#I think the last render might be my next tattoo..

[vegan-kaktus]

I finally transferred the blender stuff from my mac to my pc, so I made some new renders for my theme!

I love him 😭

[mjrtaurus]

Okay, I gotta dig out my Society of Tinfoil Hattery credentials from the junk drawer for this one piece business, so strap in and get ready for some flow of conscious yapping.

And just to be clear: ELBAF SPOILERS

Okay. So the triptych(?) mural. I’m gonna be very insufferable about the mural because that feels like THE center point of this arc. Not so much the poems, because as far as I know, the translations are still unofficial and I can give my thoughts on them then.

Okay, so, the first third. The “First World”

We see people- we can assume slaves- coming out of complexes with machinery beneath and steam billowing from above. Is this a refinery? A power plant? A reactor, maybe?

We see these people go down deep, and come back up carrying something starlike that they bring to a crowned figure on top of the hill. Ore? Precious stones and metals? Some sort of fuel source? It looks the same as the stars depicted, so… nuclear energy?

We also see beneath the ground- perhaps hidden?- a winged figure (sky islander?), next to a very large ship with animals trailing towards it (Noah??) pointing skyward (to the moon???).

Above the crowned figure at the top of the hill, we see a ship in the sky sending a lightning bolt to the feet of the crowned figure and towards the roots of the tree centerpiece (Uranus? Something like the Ark Maxim and Enel?)

And the central piece to the first world portion of the mural… this “Serpent of Hell” coming up from beneath the earth where the slaves are going down into getting into a conflict with the bird-like creature at the top of the second world’s tree (Nidhogg and Hraesvelgr imagery? Who would be the Ratatoskr of that?). It seems from the fire the two are spitting at each other, that the whole world has become enveloped in war and- if the bit about the Earth God becoming enraged is translated correctly- rendering it uninhabitable (the reason why the sky islander is taking the animals to Noah? The reason why the sky islanders went to the moon to begin with? Was the land irradiated?)

This one is the most dicey for me, but bear with me.

The Second World is a tree with the Hraesvelgr-esque figure perched at the top, warring with the Nidhogg-esque figure going down into the earth beneath the roots. We might assume, though I’m not exactly certain about it, that this tree could be symbolic of this eight hundred year reign of the world government? Its branches don’t stick out very far from the trunk, so this could just be to keep the image from being cluttered, just something that wasn’t thought about, or because the tree is giving shade to only a select few.

This Hraesvelgr looking beast seems to have won the conflict with the Nidhogg one. So the Nidhogg beast might have been symbolic of a rebellion coming up from where the slaves toiled away? (The x marks on the serpent’s sides do make me think of a certain tattooed someone with a certain ophidic moniker with certain unsavory opinions on the Celestial Dragons…)

And then we see the last portion of the triptych. Nika leading the charge with an army at his back against a winged demon holding the sun.

I see Nika and Imu (or maybe even Teach…) depictions here, obviously. I see a whale with two people on it’s back (Laboon, Crocus, and that one dude who was drinking with him that one cover art (that might be the man marked by flames))? I see a Lunarian (King and/or the Seraphim?). I see Emmet. I see Dogstorm and Catviper. I see Shirahoshi and the Megalodon. I see Leo. I see Loki! We see several ships, too! All of these people fighting against one big demon and one tiny ship with just a handful of people. The world has turned on the powerful few.

In conclusion… I think this is a sort of history-prophecy thing like with Alduin’s Wall in Skyrim. These aren’t “worlds” per se, but Ages. It just gives that illusion because it feels like how humanity speaks of bygone eras as totally different worlds. I think this is the Void Century, Imu’s reign (specifically Imu, because clearly something or someone was calling the shots before them. Perhaps the Nerona were ruling? And Imu formed the alliance of the 20 Kingdoms when the Nerona family was being threatened by this “Serpent of Hell”? Maybe Imu was the only survivor of their line and refused to let go of their power?), and Imu’s downfall respectively.

I… really don’t think Nika brings the end of the world. I think he just brings in a new Age.

I’m going to go on my “Imu is an eternal child” soap box when I say that I think Imu is embodying a sort of foil to Nika (a moon god/dess mythical zoan, maybe?). Both Nika and Imu seem… childish to me. Nika is all the positive things we associate with childhood. Play and laughter and imagination. While Imu… Imu is all the negatives. Selfishness and moodiness and “I’ll break my toy so I don’t have to share it” mentality. You get what I’m saying?

Again, this is by no means a comprehensive thing. This purely just me spitballing things.

Thoughts are absolutely welcome.

[sapphicsaints]

What about a soulmate au with Tamar and reader?

this is inconvenient

Tamar Kir-Bataar x f!Reader  

A/N: I had so much fun writing thank you for the idea! I might end up adding more to it :)

Word count: ~2.7k

Warnings: mentions of human trafficking, descriptions of violence

Summary: Tamar meets her soulmate in less-than-desirable circumstances.

-Y/n POV-

We both felt the tug at the same time, one glance into her eyes and she knew what it was.  

“For fucks sake.” She said, staring at me. Her knife on my throat. I fought the urge to laugh as the cool metal of her blade pressed into my skin. I’m lucky the tug came quickly enough for her to hesitate. 

“This is inconvenient.” I sighed, trying to push back and put space between us. Her grip on the back of my head, her fist in my hair, tightened. I felt an uncomfortable itching sensation on my forearm. There’s the tattoo. 

“What’s your name?” She asked 

“Does it matter?” I answered. Soulmate or not - the look in her eyes tells me she would still kill me. I carefully move my hands in front of me, yanking up one sleeve to try and show my indenture tattoo, to prove i’m not a slaver, that i’m not here my choice. 

She shoved me down, my back hitting the crate. I wince at the impact but i’m unarmed, caught off guard. Her fist comes up, clenching. I try to roll away but felt my heart rate drop rapidly . ‘A fucking heart render.’ is the last thought drifting through my head before I fall unconscious. 

-Tamar POV- 

“Why’s that one alive?” Sturmhond asks, pointing towards the girl sleeping near the crate, her body bent in what must be an uncomfortable position. I turn my arm, yanking my sleeve up to show the words etched in black. 

“This is inconvenient.” Sturmhond read the them before breaking out into laughter. He continues laughing for a solid minute while I scowl at him. Finally, he takes a few deep breaths and calms himself. “Do you need me to kill her for you?” His tone is light, but I can see the certainty in his eyes - if I say yes he would kill her. 

Tamar shook her head. “She’s an indenture.” she says, having spotted the tattoo on the other her wrist, she couldn’t tell where exactly to but the marking makes it obvious. 

“Grisha?” He asked. 

“I don’t know. It’s likely, considering it’s a Kerch ship.” Kerch Slavers love to indenture Grisha they find, especially Squallers and Tidemakers. That’s one circumstance they don’t particularly care about gender. 

“If she is, we can offer sanctuary, a place here. Get rid of the tattoo.” Sturmhond’s always been generous to indentures they find - giving them a way out, oftentimes the Grisha working on board are former indentures. 

“If she’s not?” I asked sharply.

He turns to look at me, carefully. “Still get rid of the tattoo if she wants. We can drop her off at the next port.” He saw my eyes narrow. “Or offer a space here, your call.” He holds his hands up. 

“To think, I almost killed her.” I murmur. 

“Not the best first meeting, especially considering you’ll have those words etched on you for the rest of your life.” No amount of tailoring can get rid of a soulmate tattoo. About ⅓ of the population actually ends up finding their soulmates - if official reports are listened to. It doesn’t necessarily mean it will make a good match. The core, the Saint given, parts of the person are said to match, but culture and upbringing can change someone. 

-Y/n POV-

The door to my glorified cell opens. I’d tried to get out, but it was locked from the outside, and there was absolutely nothing to pick the lock with - all of my weapons, hair pins, everything had been stripped from my body. My soulmate enters with someone else, a giant man who looks like her. Siblings - or cousins maybe. 

I eye both of them cautiously. My hands are bound, far enough apart they suspect I might be Grisha. They’re right about that. They’re wrong in assuming I can’t summon like this, but I bide my time. I could summon, but I doubt it will win me any favors.

I stay in my seat, although I am tempted to throw the chair at them. They close the door behind them, the giant takes up position in the corner, the woman - my soulmate apparently, leans against the door. She doesn’t say anything, just gazes at me for a few minutes. I refuse to break the silence. 

“Are you an indenture?” She finally asks. 

“You mean glorified slave?” I laugh. “Yes, I am."

“Everyone thinks you’re dead now.” The man answers from the corner. “You’re essentially free.” 

“Are the rest of them dead?” I ask. 

“Yes.” She answers without hesitation. 

“Good.” I say quietly. The only show of surprise is the slight raising of her eyebrows. 

“Are you Grisha?” He asks me. 

Against my better judgment, I clench my fists, swirling my hands to direct a gust of wind at his face. His arms come up to shield, and he ducks. I felt another hand wrench my head back, and the cool metal of a blade against my throat. One well placed knick and my windpipe would be sliced wide open - or I'd bleed out in seconds. I’m surprised she’s going for the weapon instead of just knocking me unconcsious like earlier. 

“If this is how you treat your soulmate, I'd hate to see how you treat your enemies.” I laugh.  

“Who says you’re not both?” She snaps at me.

“The only enemy I have is the one who put me on the other ship.” I say quietly. A moment later my hair is released and I breathe out a sigh of relief. The knife leaves my throat, and her hands unlock the modified shackles. Apparently that was enough to convince her, but again heart-renders can tell when someone is lying. I shake my wrists out, trying to rub away the red marks. 

–Tamar POV- 

I stand at the stern, arms propped up on the railing, gazing out at the horizon as Nikolai joins me. 

“I know she’s your soulmate.” He says, “but she’s a pain in the ass. And unfortunately one of the most powerful squallers I've met.” 

“You like her.” I say, almost accusingly. 

“She’s amusing.” He replies. “And taking quickly to the airboats. Have you spoken to her?” He turns to face me. 

“Neither of us have tried.” I scratch the back of my neck. 

“This is uncharted territory for both of you, but this is your ship.” He comments. It’s not an accusation, and I know that, but it feels like one. 

“You have a point.” I admit reluctantly 

His voice lowers, “not many people get to find theirs. Especially people living like us.” 

We stand in silence for a few more moments before I head off to go start my watch.

“I’ll think about it.” I say over my shoulder. I see his smirk, he knows he’s won. I’m impressed with how quickly she’s integrated herself with the crew and other Grisha. She’s charming, funny, and fiery. Three traits that are serving her well on board. I shake my head, trying to put thoughts of her out of my mind. I grow more distracted by her each day. I didn’t pay much attention to the watch list today - to who would be my partner. I’m surprised to see who meets me up at the tower. I have a feeling it was done on purpose. 

-Y/n POV-

Watch with Tamar, and my first one. I haven’t specifically avoided her, just not started any conversations or stuck around long in her presence. Maybe I am avoiding her, maybe that makes me a coward. But it’s not my space, not my arena, it’s her move. I’m stubborn and patient enough to wait. 

“Kruge for your thoughts?” I hear a voice. I was lost in thought, waiting for her to join. My head snaps around to see her. She’s beautiful,dark cropped hair, golden tilted eyes, bronze skin. My cheeks pink slightly - I can tell she notices by the slight smirk on her face. I’m tempted to throw something at her, just to smack it off. 

“It’s strange being here.” I finally reply. 

“How different is it?” She asks. I was indentured to some Kerch slavers previously, before Sturmhond’s crew attacked the ship. I know my life was only spared because of the soulmate bond, and I'm grateful for it. 

“I haven’t felt the urge to sink the entire ship.” I laughed. “Or murder anyone.” 

“Is that your way of saying you like it here?” Her lips turn up at the corners. ‘Stop staring at them.’ I tell myself, but my gaze hangs a second too long. 

“It’s a strong possibility.” I admit, turning my head back out to sea, to keep an eye out for anything. “Tell me about you.” I say. It came out as more of a question than I would’ve liked, but she obliges. 

“My mother was a Ravkan Grisha, my father a Shu Mercenary. Before she died she made him promise to take us to Novyi Zem instead of being drafted by the Second Army. The day after she died we set off.” 

“How’d you get to sea?”

“Sturmhond found us after our father died, and offered us a chance out here. We were mercenaries before that. Still are technically.” I appreciate how open she is with me. 

“We being you and Tolya?” 

“Yes.” Her fingers tap on the railing. “What about you?” Her head doesn’t turn, keeping an eye out on the Sea, but I catch her watching me through her peripherals. 

I hesitate. There’s a lot, but also almost nothing, to my story. “I fled the Wandering Isle, to Kerch, or tried to. The sailors I thought were rescuing me ended up getting me into that mess. Better than having my blood drained.” I laugh, laughing is the only way I can talk about it without crying - the memories are still fresh. 

She didn’t laugh, or smile. “I can remove it.” She said, instead. 

“Remove what?” 

“The tattoo.” 

My eyes widen. It isn’t the same as getting rid of an indenture completely, but if everyone thinks I’m dead - and the tattoo is gone. That might as well be my freedom. I don’t know what to say, what words to put into it. It probably seems so simple to her, but it means the world to me. She waits patiently for my answer, thankfully not pushing me. 

“Please.” Is all I can force out, my voice chokes up a little and I swallow hard, one hand tapping the railing, the other wiping away the small tears in my corner. 

“Once our watch is up.” She spares me a quick glance. I look back, only to be scolded.

“Eyes out.” She says, and I roll my eyes. We make easy chatter the rest of the time. Talking to her feels natural, feels like I can trust her almost immediately. It makes sense - given the soulmate bond, but maybe we’d still be able to talk like this under different circumstances, I hope so.

At the end of our watch she asks the question I’ve dreaded. “Did you ever try and save any of them?” Her tone is neutral. I feel the familiar ache in my chest, the tightness that comes with the memories of the people enslaved to be sold, their faces cross through my mind - one after the other. I’ll never forget them. 

“Once.” I say, and turn around so my back faces her. I lift the back of my top, exposing a small sliver of skin - enough that she can see the scarring. It took weeks to heal after - even with Grisha healing abilities, a wicked lash can do a lot of damage. I hear her breath catch. “It was worth it.” I turn back around, “they got away.” 

“I’m surprised they didn’t kill you.” 

“I’m more valuable alive.” I say with a smirk. “I’d only been with them two months before you caught them.” I admit. “How long have you been with Sturmhond?” I change the subject. 

“A year and a half.” 

“Is he good to you?” I ask quietly. 

“We chose him for a reason. He treats us well, and gives us freedom, he offers you a spot. Will you take it?” 

“I like flying those little boats.” I pause for a few seconds, tilting my head to the side to gave over the rest of the deck below us. “I will.” The determination sets in my voice, in my tone. I’ve already admitted that to myself - that i’d take the spot - regardless. I’ve held desperately onto hope that it would be offered, working my ass off to learn as much as I can. Even if my mouth has gotten me a few warning glances. 

Tamar grins, her grins are contagious and come easy, I hope it stays that way. “I’m glad.” My cheeks flush and I turn away from her, eyes gazing back out to the sea. 

“How old are you?” I change the subject - again. 

“21. You?” 

“19.” Thankfully we’re relatively close in age - Grisha can look deceptively young. 

After our watch finishes, Tamar leads me back down to her small cabin. She motions for me to take a seat on her hammock, and I sit down carefully, trying not to rock it too much. She crouches in front of me and my breath catches as she holds my wrist, flipping it over so the tattoo is visible. Her touch is light - and I don’t mind the itch, my eyes are transfixed on her as she works but she doesn’t seem uncomfortable under my gaze, in fact her cheeks flush red. I catch a glimpse of the tattoo on her forearm and laugh. 

Her eyes flick up to meet mine. “What’s so funny?”

“You’ll be stuck with those words forever.” I shrug. 

“So will you.” 

“I don’t know which is worse.” I admit. 

“All done.” She says, releasing my wrist. I look down, the tattoo is completely gone, no evidence of the past left on it. I run my fingers over it in awe, It’s unblemished, perfectly back to how it was before. I don’t notice Tamar moving until the hammock rocks slightly and her knee presses into mine, my head snaps to the side, she’s sat down next to me, staring at the tattoo on my arm. ‘For fucks sake.’

“I feel like I should apologize for that.” She chuckles. 

“Don’t. I’ll enjoy telling the story of how we met.” I bite my lip as I realize my mistake, holding my breath. It sounds like I'm assuming we’ll be together - assuming she’ll accept it. My heart starts beating rapidly, even if she wasn’t a heart render I'm certain she’d be able to hear it. Her hand grabs my wrist, her thumb gently circling my palm. I feel my heart rate come back down to normal. She moves her hand back as quickly as she grabbed it, like she’s unsure if she crossed a line. 

“Thank you.” I mumble under my breath, keeping my eyes trained on the floor in front of me.

“I’ll enjoy telling it too.” I turn to face her, the smile on her face is sincere. I’m still biting harshly on my lip when her thumb comes up to my face, tugging it slightly to release it from the hold. Her hand drifts to cup the side of my face, and I lean into her touch, closing my eyes as her thumb traces back and forth over my cheek bone. A knock on the door sounds and my eyes open reluctantly. Tolya’s voice drifts through the door. 

“Time for rations.” He grunts, and I hear his footsteps walk away. 

“He did that on purpose.” Tamar mutters, but stands up and offers me a hand. I laugh taking her hand, standing and tugging her towards me. I let my hand come up to cup her cheek, and lean up to press a gentle and quick kiss on her lips. I dart around her, slipping out the door before she can react. I hear her curse under her breath and by the time she’s out the door I'm halfway up the ladder. I turn over my shoulder to wink, and she rolls her eyes. “Later.” She mouths, and I bite my lip again, climbing up as quickly as I can before I give into the urge to shove her back in her room. Rations are essential after all. 

[pqrachel]

I've been wanting to do this for a while, but finally got the motivation to actually do it.

I made my Blanksford OCs into Marvel Snap cards!!!

I might come back and fully render these, but I don't want to commit to it, cuz doing simpler sketch drawings daily has been really fun.

Aeri - 1/2 - When this moves, the next card you play costs 1 less. (I know I wanted a cheap cost move effect for Aeri but there's so many of those already that I had trouble finding a new effect to use. This effect seems like it could be abused by some niche deck but I can't think of what that would be so maybe it's fine.)

Gabby - 3/5 - When another card moves to a location, move this card there too. (Gabby also seemed like they'd need a move-based effect and while I really wanted synergy with Aeri to be cute, this effect just seems super fun. Even if Gabby being a 5 power card doesn't make much sense lore-wise, it fits really well balance-wise since otherwise it'd be an unplayable effect and also it matches well with Silk as a 5 power card that moves.)

Madi V. - 2/0 - If you win this location you get double the boosters this game. (This is my favorite effect and I think it'd be really cool. Madi doesn't have powers in the Blanksford lore, but she's a tattoo artist so giving cards more booster so you can get cool splits is an amazing fit and there's not a card that does that already. I know Second Dinner is hesitant to make getting boosters for free too easy, so I think having a 2/0 that needs to win the location is a fun way to limit that a bit. And also it could be a fun bluff card, like you play a cheap card with it in one location and then don't play anything on until turn 6, so if you opponent's trying to be nice they'll let you win that one, but then on turn 6 you Infinaut another location. Having that as a possibility would prevent players from just giving you the location for free since you could rob them over the game.)

Taylor Che - 2/1 - On Reveal: Shuffle Chronus into your deck. Chronus - 2/5 - If this is in your deck at the end of the game, give Taylor Che +5 Power. (This was the effect that I kept changing, because Taylor's power in Blanksford lore are so unique. I thought about doing a Howard the Duck type card but for your opponent's deck, but that felt too derivative. This effect felt unique since there's not many cards that do stuff while in your deck. You could play Taylor last turn for an easy 2/6. Or you could play Taylor with Lockjaw maybe and use Chronus to get your bigger cards. And keeping Taylor buffed by shuffling Chronus back in if you draw it. It's definitely the least cool effect of the 4 but I still think it's flavorful enough.)

[powdermelonkeg]

So, BO2W Breakdown

Buckle up, this is gonna be a long one.

Here we’ve got Ganon’s...energy taking over Link’s arm. Ordinarily, I’d call it Malice, but based on what it turns into, I’m just going to be calling it corruption. We don’t get much information from this scene besides this expression:

Link’s grabbing the corruption with his other hand, and wincing. It looks painful. I personally think it’s for cinematic effect that it was included, but it COULD be a gateway into a Phantom Hourglass sort of mechanic--Link has to function on a time limit, or using the corruption’s power could drain his life.

