter of principle. "Davrin, I did not spend most of my childhood in Catholic school to tolerate such awful penmanship," she huffs, eliciting another round of laughter. "This isn't funny. Who taught you how to write? A blind dog?" "Mrs. Witmer, I think her name was. Not a dog. Also not blind, I don't think. It was a long time ago, though." She purses her lips in response to the shit-eating grin that beams down at her. "I hate you."

they're obsessed with each other and I love them.

[gingervitus]

Did you miss her? I did.

(I love a man and his angry little Italian gf)

[gingervitus]

A Word With Friends

I'M INVITING MYSELF BECAUSE I HAD IDEAS AND THEN I HAD DIFFERENT IDEAS.

thank u @jukkaricity for hosting this week with such a fun word and @hedwigoprah for the game in general. Love to find reasons to use new and interesting words.

This week's word is:

Brouhaha

noun

excited public interest, discussion, or the like, as the clamor attending some sensational event; hullabaloo. OR an episode involving excitement, confusion, turmoil, etc., especially a broil over a minor or ridiculous cause.

anyway, my plan was to write Dorian x Inquisitor, but that project has now taken on a life of its own. The best laid plans of mice and men, I suppose.

Have some modern AU instead. This is meant to be the immediate follow up to this piece from Davrin Week 2025!

some tags mostly for those who might be interested @juniper-and-dragonthorn @mythals-whore @thedissonantverses @sorrygoldfish @cute-ellyna

Jet Lagged and Starry Eyed - A Davrook Modern AU ficlet (2,127 Words)

(divider from here)

Silvia wakes to find it is still mostly dark. Her eyes are still heavy with lack of sleep even if her body is telling her the time to rise has come. Cool barely morning air slips through the window just a few feet beside the bed. It is damp and achingly cold compared to the warmth she knows the day will bring. Her cheeks sting at the freezing touch, yet she remains comfortable beneath the thick blanket and heavy arm wrapped snugly around her middle. 

Three months she has been away, and working with her old company was rewarding. A once in a lifetime experience she may very well never have again. To dance again and to instruct within that space was unreal given the very sudden unceremonious departure she had in the past. This time around, there has been strength in her bones, her muscles, her soul that wasn't there last time. She is persistent and determined as ever, but something more vibrant has been lit deep in her chest. When she stood in front beneath those studio lights with mirrors all around her to expertly pick apart every flaw she's ever had, she didn't flinch this time. Instead, they were faced head on, chin lifted and heart steeled.

Now, she is home. Well, home of sorts she supposes. It isn't her apartment. In fact, she hasn't see that place in particular since she left. Instead, after a quick bite to eat, they return to this tiny home outside of the city proper. In a wood lined neighborhood away from the hustle and bustle even the suburbs provide, they're left to their own devices most of the night, and those devices are mostly seen to in the comfortable sphere of this very bed. Limbs entwined. Mouths clattered together in desperate exhilaration. Tears and laughter intermingled well into the night. It is the perfect return to form she never could have anticipated.

The bed dips slightly, and in the darkness, she can just make out the shadow at the edge of the mattress. When she shifts to get a better look, a gentle thumping begins against the wall below the open window. Warm damp breath puffs out onto her face as the shadow inches closer to her face. Even in her sleep deprived state, she cannot stifle the smile creeping across her lips just as she cannot stop herself from reaching out to scratch behind the dog's ears.

Upon the arrival of their takeout the night prior, Assan simply sat with his front paws up on the back of the couch and one ear cocked up as she retreived their food. "Real good guarding, boy." She chuckled, assuring everyone in the situation that the Doordash driver was simply there to do his job. "Now she's really your mom, Assan. Already spoiling you."

