#but yeah blue eyes tend to have so many shades and when very light they seem almost like a different color? but we go with blue for him lol | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

odetojeons · 4 years ago

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No Better Canvas To Paint A Ruined Landscape — Lee Seokmin

request: hii can i request a sub!seokmin x dom fem reader?? you catch him touching himself and then he is super shy about it when you confront him!!<3

tags: soft dom and fem!reader, shy and sub!seokmin, cockring, orgasm control, light bondage, established relationship, praise kink, noona kink, semi-public sex (kind of?), snowballing, unprotected sex, blowjob, fluff at the end if you squint, seokmin being adorable, and potentially killing me with his cuteness

a/n: I’m a whore for sub seokmin. that’s all I have to say. definitely not alive after this. tbh this was my favorite tumblr smut until now all because seokmin. lee seokmin. yeah. bye.

word count: 7202

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin looks like he might combust into a thousand tiny Seokmins really soon.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You keep staring at him in interest, looking with an amused lifted eyebrow how his red face turns to the side to avoid your eyes like it’s some sort of plague. There’s a lonely drop of sweat running down his left temple, a hand coming to swap at it and freezing in the middle of the act when your eyes find each other, the blush creeping in his cheeks burning with an even darker shade as you watch fascinated the bob of his adam’s apple when Seokmin swallows nervously.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He jumps a little where he’s sitting when you nudge his feet with yours. Seokmin comically widens his eyes at you when you mouth “what’s going on?”, quick to shake his head what it seems like at least fifty times. A frown forms on your brows, your boyfriend being oddly nervous and suspicious is poking on your curiosity, especially when he excuses himself to the bathroom in a hurry.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You stare at his empty seat, the plate of food laying almost untouched on the table. It’s been a while since the both of you hosted a party on your house, so you wanted to make the experience good for your friends — and you know Seokmin does too, but for some reason he’s acting… whatever the way he’s acting —, having even put a lot of effort into dressing up for the occasion. Something must be wrong, so you excuse yourself from the friends who are sitting on the table and go through the little crowd, heading towards the bathroom.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Seok-ah?” you ask softly where you stand right in front of the door. No answers. You knock again, this time a little bit louder. Maybe he didn’t listen to you, the music loud enough to shake you all the way to your bones. Again, no answers. Your frown worsens, gripping the handle and turning it just to be met with an empty bathroom. “Seokmin?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He’s not there, and okay, there's definitely something wrong. Seokmin sometimes tends to go through stuff you have no idea about because he keeps thinking he might bother you with his problems, and you just want him to know that you love him so much that it pains you more to see him suffering in silence than hearing him talking about it. Overall, Seokmin is the biggest overthinker ever, your sweet and shy boyfriend, a ball of sunshine despite his little defects you’re so fond of.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You go to the master bedroom, your last hope to where he must be as your house doesn’t have many rooms. Worry settles deep within your stomach thinking that Seokmin might be sick or something.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He isn’t.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Quite the opposite, actually. Seokmin is more than healthy.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You were not even remotely prepared for what you find inside when you open the door of your room. Seokmin is standing in front of the old escritoire you bought from an antique store, one of his sprawled hands supporting the weight of his body on the desk and broad back dressed in a white social shirt, still turned to you as the music overlapped the sound of your arrival — everything normal at first, and you’re about to open your mouth to question if everything is alright with him when your eyes catch a movement.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin’s arm is working on something really fast, hand going up and down, tiny, soft noises coming from him, and your mind goes blank when the realization that Seokmin is jerking off sinks deep within your core.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There’s a shiver rocking on your body, head spinning.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Seokmin,” is what you say, monosyllabic and completely flabbergasted.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin snaps his head so fast in your direction you think he might have broken his neck for a second, eyes widening right before he closes them very tightly and moans loud enough that makes you want to close the door in fear of someone listening, but you’re too stuck in the fact that Seokmin almost just came to even be able to move from your spot.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“F-fuck,” he cries out, the grip he has around the base of his cock almost painful, probably there to hold his orgasm back. You’re stunt into silence as he scrambles desperately to hide his beloved friend back into his pants, struggling with the zipper in the process because the bulge is too big.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Seokmin,” you say again, like it’s the only word that remains in your vocabulary. Your mouth goes dry, heat burning on your lower stomach when you look at the notebook in front of Seokmin and sees one of the videos you record to be his fap material when you’re not around, playing on the screen. But you are around. “What are you doing?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

It’s more than obvious what he’s doing. Even so, you still find yourself asking.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin still hasn’t turned around. You know he must be very embarrassed right now — who wouldn’t anyway —, if the blush spreading all the way down to his ears and neck is anything to go by. His body stiffens when a soft moan comes from the notebook speakers, hands reaching to close the video and the screen so fast he knocks some things off of the table and into the ground.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Turn around,” you tell him, finally finding enough strength to close the door and lock it. Seokmin flinches at the sound, shoulders tensing, but he remains unmoving. “Now.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He flinches again, this time because of the finality in your tone, leaving no spaces for objections. Seokmin then complies, turning his body to you like every movement pains him deep within the bones, hands coming to cover the front of his pants and head hung low in shame.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You take a sweet moment to admire Seokmin’s figure; his shirt is open until the third button, firm and red chest peeking out of it, sweat glistening his skin to a beautiful shade of gold, biceps looking like it would pop out of the sleeves of his social shirt and lips swollen, probably because he must have bitten them really hard. Fuck, your boyfriend is so hot.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You lift a finger and crook it a few times towards yourself. He gets the message, coming closer lightning fast and stopping right in front of you, still refusing to look you in the eyes. You had enough of this attitude, spinning him around so his back could be against the door and cradling his chin between your fingers to tilt his head enough to look at you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Aren’t you going to answer?” you question with a pout, voice poisonously sweet. Seokmin’s shiver doesn’t go unnoticed by you, satisfaction licking on your lower stomach.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I— I-I’m, I was…” Seokmin mumbles intelligibly, a moan escaping his lips when your nails sink onto his shoulder and the darkness swimming in your eyes leaves his legs weak. He can’t shiver, needs to remain composed or else he might embarrass himself further, if that’s even possible, might make you realize the reason why he’s like this, might make him—

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin shivers.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“‘M s-sorry.” he offers, hips bucking slightly when he hears your pleased hum.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Are you though, sunshine?” bodies pressing closer, you watch Seokmin’s arms twitch, not knowing if he’s allowed to touch you. You smile at that, biting at his lower lip. “You were so desperate to touch yourself you came here all alone and jerked off to one of my videos? You don’t seem very apologetic to me.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He whines at your condescending tone, head hitting the door with a soft thud when you tilt his chin back to lick a hot stripe up his neck, pulling it to the previous position once you’re done teasing him a little. There’s a sound threatening to come out of you when you see how much want is written all over his face.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I-it’s because you look—” Seokmin’s sentence gets cut off in the middle when he feels the feather-like trace of your fingers on his hands that were still doing a very poor job of hiding the press of his cock to his pants. It brings tiny goosebumps all over his skin, Seokmin needing to take a deep breath before proceeding. “You look s-so hot with these clothes…”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your touch stills completely, and Seokmin’s heart might jump out of his thoracic cage any time soon, but even so he doesn’t stop talking.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“And, and t-the way you were dancing was just— j-just so fucking sexy,” he mumbles quietly, closing his eyes for a second like he’s remembering how you swayed your hips obscenely to the beat of the music earlier. A flash of a memory runs through your mind, Seokmin sitting on your couch, manspreading as he watches you with one of his legs moving up and down nervously. “Want to f-fuck you so bad.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah?” you tangle a hand on his hair, fisting it so you could pull his head backwards and pleasure yourself with the moan he gives you. Seokmin blinks at the ceiling, like he’s willing himself not to move. “My baby boy got hard watching me dance?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The pet name does something to him. It always does. Seokmin bucks his hips involuntarily, the front of his hands hitting your stomach as he ruts against his palms with such a whiny mewl you could swear you feel a punch to your lower stomach.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yes. So hard.” and his voice, so sweet and beautiful, makes your penties start to soak. His hot breath fans your face, chest heaving with the intensity of it. “I’m so hard for you, fuck.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You slap his hand away. Seokmin turns his head to look at you, eyes big like he has been caught doing something very wrong.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Lost your manners, sunshine?” grabbing at his wrists, you pry them away to take a better look at his bulge, finding endearing how his cheeks immediately go redder at that. It looks painful, the outline of his cock pressing tight against the fabric of his blue pants, and you try not to let the smugness seep through your voice when you notice a wet patch of precum on it. “You’re that desperate you even forgot how to ask?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You trap his hands behind his back; realistically, Seokmin could break free at any time he wants, with him being almost twice as bigger than you, but you know he wouldn’t do it because right now you got this kind of power over him that surrenders Seokmin putty, and it turns you on so much. He looks so good this way, back resting against the door, hips stuck to the front like he wants you to do something, eyes looking down at you with a hunger, a hunger to take what he wants already, but at the same time with an enormous amount of submission.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