Next we’ve got a closeup of Ganondorf. F in chat to the rehydration theorists.

And the closeups of his jewelry. The only significant thing I can see is his necklace, which looks like a cross between the Gerudo symbol and a Fleur de Lis:

But what I’M most interested in is this tie on his belt:

For one, it’s WAY bigger than it needs to be, and that’s deliberate. Ganondorf’s got a jewelry aesthetic he’s already hit above; everything else is gold, why not this bit?

Most importantly, you can barely make it out, but the designs either look Sheikah or Zonai--they’ve got that same kind of swirly busy pattern to them. The red tint and tan-ish lines in it makes me think it’s possessed Sheikah tech.

Next, we’re shown Zelda falling. This looks like it happens right after these two caps from the first trailer:

So we reach for her as the ground collapses, and evidently, we fail to pull her back up. So my next question for that scene is going to be what the in-game reason is for us not diving in right after her. Maybe we won’t get one, since the appeal of the original BOTW was that you could fight Ganon whenever you wanted.

Up next, we’ve got a skydiving shot:

The first thing to notice is that Link’s pose while skydiving is just about identical to his pose in Skyward Sword:

Second is that, yes, he’s falling towards a floating island, and that in itself is noteworthy, but he’s FALLING. There’s something either above him that he jumped off of, or a force that carried him high enough TO fall, and I doubt Nintendo’s encouraging magnesis flying.

So, there’s a few options: Loftwings making a return (which is unlikely, but a hope I have), something like Revali’s Gale boosting Link up for a cinematic shot, indicating that the corruption arm has that kind of power, or islands higher than the one shown here.

Now the island itself:

In Skyward Sword, Skyloft looks like this:

And (spoiler alert) we loose this island here over the course of the game:

Now, it’s not a PERFECT 1:1 match, as most things between games aren’t, but a quick rotate and overlay shows it’s got the same kinds of shapes between the two. The same “W” shape along the eastern side, the same tiny island off the northeast point, the same relative edges.

Now, I don’t know what happened to the plaza at South Skyloft, or the Knight’s Academy isle, but it could very easily be drift away from the central island.

The presence of other islands through the clouds seems to support that theory. Now let’s look at Link here:

The outfit is new. We haven’t, to my knowledge, seen one of this design in other games. My gut reaction to this image was “oh, we go back in time and we’re the first hero now!” because it’s vaguely reminiscent of Tapestry Hero.

But upon closer inspection, that theory’s null and void. Under Link’s tunic in the image above, you can see that he’s still wearing the shorts he woke up in in the first game. So either Sheikah boxers haven’t changed in 10,000 years, or it’s taking place in present day. Jokes aside, I’m curious to know if the outfit he’s wearing is modeled after Tapestry Hero.

Next thing to point out is the obvious:

Link’s arm here looks less prosthetic and more...withered, I almost want to say. The corruption here’s made his hand look frailer, and armored them up with Zonai patterns before it fades out at his shoulder. Based on how the tattoos look, I think they’re an artifact of the corruption taking hold.

Also, the belt here:

Aesthetic purposes, or specific function? The presence of the second, smaller one on the side reminds me of Skyward Sword’s adventure pouch, which could be how the new game handles inventory size:

Next we’ve got another flying shot:

It seems like he’s flying towards Ruined Skyloft, and you can see the bottoms of islands above it, possibly meaning that the sky serves as more than just a hub world like it did in Skyward.

Now let’s look at the paraglider he’s using. It’s new.

This is how the paraglider looks in the original BOTW. It looks like we still have the Rito symbol in the center, but other than that, there’s a LOT of changes here.

First off is the color. We’re now blue and gold. The shade of blue makes me think of the Kochi Dye Shop’s navy blue:

So, possibly a dyeable paraglider?

The new pattern surrounding the Rito symbol makes me think that it’s combining the paraglider with Skyward Sword’s sailcloth:

Other than that, there isn’t much else to say about the paraglider besides the handles looking like they’re made of bone. Craftable paragliders? God, I hope not.

Back to Link:

Here we have him in different gear than the last shot. He’s wearing the snow boots, he has a shield with a stylized Eye of Truth looking upwards, and he looks like he’s carrying a traveler’s sword and an unknown bow. The presence of the bow makes me think that the shield here is a lower tier item, rather than this game’s Hylian Shield equivalent.

Now, let’s get a better look at the horizon:

The trees here look a lot like the smaller trees you can find in Akkala, but there’s a distinct lack of red among them.

Then it looks like we’ve got some ruins at the furthest isle.

Whatever the rock formations are over there, they don’t LOOK natural.

Another thing I noticed is the bottoms of the islands.

These look a little too geometric to be natural, too. Now, this one, I’m a little muddy on, because it COULD be a stylistic choice. But it also reminds me of the Shrines if you clip out of bounds:

And a little bit of the dormant Gate of Time from Skyward:

My money’s on the cube-like nature of the islands’ undersides being deliberate, rather than just a far-off render.

And then there’s this thing!

What is it? It doesn’t look broken at all; look how nicely the roof(?) is kept. The ribbing on the sides makes me think it might be a Zonai thing, but the shape makes it difficult to figure out. A giant temple? An airship? A sloped coliseum? This thing haunts and vexes me.

Our next shot is presumably from one of the islands, based on the color. Here we can see that there are definitely ruins all over the place. Link is in the same gear as before, so I won’t touch on him.

This, however, has my interest. The design here has more geometric patterns--Zonai ruins?

We’ve got another one off in the distance here. Sky checkpoints, like Sheikah towers?

Now this guy here. There’s a LOT to look at. First off is the eye design, it’s the same sort of upward looking one that Link has on his shield in the previous shots.

The energy that’s pulling this thing towards its base looks like the same green energy that surrounds the arm holding Gan in place in Trailer One:

This stuff. That, plus the fact that the robot has to be pulled into its base rather than just existing, implies that either A: Link activates it himself, like a trial thing, or B: that the green energy here functions in the same way Malice does in the original BOTW.

This pattern at its base is intriguing, too. I don’t recognize the gold symbol in the center, but the green around it reminds me of the portals from Twilight Princess.

Which, yes, everyone’s already said that the Twilight Princess patterns look like Zonai things. But another thing this weird dial thing reminds me of is from Lanayru Desert:

On top of that, the color palette of this guy looks like that of the Lanayru Robots from Skyward:

BO2W robot on the left, Lanayru robot on the right. Given that Skyward is a lot more vibrant than other non-Toon Zelda games, I think this is a fair enough comparison to draw similarities from.

And then we get a closer view of the sky ruins from the last shot. I don’t know if the geometric pattern in the corner is a deliberate carving, or wear from time, but since the pattern looks ALMOST mirrored around the corner, I’m going to go with the former.

A better shot a few frames later. The robot has HANDS, which I do not like in any way shape or form. However, we get a better look at the sky ruins.

We haven’t seen this style of stairs before, to my knowledge. The pedestal out front looks like a light source, and it has the same floral egg thing the robot above has on each shoulder; the eggs could easily be a power source for Zonai tech. And at the top of the stairs, we see a pedestal, backing up the theory that these ruins function as our new Sheikah towers.

This is our next shot. Which...

Unikoblins. Can we talk about that? UNIKOBLINS.

Anyways, Link is here again in his old clothes. This is a very early game shot, because his right arm isn’t corrupted yet; this means we get to explore Hyrule before we embark on the main quest. Which gives rise to a question: Where’s Zelda?

The hopeful side of me wants to say that she’s a tutorial companion, like Navi or Tatl, at least for the beginning here. The pessimistic side of me thinks that she’s waiting for us at a predetermined location, and this is just part of getting to her.

Now the unikoblin structure itself is built on a Talus, meaning that the dev team at least intends to have more inter-monster interactions. But if you kill the Talus, does that mean that the base falls apart, or does it just drop down as a separate entity?

Also, what are these background ruins? The one on the left looks like it’s a distinctly different style than the one on the right. It looks almost like a giant guardian arm.

Our next shot is Link’s arm getting corrupted. Which, first of all, the effects look beautiful.

Now, we can see a corner of Link’s hip here, and we know that this is his right arm. So Link’s lying down here. Unconscious? Knowing how Zelda games like to start with Link waking up, probably. Although it looks like at least part of his shorts got an update.

We can see what looks like circuits here. It looks a bit like the electricity puzzles you can find in the Divine Beasts and Shrines in the original.

Then we’ve got these strange symbols.

Whatever this circular stone he’s lying on is, it looks a lot like the Zonai puzzle from the “A Fragmented Monument” sidequest.

This one that everyone thought was the Mirror of Twilight for years.

Our next shot is Link using the corruption powers against enemies:

The spike ball itself looks solid; the question is, is this a duplication power, or a visualization of how the spike ball is set into motion?

We see it barreling over a poor Unikoblin or two, but I’d like to turn your attention to the Moblin and the background.

The moblins here have helmets, and the bases, while they carry the same design, look like they have more cause and effect in mind. The left base’s rock, for instance; that’s a lot bigger than the rocks we got to play with in the last game, and it looks like we can barrel anything in the screen over with it.

The helmet, though, concerns me a little bit. It looks natural rather than forged; like it’s the moblin’s horn, just very much deformed. Does it mean a harder enemy, or is it just for flavor?

Our next shot is this strange flower thing. Note that Link’s right arm is perfectly fine in this shot, meaning that it’s still early game.

This is what Link’s flamethrower looks like. And this:

Is Zonai art.

So the question is, what IS the flamethrower? My first thought was that it’s either a new item in its own, or it’s a Sheikah Slate upgrade. The latter might sound a little far fetched, but Link in this game is right-handed, and in BOTW, he always held the slate in his LEFT hand when using it.

We have more of the weird faded designs that we saw on the Sky ruins:

And we’ve got some kind of pedestal or stage behind the ground flower thing:

It looks like it’s either an altar or a grave, from what I can tell. The stairs aren’t the same design as the ones in the sky, and there aren’t any patterns on it.

More importantly, though, is that this place is underground. This could be a part of the game you’re required to go through, in order to get to Raisin Gan.

A few seconds later, though, we get our answer to what the flamethrower is!

It’s a shield!

Off to the left side, we can see pillars with more weird scribblings towards the top. These match the Sky ruins’ pillar shape, with a narrow base and a wider top.

Our next scene is...weird.

We see a puddle splash in reverse. It’s hard to tell if it’s actually water or not, but the design on the ground implies that it’s either been there for a long time, or that that’s a dedicated splash spot. And the quality and zoom makes me think that this is part of a cutscene. Return of the timeshift stones?

We then see Link...surfacing out of the island? I don’t know how else to describe it. However, his arm is changed again, and glowing, meaning that this is a corruption power. And the “water” he rises out of here looks a lot like the puddle in the last clip.

We get a good look at the Zonai Lights:

A Sky ruin that looks like it contains a room:

And a glimpse of other isles’ ruins in the far distance.

And then as the camera zooms out...

We can place a location!

We’re right over Thundra Plateau!

We also get a mildly better look at the back wall of the sky ruin, which looks to be some kind of table:

The next scene is Hyrule Castle:

The ground shakes and it starts to rise up. However, notice that the columns surrounding the castle are now missing.

We’ve also got red sparks in the air, like we would have in a blood moon. However, due to the sky color, we can assume that this is a conscious decision by Gan himself, and that he isn’t drawing power from his surroundings.

We then see that power bleeding out of the ground. It’s MUCH more red than Malice is, which has always been a kind of burnt pink-ish color.

However, even though Ganon lifts the castle up, he doesn’t lift it very high.

The castle’s about triple the height it was. But since we’re talking Skyloft levels of floating islands, this is still pretty ground-level. What’s interesting to me, though, is that in this shot, despite the game now being about sky islands that we should be able to see from ground level...there aren’t any here. This, to me, means that there’s going to be a sudden appearance of the isles in the sky, rather than them simply being accessible now.

And that’s the whole trailer! I have many questions.

My blog! If you have any opnions/questions/theories, feel free to drop an ask!

Part 2 is up! We missed a lot!

[beardrabbles]

rock solid bonds.        pt. one

characters: zhongli, female reader, gimel ( geo hypostasis )

warnings: none

word count: 3,858 ( it’s LONG, y’all, sorry )

notes: first thing tossed into the genshin fandom is zhongli because i’m weak. so very weak. i know this idea is strange, but i’m running with it. this will have many parts, just not sure how many. anywho! :D hey. how’s it going? nice to meet’cha. oh!! also. i don’t have a beta reader, so there may be typos i’ve missed. oof.

You had made this trip several times before, and you assumed that this trip would be no different. You skirted around small packs of curious hilichurl, scooped up seashells from the many beaches you followed and swam through the clear, blue waters of Guyun Stone Forest until — finally — you reached the island you had been visiting over the course of several months.

The moment your water-logged feet touched solid ground rather than loose sand, you felt it — the faint traces of a low, constant vibration. It was a steady buzzing, except where the intensity would pulse every now and again, like a living heartbeat.

‘ It’s here, ’ you thought, ‘ good. ’

You hurried to rest against the crumbling wall of the ruins where the hypostasis often lingered, allowing yourself a moment to dry off and rummage through your supplies. No matter how routine this was, you knew you couldn’t become complacent. You could handle the stubborn bundle of geo, no problem, but you knew it never hurt to be prepared.

From your bag, you pulled out a wrapped bundle of fried fish and a single, elegant vial of a bright yellow liquid. You sloshed the liquid around, recalling the last time you’d been overconfident and forgone making the geo dampening potion. You had returned home that day with several more bruises the usual, and so you had firmly reminded yourself at you would prepare some, even if it had meant several days worth of butterfly chasing.

“You got lucky last time. Saw you learned a new move, but I’m smart. I learned.” You lifted the stopper out of the vial and knocked back the contents. The effects were immediate. You didn’t look it, but you felt thicker, sturdier, more centered. You hoped that was the effect of the potion, anyway. Nothing would sour your mood more than to realize the person you’d hired to make the potion had fouled it up.

Shrugging, you placed the empty vial into your pack, gulped down several bites of fried fish, then left your pack tucked up against the wall and behind a mess of tangled roots. Your hands moved next to the handle of your weapon, which peeked out from over your shoulder. With a heave, you brought out the claymore you so adored. It was nicked in places and scuffed in others, yet you found you were too attached. It had gotten you through too many battles, and it felt wrong to abandon it.

“Alright, we’ve got this. Just a few more months of this, and we can——!” Your self-given peptalk was cut short when you glanced around the wall and found that the hypostasis wasn’t alone. Choking on your own words, you quickly ducked back into the hiding. “Dammit! Someone’s already here.”

You set your claymore aside and pressed your hands to the wall, using it to lean around and peek.

“Huh.  .  .” Strange. Nearly every time you found the raw elemental, it had its defenses up. Even as it seemingly napped in place, it surrounded itself in solid, almost unbreakable basalt. Now, in front of this tall stranger, it was nothing more than its small, brightly glowing core. It bobbed and spun, giving off the sunshine-bright disposition of a puppy.

It was almost cute.

Interesting as the hypostasis was in this form, you found yourself drawn to the stranger interacting with it. Slender but strong, standing tall and straight, with a single hand that wove through the air around the exposed core. From where you stood, you couldn’t quite tell who he was, but something about him felt familiar.

‘ I’ve seen him before. ’ The earthen tones of his clothes and hair, the elegance and the poise. You were certain you had seen someone similar making their way through the streets of the harbor before. And, in his wake, came dreamy sighs and low purrs of admiration from all manner of people. The name eluded you, mostly because you didn’t care. He was a stranger, and you had no reason to acknowledge him until now.

“Why does it look like he’s playing with it?” You huffed through your nose, feeling thoroughly irritated that your chance to mine precious gems from the hypostasis had been squandered.

Without meaning to, you let out a groan of frustration.

The elemental core gave a sudden jolt, it’s small form jerking away from the man. In an instant, it wrapped itself in its armor, dark basalt etched with shimmering lines of gold appearing in large, even chunks. You gasped and ducked back for a second time, your heart rapidly beating against your chest. It didn’t know you were there. It couldn’t! You weren’t that loud, were you?

“Moron!” You scolded yourself and made to snatch your pack up when a voice, smooth and deep, reached you.

“I know you’re there.”

You stopped and stood still, as if that would render you completely untraceable. Breath held, but heart still hammering, you waited.

“It would benefit you greatly to come out of hiding.” The voice continued, calm and even.

Something about the voice made you reluctant to run. Shuddering and setting aside your things, you willingly stepped out from behind the crumbling ruins. Hands up and empty, you first revealed that you were unarmed. Harmless. Totally harmless.

“Ah, there you are.” There was a hint of satisfaction in the man’s tone, but you hardly paid attention. Your focus was intent on the sensation soaking through the soles of your boots. The vibration from earlier wasn’t as calm as it had been, the heartbeat-like thrum from earlier replaced with an anxious tattoo that traveled through your legs and up into your chest. You found yourself catching your breath, a horrible feeling welling inside your ribcage.

“Am I causing that?” Your own voice was soft and feeble and sincere. The man approached at a slow but steady clip, until he stood a mere foot away. His arms were folded behind him, making him appear even more refined up close.

“I wasn’t expecting you to realize your mistake so quickly. Good. I wasn’t looking forward to explaining it.” He arched a single brow. “Might I ask your name?”

“Uh.  .  .” You shook yourself from your mounting guilt and lowered your hands. He was polite, but you could tell from the sharp look in his amber eyes that he didn’t approve of your presence, and rightfully so. Still, you didn’t want to deny him your name when he had yet to force you off the island. You muttered your name, and he let out a thoughtful hum before repeating it.

Never had you heard your own name on a voice that alluring. It balanced on a fine line between heavenly and sinful, and you wished deeply that he would never, ever say it again. It sounded too good, and your heart already had its share of problems to deal with at the moment, shame being one of them.

“Seen you around the harbor before, but I can’t remember your name.” You gently prompted him to give his own name in return, hoping it wouldn’t be seen as rude. The corner of his lips turned up a fraction, but that hint of a smile didn’t last long.

“I am Zhongli. Under different circumstances, I would say it was a pleasure to meet you.” Still scolding, still disapproving. You shrank under his gaze, but still found it in you to speak in turn.

“I’ve never seen it out of its armor for that long before.” You observed.

“I wonder why that is.  .  .” Zhongli turned to face the elemental, his broad shoulders rising and lowering with a heavy sigh. Guilt punched you in the gut again.

“I didn’t think I was doing anything wrong!” You didn’t mean to raise your voice, but you had never once been convinced that your mining had been detrimental to the hypostasis.

“It cannot speak for itself, so you were lead to believe that your harvesting was harmless.” Zhongli mused as he ventured towards the elemental again. “That is understandable. But now that you are aware, now that you feel the effect your presence has on it, are you willing to change?”

You opened your mouth to answer, but were stopped but a sudden thought.

For the sake of a voiceless, sentient being, were you willing to change? Yes.        Were you able? No.

You hurried to follow Zhongli and weren’t the least bit surprised when the hypostasis kept its distance, basalt armor quaking with fear. You stopped your advance, keeping well behind Zhongli.

“I can’t.”

“Oh?” He didn’t turn his attention to you, but kept it intent on the elemental. He lifted a gloved hand, the palm resting carefully along the surface of one cube of armor. “That is a shame. I was hoping you’d be agreeable.”

“No, it’s — it’s not that I don’t want to. I want to! I didn’t know it was.  .  .”

“Capable of feelings?”

You nodded despite knowing he couldn’t see you.

“All things feel, all things remember. The lack of a voice does not make one unworthy of thoughts or memories, good or bad.” Zhongli smoothed his hand over the armor of the hypostasis. “It remembers. You are quite brutal.”

“I’m sorry.” You directed this to the hypostasis rather than him. “I didn’t know.”

“And yet you blatantly refuse to change your behavior?” Zhongli’s sharp gaze landed on you again.

“I have an obligation! I’m bound to my word.” Your hackles rose for a moment, but were lowered again soon after. “I have a contract.”

At this, Zhongli came to face you. “A contract?”

“I don’t know why I should tell you.” Your stubbornness reared its ugly head in that moment. Arms crossed, you waited for him to coldly dismiss you. Instead, he folded his arms behind his back and cooly stared you down.