When a cold wet nose nudges against her hand as she begins to doze off, she bites back a groan. All those mornings spent over various video calls and Silvia now understands the half awake face she watched all googly eyed despite the clearly rude awakening, dog racing back and forth in the background. She presses the ball of her hand against the back of her closed eye. "What, boy?" she yawns. "Do you want to go…"

No further words are needed. Assan's tail thwacks rapidly against the wall, progressively getting louder in the still quiet of the morning. "Shh, oh my god," she hisses. Peeling herself away from the comforting warmth she's spent the last three months craving is as difficult as she expects it to be. Davrin's hand flexes around her hip, dangling somewhere between a conscious action and a reflex that makes her heart hammer against her ribs. Part of her wants to crawl back beneath the blankets and curl up against his chest for the rest of eternity, but she knows better. He swapped shifts to pick her up from the airport. She knows he needs the sleep that will definitely be disturbed by a puppy hopping directly onto his gut.

So instead, she deposits his hand back onto the mattress before tucking the blankets back against him. His breathing is steady and even. A gentle snore leaves him every few breaths. Clear indication he is exactly the heavy sleeper he's warned her of early on into their relationship. Another soft smile curls itself onto her lips…

Until that cold wet nose pokes directly onto her naked ass cheek.

A yelp threatens to escape her. One that is successfully swallowed down much more easily than the glare she throws at the excited dog at her feet. "I'm coming," she whispered, a harsh and raspy sound. "Keep your nose out of my ass for the love of fucking god."

Her clothes are scattered about the room, which wouldn't be such an issue in a fully lit space, but clambering about a dark room that she hasn't spent time in for a matter of months proves to be more difficult than she expects. At least three of her toes are left stubbed, underwear is left in whatever mystery location it's hidden away in, and she stumbles into her sweatpants that she is half certain are inside out before padding out of the room. A mess if ever there has been one, which she decides must be the cost of such a perfect night they shared.

Assan is shifting on his paws excitedly in front of the door, and she's thankful for a sliver of a distant street light shining just enough to illuminate the heavy sweatshirt hanging beside that very door. "Alright," she huffs, glancing out the window. Truthfully, she's never had a dog. Never had a pet in general. She and Viago each had a goldfish as children, both of which disappeared mysteriously one day before they returned home from school, but it was more productive to just keep moving in events like this rather than asking questions. All this to say, she doesn't know if she needs to walk him or just… let him go.

A silver chain link fence has been erected during her time away. Sturdy looking enough, she assumes given her blatant lack of knowledge in the fencing durability department. Likely put up by Davrin himself soon after acquiring a puppy on a whim. There doesn't appear to be a leash hanging with the coats by the door, so she's left to guess that the positively vibrating dog just needs to be let outside.

Yanking the sweatshirt from its hook, she stabs a finger in Assan's direction. "If you run off on me, I'm going to…" Pale eyes blink up at her, tongue lolling out of the dog's mouth happily. "Be so fucking mad at you."

How could she be angry at that dopey face, though? Honestly.

She barely has the door unlocked before he bolts out the door and into the yard. His patchwork coloring is a stark contrast to the hazy young light of the morning yet enough of a comfort to her for being able to tell exactly where he is zipping around. And holy shit does he run. In fast paced circles. In zigzagging laps. This dog is a ping pong ball on speed like she has never witnessed in her life. If it hadn't been so early or dark or cold, she might have found herself amused. As it is, she simply watches him in his excited frenzy, shivering as she tugs the fleece lined sweatshirt tighter around her shoulders.

This, she thinks, could be a life she might like to live. Early mornings out with the dog. Maybe she could even take him running in a neighborhood like this. Dragging herself out of the welcoming warmth of bed to tend to this silly creature before going about her day. Getting a quick kiss goodbye before she leaves for the studio. Coming home to a place filled with love and with patience and with maybe a little bit more frenetic energy not of her own doing than she's used to. But she could get used to it.

Assan is still for a brief moment as he intently sniffs at the interior of a bush. It's a moment she intends to commit to memory when he's bounding off the walls once Davrin's gone off to work. However, she isn't able to enjoy much of it before the door creaks open behind her. "Sorry he woke you up." Tall, sleepy, and ever handsome, Davrin rubs at his still sleep coated eyes in the doorway. "I could have gotten him."

She frowns even if she's thrilled to have his company, just as she always has been. "I wanted to let you sleep," she explains. In the barely there light of the burgeoning day, she can still see the blindingly yellow print on the rec league softball hoodie he's thrown on but cannot bear to think of how much heat he's losing in the shorts he currently wears. "You should be sleeping."