And Seokmin is huge, not even just down there but in the rest of his body as well. Huge, thick thighs, huge chest, huge biceps; he is broad enough to tower over you even if the height difference wasn’t so big. And still, he chooses to give in to you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Everything about Lee Seokmin drives you insane.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Please…” he says, barely above a whisper. With the door closed, it was more than enough for you to be able to listen even through the loud music going on outside. “P-please.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Please what?” you press further, fingers coming back to make a hot trail on his cock. Seokmin bucks forward a little, whining when you press a thumb on the cockhead.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Hmmm,” is all he answers, face burning with shame when he averts his eyes elsewhere. Seokmin knows very well what you want him to call you, it only happens when you’re feeling extra mean and horny, but he’s always so shy about it even if he has called you that more times than you can count.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Adorable.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You sigh, letting go of his cockhead and wrists to cradle his face with your hands, swallowing the frustrated cry he lets out with a kiss. Seokmin takes a few seconds to react, mind in haze with all of the electrifying horniness shocking his body, and then you feel his hands hold on your waist tight enough to leave marks. He moans, as if having your lips on his is the best reward he could ever ask for, and you yelp when Seokmin turns you both around and slams your back against the door. Seokmin kisses you rough, tongue pressing so hard on yours your head ends up hitting the door with a faint noise.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Fisting a hand on his hair, you hold onto it tight enough to make him hiss at the slight, but pleasurable pain. Seokmin is trying to take what he wants and you’re having none of that, using the hold on him to control the pace of the kiss and tilt his head to the place where you want it to go. You suck at his bottom lip, sinking your teeth in the plump flesh just so you could soothe it later with your tongue — and do that again, and again, and again. It doesn’t take long for him to be putty with your ministrations, knees buckling under his weight until he’s kneeling on the floor. You bend down slightly as he does so, kissing his breath away.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Look who’s getting all bold now,” you scoff when you part away, Seokmin’s eyes half lidded and swollen lips open to take big lungfuls of air. “Yeah, that’s right.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You stare down at him, the sight of your taller boyfriend on the floor making something evil twist in your belly.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Kneel for me like a good boy and I’ll let you fuck me like a bad one.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Please,” Seokmin begs at that, moaning when he closes a hand around his cock. You tsk, grabbing his jaw tightly and squeezing it between your fingers. “Wanna come.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Stop that before I decide to punish you,” you admonish, watching his eyes go wide for what it feels like the hundredth time this night and his hand falls uselessly on the side of his body. “Actually, you know what? Take your clothes off and lay on the bed.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin blinks a few times as if processing the order, walking over to the bed with trembling legs. He looks at you for some seconds, face burning red, and starts to unbutton his social shirt. You keep watching in silence, cooing at the cuteness of your boyfriend, right before the breath is punched right out of your lungs when his toned abs come into view. No matter how many times you see his body, it never fails to make you incredibly horny — the duality between his adorable face and the rest of him leaves you speechless.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You clear your throat when Seokmin covers his chest, embarrassed with being stared so attentively. Not your fault he’s so hot.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Come here, sunshine,” you purr, sitting on the other side of the bed and patting on the space beside you. He nods a little as if telling himself to obey, hopping onto your side and laying on his back after he finishes taking off his shoes. “Take your pants off too.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

This time Seokmin complies faster. It must hurt a lot, seeing the big bulge down there, and his fingers fumble to undo the button and the zipper so fast you’re surprised he didn’t hurt himself in the process, taking his pants and boxers completely off and throwing somewhere neither of you care. Seokmin’s hard cock slaps against his belly with a soft sound, smearing precum on his lower stomach. It’s an angry shade of red for being denied for so long, the wet mushroom tip making your mouth water as his hips kick upwards with the sheer need of touching it.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin looks at you with big, expecting eyes.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Seems like you were so desperate you couldn’t even hold yourself back from jerking off like a horny teenager,” you start, brushing a strand of hair behind his ear. Seokmin visibly trembles when you pull away, rummaging through your nightstand’s drawer to find what he knows very well it’s a cockring. “So why don’t you do exactly that for me? And maybe, if you put on a good show, I will let you come.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin stares at the golden thing between your fingers and swallows, taking it when you hand it to him. He looks at the ring like it’s a dessert — you know how he loves being edged even if he won’t admit it, enjoys being denied just so the sensation of his orgasm could be bigger later —, closing a fist around his cock and pumping it a few times before slidding the ring down until it fits tightly at the base. Seokmin’s needy moan drowns your own, sounds like music to your ears, hips thrusting into his hand and he can’t possibly hold himself back.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Hgnnn, fuck,” he whines, pace fast where he does up and down movements on his cock. You lick your lips, mouth salivating with the size of Seokmin’s length. He’s so big, the thickness of him being so much it pleasantly hurts to suck him off, and it doesn’t help that he has such beautiful, veiny hands. “F-fuck, feels so, ah, so good.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin’s eyes catch yours looking at him like he’s a whole banquet being served just for you, the want and darkness in your eyes surrendering him into a shy mess. He blushes furiously, arm coming up to hide his face from embarrassment and legs pressing together to try and cover his cock — of course it doesn’t hide, Seokmin is too huge and too hard for that.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Don’t do that, sunshine,” you admonish, cooing when he shakes his head. Fingers closing gently around his wrist, you pry his arm away to take a better look at your shy boyfriend. You smile at him, endeared with his cuteness. “Let me see you being beautiful for me.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Y-yeah?” Seokmin murmurs, and you nod at him, fingers teasing on his nipple. His back arches softly, eyes closing and a whimper escaping through his swollen lips.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah,” you echo, too entranced on his noises to possibly think straight. Big breaths; you will your impatience down, wanting to see Seokmin pleasuring himself some more. “Such a big cock. Makes me want to suck you off until my mouth hurts.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The lewd sound Seokmin lets out to that punches a moan straight out of you, fucking up into his own hand as if your words were the ones doing so. He presses a thumb on his cockhead, spreading the precum all over the tip and slipping his fist further down when he concludes it’s wet enough. Seokmin writhes on the bed, unable to contain the hot surge of pleasure coursing through his veins. His free hand flies to his left nipple, pinching it with more strength than you thought he would — it makes his whole body tremble, head sinking back into the soft pillows and fingers letting go of the red bud to squeeze the sheets so hard his knuckles turn white.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Please, ah, p-please, wanna— W-wanna cum so bad,” Seokmin begs, wants your hands on him. Of course it’s smaller than his own, but you know how to flick your wrists just right to make him feel good, and he needs that right now. If they were your fingers, they would warp perfectly around his cock, even if they didn't close all the way around it as you stroke him. Or maybe you’d tease him a little, as you sometimes do to him when you want to be a little mean. It always pulls the sweetest and loudest whines from Seokmin, you saying that his reactions are cute. “Touch me, please.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I am touching you,” you tell him with a pout, referring to the caress you’re doing on his biceps. You chuckle when he makes a frustrated groan at your retort, knowing very well how you’re going to be today.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin doesn't say anything else — knows it won’t make you touch him anytime sooner —, breath hitching and hips shuddering with pleasure. He continues to slowly rub his finger over the flushed head of his cock in teasing little pats. There’s a bit of squirming on the bed, Seokmin trying to grasp on his own memory the sensation of your hands on him, playing with his thickness with a tiny smirk on your lips and it’s like you enjoy seeing him writhe around in desperation. Seokmin opens his eyes to find you with that exact same expression, moaning when he fucks up into his hand again after he fists his cock, panting heavily.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin lets out a soft cry of relief, knows he should be more invested in putting on a show for you than concentrating on his own pleasure, but you love anything he does anyway. Also, it’s not like he has enough patience to hold himself back, has been hard for such a long time his balls may even start to turn purple soon.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