“Contracts are, for better or worse, binding. I understand that, when broken, there can be dire consequences. Is this an official contract?” He wondered. You wanted to hold firm to your refusal to speak of it, but the man’s calm nature made it difficult.

Shifting uneasily, you gave another nod.

“Yes.”

“Are you barred from discussing the terms of the contract with people unrelated to the contract itself?” Each question was asked quickly and sharply, as if practiced. You frowned, moreso out of thought than offense.

“I don’t think so. No one’s ever told me I’m not allowed.”

“Then, please, indulge me. What about this contract requires you to mine as often as you do?”

“You want the long version or the short version?” You reached up to rub at the space between your eyebrows, mounting stress threatening to bring forward a headache.

“Whichever you’re more comfortable with.”

“If you say so. My family’s in a tight spot, yeah? We owe some people a lot of money, but most of the people involved are too old, too frail or too inexperienced to go out and earn the mora we need. The people that are hounding us thought, hey, let’s get the daughter to go out and find these precious materials. No one can pass up on free labor, right? I work for them, I slowly whittle away at the debt my family’s worked up for the last few years.” You shrugged casually to hide the fact that the contract was draining you of your free time and, apparently, your morals.

Zhongli frowned, a wrinkle knitting his brows together.

“What are the exact terms on your contract?” He asked, ignoring a nudge against his shoulder from the hypostasis.

“There are quite a few, but the one causing me the most trouble right now is the fact that I need to come here every day and pick out the prithiva from your friend there.” You didn’t miss the shudder in the rocks or the way the hypostasis fled yet again, putting space between you and itself. Zhongli motioned for the hypostasis to calm, but the trembling remained.

“I need the terms as they were worded the day the contract was made.” Zhongli requested firmly this time.

“Three prithiva gems, whole and unblemished, every day for a year. Even if it means getting the slivers and asking someone to do their alchemy-thing on it, I gotta get those gems.”

Zhongli’s stern gaze softened as he motioned for the hypostasis to come nearer.

“That’s all?”

“When it comes to this fella, yeah. I just need the gems.” This time, you were the one to step away from the coming hypostasis. It was clear you had scarred the creature, and you weren’t about to disrespect it in front of this man, who so clearly cherished the living geo.

“You aren’t required to fight and take it?” He continued.

“They never said I did, but it was the only way I could think to fulfill the terms.” You slumped in place and let out a little whine. “Don’t tell me I could have just asked for it.”

“Did you consider the possibility?” Zhongli quipped.

“No! I didn’t think it could understand people!” You stressed with a growl. Zhongli chuckled, the sound taking you aback.

“It doesn’t understand language, but it understands intent. Come here.” The command was subtle, but you felt compelled to obey. Cautiously, you took to Zhongli’s side. His taller frame shadowed yours, and you swore you caught the scent of sun-warmed stones and hints of glaze lilies as an errant ocean breeze whorled past. “Put your hand out, like me.”

You hesitated, and he took note of this.

“Be calm. If you’re afraid, it will know.” He coaxed you, sounding far gentler than he had since calling you out of your hiding spot.

“I’m not afraid,” you corrected, “I feel bad.”

“As deserving as the feeling is, you can make it right if it is your intent to.” Zhongli pointed out. You sucked in a breath, nodded once, then held your hand out. The hypostasis shuddered again and bobbed backwards. Zhongli frowned like a disapproving father and clicked his tongue. “I understand that she’s been cruel, but I believe her when she says she was unaware of how sentient you are. If we are to make amends, the effort needs to be mutual on both parts. As long as I am here, neither of you will come to harm.”

The hypostasis twitched and the armor around it lowered for a moment, but it was fleeting. In a small fit of hope, you drew closer and placed your hand against the glimmering armor. The protective chunks of rock snapped back into place around its dim core, spun rapidly in the air, then sunk down into the ground where all that remained were spider-web cracks that glowed as warm and bright as the sun.

You stood there, hand out and mouth agape.

“It ran away!”

Zhongli lowered his head for a moment. “This was not the result I imagined, but it is progress.”

You lowered your hand and rolled your eyes.

“How is that progress?” You snapped. Zhongli didn’t so much as flinch at your aggression, but sported a knowing smile that irritated your further.

“Gimel let you near without attacking out of instinct. I would say that counts as progress, small step as it is.” He spoke assuredly, and you supposed he had a point.

“Gimel?”

“It has a name. It may work in your favor to remember it.” Zhongli added.

“Yeah, well — what am I supposed to do now? I can’t go back empty-handed.” You grumbled and turned away, stalking back to the spot where you had stashed your bag. The effects of the potion you had drank earlier had begun to ware off, leaving you feeling oddly light and slightly off-balance. That, coupled with your plummeting mood, made you want to leave behind the island and hope that your contract wasn’t seen as broken.

Behind you, you heard the steady click of boots as Zhongli followed behind you.

“I have an offer.” He stopped when you did, and he didn’t miss the flicker of confusion and wariness in your eyes when you spun around.

“What kind of offer?” You were like a cornered animal, and you wondered if he had sensed your growing worry since Gimel had disappeared. You weren’t desperate yet, but that may have been because you had yet to fail in completing your end of the contract. The consequences were unknown, but you were sure you would regret returning to Liyue Harbor without the gems you were asked to retrieve. Still, you were concerned, and you knew it was hard to hide when you fidgeted the way you did.

“A contract.”

“No.”

“One that won’t break the conditions of the contract you’re currently bound to.” He continued in spite of your quick refusal. You crossed your arms and wrinkled your nose, but it only caused him to smile again. “Don’t be stubborn, girl.”

You scowled and felt a rare flare of anger rise, but he interrupted you with a shake of his head and a raise of his closed hand. Long, slender fingers unfurled, revealing a small handful of pristine prithiva topaz gemstones. It wasn’t out of greed that you lunged forward, but a deep desire to protect yourself and your family. You didn’t grab the gems, of course. It wouldn’t do to anger this man after he had shown you patience, but you wouldn’t deny that it was a tempting sight to see him holding the gems out for you to take.

You whetted your lips with a quick swipe of your tongue and spoke past the sandpaper feeling in your throat.

“What are your terms?” You croaked.

“You return to this place every day, unarmed and alone, to spend time with Gimel. In return, you will be rewarded with the gems required of you. As it’s clear they didn’t specify how you acquire them, it will not interfere with the terms of your current contract.” He raised both brows this time and held the gems out further. Your fingers twitched as you reached, but you didn’t take them.

“That’s all you want out of me?”

“We are merely acquaintances, but I hardly find it worthwhile to trick you into a dishonest contract. My terms are as simple as they sound. You cease hostilities against Gimel and attempt to right your wrongs, and you will have your gems. I only ask for a few hours spent here, nothing more. I can’t expect you to wrap your entire life around this one task.” He reached out to take one of your hands, turning the palm up. His touch was gentle and didn’t contest with your own freewill, but you let him do as he pleased.

His thumb uncurled your your fingers, followed the deep lines in your palm and smoothed over your wrist. Your cheeks burned, but you blamed the glaring sun overhead. He was only being kind, you told yourself.

“If I accept these, does that mean I accept the contract?”

“I’m afraid so.” He stepped closer, head and voice low. His dark hair framed his stoic expression, yet his hand on yours remained kind. “Your answer?”

You swallowed hard, weighed your options, then peered up into those vivid, autumn-tinted eyes. “Will you be here too?”

You weren’t sure what prompted such a question, but it seemed to catch him as off-guard as well. He blinked and pulled back for a moment. “Is this an amendment?”

“No,” you shook your head and dared to laugh, “just a request. I don’t think Gimel will trust me on my own, not at first.”

“Its trust will be be earned by your own merits, not because I am here.” Zhongli informed you stiffly.

“I didn’t mean it like that. I just think — maybe it would help if I observed you for a little while, maybe a few days. I can see how better to approach, then you can leave us be.” You tilted your head. “Is that unreasonable?”

“I.  .  . suppose it’s not. You are willing to learn, at least, and I cannot fault you for that. Very well. Starting tomorrow, I will accompany you for three days. After that, you are expected to use what you’ve learned on your own.” He closed his fingers around the gemstones and twisted his wrist, readying himself to drop them into your waiting hand. “Has your answer changed?”

You shook your head. “No, I planned to accept before.”

“Then we’re in agreement? You are aware of what will happen if you break the contract?” He warned. You nodded.

“I’m aware, trust me.” You wiggled your fingers impatiently. Zhongli placed the gems into your hand one at time, being sure not to chip or scratch them.

“Then it is done. I won’t be truly satisfied until you’ve signed a physical contract and we’ve made it official, but I will hold onto your word for the time being.” He helped your hand close around the gems, both of his own hands wrapped tightly around your clenched digits. “Find me at the Wangsheng Funeral Parlor later tonight, and we can document our arrangement.”

“Sure thing, boss.” You pulled your hand away, the sensation of the gems in your grasp bringing you far more ease than you were happy with. To be so dependent on them made you nauseous, but Zhongli’s willingness to help made it a little less so. Although, you couldn’t help but to wonder why he was so quick to help. “Why are you doing this for me?”

“Is it not human nature to want to help?”

“I guess, but.  .  . there aren’t many that are as open and willing as you are. Don’t get me wrong, I’m grateful. It’s just unexpected. I didn’t think today would end the way it would.” You squirreled away the gems in your satchel, slung it over your shoulders, then affixed your claymore onto your back.

“Are you disappointed?” Zhongli calmly watched you pack up, head tilted slightly.

“Not at all.” You spared him a smile, a weight gradually lifting off your heart and shoulders. “I was annoyed at first, but I’m glad we got to meet, Mr. Zhongli.”

Another peel of soft laughter left the man, but it was hidden behind the side of his hand. “Then I will readily admit that I wasn’t expecting you to say that. I’m relieved you were so willing to cooperate, and.  .  . I am glad we had the chance to meet as well.”

You bounced once on the tips of your feet and gave him a mock salute. “Guess that means I’ll be seein’ you later! I’m going to pass these gems on, then I’ll pop by your place to sign my life away!”

You didn’t address the crinkle in his face at your jest, but you did snicker as you fled the island. Only when you were well out of sight did Gimel return, its core open to the air and nudging against Zhongli’s elbow.

The archon reached back to give the hypostasis a gentle stroke, but his eyes remained in the direction you had wandered off in.

“I have a feeling that our time with her will be very interesting.”

[five-rivers]

Cultivar

For @feministhotline

.

Consider Brassica oleracea, wild cabbage, a single species of plant. Once humans got their hands on it, they bred it into useful and radically different cultivars. Cabbage, kale, collard greens, kai-lan, brussels sprouts, broccoli, and cauliflower, to name a few. Not to mention the cousins of the species, which included turnips, bok choy, rapeseed, and mustard.

If people did this for a moderately tasty plant, it was, therefore, foolish to think that there was only one cultivar of blood blossom, a plant that could affect ghosts in such an intimate way.

The blood blossoms ghost hunters had gotten their hands on had been bred to cause ghosts paralyzing agony when in close proximity. A good idea in theory, but short sighted in the long run. Especially when the cultivar was unable to affect half-ghosts in their human forms.

There were more interesting varieties.

The one commonly known as ghost nip, with its lily-like flowers, compelled ghosts to consume their stamens, which both induced a sense of calm and euphoria in the ghost and caused the ghost to begin producing pollen for the flower, which in turn would be spread to other flowers when the ghost moved on, fertilizing them. Those were valued among some ghosts as a recreational drug and reviled among others.

The ­tattoo rose’s microscopic seeds would take root and spread delicate, glowing vines just under a ghost’s skin, feeding off their ectoplasm. When prepared to reproduce, thumbnail-sized red flowers would burst from beneath the ghost’s skin. The process tended to weaken the host, render them lethargic and hungry, but tattoo roses were also beautiful and, somewhat counterintuitively, had a notable stabilizing effect on the ghosts they inhabited. Many weak ghosts, or ghosts on the verge of dissolution, had been saved by the tattoo rose. It was lucky for everyone else, however, that the tattoo rose was not, like its namesake, permanent, but only lasted through three blooming cycles before fading.

Hanahaki was a very niche cultivar, one that subsisted exclusively on the stresses and emotions associated with unrequited or unconfessed love. It grew primarily in the mouths, throats, and lungs of ghosts unfortunate enough to have them. Although ghosts have no need to breathe, those afflicted often lost the ability to speak. It had been bred in one of the Cherry Kingdoms, as a punishment for one of the Empress’s suitors.

Meanwhile, false poppies – named for their effect more than their appearance – made ghosts drowsy. There were stories of ghost falling asleep in beds of false poppy blood blossoms and waking only when their blooming season was over, roots having grown over their still forms. Less potent false poppies could, if one were careful, be harvested for sedatives.

Witch’s clover was another one that had first been used by humans. Ghosts exposed to it became more suggestible, gullible, pliant, and vulnerable to other forms of control, such as hypnosis. A boon for a group of people who gained power from their dealings with ghosts. Of course, some ghosts had use for it as well.

The saltseed varietal had sparked the myth that ghosts were repelled by salt. In truth, the tiny, cubic white seeds of the plant simply absorbed ectoenergy so quickly and so efficiently that ghosts would recoil from it.

Then, on the opposite end of that spectrum, was the wishing rose, which would give any ghost who touched it a massive boost of ectoenergy—all while injecting them with one of its seed pods. Which would eventually explode to spread their seeds. The explosion typically wasn’t fatal to the ghost, but that didn’t mean it was pleasant.

None of this even touched on the hybrids Sam was developing. It was a tricky proposition. It was difficult to tell exactly what any given hybrid would be like, what traits they would pick up, what new traits might arise from the combination. None of the ones she had tried so far had the combination of effects she wanted.

However, she had a much greater ability to experiment than any other ghost or human. Her father’s power combined with her human immunity to most blood blossom effects guaranteed it.

The hybrid she was currently carrying showed promise in early trials. Now, she was taking it to the real test.

She emerged from the great forest that had grown in the ruins of Amity Park and smiled at the sun on her face. Her dress of petals rustled behind her as her father’s vines shifted behind her.

Ahead of her, on a small hill, stood a dome made of blood blossom vines and scavenged ironwork and glass. Concentric rings of blood blossoms, each containing a different mix of cultivars, surrounded it. She checked the health of the plants as she passed, revitalizing the ones that seemed to be wilting with a thought.

When she reached the dome, she gestured, and the vines peeled back, opening a hidden door as they went. It squealed, announcing her presence.

In another life, she might have thought about oiling the hinges. Now, it didn’t even cross her mind as she entered her greenhouse, her miniature garden, which she had constructed for one person and one person alone.

One person who was, aggravatingly, hiding from her. Again.

She rolled her eyes and surveyed her surroundings as the gate shrieked shut behind her.

It was hot and humid in the dome, the air full of luminous clouds of pollen, thick enough that even a person without allergies might have trouble breathing, might feel drowsy. More practically, it prevented the inhabitant from using a certain sound-based weapon.

The blood blossoms were healthy, for the most part. The ones whose vines comprised the main structure of the dome were thick and strong, their hanging blooms full of color. A version of false poppy, they kept the ghost contained within from destroying the dome in partnership with the saltseed planted around its base. Elsewhere in the dome, the more healing varieties were largely untouched. Although, the ghost nip had been destroyed. Again.

(How stubborn. She had planted them with the hope that he would, for once, relax.)

The fruits and vegetables, some ghostly, others largely human, which had been planted to provide more material sustenance for the garden’s inhabitant, appeared to have been cared for and harvested since Sam’s last visit. Good. She didn’t want to deal with a pointless hunger strike.

The spring at the center of the dome burbled merrily.

“Danny,” called Sam. “I have something for you. Won’t you come out? We haven’t talked for so long.”

She could, of course, give him her gift without being anywhere near him, such were the powers her father gave to her, but she really did want to talk to him.

“There’s nothing to talk about,” said Danny, who was hiding in a tree.

“There’s always something to talk about. My offer still stands. It gets boring without you, Danny.”

“Maybe you should have thought about that before you used everyone else for fertilizer!”

“Well, I can’t exactly take it back,” said Sam. “It was something father decided on.”

Silence.

Danny, scowling, jumped out of the apple tree. He stumbled somewhat on landing. The prolific blood blossoms combined with his sporadic eating habits and the heat had weakened his core. His skin was slick with sweat. Or, perhaps, he had taken a dip in the spring, earlier.

Sam felt a fond smile spread across her lips. It really had been too long.

“What do you want?” asked Danny, leaning against the trunk of the tree. He kept glancing at her but seemed unable to hold her gaze for any length of time.

She walked closer.

“It’s good to see you, Danny. Isn’t it enough for me to want to see a friend?”

“Yes,” said Danny, bluntly. “Why don’t you go see Tucker?”

Sam sighed. “I’m sorry you feel that way, Danny.”

He flinched. “Stop saying my name,” he muttered. “You aren’t her.”

Her smile became more forced. Well. He was back on that, now, was he? No matter.

She flicked her fingers, sending the miniscule seeds she had brought with her to Danny, and waited. Tattoo roses rooted quickly, and so did this hybrid.

She knew the process had started when Danny hissed and started clawing at his skin. She grabbed his hands, stopping him.

“W-what—” he started before Sam shushed him.

This hybrid had a number of useful features, having been developed from tattoo roses, witch’s clover, and false poppy. It was, as was the case with all tattoo roses, impossible to get away from. The mild false poppy effects lowered the ghost’s defenses and provided an analgesic effect that was necessary given the greater size of the cultivar compared to the typical tattoo rose. The contribution of the witch’s clover was pliability, rendering the affected ghost docile and obedient. Finally, as an extra treat, Sam had discovered that the hybrid could last up to ten blooming cycles. Cycles she would use her abilities to draw out for as long as possible.

Danny sunk to his knees, his breathing, already heavy, becoming ragged.

“Hurt-sss,” hissed Danny, shuddering.

Sam cradled his head, noting how feverish he felt, a welcome change from the frigid, hypothermic temperature he’d maintained for the months after Amity Park fell. “Shhh, shhh, it won’t last long.” She traced the slightly raised and vibrantly glowing skin that indicated the presence of a vine. As she did so, she started to feel the leaves unfurl and tiny buds begin to form. “There we are. How does that feel?”

Danny raised his head. His eyes were foggy, unfocused, his pupils blown wide. “Who?” he slurred.

“It’s me, Sam.”

“Hmn, Sam. Id’nfeels’g’d.” He let his head drop back to her lap as small flowers began to force themselves out of the skin of his scalp.

Sam examined the flowers closely, pinching off the ones that seemed ill-formed. She would have to monitor Danny carefully for the next little while, to see how he adapted. He took so much care to cultivate. Truly, a tender, delicate, hothouse flower. But it was worth it.

After all, out of all the plants her father had given her, all the flowers in her garden, blood blossom cultivars included, Danny was surely her most prized.

[phosmic]

So cute, and no problem! I just think he is neat, and would love to know more of his story connected to HoW! Also, loving Vincent lurking in the shadows, pffft.

Also... hypothetically speaking, if I happend to have drawn a dumb little doodle with River... and my slasher oc (purely platonic!!!!) would you like to see it? Totally a hypothetical question. If you feel uncomfortable about that I totally understand!

I would LOVE to see it! Submit it if u want 😤😤😤

River's story is still somewhat in development, so some things might get changed up later on. He ends up getting lost out in the backroads of rural Louisiana as he's on the run from his first murder. It was entirely in self defense, at least that's what he remembers of it.

All he remembers is being backed into a filthy alleyway outside his tattoo shop and then nothing. His brother ends up finding him, walking him to his car in his leather jacket over his shoulders. His brother, himself and his close knit gaggle of roommates decide to split off and meet up out in Nevada to escape the cops. Unfortunately, he never makes it there.

He's checking over his motorcycle on the side of the road, Lester is the first to stumble upon him. He points him over to Ambrose and suggests going over the museum, since he reads as the 'artsy' type. River decided to drive there, thinking such a small town might not have so many televisions, not so many eyes seeing his face plastered on the screen.

Upon arriving in town, the sound of organ music blaring from the church sends a chill down his spine, he doesn't want to think about that... he is past that... Then he's thanking from above that the townsfolk will stay busy. He parks at the mechanic shop and finds the town eerily empty. To his surprise, the town is brimming with old technology and cars lining the streets. The likelihood of being recognized lower than he anticipated, he decides to relax a little and wander the town.

This might be the last stop in a while where he can have that chance. A small respite of normalcy.