Snorting, he stations himself behind her, chin tucking against her shoulder as they both stare out into the yard. A move so domestic and natural it should send her running off into the mist-filled hills. "You should try kicking less stuff on your way out then," he mumbles. As he speaks, his lips brush against her neck. Trickles of electricity run from her ears down to the base of her spine. She leans against him, wondering what right turn she made somewhere along the line in her life to end up right here. Because that girl laid up starving and detoxing violently in a hospital bed certainly did not figure this sort of contentedness ever awaited her. 

Whatever lay in the bushes keeping his attention is not enough to mask the sound of Assan's person's voice. The dog stands stark still at once taking in the new presence among them. His ears prick up. Head tilts to the side. Then that wild tail begins to wag, unreserved in its excitement. There is hardly any time to pick up any other details before the dog is before them, hopping onto his hind legs. "Oh, come on," Davrin groans, shoving the dog firmly at the center of his chest. "Down, boy." A sign for him to fall back onto all fours, though that doesn't stop his frantic enthusiasm from sending him on another round of running around the small yard.

One of Davrin's arms stays wrapped around her middle, his hand buried in one of the pockets of the sweatshirt she wears. Her heart pounds in her chest as if this were the first time he's ever touched her with such solid need. The need to be close to her. To know she's finally truly home. And for a split second, she understands the brouhaha that a dog feels to see its owner. That genuine and unprecedented awe and pure unbridled elation when his fingers tangle with hers, thumb brushing over the ring that's remained there since the night before.

"He's a lot," she mutters in an attempt to keep herself from spouting out some unnecessary poetic drivel about how much she loves him. How the adoration she feels for him consumes her and fuels her all at once, like kindling to a fire. "Sweet but a lot."

Once more she is wrapped up in him, and the rest of the world ceases to exist. Even if just for this moment, there is only the two of them in this little bubble that's been created solely for their use. She sighs, an easy and joy-filled sound. "Guess I'm stuck with you both now." An engagement. Her engagement. They are engaged. No doubt, there will be push back. Questioning. Arguing. But she'll take this time they have together where it's only the two of them who know, soaking up the unfiltered adoration that is oozing from every seam possible.

They stand there for a moment. Nothing to do or say. No questions to be asked or comments to be made. Just warmth radiating between them. He presses a kiss against the crown of her head. "Guess you are." If it were possible to physically swoon in this position, she would have, but she settles for snuggling closer to him as she watches Assan bolt back and forth between the edges of the fence line. 

Happiness paves a path in her life from time to time. At least such has been her experience after half a lifetime of tumult. Those paths are taken and stray into darker days, more difficult times, yet somehow, someway, they've all led her right here. To one of the few places where she can honestly say there is nowhere else she would rather be.

[gingervitus]

*happily jumping around* Slow dancing for Silvrin? :) :) :)

I'm doing these for now to try to really get my footing back in writing

and I am so sorry but I have no chill (it's 1,060 words but I meant to write a drabble). BYEEEEEE.

(ALSO THANK YOU FOR THIS, FRIEND!!!!)

Even out in the palace courtyard, the incessant tide of string music carries into the cool evening air. Sharps, flats, chords, harmonies, they all drift off into the horizon to feed the red glow of the rapidly setting sun. Critters scurry off into their nests to be lulled into a fitful sleep by lively music and chatter. Insects hum along in time with each note waiting for the opportunity to take a dip into an unsuspecting patron's glass of unsupervised wine. All the other birds sing their farewell tunes as they drift to disappear into the night. Returning to their shelters to enjoy an uneventful night of rest, ensuring they will be fit to fly away come morning.

Yet a single Rook remains in the courtyard.

That is how she has been addressed for the better part of the evening at least. A name she knows so well and has worn for so many years feels wrong when it's spit at her now. Each uttering slithers out to curl around her neck. Twisting and tying into a noose that threatens to tighten with each insincere laugh or watered down beverage or blasted musical note. Blunt nails dig into her bare arms, a soft reminder than she's real. That she's here. That the music twiddling on in the background is, in fact, truly playing.