So he plants his feet on the bed, hips kicking faster, rougher, moans high and wanton as he fucks his own hand. Seokmin watches you intensely, how you look so good with those clothes, lips swollen from the kissing and dark eyes lusting for him. He thinks about your mouth on his cock, how you look so pretty with the girth inside it and holding his hips down when Seokmin thrashes around, too desperate to cum down your throat to stop himself.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your imagination works on something similar as you enjoy Seokmin falling apart right beside you. What would be his reaction if you pressed your feet on his cock where he sat across the table almost an hour ago? Would Seokmin keep talking with his friends, disguising the way his breath would turn shaky and unsteady? Would he pretend that his girlfriend isn’t rubbing him off right then and there, regardless of who could hear or see the obscene noises of him moaning or the way you move your feet on him?

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You would love if I touched you right there under the table, wouldn’t you?” you purr your thoughts out, watching the pad of his fingers play with his nipples. Seokmin has always been sensitive there, and honestly it turns you on so much. He nods fast at your question as he pinches the bud, rolling it between his thumb and index finger. “But instead of telling me, you went to our room and jerked off to one of my videos without asking for permission.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin turns his face away, cheeks burning at what you’ve said. You weren’t exactly talking about the video when you said permission, but rather him touching himself. He knows very well he needs to ask you before doing so.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin is nearly on the cusp, but knows he won’t trip over and orgasm solely because of the cockring. It makes him almost cry from frustration, hand jerking himself off furiously and it’s always like he’s on edge, unable to come but the pleasure high enough to make him think that he will.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I-I didn’t want to, hmmm, ruin y-your party.” Seokmin admits with a small cry, not wanting you to look at his face right now. He struggles to gather words, mind in a haze from neediness. “‘M sorry— s-sorry, please.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Awwww, my sweet baby boy. You’re not ruining anything.” you coo, cradling his face between your hands and turning it towards you, his eyes still not meeting yours even so. You caress his blushed cheek with your thumb, pecking his lips one time and noticing how Seokmin shivers beautifully at the pet name, hand still working fast and rough on his cock. “Honestly, watching you fall apart for me is way better than any party.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin is visibly affected by the affirmation, head sinking further into the pillow and hips twitching where they thrust up into his fist.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So beautiful for me, so stunning, my pretty baby boy.”

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Fuck, and he can’t take it.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Noona,” Seokmin moans out, shame twisting his gut along with pleasure, but it feels so good to see what the name does to you that he suddenly is not so embarrassed anymore. “Please, please t-touch me—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Fuck, Seokmin,” a hand grabs at his jaw, your body trembling with the need sinking deep within your bones. It’s so fast your mind spins and for a moment you think you might pass out with all the blood surging down to your core. “Shit, call me that again, baby. Come on.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“N-Noona— Noona, please, I’ve b-been good,” Seokmin begs, writhing all over the bed, and you think he might start crying very soon if you don’t give him what he wants. “I-I’ve been so good, ah, just— J-just give me what I want, p-please.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So fucking good for me,” you moan, getting on top of his thighs and kissing him stupid. Seokmin lies plient underneath you, pace not even faltering. If anything, it became faster, the little kicks of his hips making you bounce on his lap. “Want you inside me.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin grabs your waist at that, but you only hold onto his wrists and pin them down beside his head. You move up on his lap until you’re sitting on his hard cock, the wetness of your folds seeping through your panties only serving to remind you how you’re still with your clothes on.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“God, look at you,” there’s a whine, and you’re not sure who lets out, you or him. You move your hips over his cock, like you’re riding it, and the stimulation on your needy cunt makes you squeeze Seokmin’s arms bruisingly tighter. “So desperate… I wanna do really bad things to you.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“T-tease me—” Seokmin starts, words being drowned on a choked out moan, and it has you stunt, him saying something like that since he’s usually more quiet in the bedroom. At least when he’s not crying or pleading, of course. “Tease me until I’m begging for it.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The smile you give him is dirty and dark, nearly a sneer, and he throws his head back. If there’s one thing you love about Seokmin is how he enjoys submitting to you. He feels pleasure on letting go as much as you feel taking over, especially knowing that if he wanted to, he could manhandle you right now, push your face on the bed, pull your ass up and fuck you until you cry. But Seokmin won’t. He doesn’t want to. He loves having you on top of him, teasing him, touching him, ordering him around.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah? Fuck, such a dirty baby boy,” you roll your hips to emphasize your point, basking in the way he writhes so beautifully underneath you. So ready to be torn apart and pieced back together later. Seokmin presses back, moving himself obscenely. “Stay still.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Reaching to the nightstand again, you move your hand blindly there until you’re able to pull a soft blue silk from the drawer. Seokmin widens his eyes at it, gulping at the implications behind the fabric.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You’re not obeying me today,” you admonish. To be honest, you would rather get the ropes or the cuffs that are in the wardrobe, but your own impatience and desperation ends up winning and choosing what’s closer. “Touching yourself without my permission, not begging properly, trying to take what you want and now… You can’t even do something as simple as staying still?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“N-Noona, Noona,” is all he’s able to say, body shaking from wanton. Seokmin let’s you pass the silk through his wrists with practiced ease and ties them up together, and then at the headboard. This way his arms are restricted, biceps bulging due to the position. “I’ll be g-good. I’ll be your— y-your good boy, please—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I’ll be the judge of that,” you tell him instead, fisting his hair and yanking his head backwards. You kiss his chin, parting away to finally take your clothes off.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin stares all the way through it, dark eyes drinking the sight of your naked body, the faint sound of the music adding to both of your fuels like a dirty soundtrack.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Like what you see?” you tease with a raised eyebrow, smiling at the way his cheeks turn red.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Fuck yes,” Seokmin answers even so, wrists pulling at the silk trapping them as if he’s trying to break free and touch you. The sincerity in his voice makes you blush softly. “Y-you’re so hot, Noona. Can’t believe I have you all for myself.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There’s something possessive burning at his eyes that has butterflies dancing on your lower stomach. You suck a deep breath, leaning down to capture his lips on yours. It’s far too messy for your own good but you don’t really care, wanting nothing more than to kiss the breath out of Seokmin’s lungs.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You succeed, pleasure swelling up in your insides when you have him panting, mind in a haze and chest heaving uncontrollably. He lies there, pliant for you as you lick one of his nipples. The reaction is immediate, Seokmin’s hips kicking up and his hard cock consequently slipping between your chest. A shiver rocks all over his body, your teeth biting at the red bud and sucking at it until his voice gets an octave higher and so, so sweet it makes you moan.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You bring your free hand to thumb at the other nipple, tongue doing circles all over it. Seokmin is desperate, thrashing on the bed as if he’s being electrocuted. You bite harder for good measure, snatching at his waist with a firm grip and pining it back down on the mattress.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So sensitive, my cute baby boy” you appreciate with a hum, making sure to press your chest onto his overwhelmed cock. It’s painted in an angry shade of red now, the veins protruding against the length.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There’s spit obscenely connecting your mouth to his nipple, and the realization coils heat on your blood and pumps arousal all over.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“People might hear you if you don’t keep it down, you know?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