Jonesy is the next to greet him, circling around him and getting him to follow him to the wax museum, scratching at the door to be let in. He knocks, waits a few minutes before deciding to open the door, calling for anyone inside if they lost their dog. He follows Jonesy in, taking everything in. He has an affinity for strange, morbid artwork and he's saddened by the state this museum is in.

Years of dust, cobwebs lining these beautiful statues and paintings. He grows sad at how such excellently rendered work has seemingly been left uncared for. Forgotten in a dying rural town.

He glances over the newspaper clippings, the signature scratched into the corner of so many works stuffed in this museum. Vincent. Vincent. Another Vincent.

He stops at the waxen wall mural depicting a woman holding conjoined twin infants, surrounded by several figures atop numerous bodies (dead? sleeping? either way it was beautiful). He plops down on one of the benches, even those had been fashioned from wax. The dog jumps up, lying next to him with her head in his lap.

The anxiety that he has to leave soon grows stronger every second he spends sketching the mural in front of him. He doesn't want to think about it, he should be fine here for now. He's already so far from Baton Rouge, they're probably still chasing their own tails at his damned apartment. He can afford to burn some time while he waits for the service to be over.

The dog lifts her head up, he turns to look. A large man shrouded in layers of clothing and an eerie wax mask appeared from thin air it seems. He didn't hear him come in at all... he needs to pull it together, try not to step on too many toes. He's already done enough of that.

He looks up at him in the eyes (eye?), clearly he's startled this poor man. Akin to a frightened deer peering down the headlights of a semi. Maybe the mask was some sort of prosthetic? The faint scarring peeping from below the mask gave some sort of clue. He clears his throat to greet him, hoping he can hide his nervousness.

[ so yeah poor boy stumbles from a forest fire into the lion den this man's life has been a mess since the beginning tbh but yeah! this is just a snippet of the first day he gets there jfnksfjnkfs ]

[extremelyblackandwhite]

innocence - 28

PAIRING: bodyguard!bucky barnes x innocent actress!reader

WARNINGS: angst

A/N: its angst season again!!

NEXT CHAPTER

Bucky looked around like a crazed maniac, looking for anyone, just anyone who could be responsible for the letter he was holding in his hands. His blood seemed to freeze in his veins just like they used to when they held him hostage in the Russian base. Those words were tattooed in his retina, as it dawned on him he had once again to keep her safe. His ears started ringing like they always did when they used to trigger him, the ring itself replacing any other environment sound, becoming so loud it fully overcame over his senses, rendering him particularly useless. Not that he was of use lately.

     - Bucky? - Y/N’s sister, Claire, called out to him. Almost mechanically, he stuffed the letter in his back pocket. - Are you okay? You look a bit shocked. Any naughty Christmas post cards?

     - Just a bit ... cold.

     - Yeah, Y/N said you were not very comfortable with it. Sorry about that, I was just trying to keep you away from Aunt Petunia. She’s too much.

     - Thanks, Claire. Hm ... do you have any landline? I need to make a call to the US and my plan is running out. 

     - Yeah, no worries. There’s one in the hall by Y/N’s bedroom. - she gave him a warm smile which was reminiscent of Y/N yet did little to nothing to calm him down. He handed her the rest of the mail before climbing up the stairs to the same hall which had doors on each side. Yet, despite it looking like a maze all he cared about was that small telephone on the table. 

Her picked the phone, leaning it against his ear as the rolled the dial to Steve’s number, the letter firmly mashed in his fist as he wanted nothing more than to burn it in the big fire place but he couldn’t. All he could think of was whoever had broken into Y/N’s flat back had followed them to London and once again he had been incapable of protecting her. He had let whoever was sending her those nasty messages, get to her in one of her most safe places. The other line rang like the passage of long times, until he heard the voice which had become synonymous with freedom and America together.

    - Steve Rogers.

    - Steve, they did it it again. - he snapped before he could even tell who it was on the phone. Yet, if his oldest friend couldn’t figure out his voice after so many years then maybe he needed new friends.

    - Buck?

    - Someone left a letter on her mail box calling her a whore again. You and Natasha were on it trying to figure out who did it in New York. - he continued on like an out of control mess. 

    - Buck, calm down. Was the handwriting similar? Maybe it’s a prank.

    - There’s no handwriting just magazine cut outs and it’s not a prank. 

Y/N stepped out of the car, walking over to the luggage holder to help her father take the shopping bags out while her mother walked up to the door to unlock it before they could climb up the stairs. Her father opened the truck of the small red car which they had had since she was a baby. She still remembered her father picking her up from ballet practice, the red colour bright through the cloudy skies. It always felt so safe to enter through those doors, almost if there was no harm whenever she was inside the old metal vehicle. Things were so simple back then and evil was so hardly defined and bordered away from her. She had had a good childhood, good parents, good family so why was she so scared whenever she was in New York? Why was she so intrinsically insecure and meek?

   - So, beanie, you and James. Does he treat you well? - he asked as he handed her some bags and christmas boxes.

   - He’s just perfect, dad. 

   - Then what is it? 

   - What do you mean? - she looked over her shoulder.

   -  Well, you’re my daughter, you’ve been my daughter for over 5 years now and I like to think I know you better than you think. What’s wrong, Y/N?

   - I’m just homesick, dad. - she faked a smile, pushing her hat further down her head, trying to fiddle with something else. - New York is different from here and well, stardom is different from here. It has nothing to do with Bucky. 

   - He makes you happy?

   - He does. 

    - Then I’m happy for you, beanie. - her father kissed the top of her head, carrying half the shopping bags and gifts onto the home while Y/N stood back looking at the neighbourhood she’d grown up in. It wasn’t perfect, no place in the world is perfect but it had a much more emotional connection to her than her place in SoHo. Of course, maybe it was just her own rose coloured glasses of being away from such a structured, planned 3 year ahead career. 

She smiled softly at the houses in exposed brick shades and the coloured blue and red doors with big gold number. Rows and rows of houses which seemed never ending when she was younger yet now seemed so quickly fading from view. Nothing is everlasting and she remembered so well thinking everything was but maybe it was for the best. Good things end to give way to better ones and bad things end become they no longer suit you.

Y/N looked over her shoulder one last time before entering the house. She put the bags near the other ones neatly stacked by the staircase before pulling her coat and jacket off. The house was always filled with noise, it was never quiet. Always abundant with laughter or discussions about the silly topics. This time, they were discussing some weird plot on the television. However, Bucky was nowhere to be seen. 

   -  Did you not invite Bucky? - she crossed her arms, giving her siblings the dirtiest look she could muster. - Guys, I asked you to include him.

   -  We did but your boyfriend has been on an international call for the last hour. It’s gonna add up. - Colin retorted.

   - I’m gonna go check on him. - she reminded herself to tell Colin off for that backhanded comment but she was much more preoccupied with Bucky. Sure, he did enjoy his loneliness but Y/N didn’t want him to feel alienated. She did not want him to feel lonely or like a stranger in her home. Climbing up the stairwell, she noticed him at the end of the hall, old telephone she used to toy around with when she was a kid pretending to call her family yet, unlike her past childhood self, Bucky had the phone firmly pressed against his ears, lips tight, one hand holding himself against the table. 

She noticed his indisposition, his muscles so tight she wondered how come he hadn’t had a cramp and like any empath she approached him with her characteristic sunny attitude, wrapping her arms around his waist, putting herself on her tip toes to kiss him. Bucky, however, moved his head to the side, mumbling something over on the phone in Russian, switching languages as if he did not want her to hear his conversation. Her heart dropped to the pit of her stomach, her overthinking nature picking at her brain as she leaned her head against his shoulder. Bucky turned around slightly to kiss her on top of her head like one does to a child or a friend. 

    - I’m on a call now, princess. - he held her arm up to wrap it from his waist.

    - Okay. I’ll just go ... go have a shower.

She delayed her exit, almost waiting for him to kiss her like he always did whenever she left. However, Bucky quickly returned to his call, in Russian, and she got the message loud and clear. She tried not to think much about it, after all Bucky was still related to the Avengers and despite being his girlfriend, she was not expect to be into that sort of information. She tried to convince herself of that fact as she stepped onto the cold porcelain of her shower floor. The water fell from her head onto her shoulder as she scrubbed the dirt off her body, constantly telling her inner anxiety, Bucky was merely busy. If she were busy she wouldn’t have liked her partner being clingy. He was busy. 

She turned off the shower, wrapping herself in the fluffy bathrobe she probably had had since she was 18, hair still damp as she slide her feet into fluffy slippers and walked into her bedroom. Bucky was sat in her bed, laptop on his lap as he typed the keyboard so harshly one would think he’d break the keys. She smiled to herself as she took the side near him, head laying on top his cozy black jumper, probably dampening the fabric but Bucky didn’t seem to mind. In fact, he didn’t even seen to mind her presence, merely ignoring it. She looked up at him, moving to kiss his jaw with an innocence type of request which was anything but innocent. 

  - Buck. - she said in a sing song type of voice, almost like a mermaid calling out for a sailor. - Why don’t we finish what we started in the airplane?

  - Not today, princess. - he kissed the top of her head once again. - I’m not in the mood for it.

  - Oh ... hum ... okay. - she almost retracted back into her shell at those words. Had she done something this morning? Something to upset him? Maybe he didn’t enjoy her leaving him alone with her family. - Do you wanna go out for dinner?

  - I don’t think it’s wise, princess. They might ... pap us or someth’ng. 

Did he not want to be papped with her? Maybe he was still upset over the pap photos she had willingly given away. She didn’t know and she didn’t want to know. Instead, she decided to turn around in the bed, still naked under her bathroom and stare at the wall until she felt sleep weigh on her eyelids. Bucky, on the other side, had his wild eyes glued to the screen, watching the security tape of her apartment over and over again. It had been cut, he knew it had from the time changing sharply, however, he couldn’t see anything which would be of any aid. All he knew was that not only had he failed his job as an Avenger, he failed his job as her bodyguard and failed to protect her like any boyfriend would do. Would it be in a club he could’ve just punched the daylights out of whoever dared to call her that but right now he couldn’t. He didn’t know how to make it stop. 

Bucky closed the laptop, putting it on the floor as he looked through his mind about who could want to hurt her, who cold do anything to want her to suffer. He could no figure it out and all he wanted was to figure it out. He leaned against the bars of her bedpost, looking over to his side to see her sleeping on her side, hand under her face and hair drying in front of his face. He carefully pushed the hair away from her face, tucking her into her large duvet before kissing her cheekbone. He couldn’t bring it upon himself to say anything, to tell her the letter came in. Bucky still remembered how she had reacted last time and he did not want it to happen again, he did not want her to feel unsafe in her own home. Instead, he let himself fast asleep next to her.

The morning woke Y/N up, the strange brightness of a sunny winter day hurting her eyes. She groaned, raising her torso from the bed, eyes blurry as she opened them. Rubbing the sleep off her eyes she extended her arm to notice Bucky’s spot was empty. She furrowed her brows, jumping off bed and walking outside and down the stairs onto the living room where most of her siblings and their partners were.

    - Wow, Y/N. Clothes under the bathrobe, much? - Eloise teased. 

    - Where’s Bucky? - she ignored her sister.

    - He went out. - Claire added, handing her a cup of tea. - Said he had to grab some stuff. 

    - Oh ... okay. He didn’t say anything.

    - He probably didn’t want to wake you up. - Claire patted her shoulder, kind smile on her lips. 

     - Or maybe he’s cheating on you. - Colin added, only to be slapped over the head by Eloise. - Hey, what was that for? I was joking.

     - He’s not cheating on you. - Claire reassured her. - Colin is just being an ass. 

     - What? I was joking!  

     - Not with Y/N, you idiot. - Eloise muttered under her breathe. - Maybe you should go put your clothes on, Y/N. Bucky is probably just Christmas gift shopping.

     - Or maybe he got lost? He is like 200 years old. Did you give him a pager? He might be lost in Piccadilly Circus or maybe he can’t get out the underground. 

     - Fuck off, Colin. - Y/N snapped at him before returning up to her bedroom.

He knew her brother was just trying to get under her skin. Bucky was not cheating on her, when did he even have time to find someone in London to cheat her with? Maybe he had some contacts in London from when he used to come to missions with the Avengers. Maybe he had someone in London for him. No. No, Bucky did not. Bucky wouldn’t cheat on her, Bucky liked her but he was acting out of style to him. She sat on her bed, hand in the middle of her legs as she tried to stop herself from overthinking things that were absolutely ridiculous. Since she was no good at doing such thing, she called the only person who normally could push her back to reality. 

    - Chuck? I have a problem. 

    - Jesus, Y/N. Have you forgotten time zones? - Chuck groaned on the other side of the line. - You better be dying.

    - Bucky is acting weird. 

    - Bucky always acts weird. What’s your point?

    - I don’t know, Chuck. It feels weird. I even tried ... initiating IT and he said no. Do you think he’s not attracted to me anymore? He didn’t even want to kiss me

    - Maybe he was not in the mood, Y/N. Also, why are you so freaked out about saying sex? Are you sexually repressed? Did you try to initiate some kinky sex with Bucky and maybe his old man penis wasn’t okay with it?

    - Can we not discuss my boyfriend’s penis, please?

    - What? He’s old, maybe it hasn’t been getting up. Did you ask him? Maybe he forgot to pack Viagra and he’s ashamed. 

    - Chuck. It is not that.

    - I don’t know, Y/N. Maybe spice it up. Dress up like Princess Leia in Empire Strikes Back. Every man is into it.

    - Bucky hasn’t seen Star Wars.

    - I don’t know what was sexually appealing in the 40s, Y/N. Don’t you have that lingerie set they made you wear for Rocky Horror? Use that. Maybe he really just wasn’t in the mood.

    - Okay ... yeah. Uhm, maybe it will work. 

    - Great. Now, I need to sleep because it is too late and there’s a girl in my bed and I don’t want her to think I have you on the side.

    - Oh, is she a nice girl?

    - Y/N ever since you lost your virginity you get very boring when you don’t get a dick appointment. Go on and do it with Bucky and we’ll talk later.

    - Okay, thank you.

    - Bye, bye. 

Y/N stared at herself in the mirror. She never really saw herself a sexual being or a sexual girl at all. After all, she was the one who got told by three guys at her university freshers party she had the sexual charisma of a toaster. Now the metaphor did not make any sense but all she knew was that it probably did not make any sense. It wasn’t that she wasn’t comfortable with her own sexuality, she just didn’t think about it outside of work. Maybe Bucky was used to girls who put a bit more effort and wasn’t very attracted to her very old bathrobe and her Marks and Spencers cotton underwear. She shrugged it off, opening her wardrobe to skim through some of the costumes she had worn until she found the white lacy set. It was better than her regular cotton underwear. She put her robe back on looking at herself in the mirror as she gave herself a pep talk. He’s not cheating on her. She knows he would never do that.

She sat down in her bed, going over some scripts sent over by the agency until midday when Bucky came into the bedroom, on the phone with someone else, still speaking Russian. She waited for him to finish his call before she walked over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. 

    - Sorry for not telling you, Y/N. I had to make some calls with the team.

    - It’s okay. - she smiled at him. - I was just thinking maybe ... maybe we could have some us time. My parents went to do the groceries and my siblings won’t bother us, besides I have something I want to show you.

    - Sorry, not in the mood. I need to call Steve. - he took his jacket off, putting it on the edge of her bed. - It’s urgent, princess.

    - Oh, okay. 

    - Can I use the landline? Pretty sure I still haven’t figured out  how to make international calls. 

    - Yeah. - he kissed the top of her head once more. 

She sat on her bed defeated. Her mind going through everything she could’ve possibly done wrong the morning she left with her parents. Maybe he really wasn’t in the mood, however he did seem pretty eager that morning. She sighed. Damned Colin and his stupid backside comment. She sighed, rolling in her bed, the movement making his jacket fall to the ground. Great Y/N, now you’re wrinkling his clothes. She got up from her bed to grab the jacket for a letter to fall on the ground. She looked to the side, leaning down to pick the letter only to drop it once she saw the writing. You cannot hide, whore.  She grabbed it from the ground before storming out to the hall, pulling the cable out the wall, effectively stopping Bucky’s call.

   - When were you gonna tell me?

taglist: @disasterbii @lookiamtrying @buckysteveloki-me @americasass81 @jamesbarnesappreciationclub @lostinthebeans @mariahthelioness29 @bbabysbaby @peaches-roses-sins @theadorasabditory @sipsteacasually @saiyanprincessswanie @booktease21 @noiralei @learisa @everythingisoverratedbutgreat @uglipotata72829 @naturalthrone22 @husherstan @mandiiblanche @vicmc624 @newyorkgoddess @itsallyscorner @chipilerendi @emzd34 @writerwrites @bluevxnus @that-girl-named-alex @captnrogers​ @nsfwsebbie​ @sarge-barnes-sir​

[adorethedistance]

British. Handsome. Charming. - Harry Styles x Reader Retail!AU

Sorta requested.

Warnings: Swearing, suggestive situations, I say titties like once

Words: 2108

Summary: When your coworker calls out and leaves you alone for a graveyard shift, you unintentionally enlist the help of a certain British, handsome, and charming retail employee from next door.

A/N: Hello this is my piece for @meetmeinfleetwood​ ‘s “to lovers” fic challenge! I put my ‘to lovers’ trope as Coworkers Harry and Y/n but I’m kind of riffing off of that trope because I wanted to do employees at different stores in the same section of the mall.

“So, Ziva just called out...” I hear my manager Kelly break the news from behind me. A groan threatens to escape my lungs but I fight the urge as best as possible to save face in front of customers. This is the third time Ziva’s called out of her graveyard shift in the past two weeks. Tonight, we were supposed to unpack the new shipment of holiday tees, gag gifts, and decorations. On a normal night, I can handle floor set by myself, but the added challenge of holiday items and displays is a different story.

“If I take another lunch right now, I can stay and help with the floor set.”

“No,” I wave her off, already dreading the exhaustion that is bound to set in, “Go home. You’ve already done your full eight, I can fly solo for tonight.”

“Are you sure?”

“Go before I regret letting you!” Kelly smiles with the tip of her tongue peaking through her teeth. She thanks me for freeing her and I finish straightening the last of the yellow champion hoodies on the rack in front of me.

“The boxes are on the left side in the backroom.” Backroom… got it.

Working at Tilly’s was supposed to be my high school job. At the end of Junior year, I opted for a minimum wage position to earn some extra spending money. If I’d known I would be attending the most local university in this godforsaken town, I would’ve picked a better gig; one that pays more. Or at least one that doesn’t schedule me from 7:30PM to 3AM.

The store closes at ten but the other four ish hours are for rearranging the entire floor layout. I have to redistribute the table full of graphic tees strategically around the store to make room for the holiday items we just received. With someone else’s help I could expect to be finished by 12:30. Maybe 1. Ziva calling out wasn’t part of the plan however, so I don’t expect to be finished early at all. If anything, I might have to rush to finish before my shift ends.

Not to mention I have a prose analysis final draft due tomorrow by midnight. Ziva better have some damn good excuses when she gets back.

Readjusting the waistband of my favorite jeans against my body, I head to the dressing rooms to double check for any stragglers. Upon finding myself alone, I go lock the front doors and flick off the glowing “open” sign in the front window. Hopefully time will fly faster than it has since I got here. I should’ve asked Kelly to grab me a coffee or a coke to get me through the rest of the shift. Maybe I should do some coke to get me through the rest of the shift.

Okay. What did Kelly say?

Backroom... Was that all? I hesitantly prop the storeroom’s door with the small, tan, rubber wedge before trying to take in the overwhelming mess of the backroom. The room has painfully bright overhead LED lights illuminating my path; the brightness is mirrored off the polished concrete floors under my feet. Considering there’s no holiday bullshit directly in front of me, Kelly must have given me more directions than just ‘backroom’. Graphic tees, sunglasses, jewelry. Nothing.

In my most goddamn genius idea yet, I search the top of the self of the storeroom to see the holiday boxes sealed and intact. Lovely. I can graze the surface of the top shelf with my fingertips just enough to get them dusty, but not enough to pull down any boxes.

Fuck.

This is what we have a ladder for, but we lent it out to the Zara next door. I don’t know what time they close but intuition tells me it's soon. Figuring I have nothing to lose, I dash out of the back room and unlock the front door to round the corner into Zara. Right as I exit the store, I run into someone hard enough to lose my balance, but not hard enough to take the other person down, thank god.

“Woahhh, you alright there?” British.