"Can't believe you're trying to step out on your own party." She releases her arms at once, glancing over her shoulder at the silhouette she knows all too well. All broad shoulders and strong lines. All warmth and comfort and goodness. All the things she has always been doomed to never hold close, for it never made much sense to allow a demon to savor the salt of the earth.

Demon she may be, Davrin watches her with a lopsided grin playing along his lips. It would be all too easy to turn around. To play the part festivities like this demand. A sultry sway of the hips. A playful cock of the head. Fingers trailing up a chest. Words whispered in shades of wine and liquor. She can't muster the energy to play along, though, and, frankly, worries he knows her too well to allow her such untruths.

Instead, she turns back to the sunset, shrugging with a scoff, "I'd hardly say it's my party." Really, it's a celebration thinly veiling the political negotiations set to take place in the coming days. A few nights of frivolity followed by painstaking seemingly endless discussions that may very likely never reach agreement. As is the Orlesian way, she supposes. "We're all grateful the world wasn't swallowed by the Blight… but I was tired of talking."

When he leans against the rail beside her, it's like a key slotting into a lock: only a twist is left to open the floodgates of every unwanted emotion she's ever had. She clenches her jaw, awaiting the dreaded inquiry of whether or not she is okay, but as the music swells and slows, the birds twittering quiets, the sun's golden glow lowers, the question does not come.

"Can't deny that view," he mumbles in its place, bracing himself against the rain with his palms.

Her gaze cuts over to him. Bathed in the glow of the setting sun and framed by the partially ruined courtyard of the Winter Palace, she thinks that she could love him in every lifetime, in every setting, in any scenario. She sucks a breath in through her nose, considering briefly that maybe all of this heartache and pain might have been worth something after all.

Behind them, the music shifts again. A slow swaying tune. One she vaguely recognizes. A rendition of an old folk song her mother would hum to the younger more favorable children any time they fell ill or had a nightmare. The words never stuck in her mind. Just a the tinkering tune that brought her some strange bitter comfort on the coldest of nights when she would hum it to herself. It is like breathing or waking in the morning. Second nature. An instinct even.

So when his eyes catch hers, she doesn't know why she's surprised to find she's been humming but quickly stops no less. He straightens himself to stand a head above her. She has half a mind to throw herself against him, tuck herself beneath his chin and find solace in his embrace. The night, however, has her hesitating. Footing is unsteady on the soil of her homeland. Thoughts race. Words fail. She does not know herself here or anywhere outside of the Lighthouse, not anymore, and that terrifies her.

A hand reaches out for her, palm open and eager for her grasp. "Up for a dance?" The whole night has been fraught with so much unnecessary and overtly shallow socializing there has been no time to actually enjoy any of the festivities. Dread has hung over her head like a never ending storm since they arrived. The thought of a dance feels almost too whimsical of a task.

Then again, when has she ever been one to solely stick to her duties?

His fingers are warm as they wrap around her hand and rest over the silk at her waist. There is no order to their movements. Nothing traditional to be had with whatever dance they are partaking in. Simply soft swaying on the breeze as the golden chords wrap themselves around the night. A comforting embrace in and of itself. One that does not demand they showboat for any wandering eyes. One that does not come with the prerequisite of talking to nobles and politicians all night. 

A knot ties itself in her throat. Her eyes flood with warmth. Maker, she can't keep it together for a single night? She presses forward, holding her body flush to his, resting her head against his chest. The beat of his heart is stronger than any metronome or drum. There is no rhythm greater she thinks. Nothing else matters as she dances slowly here with him. Nothing is impossible so long as there is breath in both their lungs.

Her eyes slide shut, sealing any unshed tears behind her eyelids, for here beside him, she stands on solid ground and even if it were to give out she knows there is a warm grasp waiting there to catch her.