What you’re not expecting is how he tenses at that, muscles contracting, back arching off of the bed and hips stuttering where it fucked his cock between your chest. Seokmin moans, so loud you instinctively put a hand over his mouth to make him quieter.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

When his body falls limp again, the room is full of silence, other than the sound of his labored breath filling the air after you let go of him. You’re completely quiet though, still processing what just happened, head spinning.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You came,” it wasn’t a question, the scene that just unfolded in front of you being enough confirmation to your suspicions. “You just had a dry orgasm.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your tone was full of amusement and unbelievaness. You can’t quite grasp that fact; it’s not the first time he has used a cockring, but it’s the first time Seokmin actually was able to come with it on and also being barely touched. Laughing incredulously, you trail a finger down his still hard cock, watching him squirm violently underneath you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“W-wait, Noona, I—” his words get cut off by his own moan when you take the cockring off, throwing it somewhere in the room as you hurry to fetch yet another thing from your nightstand. “Ah, f-fuck, I j-just came, N-No— Noona—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You close a fist on him after pouring lube on his cock, watching in pure ecstasy the look of bliss turn into one of frustration. You feel Seokmin’s body twitch to the touch of your hand and react heavily as you keep going, with no remorse, slicking his cock up and flicking your wrist faster and faster.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You know what to say if you want me to stop,” you tell him. It’s overwhelming, really, but nothing could ever top the sensation of your fingers around him.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

It makes Seokmin’s brain fuzzy, and it’s too much, his cock already sensible from his recent orgasm, but at the same time he wants to squirm away, he feels the mind numbing pleasure sink deep within his bones. Seokmin moans louder, pulling at the fabric binding his wrists in place, and shaking violently on the bed.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Ah! Fuck! Noona… f-fuck… ahh—” he pleads, swollen lips trembling, abs contracting and relaxing, the blushing red running all the way down to his chest, and legs kicking when he tries to get out of your grip because it feels so damn torturously good.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You take it all in, the burn of arousal lighting a flame on your lower stomach. All mine. You lick at your bottom lip, letting out a soft whine as Seokmin whimpers high in his throat, his hips moving, back arching, head thrown back — beautiful and yours.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Want me to stop, sunshine? Then say your safeword,” Seokmin groans at your remark, feeling tears well up in his eyes, body writhing out of control. He moans again, shaking his head a no as he humps his hips up into your hand.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“A-ah! Ah! Noona… ah! Hgnnn, Noona, p-please…” he begs, hands trembling and he actually thinks he might go crazy soon.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Dirty boy, had a dry orgasm even with a cockring just from thinking people might hear you,” you say, tone soft and gentle despite your ministrations. “Should have tied you up there, on the chair, and overstimulated you in front of everyone else.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You press a thumb on his cockhead, so hard you see a tear finally run down his cheek. Seokmin looks beautiful like this. So beautiful.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Almost came earlier from being caught jerking off too,” you add, brushing a strand of his hair behind his ear. “My sunshine is a little bit of an exhibitionist, isn’t he?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The fight has already left him, leaving Seokmin a stuttering mess. He only moans and shakes his head and pleads and you actually feel a little bad for the cry he breathes out when you let go of his cock. It’s short livid though, the hurry to rearrange yourself and sit on his lap making you almost fall on him.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin doesn’t comment on your desperation though, doesn’t even have the strength to, and watches you line him up against your soaking cunt like you’ll die if you don’t get to ride him until sunset, the party long forgotten.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Need you inside, need you,” you moan as you sink on his cock. Today morning you fucked, Seokmin hugging you and thrusting inside you lazily when he was spooning you just after you woke up, but it still feels almost like too much, the stretch of his cock splitting you open leaving you gaping. “So damn big.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You open your eyes — don’t even know when you closed them — finding the prettiest view you could ever have. Seokmin’s fingers turned white from how hard he’s gripping the fabric around his wrists, and you think for a second that he might break the headboard, if the way he’s pulling at the silk is anything to go bye. The sweat goldens his skin, a gorgeous contrast with the redness tinting his face, neck and the beginning of his chest. And it’s stunning, really, his eyebrows frowned from pleasure, tears in the corner of his eyes and lips swollen from all the rough kissing.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

There is no better canvas to paint a ruined landscape than Lee Seokmin.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

He gasps, throwing his head back when you lift yourself up until only the tip of his cock is inside, and slam yourself back down, pelvis flush against Seokmin’s. You fall in a comfortable rhythm from there on; riding him like a pro, making sure to clench as tight as you can just to see him sob and plead and beg for whatever it is that you’re in the mood or willing to give him.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“G-god— I l-lo—” he tries, struggling to get words out with the way he’s bouncing on the bed with the force of your hips fucking down of his cock. “I love— I love y-you, N-Noona, Noona, fuck—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Seokmin,” you moan, holding his face between your hands. It’s barely a kiss when you lean in to smash your lips on his, more like a moment in which your breath mingles with his and you both become one. “Seok-ah, Seokminnie, sunshine— you sound so, so pretty and sweet, my beautiful baby boy. I love you so much.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“U-untie, please,” Seokmin cries out, pulling harder at the restraints. “Wanna t-tou— ah, touch you, please, I have— h-have been so good—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“You’re always good, baby,” you reassure him, reaching out with fumbling fingers to undo the knot on his wrists. “Come on, sunshine. Fuck me as hard as you can.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Your brain can’t even process what happens as soon as he’s free; there are big hands on your hips, Seokmin planting his feet on the bed and fucking up inside you so hard you’re not able to support yourself up, body falling limp on top of his. He’s moaning by your ear now, so high and affected, and you think you can actually feel the spit running down from the corner of his mouth and sticking to your shoulder.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“S-shit, shit, Seokmin,” you whimper, louder than you ever had this night, can’t even rock your hips back because Seokmin is holding you tight and pulling you down on his cock, pace brutal and unrelenting. “You’re s-so desperate, fuck.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Wanna cum, w-wanna cum,” he keeps saying, burying his face in the juncture of your neck and shoulder. You feel his lips there, sucking the skin between his teeth and biting at it in a weak attempt to muffle his moans. Seokmin has always been the most vocal between the two of you, but you know it’s useless at this point, the people in your house probably know what is going on by now. “P-please, please, Noona, Noona— Want— N-need—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Before you can even answer him, the chant of “Noona, Noona, Noona” leaving his lips like a prayer has your orgasm hitting you suddenly. Your whole body tenses, muscles contracting tightly as the mind numbing sensation washes all over you, and you don’t know how much time you spend coming but when you come back to yourself Seokmin is still fucking you like it’s the last thing he will ever do.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You put a trembling hand on his chest and use the other free one to grab at his wrist, signaling for him to stop. At that, Seokmin starts crying. Like really crying.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“N-no— Let m-me come, let me— L-let me come, please, please, please,” he begs, and you coo at him.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Shhh, it’s okay, baby,” you peck his lips gently, wiping the cascading tears with your thumbs. “I want you to come on my face. Can you do that for me, hm, sunshine?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin stares at you with big wide eyes and you think you might die from how cute he is. He nods what it seems like a hundred times.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Words,” you remind him with a soft, calm voice, and smile when he answers a meek yes, please. “Good boy.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin blushes, sniffing a little and lifting his upper body up to have a better view of your lips descending on his cock. You kiss the tip one time, giving it a kittenish lick, and suckle at it hard enough to prove the salty taste of precum, not wanting to tease him more since he has been so good. Seokmin shivers, hips contorting on the bed, and you feel pride swell inside you when you realize he’s trying to stay still.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You give his thigh a gentle pat, licking at the underside of his cock and bobbing your head a few times. You grab at the base of his length, slaps it on your tongue and look up at Seokmin. A small part of you gets embarrassed with the way he’s watching you so intently, but it’s quickly replaced with a burning need to see him coming.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“G-gonna cum, cum, I-I’m— I’m coming, shit, fuck, hgnnn, N-Noona—” you hum at his cries, the last warning you give him before reaching up and taking one of his nipples between your fingers; you twist it as hard as you can, and then he’s coming.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