I look up to the face of the person I collided with. Handsome.

“I’m so sorry, I need to get to Zara.”

“I’m afraid you’re too late for that.” The handsome stranger’s statement catches me off guard and the fog of my rushed mindset disappears. Charming.

“What?”

“Jus’ locked up, I’m afraid.” I look at the completely dark storefront, and then back at the stranger. His gleaming green eyes catch mine and, cliché-ly, I’m rendered breathless by the exquisite nature of his face. Employee.

“You work at Zara,” I state dumbly.

“That, I do. And you work…?” Dropping my eyes to my worn work shoes, I’m suddenly overwhelmingly shy about working at Tilly’s.

“Tilly’s, next door. We lent you guys our step ladder and I need it back.”

“Shit,” the man smiles softly, nervously scratching the back of his neck. “I have the key to the store, but I don’t have the key to the supply closet where we kept it.”

“Dammit.” When I pull out my phone to check the time, I groan at the loss of another ten minutes. “By any chance do you guys conveniently have a step ladder that isn’t in an inaccessible closet?” The beautiful man laughs at my question and shakes his head no.

“We don’t, but I am pretty tall, maybe I could help?”

“You’re not that tall.”

“Taller than you.” My teasing is cut short by the man’s quip and I lead him into the store with conviction.

“Basically, I’m supposed to reconfigure the entire floor layout around the table for all the holiday merch, and the shipment came in but someone brilliantly placed them on the top shelf of the back room.”

“Which is why you need the step ladder from the closet that I can’t open. Gotcha.”

“If you could just get those three boxes from the top shelf right there that’d be wonderful.” After clocking the boxes in question, he nods wordlessly, and slips off his nice coat, no doubt a piece from the store next door. Underneath, he’s wearing a grey button up of which he begins rolling up the sleeves to. The action made me stop breathing for a second. His forearms are littered with tattoos of various drawings, one in particular catching my eye.

It’s a two dimensional mermaid figure with no seashell-bra, her skin transitioning into scales only after exposing her pubic bone. In the fluorescent lighting of the store, it’s clear as day that this is quite possibly the most beautiful man I’ve ever seen. What’s he doing working at an outlet mall?

Zoning back in, I see he’s already hard at work. With a box no doubt full of gag gifts on his shoulder, he speaks again.

“I’m Harry by the way.”

I return the gesture and he smiles when he hears my name.

“Pretty.”

Returning his attention to the second box, he reaches up to slide the box closer to the edge of the shelf. When he does so, the hem of his grey shirt rides up to reveal a tiny strip of his toned abdomen, where two mirrored stems of fern leaves are tattooed in strikingly black ink.

I blink quickly a few times to redirect my focus, and divert my attention to the floor where he’s set the first box. This leads me to notice the brown suede chelsea boots he’s wearing. Black coat, grey shirt, brown shoes. Interesting.

“Oh shit!” I hear him mutter in a hushed voice. Looking up to the top of the shelf, I see that the last box has already been opened. Harry is balancing it between both limbs, his shoulder, and his head, but any movement would cause the contents of the box to fall out.

I rush forward to help. Moving the flaps of the box back over the top, I reach across Harry’s body to move them. Then, to keep them shut I place one palm on top of the seam, and use the other hand to support the bottom of the box. It isn’t until I stop moving that I notice the position I’ve put us in. I’m reaching up as far as I can to secure the top of the box which has placed the entire front side of my body to the back of his. I’m painfully aware of how my hips are pressed against his ass, and he must be painfully aware of the way my titties are pressed against his upper back.

“I’m gonna move backwards so it’s off the shelf. Just hold the top in place until I have it right side up again, yea?” I nod dumbly in response before realizing he can’t see me.

“Yeah, got it.” And with that he begins to back up little by little, moving at a pace slow enough for me to consistently adjust. The box is almost intact, but I’ve run out of space from standing behind Harry, and I have to maneuver myself around him whilst keeping the box shut. I cringe before doing what I have to do, and shuffling around the side of Harry’s body, my frontside pressed against him the entire time.

Finally, it’s over and we can set the box down on top of the other two. Harry stands up straight again and dusts off his hands. He adjusts his jeans, pulling them back up his hips, and I have to keep myself from staring once more.

“Anythin’ else I can do for you?”

“I don’t think so? That’s pretty much all the heavy lifting I have to do tonight.” He nods understandingly and… dare I say disappointed? I’m probably just projecting.

“Are you alone tonight?”

“Yeah, my coworker called out, but it’s fine. My boss Kelly got most of the work done earlier when she unpacked a lot of the boxes and folded the shirts into piles, so…”

“I could help.”

“You don’t need to do that. You’re already off and I’m sure you’re exhausted and-”

“I want to.” I guess I wasn’t projecting.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah. That way you can go home earlier.” His smile is soft and lopsided until we connect eyes, in which case it brightens to reveal his pearly teeth. I fall shy under his gaze and avert my eyes to the concrete floor below us. My cheeks are radiating at about 1000° and I hope he doesn’t notice.

“Thank you,” I say, more flustered than I would have liked. Why am I getting so nervous? He’s just a retail employee at Zara.

A gorgeous employee at Zara.

“I don’t mind staying back... Spending more time with you.”

“Are you sure?”

“Since I already know what you do for a living, what are your hobbies?” He ignores my question.

“I don’t have much time for hobbies. I’m only part-time while I’m in uni.”

“No way, what are you studying?”

I proceed to tell Harry all about my major and my career aspirations post-graduation and post-retail. I enjoy telling people about my dreams and yet, Harry’s the first person I’ve met in a long time that’s shown any interest in me and my dreams. The way he nods attentively despite having to fold misconstrued t-shirts and holiday sweaters, ignites a fire in my stomach that warms my heart. They way he asks hyper specific, prompting questions to learn more about my plans contrasts the fire inside me by sending chills down my spine.

“What about you?”

“What about me?”

“What are your dreams?” Harry stops folding for a moment and exhales a conflicted sigh.

“I’m not too sure at the moment. I’m content at Zara for the moment, and I haven’t decided what’s next. I do write music though.”

“You do?”

“A bit, yeah.”

“What kind of music?” He stops to think again, a bit less conflicted than before.

“It’s like, indie-folk-pop-rock ish.”

“Indie-folk-pop-rock ish?” I can’t contain the laughter spilling from my lips over the mountain of folded t-shirts.

“Yeah. A good bit of variety, really.”

“Well, it’s nice you have something to be passionate about.”

“Judging by how you talked about your dreams for an hour, I wouldn’t say I’m as passionate as you are about your studies.”

“Passion isn’t a competition. It’s what moves you forward as an individual.” It’s Harry’s turn to laugh at me.

“Okay, Gandhi.”

“Hush! I’m allowed to be philosophical.” His laugh draws into a closed-mouth smile, from humor to an adoration of sorts.

“You’re cute when you’re flustered.” I unintentionally mirror his affectionate smile.

“Promise?”

***

A/N: This was absolutely one of those fics that, the longer I stared at it, the more I hated it and cut it down so here’s what’s remaining before I destroyed the whole thing. It’s def a puff piece and not an in depth fic but nuance is not my friend right now so, sorry about it :(

Taglist: @curlybrownhairedboys​ @meetmeinfleetwood​

[recurring-polynya]

Tokusatsu Au where Rukia plays the lead actress in a superhero action show. Renji plays one of the villains and they are The most popular ship in the fandom. Bonus points if Orihime plays the main villain and loves every second of it.

This was the very first prompt I got, and I fell in love. Unfortunately, aside from a brief period of being grotesquely fascinated with Power Rangers as teen, I know almost nothing about tokusatsu. I did as much research as I could and I attempted to watch an episode of Kamen Rider, but my eyes glazed over halfway through. Anyway, please forgive my inaccuracies, I wrote this with my heart.

ao3 | ff.net

🏍    ⚡   🎬

“Uh, looks like we’re almost out of time,” the panel moderator for “High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe!: A Sneak Peak at Season 5” declared, “but would you be willing to take just a few audience questions?”

Head Screenwriter Kurosaki Ichigo glanced at Leading Actress Kuchiki Rukia out of the corner of his eye, and she gave a tiny nod.

“Yeah, sure!” he replied.

There was already a young woman waiting at the microphone, practically vibrating with anxiety. She was wearing a t-shirt that had ZabiTo4Ever!! handwritten in marker on it. Rukia knew, deep down in her bones, what the question was going to be.

“Hi, yes, hello, big fan of your work! My question is: are Tomoe and Zabimaru going to kiss this season?”

“No,” Rukia started to say.

“As you probably know,” Ichigo said loudly on top of her, “the show holds close to the core plot points of Kuna-sensei’s manga, although, because of her minimalist style, we do expand a lot of the dialogue and filler scenes. She has said in several interviews that High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe! is not a romance manga, so the odds of Tomoe and Zabimaru ever kissing on screen are very, very low.”

The young woman stared at Ichigo grumpily. “Does this also count Zabimaru’s secret college student identity, Satonako Takeru?”

Ichigo stared back at her. “Yes. It does.”

The next question came from a person wearing a full suit of HellKnight’s plasma armor made out of overlapping plates of cardboard. Rukia was kind of impressed by it. She wondered if he could sit down.

“Hi, Kurosaki-sensei, I am a huge fan of your work,” a voice emanated from deep within the cardboard. “I was wondering if you are influenced at all by fanworks, and if Episode 73: Pride is on the Line!: The Bake Sale Must Go On! was based in any way on the classic fanfiction, ‘Tell Me All Your Best Lies’? It’s the top story by kudos in the ZabiTo tag, which I might point out is the most popular shipping category on AO3.”

Ichigo cleared his throat gently. “I am contractually not allowed to read fanfiction, although I do enjoy fanart! There are some incredibly talented artists in the fandom, although for some reason, no one ever wants to draw pictures of Lead Screenwriters.”

“I’ll draw you, sleeping on the set like you always do,” Rukia offered, and that got a pretty big laugh. Rukia’s Tumblr of behind-the-scenes doodle comics was beloved among the fandom.

The next question was from a nonbinary person wearing a big poufy skirt and a hairstyle that would make their make-up and hair guru, Yumichika, sit up and take notice. “Hi, this is a question for Kuchiki-san! If the show is going to roughly keep pace with the manga, as it has done up until now, you should be shooting the storyline where Tomoe and Queen Bloodbuzz switch bodies later this year. I was wondering if you could comment on how you feel about filming that storyline?”

Finally! A good one! “Yes!” Rukia nodded eagerly. “I don’t usually like to speak for my fellow cast members, but Orihime and I are beyond excited about playing each other. We’ve been studying each other’s mannerisms and practicing already! Does anyone want to hear my Queen Bloodbuzz cackle?” She wagged her eyebrows as the audience cheered. “Here goes-- bwaHaHaHaHAHAHAHAAHAAAHAAAAAAAA!”

“Bonechilling,” Ichigo commented dryly as the audience erupted.

“Amazing, Kuchiki-san!” the moderator exclaimed. “I think there is time for one more, but this will be the last question!”

A tall girl in a full set of High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe motorcycle leathers stepped to the microphone. She was holding a notebook. “Hello!” she warbled. “In a 2020 interview with the Psychics and Sidekicks podcast, Abarai Renji was asked about his opinion on ZabiTo as a ship, and he replied,” she consulted her notebook, “‘Tomoe is such a cool lady and talented Battle Clairvoyant, and she always follows her heart and stays true to herself. I think that Zabimaru can’t help but be impressed with her, even though they’re enemies, and I always try to roll that into our on-screen interactions.’ I know that in the past you’ve refused to comment on the ship, but I was wondering if you had any thoughts on, y’know, his thoughts?”

“Well, he’s correct, of course, Tomoe is very cool and admirable,” Rukia replied, which drew a few laughs, although it seemed like the audience was leaning forward in anticipation of her answer. “Like I said, I don’t like to speak for other cast members. I’ll be doing a big cast panel with Abarai and Inoue and Matsumoto and Ukitake tomorrow afternoon, and I hope you all can make it! See you then!”

The moderator thanked them enthusiastically, and then Ichigo and Rukia slipped out the back guest entrance.

“Evasive as always, Kuchiki,” Ichigo teased.

“Whatever,” Rukia sniffed. “The higher ups say we’re not supposed to comment on stuff like that, and I was not commenting. By the way, how many secret fanfic accounts are you up to? Four?”

“It’s only three!” Ichigo paused. “I wrote that fanfic the guy brought up.”

“Of course you did,” Rukia sighed. “I do blame you personally for the popularity of the damn ship.”

“Me? Blame Kuna for making up two such sexy, emotionally constipated dumbasses!” Ichigo defended.

“Also, it’s not Ichigo’s fault that you and Abarai have insane chemistry.”

Rukia spun around, grinning. “Orihime!”

Rukia’s two co-stars, Inoue Orihime and Abarai Renji, the portrayers of Tomoe’s demonic archnemeses, stood in the hallway behind them.

“We sat in on your panel!” Orihime beamed. “You two were brilliant!”

“Don’t worry,” Renji added. “We were incognito.”

“Incognito” was relative, Rukia supposed, when you were at Tokyo’s biggest tokusatsu

convention.

Orihime was wearing a Zabimaru outfit so detailed that she probably could have won a prize down at the cosplay hall. She had the gravity-defying ponytail, the eyeliner, the insane widow's peak (complete with forehead tatts), the fangs, the motorcycle boots. The paper mache snake skull helmet was a little lopsided, but it was charming. She had her top zipped a little higher than canon, but that was forgivable, too.

Renji had taken the opposite tack of looking as much like a normal person-- or at least a normal Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe superfan-- as possible. Relaxed fit jeans and an oversized hoodie de-emphasized his ultra-fit physique. He was wearing a t-shirt with a very dramatic rendering of Orihime that said “Queen Bloodbuzz can step on me!” and a ball cap with the logo of Seireitei University, the fictional college Tomoe and Takeru attended.

“You think you’re in disguise,” Rukia pointed out, “but there are thousands of teen girls in this place with entire Tumblrs dedicated to your stupid face when you’re out of costume.”

Renji cocked an eyebrow at her. “You underestimate me, Rukia. I have bought… new sunglasses.” With a flourish, he whipped out a pair of the dorkiest wayfarers she’d ever seen, and flipped them onto his face. “I’ve disappeared! Who am I? Where am I?”

“You look really great, Orihime,” Ichigo said, his cheeks coloring a little bit. “Did you get Uryuu or Yumichika to help you with that costume?” In his continuing theme of doing things he wasn’t supposed to, Ichigo had finally started dating Orihime on the downlow around the time they finished up filming last season. It had done absolutely nothing for how shy he still got around her. They were, in Rukia’s opinion, cute as hell.

“Oh, no, that would be cheating!” Orihime replied, wagging a finger at him. “Well…maybe I did cheat, just a tiny bit. Renji helped me make the helmet and he held up references for me while I was painting on the tattoos.”

“Only the forehead ones,” Renji quickly added.

“He wouldn’t even offer feedback on my booby tattoos!” Orihime frowned. She leaned forward. “Rukia, how do they look?”

Ichigo turned even redder.

“Perfect, as in all you do!” Rukia replied loftily.

“What’s everyone got coming up next?” Renji asked. “I was thinking of slipping out and trying to pick up some real coffee.”

“I’m judging a villainess-themed cosplay competition,” Orihime chirped. “But I’m dying for a blueberry caramel iced latte. Renji, my henchman, pleeeeease!”

“Of course, my liege,” Renji replied in his Zabimaru voice.

It’s not like it had been a hard decision to accept the role of the motorcycle-riding, badass heroine of one of the most popular manga of the last decade, but it had turned out to be one of the best decisions of Rukia’s life. not just her career. Aside from a few of the money-obsessed executives, she liked nearly everyone in the cast and crew, but the fact that the fact that the ruthless, homicidal, literally Hell-spawned villains of the show were played by the two sweetest marshmallow people she had ever met just took the cake. Renji and Orihime had already known each other from some voicework they had done previously, and their excitement at working together on a live-action project had infected the entire cast from the start. Rukia wasn’t sure, but she strongly suspected that Renji was the one who had hyped Orihime up to ask Ichigo out.

“I have a writers’ workshop I’m moderating this afternoon, and I wanted to review the writing samples people sent in,” Ichigo said, scratching the back of his head. “I’d love to stop by that cosplay contest, though, at least for a few minutes.”

“You’ll be needing caffeine, too, then, eh?” Renji offered. “Hot, black, and in the largest cup they make, as usual?”

“Ugh, you’re the best,” Ichigo groaned. “You wanna power-up this season? Costume update? You know what? Maybe I’ll just have you defeat Tomoe once and for all, no one likes her anyway.”

“C’mon, you know I’m the world’s number one Tomoe simp, don’t do that!” Renji laughed.

Rukia rolled her eyes. “I’m free and I could use some fresh air. Besides, it’s going to take all your dumb muscles just to carry Kurosaki’s vat of coffee back here.”

“Cool!” Renji proclaimed. “We’ll be back soon!”

“Thanks, Renjiiiii!” Orihime waved.

“You need to stop off and put on a disguise?” Renji asked.

“No point in it, I always get recognized,” Rukia sighed, pulling her sunglasses out of her purse anyway.

“Here,” Renji said, plunking his hat on her head. “Maybe this will help.”

“Thanks,” Rukia replied, and then did a double take. “Whaaaaaat is on your head?”

“Shut up!” Renji laughed. He usually shaved his head when they were filming, because it made it easier to deal with the make-up and wigs, but since they were between seasons, he’d grown his hair out into a short, tousled mop of reddish-brown waves. He looked, for the lack of a better word, dreamy. “I shot a movie over the summer, and they wanted me to look softer.”

Rukia looked at him over the top of her sunglasses. “You didn’t tell me you were doing a movie!”

“Oh, it was just a little indy romcom thing. I wasn’t sure it was gonna pan out, I didn’t want to make a big deal out of it.”

“You were in a romcom? You’re kidding me!” They ducked out of a side door of the convention center into the bright sunshine.

“Yeah, it’s about a guy who goes to the gym to try to get ripped to impress a girl, and makes friends with me, this nice, already ripped dude who gives him lifting tips and encourages him a bunch. By the end of the movie, it turns out we have crushes on each other.”

“Oh, no, that sounds really cute, actually!”

“It was written by a woman who graduated from one of Ichigo’s writing workshops. The script was really snappy and Ichigo thought having someone like me as the gym guy would give it just a bit of campy cachet. You know what a good sense he’s got for stuff like that.”

“That was cool of you to go out on a limb a little,” Rukia replied.

Renji rubbed the back of his neck. “I’d been wanting to try something like that for a while, actually.”

Rukia blinked. “You aren’t… you aren’t thinking of leaving the show, are you?”

“Huh? No. No! No, the show means the world to me, I would never. But… it’s not gonna run forever, y’know?”

“I would have guessed you’d want to be a big action star or something!” Rukia said, throwing a few air punches. “That’s my dream!”

Renji stuffed his hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “Yeah, that’s what I thought I wanted when I first got into acting. I’d read the Tomoe manga, and I thought playing Zabimaru would be a good jumping-off point, besides just being a cool character overall.”

“Is that… not true?” Rukia frowned.

“Oh, I mean, I guess so! I didn’t really know about the fandom, though and… to be honest, I’m kinda into the idea that there are all these fans who think I’m complex and redeemable?”

Rukia regarded him out of the corner of her eye. “They just want to fix you.”

“Maybe! Ichigo made me read this one fanfic that was eight thousand words of the reader getting sick and Zabimaru making them soup? And feeding them the soup? I still haven’t decided how I feel about it.”

“How does he have time to find these things? Does he even sleep?”

“Anyway, it doesn’t hurt to be well-rounded and it was fun. I’m still mostly an action guy, but I wouldn’t mind doin’ something with a romantic subplot. A period drama or something like that. I look pretty good in hakama, you know.”

“I bet you do,” Rukia laughed. She squinted at him, but his expression was unreadable behind the shades. Renji didn’t have the classic leading man looks, not like her ridiculously famous older brother, but she could definitely see him as the best friend, the B-plot romance, with his cute, messy hair and that big doofy grin.

“By the way, I’m sorry you had to field that question about me spilling my romantic sensibilities on that podcast.”

Rukia laughed. “You didn’t even answer the question, either! These people are relentless!”

Renji stopped at a street corner and peered down the various possible directions they could go. “Which way feels like it might have a coffee shop?”