[gingervitus]

Hi I got too sad writing then I made this and made myself laugh

Ok bye

[gingervitus]

For the fic ask game: Silvia/Davrin + F. An absent look or touch pleeeeease

well this got a little out of hand but there's some sort of absent touching/looking in here.

but GOT DAMN I wrote nearly 900 words in one day which is *chef kiss*

thank u for the ask friend. have some modern AU

ask list is here

Silvia doesn't know what time it is, just that the sun went down hours ago.

Her flight leaves in a few hours, so she's resolved to staying up until lift off and promptly passing out during her venture overseas. There should be a sense of anticipation growing within her. An excitement bubbling up at the second chance she's been given even if it looks a little different than what she would have imagined years earlier.

Well, she supposes that does exist in the hammering of her heart against her ribs, but that feeling sits secondary to a much louder, much stronger emotion taking its place.

She sits cross-legged on the well loved loveseat. Burnt orange fabric pokes at her legs, and she makes a note to make a convincing argument for reupholstering the thing if she still is unable to make a case for a new piece of furniture altogether. Not that it doesn't suit the small space. The loveseat sits snugly in the living space, leaving just enough room for a handmade coffee table and TV that could stand to be upgraded. One that displays a video game she hasn't quite been able to recall the name of yet, but she's sure that the shades are all off just a little.

"Oh, come on, Taash! How'd you miss that?"

Eyes flicking from the TV to the face beside her, she can't help but don a sad little smile. Three months. That's how long she's about to be gone. Nearly as long as it's been since a fateful night and a blind date with the most beautiful man she's ever met at a semi decent bar. Everything has just… spiraled since then, and she's about to leave.

A week earlier, she's laid up in bed with an email half typed out, regretfully rescinding her acceptance due to an unexpected illness in the family. In reality, it's been coordinated between Lucanis, Viago, and Teia to bring Nonna to her chemo treatments since before she even gave a formal acceptance. Beside her, Davrin snores softly blissfully unaware of the nagging feeling of indecision beside him, which prompts the whole drafted email at all.

If you're in this, too, that's enough for me.

He offers a night dedicated to them. A date. A whirlwind evening befitting of the time spent between them. Drinks. Dinner. Dancing. Whatever she wants. But what she really longs for is this. Just a night spent together. They split a pizza that she picks up on her way over (because her pizza place is far superior to the one that delivers to him). He's put aside a bottle of wine for her that she consumes two generously poured glasses of throughout the evening. They (Davrin) watches a hockey game and tries to fill her in on rules she doesn't truly care about before asking again if there's something else she'd rather do.

All she wants is to bottle this night away for when she's all alone for the next few months, but she doesn't divulge that. Instead, she assures him that this night as been perfect. Everything she could have asked for and then some. Mostly because it's been spent with him. She could watch paint dry with him and be perfectly content.

Now they're biding their time before having to leave for the airport, and all she can do is watch him in some depressing form of awe in a futile attempt to make time slow to a stop.

Yanking the headset he and Taash have been shouting at each other through for the better part of an hour, he glances back at her. A strange grin chokes its way onto his lips. "Do you want me to hop off here?" he asks with more urgency than she anticipated.

She blinks, shakes her head, and then leans forward for drag her fingers along the base of his neck, absentmindedly toying with the back of the collar of his t-shirt. "No, you're fine." Just being near him right now is enough of a reminder of what might be waiting for her when she comes home. It allows for the foolish thought to arise in her mind that she might very well be able to call this home. Call him home. As fucking crazy as that might be.

"Okay." Without warning, he presses forward, and their lips meet, chaste and sweet. The sort of kiss that comes with little thought or hesitation thousands of kisses into knowing someone. When hundreds of moments have left them with pounding hearts or spinning heads and there is nothing left to do but let the adoration spill off in an indescribable overflow. The kind of touch that doesn't require explanation because it knows exactly where to land. It tastes like forever on her lips, which is fucking terrifying, yet she cannot help but lean into the feeling, to even chase it. "I love you."

The response, she's found, comes easily, a knee jerk reaction. Like muscle memory that kicks in when riding a bike for the first time in years. Like being thrown into a pool of water and flapping around out of instinct to keep above water. "I love you, too," she breathes as he settles back down into his seat.

It is simple. It is easy.

Just like sitting here with him has proven to be.