Seokmin moans, more like screams, and he arches forward, fingers flying to grab your hair so hard it hurts a little. There’s cum shooting out of his cock, your hands helping him out as the white ribbons fly across your face. Most of it lands on your mouth, some on your lashes and cheeks, some on his thighs and abs, and some even end up hitting your hair.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The thing is that Seokmin doesn’t stop coming. His hips keep twitching, cock slipping and he thrusts on your face, unable to keep himself still as he rides his orgasm. After what seems like a good few minutes of him coming, Seokmin falls limp on the bed, his eyes closed, chest heaving with his labored breath, and looking completely fucked out.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You’re quick to kiss him, his tongue pushing against yours when he tastes the leftover of his orgasm. His hips kick miserably, a little bit of come sliding down his softening cock.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Holy shit,” is what he says after a few minutes of silence, laughing weekly. You follow Seokmin, laying down beside him as you do so. “I think that was the best orgasm of my life.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I think so too,” you agree, Seokmin moving his body to lay on his side and take a better look at you. He brushes a strand of your hair behind your ear, his heart eyes making butterflies dance on your stomach. The fact that he’s looking at you like that even so you’re dirty with come, sweat and possibly spit makes you want to marry him. “So, you have an exhibitionism kink.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

The affirmation seems to have caught him off guard, his cheeks warming up adorably as he coughs. You giggle when Seokmin tries to turn his back on you.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“I hate you,” he mumbles with a pout.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Nah, you don’t,” you dismiss, and you’re right, he doesn’t. He could never. “Maybe we should try that out later?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Try what?”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Me tying you up in a chair and making you come in front of everyo—”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Shut up!” Seokmin laughs and yells at the same time, hitting a pillow on you. You just grab it and throw it somewhere in the room. “You’re dirty.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“So is you,” you add with a smile. Seokmin turns around and pulls you by the waist.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Yeah,” he admits, hugging you tightly. It should be disgusting considering both of your conditions, but it only feels right. “Only dirty for you.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

You scoff, mortified.

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Now you shut up,” you swat at his — incredibly big and hot — arm, his giggles making all types of things to your heart. “Fucking sap.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

“Hmm hmm,” Seokmin hums, and looks at you like that again. Full of love and respect and content, and there’s no better feeling than this. Together. With him. “A complete sap.”

⠀ ⠀ ⠀

566 notes · View notes

fuckit-hero-of-trains · 3 years ago

Text

Sit by the fire until... Chapter 2

ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25870150/chapters/81650737

Here’s the thing they don’t tell you when you get magically transformed into a bunny rabbit against your will by the corrupted darkness of the Sacred Realm: somethings, unfortunately, tend to stick.

Now, Legend isn’t saying that he’s hiding a cotton tail under his tunic or that his soul secretly aches to frolic in meadows or spend his time sleeping in holes or whatever else it is that rabbits do when they're not busy being very confused and scared twelve year old Hylians.

No.

But that doesn't mean he was left unscathed by having his entire anatomy re-written in less than an instant.

Because of course he wouldn’t. Goddess forbid he ever catch a break for once in his life.

He was still pretty young when it happened, so Legend can’t remember if his teeth had been quite so bucked before the incident. Regardless if they were or not, they sure as Hylia are prominent now. Then there's also the fact that he never really grew into his ears, the damn things always just a shade longer than they should be for a regular Hylian.

Before he joined this wild cucco chase masquerading as an adventure, Legend would sometimes catch himself looking at Ravio wondering, Is that how I would have looked? Besides the hair and eyes, the merchant was supposed to be his mirror image after all. Zelda and Hilda were, so it stood to reason that he and Ravio should be the same.

In which case, the bucktooth thing was going to be a problem regardless.

The ears, on the other hand, are a completely different story. From the quick glances Legend has managed to steal of Ravio’s side profile, the merchant has relatively short ears himself, which just make the Veteran’s own look comically long when the two stand side by side.

And ugh, and that wasn't even touching on his… less physical changes.

Namely, his cravings.

Noshing on some leafy greens while home alone doing some chores? A-Okay.

Getting caught by Warriors and Twilight absentmindedly chewing on the hay he was supposed to be feeding the horses? Ehhh, not so much.

Goddesses, his ego still hasn’t recovered from the amount of jokes the Pretty Boy had made at his expense. And that’s not even mentioning the veritable mountain of carrots he found in his bedroll, no doubt courtesy of that flea bitten farmhand.

Regardless of the less than natural way he got these… attributes, Legend couldn’t say they were all bad. ‘Cuz sure, his ears were a bit longer than average, but he could also hear better than most of his companions, able to catch the sound of crunching leaves above even their loud bickering. Like wise, his eyes were sharper than others in the low light of dawn and dusk, allowing him to see things others would miss.

Frankly, both skills had helped keep him alive during his quests. He was thankful for them in a weird huh, guess that works kinda way, but thankful all the same.

But sometimes Legend wanted to wring the goddesses necks because really? Being turned into a rabbit couldn’t have fixed this particular problem?

This particular problem being his absolutely horrible pollen allergies.

“ A-A-A!”

Each rapid, involuntary inhale feels like a simultaneous punch to the gut and a gasp for breath, the air yanked into his body and then stoppered up. It leaves the veteran in a state of limbo as a paralyzing calm falls over him; lungs full of air, shoulders hiked up, muscles tensed.

For a second, everything feels lodged in place, frozen, like the Champion had used his stasis rune on him.

And–

Legend clamps his mouth shut and tucks his face into his elbow just as tension snaps and–

“- acheew! ”

Nothing but a soft, cut off sneeze slips past his lips, yet, the force of holding it back still sends Legend bowing over. He stays there, hunched over for a breath as his body recovers, before he straightens back up, sniffing irritably as he tries to ignore the itch prickling at his eyes and the congested pressure throbbing behind his sinuses.

A chortling huff sounds next to him and when Legend glances down he can see Wolfie– or should he say, Twilight– peering up at him, mouth open and tongue lolling in a doggy grin, but icy blue eyes too pointed, too teasing, to be anything but human.

Legend's nose twitches tellingly as it begins to tickle again and the wolf gives another stuttering huff. A laugh. Legend can practically hear Twilight’s twangy, Awww. You sneeze like a bunny.

The bastard.

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, dog boy,” Legend grumbles, wiping harshly at his face in an attempt to stave off another sneezing fit. “Don't you have trees to piss on or something?”

That earns him peeled back lips and a growl, but Legend just sends the other a responding sneer as strides past the grumpy wolf and out into the rolling field of tulips that stands in front of them.

Another huff, this one more annoyed than amused, sounds behind the veteran before the wolf streaks past him, loping through the flowers with his nose down and tail high.

Legend rolls his eyes.

Twilight loves to show his teeth, but the farmhand is quite literally all bark and no bite.

And besides, they both have better things to do than needle one another. If Legend is going to be miserable, he may as well take steps to make that misery as short as possible.

Afterall, they aren't out here swanning through a meadow of flowers for pleasure.