“You didn’t have one in mind before we left? I thought you knew where we were going!”

“Nah, I just like to go out and see what there is.”

“I can look up a map,” Rukia said, reaching in her bag for her phone.

“Let’s just go this way,” Renji said, stepping out into the street in the direction that had the WALK light. Rukia sighed and had to scramble to catch up with him.

“So, what do you think about it?”

“Huh?” Rukia asked. “Think about what?”

“Our ship. ZabiTo.”

“I can’t believe you just said that word out loud. And you know we’re not supposed to give our opinion on it!”

“Aw, c’mon, we’re not supposed to give public statements on our opinions. I don’t think there’s any harm in talking between ourselves. We’re in disguise, even.”

“‘Disguise’,” Rukia sniffed.

“You don’t like it, I can tell.”

“He’s a bad guy! Everyone always talks about chemistry, and that may be true, but I just don’t think that Tomoe could ever get over his acts of violence and cruelty.”

“Queen Bloodbuzz is cruel. Zabimaru is not cruel.”

“Okay, that’s fair, but still. He’s kidnapped just about all of Tomoe’s friends and or turned them into monsters at one time or another. He’s always setting Karakura Town on fire or flooding it with magic lizard goo. He ruined the sports festival.”

“Maybe the sports festival deserved to be ruined,” Renji muttered under his breath.

“Okay, you’ve got a point on that one,” Rukia admitted.

“It’s really clear though, that he’s got some agenda beyond just simping for Queen Bloodbuzz--”

“The simping for Queen Bloodbuzz is the most relatable thing about him, to be honest.”

“Granted. But, what if he’s got a good reason for everything he does, actually? What if he’s doing all of this against his own moral code as a means of infiltrating Hell itself and getting himself into a position of trust so that he can bring down the Lords of Hell from the inside?”

Rukia slipped her sunglasses down to the tip of her nose. “Does Kuna give you Zabimaru spoilers?” The reclusive creator High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe! was only barely involved with the television show, but she did privately meet with each of the cast members about once a year. Most of Rukia’s meetings consisted of Kuna giving her constructive criticism on her battle poses.

“No, mostly we practice sneering,” Renji replied. “But I gotta play the guy, so I gotta think about this, you know, what motivates him? I mean, you’re probably right, it would never work out. But unlike Tomoe, whose principles would call for her to ignore any attraction she has to him, Zabimaru has the freedom to pine for her, perhaps because his love is futile and he doesn’t think he deserves it anyway.”

“That’s kinda dark, dude,” Rukia frowned.

“Yes, well, that is the kind of character acting that netted me the 2019 Nickelodeon Kids’ Choice Best Villain Award, Foreign Language Category.”

“That’s literally what’s going through your head when you’re shouting that if I can’t make some sick motorcycle jump, you’ll turn all my friends into stuffed animal versions of themselves?”

“No, of course not! At those times I’m thinking about how much I love my job. OH! and what is that I see!” Renji struck an extremely Zabimaru pose. “A MISTER DONUT!”

“My hero!” Rukia exclaimed, unable to resist an opportunity to shout dramatically. “I’m sorry I doubted you!”

“I think we should get some donuts, too. Orihime loves donuts,” Renji declared.

“Oh, for sure,” Rukia agreed. She was thoughtful for a moment. It would be easy to move on to a different subject, the subject being donuts, but she wasn’t happy with leaving the last conversation hanging. “Look, Renji, just because I don’t like the dumb ship, you know that’s not a reflection on you, right?”

“Huh?” Renji replied. “You mean you don’t mind if I like it?”

“Well… I mean, I don’t, I guess, but what I really meant was, er… we joke a lot, but Tomoe and Zabimaru are just parts, y’know? Just because I don’t think Zabimaru isn’t good boyfriend material doesn’t mean I…” Rukia trailed off, suddenly realizing what she was saying. “Um. What I mean is. You’re very nice and probably one of my favorite people I’ve ever worked with and if someone I knew wanted to ask you out, I would definitely encourage them to, A+ guy, I’d say, probably would make a great boyfriend.”

Renji pushed his sunglasses up onto his forehead and regarded her for a long moment. “For the record, Kuchiki, I think that both you and Tomoe would make excellent girlfriend material.” While Rukia stood there and gaped like a fish, he turned and pushed open the door to the coffee shop. “Ichigo likes crullers and Orihime always wants the most colorful thing they’ve got. Do you know what you want?”

“I need to think about it,” Rukia squeaked. She wasn’t talking about donuts.

🏍    ⚡   🎬 

Bonus: Here are my notes from when I was making up the show. I hope this wasn’t too confusing!

High-Spirited Battle Clairvoyant Tomoe!

based on a manga by reclusive mangaka Kuna Mashiro

Head Screenwriter: Kurosaki Ichigo

🌟 Starring: 🌟

Kuchiki Rukia as Yukimura Tomoe, a spunky college student who can see ghosts and fights demons from Hell! She rides a motorcycle!

Inoue Orihime as Queen Bloodbuzz, a Lady of Hell, who seeks to gather energy from the Living Realm so that she can become the Supreme Ruler of Hell. Very aesthetic. Much bees.

Abarai Renji as Zabimaru, Queen Bloodbuzz’s ruthless henchman. He leads a double life as fierce-looking, but gentle-hearted college student Satonaka Takeru! What is his long game??

[chocosvt]

⚬ pairing: demon!minghao x reader ⚬ word count: 3478 ⚬ warnings: blood, bodily injuries, death ⚬ genres: god i don’t even know... angst, unrealized pining and romance, weird tension, reader is just as evil as minghao?

✧✎ synopsis: three-hundred years have passed, and the second son has awoken from his slumber, waiting for a new soul to devour.

✧✎ a/n: this au was many things, and in finality, it morphed into this. usually i have a lot to say in my author’s note but today i bring you nothing! enjoy!

Three-hundred years had passed, and you knew due to the bell tower.

Its reverberations shuddered throughout the town, permeated the density of the smoke curtain which had swallowed the sky for centuries, and vibrated the very oxygen that fluttered in your lungs. It was a calling to check your mailbox, for reaching inside unveiled a folded note. At first, you glanced to your neighbour across the street, to the elderly man who lived on your right, and finally to the pig-tailed girl who’d just celebrated her fifteenth birthday on your left.

Yet they had retrieved nothing from their mailboxes exempt from a soft-spoken prayer, a testament to their gratitude that their lives had been spared. But you—you were the unholy meal.

With a sharp arrowhead of stone pressed to the skin between your shoulder blades, you were forced into the cavernous opening based midway along the mountain. It fed deep into the earth’s heart, and as a watchman pierced the spear’s tip further into your flesh, you began the cold, damp descent that would lead you to a deserved death, a death that could no longer be prevaricated.

After a painful stumbling over jagged flints and pieces of crystal, you emerged into the Blood Room, where three other contenders from the town were already aligned. There was not one look exchanged between either meal; however, you did recognize a specific helix piercing and the russet locks of Joshua, who you recently spotted dragging a body down to the ravine where the forest waterfall bubbled. Still, despite Joshua’s inept piousness, you knew he was not a meal worth being served.

A watchman approached you with a pocketknife. Splaying out your fingers, you observed calmly as he created a small incision against a distinct line travelling the length of your palm. As the dark, crimson fluid leaked from the wound, it was then collected in a glass dropper. Each watchman approached a scroll which hung from the stone. A drop of Joshua’s blood was tested first. It rolled about halfway down the sallow paper, which was impressive to say the least, indicative of even the boy’s worst transgressions. 

The next possible meal had their sample beaded onto the scroll, though it had soaked up rather quickly, even before Joshua’s, and you knew their sins were pitiful and their soul was much too pentant. Similarly, the blood of the other meal drew short. You couldn’t help but think the contenders were quite pathetic. 

At last the glass dropper containing your blood was being set against the paper. A slight squeeze, and the liquid bulb started its trickling. It streamed down boldly, leaving in its wake a luminous red tint that outshined even Joshua’s viscid plasma. You watched the bulb surpass one meal, then glide past the second meal, and just as you anticipated, the droplet rolled to the very end of the scroll. In fact, it began dripping onto the dust of the icy floor.

“The test concludes.” A watchman rumbled, his voice bouncing against the rock. His spear pointed toward you criminally. “Your blood runs the thickest and your heart beats the slowest. You are the unholy meal. The second son has awoken from this three-hundred-year slumber, and it is your soul he will devour so that he may be appeased and tire.”

You fought to keep an emotionless, flat face.

“Feed him well, for the weight of your blood carries more sin than purity.”

Briskly, the latter three contenders were swept away.

Joshua may have thrown his first corpse into the waterfall and watched it gush like a leaf down the black ravine, but his single body could not compare to the hundred that you’d left to float for years.

The bare bottoms of your feet were engrained with shallow cuts and stained by the powder to the numbing stone. You had not eaten or drank for over forty-eight hours, and your strength, which could often be as robust as great titanium, had seemingly dwindled to an emaciated, dried flower.

From the tales your mother relayed amongst your youth, you knew it was important to not make a face in the presence of the second son. Unlike his older brother, Jun, who would only be appeased by a meal who smiled and flaunted their guilt, Minghao chiefly adored a meal who showed no more emotion than the limestone tumbled along the mountainside. It was best to please the Demon Sons before they untied your soul from its fleshy bindings and swallowed it whole.

Or else in their next awakening, they might demand a meal of the entire village.

Minghao gestured to the garnet-coloured mat which had been lain across his bedroom floor. There were bowls of flavourful rice, steaming, clay pots filled with different soups, plates warmed by sliced bread and tin cups almost overflowing due to the plentiful wine inside.

“Hungry?” He asked, to which his soft, wispy voice was rather surprising.

Your countenance remained blank, unmoving, apart from your mouth. “Yes, I am starved.”

“Sit,” the second son invited, “I want you to be satiated and full, until you feel sleepy.”

Heeding his order, you sat cross-legged on the side of the mat opposite to the demon. His robe, embroidered with ruby lace, rippled behind his feet when he walked, and the collar’s diamond shape revealed underworldly markings which drew attention to the pale expanse of his chest. Even through the material cloaking his arms, you could faintly decipher the kohled tattoos. You had even recognized the familiar symbols chiselled into the walls during your trek to the demon’s chamber. When Minghao took his seat, he grabbed one of the black horns curling from his hair and dug his thumb into the pointed end.

“They are becoming weak,” he admitted, “I’m sure my brother’s wings are close to shattering from his broad shoulders. I’m sure the nerves are peeling and laughably brittle.” Minghao reached for a bowl, using wood chopsticks to fish the orange, tangy rice into his mouth. “You know, as first born, he is granted those wings. It’s his rite.” He lowered the bowl, a faded grin crossing his lips. “I remember, he used to embellish them with the bones of his meals, hanging their cervicals and metacarpals and pieces of their skull across each wing like a charm bracelet. But myself? It is not my meals’ bones that I save.” He shook his head, picking up another sticky rice ball.

Suddenly, the demon paused. “Are you not going to eat?”

It was difficult to speak when the interior of your mouth felt coated with chalk. Inclined by fear rather than your hunger, you reached for a bread loaf, then broke its golden crust in half, listening to the satisfactory crackle.

“I was absorbed by your pretty voice,” you spoke with not a single intonation, “forgive me.”

As you tore a piece from the warm inside and poked it into your cheek, the pottery bowl which he held broke into pieces due to the crushing grip of his hand, orange rice and clay shards spilling onto the mat. You had visibly flinched. The demon’s body trembled as he inhaled a slow, subdue breath. 

“Dearest, if you ask me to lend my forgiveness, I will pierce a stake through your beating heart and pull it out onto my plate.” His teeth were claws in his mouth as he growled. “Do you understand?”

You hid your quivering, bottom lip by bringing a tin cup to your face, the slick formula of the wine flowing down your throat. It was thicker than the wine you drank at home, and there was a copper-like aftertaste that almost rendered your expression to pucker, but you remembered to keep staid.

“I understand.”

The void, starless nature to his gaze disappeared. Instead, his eyes returned to their settled oak. Allowing more wine to soak against your tongue, there was a distant familiarity to its unique flavour.

“Are there things you regret?” Minghao retrieved you from musing, and spooned some rosemary soup into his mouth.

Once more, you took another sip, swished the alcohol between your cheeks, and swallowed. The demon observed you with an intent eye. Something flashed against your memory. It was a pale face drained of its pink and lively colour. In fact, it was your husband’s face, Soonyoung’s face, right before you tipped his body over the ravine’s misty edge and into the gurgling chasm below.

He had been your last murder.

“I regret…” You began, lowering the wine, “I-I regret…”

A stutter. An emotion. An inkling of your distress. 

Minghao’s grasp around the soup pot tightened and the tattoos needled into his flesh seemed to slither as though they’d been disturbed. Your mind grew stifled with obnoxious imagery. It was too much, all at once, and this dizziness spun at the centre of your cranium like a comet in orbit.

You leaned further over the wine, staring blurry at the liquid.

“I regret… I r-regret…”

Then it came to you, the underlying taste of the wine. So familiar because you should have known it better than anyone, especially considering your habitual dirty work, how often that fluid caked under your fingernails and spattered your clothing. No, it was definitely not the bones Minghao kept. 

A moment later and you fainted onto the mat.

You awoke to a damp coolness folded against your forehead, and to Minghao who sat at the edge of his bed, where he had rested for three-hundred years. He removed the cloth and began dabbing it along each arch of your cheek, cleaned your jaw’s long edge, and at last wet your lips until they gleamed. Expelling a subtle breath, you kept your face as blank as possible.

“How do you feel?” He set away the cloth in order to sweep his sleight fingers down your temple.

“I’m well,” sounded your meek voice, “you have taken care of me.”

In between the black fringe that feathered the demon’s lashes, you met his eyes. Minghao’s hand slid to your throat, where his palm pressed flat against its column and his fingers curled taut with the sensation of hot steel. 

He felt you gulp.

“I implore that you bathe. Rid yourself of this fabric which has been stained by wine and broth. I will leave you undergarments and a robe.” He leaned in closer to your face, and you couldn’t help but glance at his jagged teeth when he said so adoringly, “my wish is to paint you. I would like clean flesh.”

Clad in nothing but the undergarments, Minghao stood before your body, holding a wooden bowl. The inside was smeared with a rustic-coloured substance that almost bore the same consistency as honey. His chosen brush had fanned bristles, and when he stroked their wetness along your skin, it was a smooth, somewhat ticklish feeling. You found yourself enjoying it. Specifically the longer strokes, ones that began at the top of your shoulder and licked across the soft underbelly of your arm, only to gently flit away at the brittle bones in your wrist.

He decorated you in content. 

As the boy lowered to his knees and illustrated unintelligible runes against your inner thigh, he was focused, sharp. Another dip into the wooden bowl, and Minghao moved to paint your other thigh. You examined the horns pushing between his hair. Without thought, you stroked your hand against one, feeling the small grooves that created every divot. The demon never stirred, but continued to paint down your leg, and you wondered if he truly hadn’t noticed your touch or perhaps quite liked the way you caressed him.

Despite the fact you were merely prey being toyed with until dinner time, when you looked at the demon who touched your skin and treated you with such reverence, you felt this unbeknownst tenderness in your heart.

As Minghao instructed you to raise a foot, he immediately stiffened.

“What is it?” You questioned flatly.

He set the bowl and brush down.

“Dearest, the soles of your feet are cut and raw. It appears worse than usual.”

You wobbled slightly, almost losing your balance. “I was shown no kindness on my journey to meet with you. Because I am your meal, I can ignore the stinging.”

“No,” Minghao shook his head and rose up, “I will wrap your feet in precious calendula leaves. The paint will dry quickly, then you can sit.”

“If I may ask one thing,” you remarked, fiddling with the sleeves of your robe, “how painful is it to have your soul devoured?”

Minghao plucked the last few calendula leaves from their flowers. The petals were rather striking, the aurora of a setting sun as you mother always described. It had been a longtime wish to see the sun one day, though considering your fate, such a dream must remain only that. The leaves swathed each foot with the help of a clear, sticky gel.  

“Very painful.” The demon responded. He shifted next to you on the bed, then grabbed one of the orange flowers. “This is why we sleep so far beneath the crust, so the people do not hear the meal’s delicious screams.” He grasped your hand which had suffered a slit from the watchman’s pocketknife, and he began to rub a flower bud across the wound.

“Do you remember your last meal?” You asked, staring at Minghao rather than the skin’s miraculous healing.

The demon looked straight into your eyes as he grinned. “I do remember,” he sounded wistful, “it had been three meals, since the man I consumed in an even further past had greatly upset me.” Minghao dropped the flower, slowly interlaced his fingers with yours, squeezing.

“I had treated him well. I cleaned his cuts, I allowed him to bathe, I offered him my finest silk, and then, when we ate, I asked him what he regretted.” His hand became colder than ice. Minghao’s eyes started to widen, illuminate with a shiny madness, and when he leaned in closer your every facial muscle was begging to twitch. “He cried to me. Can you believe it? I had never been so upset. It caused me to fill with rage. He wept for forgiveness, absolution, a relief from his pain. Who am I, but a being who takes pain like a supplement? In that moment, I leapt across the dinner table and devoured him. His soul tasted like salt and alloy. I could not eat his heart, which was given to my brother. He will always eat the heart, because it so plumped full of your terrible emotion.”

The demon’s hand fit to the side of your neck, his thumb stroking along a particular vein where your pulse was thundering. “Well,” he sighed, “not your terrible emotion, but most peoples.”

In that moment, you took your deepest breath, and did not respond until you were certain that not one note of your voice would tremble. “I understand.” You placed your hand overtop the demon’s as it continued to cradle your neck, “did you paint this man too?”

“No,” Minghao shook his head, “I use my paints sparingly.”

With a soft fingertip, he began to trace a thin line he had brushed. It started at your jaw, then fell down the length of your warm neck. It dragged across your collarbone and in between your chest. Over the ribs, to your stern hip. The fingertip circled sweetly against your inner thigh a few times, and at last glided to your knee where the demon’s touch drifted away like a summer breeze.  

“You are the most beautiful meal I have ever seen,” Minghao murmured, holding your gaze which threatened to water, “I was delighted to accent a body like yours, so gorgeous and strengthened by sin.”

Since your arrival at the demon’s bedroom, you knew it was vital to preserve a blank face, and yet, it came to a point where you could not restrict the whims of your emotion. A tear bled from your eye, your bottom lip started to quiver, and your brow pinched together in a wrinkle. There was fear to your gradual outbreak, but it was an infinitesimal fraction compared to your gratitude, that the second son could somehow honour you more than your own unfaithful husband, who’d been your last body discarded into the ravine. 

In reality, how different were you to this demon? Year after year, the suppleness of your heart became hardened with immorality, pummelled of its empathy and completely wrung from compassion like a soaked, heavy towel. A common routine: dragging a corpse through the wildlife, your lips pursed and whistling the tune you’d overhear the pig-tailed girl humming on her front lawn. Dump the body. Return home. Peel an apple, bake a pie, and feed a slice to your next victim, watching the froth dribble from their lips as you sipped your drink and folded a leg over your thigh. But that was life under the cinder sky. It’s what kept people mad, what kept the demons fed. Either flee or have the light of your being rubbed into another dark ash. 

The demon immediately turned rigid. 

His spine bristled straight and the tattoos started to crawl beneath his robe, rustling like serpents who navigated the tall grass. You figured your death would be the most painful, since you had not only broken at the last minute, but soiled the significance to Minghao’s paints, casted the illusion that you were not appreciative of his gestures. In a snapping wrench, he practically tore you from the velvet blanket, dragging you to a door in his bedroom.

When it was opened, a frigid wind dusted at your face, and a slender corridor was revealed, stretching so far that it led into complete blackness. With a hand against your lower back, Minghao shoved you into the tunnel.

“Go,” he demanded, his words echoing off the stone, “go and do not turn back.”

Your voice was breathy, confused, “I don’t understand. I-I—”

“It leads to an opening at the opposite side of the mountain. You will leave, and you will never-” he gripped your chin, and his gaze intruded even the most clandestine pockets to your soul, “ever return to this town. Escape these cinder skies. I will not repeat myself.”

Before you could make sense of anything, before the door could be slammed in your face, your solace left to the rock and damp air, you slipped a hand around the demon’s neck and kissed him. His mouth was just as soft as his voice, and when he angled his head to better taste the tears that  stained your lips, you felt it would be impossible to make this journey alone. The silk of his tongue brushed inside your mouth, causing your knees to tremble, therefore you gripped weakly at the demon’s hair. His sharp teeth pricked your bottom lip and it welted ever so slightly with blood.