The last Dark Portal they had all walked through had, once again, separated them. Legend and Twilight were lucky enough to find one another quickly, though, now that Legend thinks about it, it probably had less to do with luck and more to do with Twilight’s nose.

After regrouping, they had tried to search for the others more that day, but a storm had them holed up in a cave overnight to wait out the deluge. They had gotten up early to start their search again today, but so far they had no such luck in finding any of the others in the forest.

Which just left the inexplicable meadow of tulips surrounding the wood.

Legend had been hoping that the rain would keep some of the pollen at bay, but nooo that would be too merciful, wouldn’t it?

If anything, the rain just made this whole experience more aggravating. Now, along with stinging eyes, a running nose, and a throbbing head, Legend also had the delightful honor of feeling the tulip stalks and leaves and petals sliding wetly across his skin, the annoying slap of his tunic smacking his thighs as it got more sodden by the second, and the disgusting squish of water between his toes with every step he took through this Wind Fish damned field.

And sure, maybe it was worth it to reunite with the other heroes, but really, would it kill the goddesses to make his life just a little bit easier.

A bark pulls Legend from his miserable musings. Twilight's dark tail stands out among the ocean of pastel pinks and yellows and oranges, wagging frantically twenty meters away. It disappears after a second, replaced by a muzzle and expectant eyes.

Twilight barks at him again.

He must have found something.

Finally, Legend thinks as he begins to make his way over toward the other, hopefully a reason to get out of this floral hell hole.

“What is it, boy?” Legend asks, voice going high and mocking as he takes delicate care stepping on as many flowers as possible, “Little Time-y fall down the well again?”

Instead of a growl for his effort, Legend gets a flurry of black flecks falling upward, like pieces of reverse snow, in his peripheral vision.

“You know,” Twilight says as he straightens to his full height, eyes half-lidded. Unamused, “You’re really not as funny as you seem to think you are.”

And before Legend can interrupt that– No, actually, you just have a dog shit sense of humor. Literally– Twilight continues, “I can smell the smithy all over this thing.” He nods down at a small tree stump breaking through the tide of flowers. “The scent is a bit old, probably from sometime before last evening, but still traceable. I should be able to find him from here.”

Legend eyes the stump for a moment, peering into the cracked hole in the top of the wood. Inside, he can see the round, red caps of several toadstools sprouting.

He can also sense magic. Close to that of the fairies– natural and glittering and smelling of moss– but not quite the same.

The Smithy’s doing?

Or a natural occurrence?

Regardless…

“Welp,” Legend says, straightening up, “Let's go find him. Couldn’t have gotten far on those little legs of his.”

“Again,” Twilight huffs, the black fractals already consuming him once more as he transforms, “You’re not as funny as you think...”

His voice distorts and fades into nothing as the magic swallows him whole, leaving Legend once again having a conversation with a very unimpressed looking wolf.

“I like you better when you can’t talk,” Legend tells Twilight as the other sets off, snuffling at the ground.

The other pauses to give Legend a look that would be more at home on a disapproving mother’s face, before continuing his tracking.

He also whaps Legend in the leg with his tail.

Hard.

The prick.

They continue on their trek together like that for a while, Twilight occasionally pausing to shove his nose into the dirt some more as he decides which direction to follow as Legend trails behind, keeping his eyes peeled for a quadripartite tunic and a head of straight, gold hair.

It isn't long before the farmhand turned canine breaks off into a light trot and then a jog, and then a full on sprint.

And stops just as suddenly.

Legend is out of breath by the time he slides to a stop behind the farmhand, but from a cursory glance around, there doesn’t seem to be a short, mouthy smithy anywhere in the vicinity.

“What happened?” Legend asks, still searching, turning circles as he cranes his neck, “Did you lose the trail?”

Twilight gives a light whine, grabbing Legend’s attention.

Then he does two full spins and sits primly, looking up at Legend.

“The hell is that supposed to mean?” Legend crinkles his nose at the canine. “Use your words.”

Wolfie rolls his eyes in a way that Legend didn’t think was possible for dogs and then stands.

The canine stares at him intently, as though making sure Legend’s eyes are locked with his own. And then he flicks his eyes over the yellow tulip he is sitting next to meaningfully. Then back to Legend. Back and forth back and forth, his eyes go for a full minute before he stops and stares at Legend once more.

Legend feels as his face wrinkles in confusion.

It's just a regular tulip, just like the thousands currently around them. Pretty enough, he supposes. The bulb seems to be a little wilted, like it's been weighed down by rain water perhaps, but other than that, nothing to sneeze at.

Or everything to sneeze at, if you’re Legend.

Legend gives the flower one more skeptical glance before turning to look at Twilight once more, brow raised.

“Pretty,” he assures the other. “Not sure how it helps us find Four.”

Twilight heaves another too human sigh.

And then he reaches up, takes the sleeve of Legend’s tunic between his teeth, and yanks.

“Hey!” Legend yelps as he’s dragged down into the dirt, “Watch the teeth! The embroidery on this thing took forever to do and even longer to enchant!”

Twilight pays him no mind, pulling him down and forward, closer to his chosen tulip.

Legend tries his best to keep his face away from the damn thing.

“I swear on The Three, if your slobber stains–”

Legend’s words crumple up and die in his throat.

There’s something in the tulip.

At first glance, Legend would identify it as the Smithy's earring. The small feathered one that he takes special care of. The one that Four refuses to tell Legend the origin of, besides his cryptic, “From a friend.”

Legend would say that it was just the earring, but… but it isn’t.

Rather than being completely red with a white tip, Legend can see that this little feather is only mostly red. Right before the tip, a darker red plumage takes over, followed by purple and blue and green.

Also, rather than being attached to the small, golden chain and stud Four uses to fasten the jewelry to his earlobe, it’s attached to a body.

A very, very small body.

By now, Twilight has let go of his sleeve, but Legend both doesn’t notice and doesnt care, all of his attention fixed on the little creature before his eyes.

From what he can tell, the little creature is asleep, curled up in the bulb of the flower, his feather tail tucked up near his nose for warmth. Looking past the plumage, Legend can see that the little guy has a very rat-like face, complete with a small, twitching pink nose, long whiskers and–because the creature is shivering– long, chattering rodent incisors. Oval shaped ears stick out from the creature's head, a mix between mouse-like and Hylian.

And framing those ears is shoulder length, soaking wet blonde hair.

Blonde hair held out of the little guy's face by a green headband.

And…

And he’s wearing the smithy’s tunic?

“... Four?” Legend whispers in amazement.

And just saying the other’s name out loud is like a spell because suddenly Legend can see all signs. The little guy has Four’s bag over his shoulder and the Four Sword at his hip. That same magic that was by the stump– the not-fairy, fairy magic– completely surrounds him, dusting him in the same way he is currently dusted in yellow pollen.

“Is that you, Smithy?” Legend asks a little louder.

But rather than startle awake, the small creature– Four, Legend reminds himself– simply hunkers down more fully into the flower, curling up more fully as his shivers increase.

“He must have transformed in order to speak with the Minish around here.”

Twilight’s voice, even though it is a whisper, gives Legend a start. He hadn’t realized the other had transformed, nor had he seen the farmhand crouch down by his side.

The other isn’t looking at him as he speaks, cool blue eyes instead locked on the fitfully sleeping smithy, face concerned.

“He once told me that the Minish are insatiable gossips. He must have transformed to try and find us.”

The concern on the farhand’s face darkens the longer he stares.

“He must have been caught out in the storm,” Twilight says grimly.

Legend tries to imagine what that would be like. To be the size of a mouse and out in a storm. Tries to imagine what it would feel like for gale force winds to pull at drag at him, crushing him into the dirt one moment and yanking off his feet the next. Tries to imagine dodging back and forth between tulips, avoiding the head sized, stone cold rain drops pelting down from the sky

It's not a pretty pictograph, he’ll admit.