“Come with me,” you begged, pressing your forehead to his, “please, do not go back to sleep.”

But Minghao merely giggled, and the fact that such an innocent sound could leave the chest of a demonic entity had disoriented you. 

“What creature are you?” Minghao hummed, “that I can see your emotion and only want to hold you closer? Maybe it is because you are the first meal to bare no regret. You know your flesh is stitched by the sin of your own hand. Even your sweet tears. Oh! My brother would adore you! Though he would’ve devoured you by now no doubt.” He gave a gentle shove, removing you from his body.

“Will you please come find me?” You entreated.

Time was of the essence. The tenebrosity seemed to have a curl on your ligaments, tugging you backward into the tunnel. 

Minghao smiled, his hand reaching out to wipe the blood from your sore lip.

“Dearest, I will come find your dark soul anywhere,” sounded his honest purr, “but I suggest you travel hastily. If I leave, I must first wake my brother, and the rage of a demon whose slumber has been interrupted... It cannot be compared to anything. I’m afraid you’ll faint again.”

Trusting that Minghao would seek you out, you began the journey down the tunnel, your hand swiping against the stone and your feet taking calculated steps. Amongst the black air, there was no concept of time. Seconds, minutes, hours, they felt ineffectual in a place where not even your own fingers or toes could be seen. Eventually, you came to a light that burned against your eyes, and emerged at the opposite side of the mountain, like Minghao promised. And as you padded into the jade forest, you felt one final vibration shake the pine needles scattered across the earth, heard some boulders from the mountainside crumble down in swirling, dry dust clouds. 

Shuddering, you knew it had been the abhorrent cry of the first born son. And for once your compulsion to escape the grey skies was a real desire. 

✧✎ a/n: yes.................... :) thinking that i could also make an au for jun in this universe? i will have to do some Major Thinking. i still have nothing to say! like i don’t know where this au crawled out of, but it’s Here now. it’s pretty morbid n freaky sfeheff but nonetheless i hope you liked it and as always i luv hearing ur guys TH0TS. 

[texanredrose]

Okay, to put some limitations on this, I’m only including the WIPs that I’ve done more than a synopsis for... that I can remember... that’s on Google Drive... that I actually think I might post one day... but haven’t posted yet because my posted WIPs are fairly easy to identify... okay... I got tagged by @unsteadyshade and I’m tagging @faunusrights and @alexlayer69

1) Across Time - Inuyasha AU where Weiss gets thrown back in time to the ancient past, where she meets two demons (Yang and Blake) warring against each other over a misunderstanding.

2) Alpha’s Devotion - Omega’s Strength, but from Winter’s POV.

3) Bears, Oh My - An exhausted Winter, lost on a hike, comes across a cabin where Yang lives with her three pet bears.

4) Brave New World - Continuation of the Dishonored AU where Ruby and Winter reflect on the new Mantle.

5) Bruised - Third installment to the ace!Yang AU. 

6) Coming Home - Based on Dash’s Tiny Knight AU, Princess Blake is betrayed and stranded far from home and must rely on a reticent knight named Weiss to return to her kingdom.

7) Complications Always Arise - Papa Schnee is demanding Weiss marry before he’ll allow her to take his place as head of the SDC, so Yang volunteers to pretend to be Weiss’ beloved. No one else knows the relationship is fake, least of all Blake and Winter, and it’s just a bunch of pain.

8) Divided - Continuation of the By Moonlight AU where Whitley returns to the castle and Winter’s not upset by that- and Winter’s upset by the fact she’s not upset and has to figure out why her inner wolf is cool with this when she should, by all rights, be furious.

9) Dragonsbane - Mage Knight Winter hears tale of a dragon in the countryside that the local villages wish to see vanquished. Winter, however, has other plans.

10) Eye of the Beholder - Blinded and near death after a battle, Winter is rescued by the mysterious Yang and is nursed back to health despite her protests otherwise. (It’s a Medusa!AU.)

11) Fabled - Fable 3 AU where Princess Ruby and Princess Yang are forced to confront the fact that Queen Raven has lost her fucking mind, only to discover that fear drove the woman insane- a fear they must confront themselves.

12) Fields of Love - Farmer Yang offers a job and housing to apparent single mother Winter and her young daughter Penny. What starts as a kind gesture grows into something so much more.

13) Full Circle - Van Helsing (2004) AU, Winter and Weiss, amnesiacs employed by the church to handle all manner of unholy problems, are sent to discover what happened to King Taiyang. Along the way, they become wrapped up in a centuries spanning prophecy and a bloodline hanging in the balance.

14) High Bar, Low Blow - Yang owns a bar where the gimmick is that everyone’s an out of work actor and the staff is staging an ongoing drama on par with a soap opera to keep their customers coming back. Winter joins the staff and then things get a bit real.

15) Hoodlums and Hijinks - Robin Hood AU where Princess Winter and Princess Weiss are just as in favor for overthrowing the king as the group of bandits run by Ruby, Yang, and Blake. 

16) Last One 2: Electric Boogaloo (title subject to change) - a sequel to Last One where the haunt continues.

17) Lexical Access - Sequel to Tip of the Tongue, where Yang gives her girlfriend a bit of roleplaying payback.

18) Little Red - Carmen Sandiego AU where Ruby was kidnapped adopted by a group of thieves and raised to become the world’s greatest thief, but a chance meeting with Penny via a stolen phone opens her eyes to the wider world, and she meets the rebellious heiress Weiss, street smart Blake, and brawler Yang, creating a team that works to foil Ruby’s former friends while eluding capture by mysterious operatives with a somewhat familiar white color scheme...

19) Long Term Investment - Yang, a fae who lives in the woods, makes a deal with Princess Winter to save the Queen. The price? Winter’s firstborn. Winter misunderstands how she’s expected to get pregnant and Yang’s never actually intended to collect. Next thing Yang knows, Winter’s moving into the clearing beside her tree home.

20) Miscalculation - Another Omegaverse AU where Weiss is an omega and Blake and Yang are alphas, except Weiss lied and said she was an alpha when enrolling in Beacon and now she’s locked in a room with Blake and Yang on the verge of starting her heat. Sharing is caring.

21) More Than Words Can Say - Winter, rendered mute by a military accident early in her career, is honestly the best girlfriend Yang’s ever had. However, tonight’s the night they’ve decided to get intimate, and that includes showing some scars that they don’t show often. It’s less about sex and more about trust and intimacy.

22) Music of the Night - Phantom of the Opera AU where the mysterious, disfigured shade of the opera house, Weiss, finds herself at odds with the rich, jovial Yang in a competition for Blake’s heart. Then there’s Adam being a dick, too, and the opera house has never seen so much drama.

23) My Heart Will Go On - It’s the Titanic, but double the rich, unwilling-to-marry ladies and triple the won-a-ticket-to-a-ship ruffians. Penny’s there too; she, like Ruby, just really likes ships.

24) One Fucking Favor - Winter’s due for a long assignment and wants to make a sex tape for stress relief purposes. Yang doesn’t ask questions; she’s just the one with the camera. But then, Winter’s partner for the vid doesn’t show up. What’s Yang going to do about it?

25) Prophecy - Star Wars AU where Ruby, Yang, and Blake are trained as Jedi, Winter and Weiss are part of the clone army, and Ruby’s the chosen one. That’s a lot of pressure to put on someone, but Senator Salem is there to lend a helping hand...

26) Propositioned - Faunus experience bouts of heat; sometimes, they can safely ignore it and go about their lives, but every now and again, they really can’t. Concerned for Blake’s health as she’s skipped too many heats to be healthy, Yang sets up a partner for Blake’s heat. Blake’s not a fan but she does like the idea of banging Weiss Schnee.

27) Proven - ARK: Survival Evolved AU where Winter, after being ‘won’ by Yang, is taken into the bowels of the earth to learn how the underground tribes who inhabit the area survive in such an unforgiving environment. As she acclimates to the tribe’s ways, she finds herself carving out her own path, culminating in facing off against the Queen and proving herself worthy.

28) Reaping What You Sow - When Winter escaped to the countryside with Penny to start a farm, she knew she had her work cut out for her. In need of help and facing a harsh cold season, she hires Yang, a one armed drifter, to help her. The two end up needing the other more than they could’ve imagined.

29) Tear My Heart Open - Blake thought she understood how the world worked. As a member of the White Fang Gang, all she needed to do was keep everyone motivated to continue their ongoing street war against the police and authorities bent on keeping them down. But while running from the cops, she’s offered sanctuary in the home of one Weiss Schnee and her girlfriend, Yang. From there, her perception of the world is completely upended.

30) The Duel - After her father offered her hand in marriage to the winner of a tournament, Winter opted to assume a disguise and fight for the prize herself. In the final match, she faces Yang Xiao Long, a competitor she’s come to know quite well, and she finds her conviction to win wavering slightly. Is it enough to lose her the fight?

31) The Lies We Tell Ourselves - Weiss has made it; she’s opened her tattoo shop in Vale, well away from her father, and aside from a bad first impression with the florists across the parking lot, everything’s looking up for her- until her father finds her. Luckily, Blake’s been through some shit and doesn’t mind helping Weiss drive daddy dearest up the wall, even if it means letting her own parents think she’s dating Weiss. It’s not like either of them is going to catch feelings... unless...

32) The Princess’ Bride - After losing her fiancée to the dreaded White Fang Pirates, Yang vows to take to the sea herself and exact her revenge. Princess Weiss finds herself falling madly in love with Yang, who still loves Blake, and all this is thrown into even more chaos when Yang gets kidnapped and Blake comes back from the dead! 

33) Two for One - Yes, another Omegaverse AU. Five years after the fall of Beacon, Yang and Blake cross paths, each believing the other has spent the time keeping their mutual mate, Weiss, safe. When they realize Weiss is with neither of them, old wounds are torn open, but before they can resolve their dispute, Winter captures the both of them and hauls them to a remote part of Atlas where an SDC facility has been turned into a fortress. There, they find a mortally wounded Weiss clinging to life and raising twins daughters; she gives her mates until her death to endear themselves to their children, else the twins might opt to stay with Winter and be kept from Blake and Yang for good. Between learning about their kids, Blake and Yang navigate their complicated feelings and try to reconnect with Weiss, all while a sinister force gathers to destroy the fortress and steal the prize within.

34) Weaknesses - Loosely set in the Glamour AU, Yang is being forced to assume her mother’s position as leader of their vampire coven. Her fellow vamps disapprove of Yang’s werewolf girlfriend. Winter, of course, doesn’t care.

I got lazy and cut a bunch out. No, fuck you, I don’t have too many AUs, I will add more if I want. Also, some of these, the first chapter is posted on my Patreon. Don’t ask me which ones; I genuinely have no idea. I’m bad at this, y’all.

[kakashiswilloffire]

STEAM, not STEM

ao3

word count: 1.6k

kabuto x sai, college au, enemies to lovers ish, same age au

this is my first server collab with @konoblog-simps! the prompt was college au for august, and you can see the rest of the multifandom fics and artwork here!

***

As a biochemistry major focused on pharmaceuticals with a five year plan included finishing this undergrad degree, moving across the country for a masters in organic chemistry, then likely moving again for a doctorate in organic, along with four internships along the way, so that he could become a renowned creator of antianxiety medications, he was pretty confident in his knowledge. There was nothing a chemistry professor could ask that he couldn’t answer. Calculus came to him as a breeze. His psychology courses presented absolutely no challenge to him. Statistics, courses in professionalism and building his portfolio, and meetings with potential employers never caused him to break a sweat.

This fucking art class might kill him, though.

He had resented for years that humanities courses were required in science degree paths. It was his junior year and he had fought with his advisor for the past four semesters before finally giving in and agreeing to take a class on charcoal sketching. There was no way he would be caught dead in the hugely popular pottery class taught by the blond professor with tattoos of mouths on the back of his hands. Nor would he voluntarily take any basic introductory course in drawing or painting.

That was how he found himself in an advanced charcoal techniques course, prepared to blow through a handful of drawings and easily earn high marks.

However, in a class size of eight, he was drawing attention for the wrong reasons.

To start, the others all seemed to know each other from previous courses, which immediately made him the outsider. To make matters worse, the professor greatly preferred their work to his own. A part of him couldn’t blame the man who insisted he be called Tenzo rather than by any title or honorific. His drawings were definitely in a different style to the rest of the class, and it was a style that didn’t seem to be changing or improving as the weeks passed.

It wouldn’t be so frustrating if it wasn’t the first thing he had ever tried that was proving to be a struggle. As if that wasn’t enough to deal with, the asshole in the front row seemed to take to charcoal like breathing.

On the first day, when Tenzo had gone over the syllabus, he had also made them all introduce themselves and play a get to know you game. They all pretended that it wasn’t for Kabuto’s benefit. Fu and Torune had begun, making a point of making physical contact with each other the whole time they spoke, though he had never seen Torune take off his gloves. The had tuned most of the others out as they spoke, noting Shin seemed decent enough, though he’d prefer if the man stopped coughing for more than a moment. What grated him to no end was the final person to speak.

Sai.

He spoke with a fake smile plastered across his face, eyes closed and voice dripping with confidence. He listed his credentials off without any thought, and it infuriated him that the list of accomplishments and certifications rivaled the length of his own. Sai listed his specialty in art as black and white realism, and his preferred medium as painting, though he was looking forward to learning more about charcoal. From there, he had turned to Kabuto with that same overly-relaxed smile and offered:

“Your turn, flash cards.”

The familiarity rubbed him the wrong way and he had been irritated with him ever since. What made it worse was that Sai was actually really good in the course. He hadn’t been lying about his skill in realism—anything he rendered looked like it was about to run off the page. He seemed to prefer birds, in all species, but every individual feather breathed and flowed and he never got the black dust accidentally smudged on his paper. In fact, he never got the dust anywhere. Kabuto always left the class covered in black smears on his skin, clothing, and bag, and there would always be some hidden patch of charcoal that he never found until he showered that night.

It infuriated him to no end that this shallow jerk who modelled his personality around whoever he was with was also, genuinely, so much better than him at this class that he desperately needed to pass.

Midterm grades had come back the other day and a vein had nearly popped out of his forehead when he saw the disastrously low score. Tenzo had noted that he saw improvement between this and where Kabuto had began the class, but it was still not on level with the rest of the class and where he would need to be in preparation for the next level pastels course. Apparently, it didn’t matter that he wouldn’t be taking the next level course. If he didn’t pass this course with a reasonably high grade, his scholarship sponsor, Orochimaru, would be furious. Risking the scholarship not being renewed meant risking the entire five year plan, and for that—

He’d have to suck it up.

“Hey, Sai?” he asked, forcing himself to keep his tone level. Admitting weakness was not his strength and he had no intention of making this a habit.

The crop top wearer glanced up from the hyper-realistic sheet of mice that he was effortlessly rendering. “Ah, Kabuto,” he said, the same smile from before falling across his face. “Lovely weather we’re having, isn’t it?”

He gritted his teeth, then forced his jaw to relax. “The rain we’ve had all week? Sure, Sai.” He pulled up a stool, settling in to the easel next to him. “I wanted to ask you a question.”

Sai nodded, not pausing his movement as he gave life to a mouse’s tail. “My answer is yes.”

Kabuto blinked. Was asking for help really this simple? “You’re willing to tutor me for the final?”

That caused Sai to hesitate, tilting his head slightly to the side. After a beat, he replied “I suppose I could do that. You appear to be capable of learning how to improve your questionable techniques.”

Ignoring the dig, he pressed on. “I would appreciate that. Tenzo said that my linework is improving but my shading is still not where it needs to be. Something about being more mindful of my light sources.”

“I agree with his analysis,” Sai said, continuing on his sketch. “Your grasp of line weight is abysmal, which is a step up from your initial attempt, which was horrific. Your shading on our last assignment, the brickwork, was essentially nonexistent. All of your pieces so far have had at least four light sources that have no apparent source. It’s clear from your work that you have no regard for art and no passion for creation at all.”

He delivered the critique without halting a single graceful stroke on his canvas. There was no malice in his tone, and he said the words almost pleasantly, despite the cutting content.

“I am willing to teach you more technique and skill so that Tenzo is able to assign you a passing grade in this course. However, I do not believe you are capable of being an artist or creating anything of value in the world as you currently are.”

Kabuto froze. He had only meant to ask for a few tips, not to be dragged for all he was worth in this godforsaken art course. How dare this arrogant prick think he was incapable of creation?

He gripped his charcoal stick so tightly in his fist that it crumbled. “Listen, inky. Just because I’m focused in science doesn’t mean I can’t create anything meaningful. My goal is to be a pharmaceutical chemist, to create medications to change people’s lives. Just because I can’t draw some fucking—I don’t know, a fucking rat or a bowl of fruit or whatever, doesn’t make you better than me. So fuck off with that.”

Sai smirked, his eyes closing in his familiar pattern. “I never implied anything about our worth relative to each other. But I do think that it’s cute that you’re concerned about appearing to be less than me. That will create an excellent motivation for self-improvement for both of us in our relationship.”

The light caught Kabuto’s glasses, a white reflection flashing across the lenses. “We don’t have a relationship.”

Finally, Sai put his rectangle of charcoal down on the easel and sat up. “Do we not? What was the intent of your original question to me?”

Kabuto spluttered. “What do you mean? I came up and asked if you’d help me with the final and you said yes, then you were an ass.”

It was now Sai’s turn to blink. “You said that you had a question for me. I replied that my answer was yes. As a result, we are now boyfriends.” He wiped his fingers on a handkerchief hanging on the corner of his easel. “Was your question you intended to ask me not if I would be interested in a romantic relationship with you?”

He flushed a deep red. Sai was attractive, that was undeniable, but that was not how this encounter was meant to go. Romance was not in the five year plan. “I—”

“Just do it,” sighed Tenzo, sitting at his desk with his head in his hands. “For the love of God, both of you, stop staring at each other and bickering and just go out, would you?”

Sai smiled, the classic closed-eye smile that looked more genuine each time he did it. “Thank you, Tenzo.”

Kabuto was confused, but in order to learn the skills he needed to pass this class, he’d need to go along with the game. Without another word, he reached out and took Sai’s hand. Might as well give it a shot, right?

[thiswasinevitableid]

7. Leshen Indruck your choice of rating!

Here you go! I went with SFW

It’s old wisdom that humans fear that which they do not understand. 

Indrid really hoped he would never learn the truth of that wisdom the hard way, but here he is. One misplaced attempt at aiding someone using his foresight and he’s been caught, blindfolded, and dumped in the middle of the vast Monongahela Forest. 

He just wanted to help. 

His foresight renders him less fearful than he’d otherwise be; he’ll be able to see threats coming and locate the resources he needs. If he takes his time, he might be able to use his visions to locate the nearest (friendly) village. And, like anyone who grew up near the woods, he knows how to hunt, fish, and forage. For someone who’s been left to die, he’s rather confident. 

Still, it sting a little.

After a few moments of rightfully-earned self-pity, he buttons up his coat and starts the slow, halting journey towards safety. 

Two days later, he’s pushing his way through branches and miserably pointing out to himself again and again that a town where everyone grew up with basic forest survival skills would exile one of their own somewhere that required high-level survival skills. 

The topography and scenery is so disorienting that he may have better luck if he covered his eyes, spun around ten times, and chose his path from there. It’s a dense landscape of deep greens and browns with splashes of bright color that he’d no doubt enjoy were he not constantly snagging on branches or catching his toes on roots. 

Worse, he’s had no luck catching food, and cannot for the life of him locate water. The fact it rained last night is the only reason he’s not dangerously dehydrated.

A sharp, high chirp draws his eye to the foot of a tree. Flapping sparsely feathered wings, a baby bird hops through the mud, her nest visible but unreachable. A meager meal, but a meal nonetheless. 

Indrid scoops her into his palms, clambers into the lowest crook of the tree, and sets her back among her siblings. 

His stomach chastises him the rest of the day, though the rest of his body rejoices when he finds a hollow in the base of a tree large enough for him to shelter within. From within the trunk, he spies vine sprawling across the ground, berries glinting in the light rain. Deep purple, meaning they’re Brambleberries. 

The handful he shoves into his mouth brings tears to his eyes, even though they’re not the ripest. How else do you explain the bitterness chasing the sweetness down his throat. 

Wait. Brambleberries don’t go purple until mid-summer. This is early spring. Which means those were-

“Chokeberries.” He curses himself, darting outside the tree once more, finger down his throat until his meal comes back up. Maybe he was fast enough.

His throat tightens in a prelude to closing. Sinking to his knees, gasping for air, he swears the ground vibrates with heavy steps. His eyes flutter close as he falls forward. As darkness slips over his eyes, he thinks it’s taking him a long time to hit the ground. 

-------------------------------------------------------------------

Bitter metal on his tongue. 

“Nnnnf” Eyes still shut, he pushes at whatever is holding the spoon and it’s vile contents in his mouth. 

“None of that. You’re gonna need two more doses of this before that Chokeberry is outta your system, and they were hard enough to get into you when you were passed out. Swallow.”

He swallows.

A large hand pats his head, “There we go. I know, shit’s gross, but if you were fool enough to eat those berries, might stun some sense into you.”

Indrid sits up, rubbing his eyes, “I was delirious with hunger, forgive me for not remembering the exact seasons of fruits. Did you heal me only to insult me or-” his visions flicker back full force, revealing his host before he opens his eyes. He scrambles back, but instead of a wall or an edge he just finds a vast expanse of bed. 

Watching him with an amused set to his lips is a man three heads taller and much bulkier than Indrid, dark hair streaked with grey-green moss, eyes the dark green of pine needles, and nails like treebark. He crosses arms tattooed with green, gold, and bronze swirls, waiting for Indrid to collect himself. 

“A Leshen.”

“Yep.”

“Are...are you going to eat me?”

“What? No, I’m not gonna fuckin eat you. I don’t know which of my kind chowed down on humans but if I ever find out I’m gonna give ‘im a piece of my mind. Ain’t great to have people thinkin I’m a man-eater when the worst I done is throw a tree at someone.”

“That is still very alarming.”

The Leshen shrugs “I’m a forest guardian; I’m gonna guard.”

Indrid studies him, wary, drawing the covers up his chest without noticing. 

“Look” the Leshen sighs, “I ain’t tryin to scare you. Hell, made myself the smallest I can so I could be all comfortin. Noticed you in the woods earlier today and kept an eye on you, since humans-”

“Don’t often come here, yes, I am aware. I was extremely, forcibly exiled into your part of the woods.”

Green eyes blink, “Huh. Well, point is it didn’t seem right to leave you there to die, so I brought you here. Chokeberry is real easy to undo, assumin you got the right herbs.” 

“Thank you.” He doesn’t know what else to say. His foresight tells him the Leshens promise of no harm is true, but there are so many timelines for what he could say and how his host could respond that he freezes. 

“You’re welcome. You got a name?”

“Indrid.”

“You oughta rest up more, Indrid. I’ll be back with the next dose in a bit.” His host steps out to the hall.

“Wait, do I, ah, get to know your name?”

“Duck.”

He snickers, replies to the raised eyebrow with, “Apologies, I expected something tree-related.”

Duck smiles, “It’s a nickname.”

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------

“What’s your plan?” Duck asks from across the breakfast table. The morning found Indrid well enough to walk and to eat without feeling ill, so he’s been perching awkwardly on a chair that’s too big for him as the Leshen makes plates of toast and eggs that don't come from any bird Indrid is familiar with. 

“I, ah, I don’t really have one other than ‘avoid going home’.”

“You were just gonna wander around until you found a village? I hate to tell you this, but there ain’t one for at least fifty miles, and I’m guessin that’s the one you came from. They must’ve used and enter to navigate here, because this part of the woods is hostile to travel by design.”

“Yours?” Indrid sips his tea, face to hide his distaste for its bitterness. 

“Yep.” Duck slides a jar over to him, it’s copper lid revealing sugar cubes within, “Don’t much feel like runnin into humans every damn day, and it means that even as y’all sprawl out more and more, there are parts of this wood that stay wild.”

“I appreciate the sentiment, but it does little to improve my situation. Unless…” he bites his lip. 

“Unless?”

“Unless I could stay here. I’m not bad company, and I have some skills which could-”

“No” Duck shakes his head, “savin you is one thing, takin you on as a roommate is all whole other kettle of fish.”

“Ah. Right. Of course.” He sips his tea, reflection crestfallen. Maybe he’ll just finish this and then go back to sleep. 

Duck sighs, expression one of someone who already regrets the offer he’s about to make, “You can stay here for a month. After that, I’ll get you as close to a safe village as I can, and you’re on your own. Deal?”

Indrid grins, appetite returning in full, “Deal.”

-------------------------------------------------------------

Duck has a good guess as to what’s making all the scratching and clanging in his kitchen, but it’s still a surprise to see Indrid moving from counters to chairs doubling as stools to tend a pot that he can barely peer into.

The human’s gotten nimble over the last week and a half, thanks to his routine attempts to help Duck around the house. Everything is scaled to Duck’s smallest possible form, but that still leaves Indrid at a disadvantage. 

He’d be more inclined to help him if it wasn’t so obvious that his help is a ploy to convince Duck to let him stay. Look, he feels bad for the guy, but humans don’t have a great track record with his kind and he generally likes his peace and quiet out in the woods. He also notices that, left to his own devices, Indrid is messy. The area around the couch he uses as a bed is strewn drawings and unfolded clothes that Duck conjured up. Which means this is about Ducks favor, not a commitment to household cleanliness. 

That’s not to say having Indrid around has been unpleasant; the human is good company but also understands Ducks' need for space. He’s odd, and even though the foresight was the given reason, Duck suspects his fellow villagers would have found reason to exile him regardless. Indrid even said that living with Duck was the happiest he’d felt in some time. That wasn’t a ploy; Indrid is prone to saying unnerving statements without registering them. Thorns pricked Duck’s heart when he heard it and, that night, when Indrid fell asleep on the bed during their conversation about deer, he didn’t move him. Just brushed the white hair from his eyes and laid down a respectful distance away. 

“Oh! We’re in the timeline when you’re early.” Indrid waves distractedly as he wrestles open a jar, “I checked on you during the day through my visions and it looked as though you got drenched, so I thought something warm was in order.”

He’s smiling, and Duck’s gaze lingers long enough to see there’s no trickery in it. Yeah, being a forest spirit means storms are refreshing more than freezing, but the one today was so relentless he felt like it was eroding him away. 

“Thanks, Indrid. I’ll join you in a sec.”

The next morning, before he leaves he forms some nearby stumps into a proper step-stool, and transmogrifies the minerals of the earth into a solid set of human sized pots and pans. 

-------------------------------------------

“I know you’re there, Duck. I may not have eyes in the trees, but I do have visions that tell me when someone is dithering about coming to speak with me.” Indrid smiles, checking the fishing pole he’s dug into the shore. He feels rather than hears Duck approach; in spite of his size, the Leshen moves through the woods more softly than a butterfly. 

“Guess those visions do make you harder to spy on than the average human.”

“A not at all creepy statement.” Indrid teases, then tips over when Duck playfully shoves him. 

“Shit, sorry.”

“It’s alright” he brushes off his arm, “the sand is nice and warm.” He picks up his sketchbook (stray pieces of paper sewn together) and pens (Duck turned flowers, fruit, leaves, and wood into them until Indrid had every color) and continues drawing. Half the reason he likes fishing is that he can draw futures (and for his own pleasure) while he does it. The other half is that he doesn’t want Duck to view him as a parasite in his home. Yes, for the first week, he did everything he could to demonstrate that he would make an excellent addition to the house made of twisting trunks and mossy floors. 

Now, though, he just wants to enjoy his time with Duck, even if that means not tidying constantly or cooking every meal. He hopes Duck enjoys it too, regardless of whether he lets Indrid stay. The Leshen is lonely, even if it only comes through on those days when his voice is like the wind through a weather-beaten log. Indrid wishes he knew how to assuage it, but a month is not long enough to learn such things. 

He’s slept in Duck’s bed these last three nights. It’s not purposeful, Duck is just so interesting to talk with and Indrid will lose sight of the time, will slump sideways and mumble that he ought to turn in, and then wake up in the early hours atop his host. It didn’t occur to him until this morning that Duck does that to keep Indrid from being uncomfortably squashed by his larger bedmate. And that Duck chooses to do that rather than carry Indrid to his own bed. 

“Hey, uh, ‘Drid?” Duck’s voice brings him back to the riverside, “would you, uh, wanna come with me on my rounds sometimes? Might be some nice things to draw, and that foresight of yours could be real helpful with some of the stuff I need to keep an eye on.”

His host looks nervous until Indrid nods, “I would be honored.”

--------------------------------------------

Never has the folding of clothes made him so miserable. Yet still he tucks the garments into the large-but-manageable rucksack Duck gave him, placing his sketchpad safely between the layers of fabric.

“Weather oughta be good tomorrow.” His visions show Duck behind him, rubbing the back of his neck. He’s going to miss that voice, the way leaves rustle underneath the drawl. 

“That’s good.” He pulls the ties on his rucksack, sets at the end of the couch but doesn’t turn around. 

“I’d, uh, say you’re welcome to visit but, uh, well, you know how fuckin hard this place is to find.”

“Mmmm.” Indrid wants him to go, wants him to be brusque or happy, not awkwardly fond in a way that gives false hope of shared affection. 

“‘Drid there’s, there’s somethin I wanna, that is I’m thinkin...aw, fuck it.”

Indrid yelps as arms nearly as big around as he is scoop him up. Duck’s lifted him to examine flowers or see over trees, but the hugging is new. 

“Duck?” Carefully, he drapes his arms over his shoulders.

“Don’t go.”

“I don’t want to.” Duck always smells faintly of pine needles and green wood, and Indrid buries his face in his neck, inhaling in hopes of remembering it forever. 

“Then stay. I changed my mind, ‘Drid, life is so much better with you around.” 

“Okay” Indrid can’t get his voice above a whisper; this wasn’t in the timelines, which means Duck changed his mind at the literal last moment. 

“Really? You wanna stay?” Duck shifts him back, Indrid functionally sitting on his forearm with his legs half wrapped around his chest. 

The seer summons his courage, finds it lacking, and so closes his eyes before going in for a kiss. His lips find Duck’s cheek until a firm hand cups the back of his head, guiding their mouths together. At this size, their mouths are compatible even as Indrid remains pleasantly dwarfed. Duck breaks the kiss first but Indrid, hell-bent on making up for lost time, continues kissing his face until they’re both laughing.

Duck kisses his forehead, “I’m gonna take that as a yes.” 

[prettywordsyouleft]

Forsaken | Part 7

Summary: As one of the Forsaken, Jinyoung had no right to covet anything as his own. When he stumbles across you standing in the middle of the village he had plundered, the memories of old make him risk it all, clutching at the past in hopes for a better future.

Pairing: Park Jinyoung x reader

Genre: warrior au / star crossed lovers / angst / romance

Warnings: death, kidnapping, cursing, a myriad of emotions - this is a really sad love story.

Index: Prologue | 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12 | 13 | 14 | 15 

Jinyoung urged the sun to go back down. He didn’t want the new day to arrive and yet it had done just that, blinding him whenever he looked up to curse the heavens.

He had been reluctant to do anything this morning.

It had been a brief slice of paradise, he realised. Since the last raid, orders had been to stay on the low. And then right before tattooing you yesterday morning, Mark had found him and slipped him the messaged received through the radio.

They were expected to plunder another region with one week as the timeframe.

It was foolish, on his behalf, to get so wrapped up in you. The highs and lows of having you here had distracted him from his usually clear focus. And after sharing his body and becoming one with your heart and soul, Jinyoung wondered if this was how you felt when you had your rebellious stage as a teenager. Back then, he hadn’t understood your defiance towards your parents and their rules. Now, he could explicitly.

He wanted to crumble the note within his hands, pretending the radio never picked up the order. Yet, too many of his men knew of what was expected here. BamBam and Yugyeom were stationed in the radio tower most days and would have passed on the message to Mark. It was fruitless to deny the order’s existence.

Could he object fulfilling it, however?

There was a growing moral concern within him now that you were at his side. Numb, he had followed orders for the past decade in hopes it would somehow lead to a way out of the army. He knew it was hopeless, and yet that was how he had processed it.

You brought out a different side within him. Jinyoung wanted to scrub his hands clean of his sins. Although he couldn’t change the past, he wanted to keep the blood from his hands so you didn’t have to clean it off for him.

Being an honest man when he was a seasoned warrior would be impossible and yet he wanted to try.

“Mark told me they’re readying the horses for the trip out,” you murmured after stepping to Jinyoung’s side, holding a hand over your eyes to keep the bright light out of them.

Were you trying to comfort him right now, knowing full well he was about to take the lives of others? Jinyoung closed his eyes guiltily. He didn’t want you to see him at his worst again.

“I don’t hate you,” you announced a moment later, stepping in front of him and rearranging the protective armour to his outfit. Your expression was grim as you fussed over him. “I can’t hate you.”

“It’s okay. I can do that in your stead.”

“I’ll send a prayer to those who cross paths with you all that it ends quickly.”

Jinyoung turned his head away from yours, blinking back his emotions. He hadn’t cried over the cruelness of this world in years. Now you were rendering him into a bubbling mess. Stepping back from you, Jinyoung shook his head.

“Don’t do anything. I don’t want you involved in this.”

“I am though. I know that people will lose their lives by the man I love. My lack of stopping you means I am now a part of this too.”

Static filled his mind, buzzing away whatever you were saying to him now.

He didn’t need to you see him off like some housewife sending her husband off to work. This wasn’t a job worthy of such a send-off. In fact, the longer he stood near you, the more repulsed Jinyoung became, wanting to get away from you immediately.

He strode over to the stables as quickly as he could and mounted his stead, patting its neck before kicking it to charge forward. His men scrambled to follow after his hasty departure, keeping up with the race he had made it into until some miles away from the base.

There, Jinyoung sucked in a deep breath and expelled it shakily. Jackson glanced in his direction and groaned. “Some leader you are.”

“Shut up.”

“Can’t even tell the woman you love that you’ll miss her whilst on the road,” he continued and ignored the seething expression Jinyoung shot him. Jackson shrugged. “If I ever find someone to love, I’ll make sure she knows it every day.”

“Do make sure she’s aware she’s lying with a man who has sins stacked up so high that the heavens above won’t ever grant him access beyond those pearly white gates.”

“You think she can’t cope with who you are? Y/N isn’t like that.”

“What would you know? It was me who spent years at her side, not you.”

“Whilst you’ve been brooding like a petulant child, I’ve spent some time with her. I’ll have you know, Jinyoung, she’s far easier to talk to than you are.”

Jinyoung merely grunted in response.

“When you love someone, you have to accept all of them. You might not agree, you might hope for change and you might shoulder some of their guilt.”

“That’s what I don’t want.”

“For Y/N to be a strength for you?”

Jinyoung scoffed. “She’s my weakness.”

“She could empower you if you let her. She’s accepted who you are. She loves you regardless. You’re the one with the problem. If you keep acting like a tortured soul and open a door just to slam it in her face again, she’ll find it hard to remain at your side.”

“Did I sign up for an advice session, Lieutenant?” Jinyoung questioned sternly and Jackson’s concerned expression turned sombre.

“No, you didn’t.”

“Let’s focus on the task ahead, shall we?”

“What’s love like?”

Jinyoung looked over at Jaebum and frowned. “Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’ve clearly experienced it.” Jinyoung made no effort to react and Jaebum nudged him. “With that girl from the village.”

“She saved me, it wasn’t love.”

“How do you know what is and isn’t love?” Jaebum pointed out and Jinyoung laughed at the boy’s ludicrous way of asking a question, only to throw it back at him when he didn’t respond the way he wanted him to.

Although Jaebum was by far the easiest company Jinyoung had within this wretched camp thus far, he found the man beyond frustrating at times.

“I’m not answering.”

“He looks like he’s suffering from heartbreak,” another voice crooned and Jinyoung glanced at Jackson and rolled his eyes. He wasn’t fond of him much, either.

“What’s heartbreak like?” Jaebum wondered, peering at Jinyoung for obvious signs. “He looks healthy enough; surely his heart still works fine.”

“It’s losing someone who makes your world brighter,” a quiet man spoke, everyone at the wooden table turning to look at Mark. He sighed heavily. “It’s when the life leaves your eyes because you’re too far away from their bright light they live within.”

That Jinyoung could relate to. Without you, the world did seem dull in comparison. However, he wasn’t about to tell any of them that.

“What? Yet the sun is out right now!” Jackson exclaimed, dodging the hand that Mark threw out towards him exasperatedly. They laughed together and Jinyoung smiled lightly.

It hurt without you, but at least he wasn’t alone.

It was a gruelling five days and when the men returned to the camp, only the younger ones seemed in good spirits.

Jinyoung was exhausted, and after dismounting his horse he led it to the stables where the gypsy ladies began untacking them.

“You’re back, Commander.”

“Make sure the bathing house has hot water for us in an hour,” he instructed and Trudy reached for his wrist.

“Don’t be alarmed when you look around the camp.”

“What?” he asked, his eyebrows knitting together.

Trudy smiled weakly and tapped her hand gently over his. “Y/N cleaned.”

Darting away from the woman, Jinyoung took the entrance to their camp through the hillside from the stables, hurrying through the earthen corridor to the other side. On first glance, nothing seemed to be out of order.

And that’s when he realised it, everything was glistening.

“Oh, thank god you’re back,” Youngjae greeted with a relieved tone. “She hasn’t stopped.”

“Y/N?” Jinyoung questioned distractedly as he continued to survey the area, and the man nodded. “She did all this?”

“At first, she organised the entire kitchen. Then the bathing house she scrubbed until her hands bled. I tried to stop her, to make her rest, but then she was up in the middle of the night rearranging the seating foyer and the supplies shed. She climbed the ladder and dusted off the cobwebs in every crevice and I have no idea what she’s gotten up to in your home, Jinyoung.”

“Thank you for telling me,” he replied as he marched towards the areas Youngjae had spoken of. The kitchen was indeed void of any clutter and mess and Jinyoung began to run through the camp towards his house, thumping down the stairs from the side door and then flung the final door open, heaving as he took you in.

You were reading at his desk and twisted around to look at him miserably. “Oh, you’re back.”

Yanking off his armour and letting it drop to the floor with a thud, he moved to your side, pulling you out of the chair and holding you as close as he could. “I missed you.”

“You... you did?”

“Every day, every hour, every minute,” he confessed and you began to cry, clinging to him tightly.

“I didn’t know what to do without you!”

“I know.”

“I hate cleaning but it was all I could do to pass the time.”

“I know,” he repeated soothingly, breathing you in to calm some of his nerves down.

“Are you okay? Did you get hurt?”

“Only a graze, I’ll be fine.”

“Did you… are they…?” Jinyoung hummed weakly in answer.

“I did what was expected of me.”

“I don’t have any idea what to say,” you told him honestly and Jinyoung choked on his emotions, your head jerking back to look at him, reaching to wipe the tears now falling from his eyes. “It’s painful for you.”

“I want to leave before the next order,” he announced and you nodded in agreement, gripping him more tightly.

“We can do that. We’ll get it organised. Jaebum was here whilst you were gone, taking things he felt was needed and storing it in the old shack on the boundary line.”

“I need to go and wash off everything,” Jinyoung mentioned, once spent with his emotions, and glanced at your linked hands. Dried blood now sullied your once clean ones and he sighed at the sight, his fears now a reality.

He wasn’t as scared as he had been on the morning he left. Jackson, even if he had bothered him at the time, had been right.

You were trying to accept all that came with him. Although you were eager to escape, Jinyoung knew you wouldn’t go without him. You would stay here and endure it all for the rest of your life if that was what was needed.

He rested against you, feeling vulnerable and small in comparison.

“Do you need me to help you go to the bathing house?”

“And see all the rest of the men using it, I don’t think so,” Jinyoung replied sternly and you giggled.

It was amazing how such a small bright sound like that could liven him up so easily.

Staring at you again, Jinyoung realised he had loved you from the day he stole that compass from you. You had laughed at him then too, the sound embedded in his mind, the source of your light.

Now that you were back, he didn’t want to cast you into darkness. He wanted you to shine as brightly as you once had. If that meant allowing you to shoulder his burdens along with him, then he would do it.

And he knew that a meeting with Jaebum was in order as well.

It was time for phase one to begin.

_________________

Part 8

All rights reserved © prettywordsyouleft

[GOT7 Masterlist] | [Main Masterlist] | [Request Guidelines]