And ugh, Legend really isn't a fan of what it's making him consider.

He spares another glance at Four.

And fuck, the little guy shivers and shivers and shivers until the fower he is sleeping in is shaking with it.

And then, he sneezes, the sound coming out tiny and squeaky and weak.

Son of a bitch.

With a sigh that is as weary and reluctant and annoyed as he can possibly force it to be even though the vetran is feeling none of those things, Legend takes hold of the flower near its stem. As gently as possible, he digs his nails into the soft green there, cutting the flower from the ground while keeping it intact.

He hands it to Twilight, who takes it from him with gentle, if slightly confused hands.

With one hand, Legend flips open his shoulder bag. With the other, he rips his hat from his head with a motion probably a tad more violent than is really called for. He arranges the hat inside the bag, making sure to cover his items with the soft fabric while also shaping a soft bed.

Without looking up from his work, Legend extends a hand out to Twilight.

Makes a grabbing motion when what he wants isn't immediately in his hand.

After a second, Twilight slowly places the stem of the flower back in Legend’s hand and the Veteran gently lowers it in the small nest he had created, making sure the bulb sits in a place both shielded from the sun and extra comfortable thanks to the extra fabric padding beneath it.

In one smooth motion, Legend takes a hold of the strap of his bag, pulls it carefully off of his shoulder, and places it on the other side of Twilight’s neck.

And then, he reaches down and touches the dark stone hanging from the necklace around the farmhand’s throat, letting the darkness flock around and consume him.

When Legend blinks open his eyes, Twilight is looking down at him smugly.

He is looking down farther than usual.

Also looking smugger than usual.

“Shut up,” he grumbles, shaking out his fur before hopping on all fours to get closer to the bag.

“I didn’t say anything,” Twilight replies, not bothing to wipe the smug look off his stupid face even as he lowers the bag to the ground for easier access.

“Yeah you did,” Legend hisses quietly as he clambers carefully into the satchel, settling down the nest of leather and items and hat.

He pulls the flower closer to his side where it is warm.

Inside, he can feel as Four’s shivers begin to lessen.

"Cute," Twilight laughs from above them.

"Fuck you," Legend whisper spits, though he makes no move to push Four's flower away. If anything, he pulls it closer when he hears the smaller hero start to make small, chittering snores, surprised the smithy could sleep through such a racket.

Twilight, thankfully, doesn't comment, instead pulling the top of the bag loosely closed to give them some shade. Then, Legend feels as he gently lifts the satchel back up, slings it slowly over his shoulder as to not disturb the contents inside, and begins walking, hopefully back in the direction of the forest.

Legend can still hear the farmhand laughing to himself from within the bag, but without the others' eyes on him, he finds he doesn't care.

The pollen still itches at his eyes and nose and Legend can still feel the pound of his sinuses even now. But something about the shade and warmth and soft rocking of the bag makes it hard for him to mind.

Four gives a harty twitch, kicking a petal directly into Legend’s face.

And even that doesn't dissuade the veteran from his task.

Instead, Legend sighs and pulls Four even closer, relaxing despite the discomfort.

He’s got dirt on both Twilight and now Four, the two heroes with sticks most firmly inserted into their asses. He can get out of whatever chores and lectures they try to pin him with.

Yep, he thinks , distantly. That's why he did this.

For the blackmail.

And no other reason.

#yes this is the live write that started the whole sneet thing #I write fluff and thats the thanks I get for it /j #lu legend #lu twilight #lu four #reluctantly soft legend is such a mood #I adore it #also #the image of minish four curled up asleep in a tulip made me go feral #so I had to share it with others #train writes #linked universe #linkeduniverse

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une-nuit-pour-se-souvenir · 4 years ago

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random thoughts about aegon vi and septa lemore

Apparently, it’s Aegon’s week. i don’t think i ever paticipated in these events for any character or pairing, but @agentrouka-blog’s theory that septa Lemore is Ashara Dayne and that the baby switch was between Aegon and her rumoured child (instead of random kid) showed up on my dash today.

Lemore being Ashara Dayne and there having been baby switch like theorised would be fantastic, because she’d know a lot of stuff that is otherwise impossible to know. She knows who dishonoured her at Harrenhal (we all know Brandon, not Ned). She knows about Wylla, a wetnurse from the Dayne Household, who Eddard Stark and Edric Dayne both say is Jon’s mother (we all know Jon is Lyanna’s, so this apparent lie version being told by two different people who have nothing to do with one another seems to suggest a combined lie between Ned and the Daynes). She knows about Jon because Ned went to Starfall with him and (if baby switch theory is true), she can confirm Aegon VI is real.

There’s also the suspicious narrative choice of a “Targ” (not even, she has dark hair, not silver hair, even if she has purple eyes) getting with an impetuous Stark at Harrenhal and a secret child never really going anywhere. What’s the point of that besides shading Rhaegar plus Lyanna equals Jon? This I always thought was suspicious, but this theory would *poof* make it make sense.

TYRION III ~ ADWD

This is the chapter where Aegon VI Targaryen is first introduced. The whole chapter is like a “perigrination” to find him. I am of the opinion that Aegon VI is the real thing for a long time now and there’s evidence that might be the case in this very chapter where he’s introduced.

"How fares our lad?" asked Illyrio as the chests were being secured. Tyrion counted six, oaken chests with iron hasps. Duck shifted them easily enough, hoisting them on one shoulder.

This is shortly after the chapter starts. Not only Illyrio asks about Aegon, there’s also the imagery of six chests about. If Aegon is crowned king of Westeros, he’ll be Aegon VI Targaryen.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++

"There is a gift for the boy in one of the chests. Some candied ginger. He was always fond of it." Illyrio sounded oddly sad.

This is often used as a clue that Aegon VI is fake. Illyrio is expressing some sentimental attachment, so there are theories that he could be the father and the mother would be some Valyrian looking wife he has. it has its merits.

On the other hand, Aegon VI is on the run from the crown, hiding under a false identity and dyes his hair another colour, but most importantly in this passage, is Aegon’s fond of a specific sweet that what we would at first mistake for a father for the reasons pointed above gifts him with.

This is 1:1 what’s going on with Sansa, she’s on the run from the crown, hiding under a false identity and dyes her hair another colour, she’s fond of a specific sweet (lemoncakes) and Littlefinger, who’s pretending to be her father and is very... emotionally invested... in her, gifts her with some (well, in parternship with her cousin, but the cousin is another matter).

By parallel, Aegon is real.++

Tyrion craned his head to one side, and saw a boy standing on the roof of a low wooden building, waving a wide-brimmed straw hat. He was a lithe and well-made youth, with a lanky build and a shock of dark blue hair.

Aegon is inrroduced standing above the rest, literally high-standing.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++

An older couple with a Rhoynish cast to their features stood close beside the tiller, whilst a handsome septa in a soft white robe stepped through the cabin door and pushed a lock of dark brown hair from her eyes.

This is actually what I came for, Lemore.

Why a septa would be described as “handsome” when that should have no relevance since she’s supposed to be chaste (I know, it’s Tyrion, but still)? Ashara Dayne is described by many as being beautiful, arrestingly so. If Lemore is Ashara, “handsome” is a good way to describe her beauty still.

Lemore has dark brown hair. Ashara is described as having long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders. More importantly, Lemore's first actions is push her hair from her eyes. Like, pay attention to this woman’s eyes, even though they’re not described ever (not even their colour).

TYRION IV ~ ADWD

Tyrion had drunk himself blind his first night on the Shy Maid. The next day he awoke with dragons fighting in his skull.

So yes, the night after Tyrion meets Aegon and his party for the first time, he dreams of dragons fighting. Take note these are dragons, not a fake dragon in whatever way and a dragon.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++.

The clouds in the sky were aglow: pink and purple, maroon and gold, pearl and saffron. One looked like a dragon. Once a man has seen a dragon in flight, let him stay at home and tend his garden in content, someone had written once, for this wide world has no greater wonder. Tyrion scratched at his scar and tried to recall the author's name. Dragons had been much in his thoughts of late.

One of those clouds looks like a dragon. There’s no dragons with these colours BUT Targs have purple eyes and Viseryion, a dragon I believe is a narrative stand-in for Aegon VI, is described as cream and gold, so one colour here. Honestly, the important here is that Tyrion is associating dragons around Aegon.

By imagery, Aegon is real.++.

"Good morrow, Hugor." Septa Lemore had emerged in her white robes, cinched at the waist with a woven belt of seven colors. Her hair flowed loose about her shoulders. "How did you sleep?"

Holy shit.

“Even after all these years, Ser Barristan could still recall Ashara's smile, the sound of her laughter. He had only to close his eyes to see her, with her long dark hair tumbling about her shoulders and those haunting purple eyes.

"Fitfully, good lady. I dreamed of you again." A waking dream. He could not sleep, so he had eased a hand between his legs and imagined the septa atop him, breasts bouncing.

"A wicked dream, no doubt. You are a wicked man. Will you pray with me and ask forgiveness for your sins?"

Only if we pray in the fashion of the Summer Isles. "No, but do give the Maiden a long, sweet kiss for me."

Laughing, the septa walked to the prow of the boat. It was her custom to bathe in the river every morning.

"Plainly, this boat was not named for you," Tyrion called as she disrobed.

"The Mother and the Father made us in their image, Hugor. We should glory in our bodies, for they are the work of gods."

Yeah, it’s Tyrion, who’d sexualise a rock, but this is a septa who deserves respect. Yet, this is how the writer “paints” the reader’s first interaction with this new character. These are always the most striking moments when establishing a character and sex imagery is what the writer decided to do.

Also Lemore not only knows that Tyrion’s fantasising about having sex with her and doesn’t give a shit, she laughs instead, gets naked to bathe, and doesn’t give a shit if others look at her naked body. This doesn’t feel like a septa. I mean, I remember Mordane and the zealots at King’s Landing who screwed with Cersei. They have nothing on this.

The way she puts why she has no problems with naked bodies and the like also suggest some kind of “free spirit” which goes well with the (disgusting, but there) dornish wanton woman trope and being dishonoured by Brandon at Harrenhal.

Another thing to note, is that Tyrion also clearly says the “Shy Maid” wasn’t named after Lemore, which suggests she’s neither shy nor a maid. This is confirmed by her actions and by...

The dwarf watched Lemore slip into the water. The sight always made him hard. There was something wonderfully wicked about the thought of peeling the septa out of those chaste white robes and spreading her legs. Innocence despoiled, he thought … though Lemore was not near as innocent as she appeared. She had stretch marks on her belly that could only have come from childbirth.

Lemore was pregnant at one point!

When Lemore climbed back onto the deck, Tyrion savored the sight of water trickling between her breasts, her smooth skin glowing golden in the morning light. She was past forty, more handsome than pretty, but still easy on the eye. Being randy is the next best thing to being drunk, he decided. It made him feel as if he was still alive. "Did you see the turtle, Hugor?" the septa asked him, wringing water from her hair. "The big ridgeback?"

This disparity of behaviour between septa Lemore and any other septa in ASOIAF is VERY suspicious. Note how Lemore has two mysteries about her already, she’s characterised nothing like any septa in ASOIAF (more like the tasteless “dornish wanton woman” sterotype instead) and a mystery child. What’s the point of that, if she’s irrelevant.

Compare how he Yandry and Ysilla couple is treated, where there are no bizarre things taking place that I noticed. Also Yandry and Ysilla are specifically said to be a pair of Dornish orphans. Why is the image of Dornish people here, along with Lemore? Suspicious, suspicious.

Lemore is “past fourty”. The asoiaf wiki lists Ashara Dayne as being born between 260AC and 269AC, which means that she’d be around this age if she had lived.

The imagery of a (false, but still) maidtaking a bath while men watch is the same as Florian and Jonquil song, an event that legend says happened at Maidenpool (close to... yes, that’s right, Harrenhal, where Ashara met Brandon).

"The turtles have their charms, I will allow. Nothing delights me so much as the sight of a nice pair of shapely … shells.

"Septa Lemore laughed. Like everyone else aboard the Shy Maid, she had her secrets. She was welcome to them. I do not want to know her, I only want to fuck her. She knew it too. As she hung her septa's crystal about her neck, to nestle in the cleft between her breasts, she teased him with a smile.

That’s not the behaviour of a septa and note the narrative acknowledgement that Lemore has secrets. She’s also called Lady instead of septa at some point in the narrative.

If this is Ashara, then Brandon met his match at Harrenhal. The waste, I can’t. What a sexy couple.

This chapter also contains Targ history as well as some Dorne (mother Rhoyne and whatnot). It goes well with Aegon is the real deal. But what really cinches it is the ending...

"It was him," cried Yandry. "The Old Man of the River."And why not?

Tyrion grinned. Gods and wonders always appear, to attend the birth of kings.

The Old Man of the River is a lesser god, the son of Mother Rhoyne. These gods are all associated with Dorne.

Aegon is real.++.

Tyrion VI ~ ADWD

"Even the bravest of your forebears kept his Kingsguard close about him in times of peril." Lemore had changed out of her septa's robes into garb more befitting the wife or daughter of a prosperous merchant. Tyrion watched her closely. He had sniffed out the truth beneath the dyed blue hair of Griff and Young Griff easily enough, and Yandry and Ysilla seemed to be no more than they claimed to be, whilst Duck was somewhat less. Lemore, though … Who is she, really? Why is she here? Not for gold, I'd judge. What is this prince to her? Was she ever a true septa?

Who is she, really... indeed... Lemore’s identity clearly is important.

She turned back to Prince Aegon. "You are not the only one who must needs hide."

Why does Lemore need to hide? :)

#asoiaf speculaion #i'm not going to tag these characters because the original theory isn't mine #i'm also not going to tag these characters because this isn't enough to warrant an entry on aegon vi targaryen week

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papamado · 6 months ago

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YIPPI OKAY SO this time i'll be writing as i go, finally maybe making some us of my character design collage course I love your analasyss of the outfit being restrictive!! i personally always had a simpler explanation in mind: that it represents him restricting himself, lso a contraft to how masked fools tend to have no boundries, while he himself does But the possible idea of it representing the restrictions by the fact that he's an emanator is also amazing!! Althought Emanators, unlike Aeons, aren't restricted by the paths (primium mobile), they can operate outside of it, but maybe in Elation's case the restrictions come in some other form? like having to do things against your will because it's your purpouse? Could also represent just personal internal struggle, maybe between the desire for elation and having moral restrictions, hiding the past self, concealing power that could be dangerous, having to lay low like a snake in a grass okay eyes eys eyes eyes i studies the eyes for so longggg The green eyes are snake like, yes, but it's still different to how those are portrayed in other snake-themed characters

(you can't see it quite well here, but jade's eyes look similar to Baizhu's, just brighter in colour) when we compare those to Sampo's eyes they still look very different imo! Of course more similar than any other regular eyes, but still Many xiangzhou characters have those elogated pupils like characters above

(the 2nd pic is the texture itself)

Sampo's pupils do have that diamond shape to them but they are not elongated, the "ring" around the pupil not only matches it's shape, but it's also the most prominent "ring" out of any other characters 9yes, i checked everyone's eyes, I'm very normal) adding to that, his eyes seem quite flat in colour? normally, when designing characters, they often go for multiple shades and extra overlayes in the eyes, often still keeping it simple but still having them look lively in comparison - sampo's eyes look quite dull in that regard, the eye shine he has is also minimal, which is also a deliberate choice, hoyo likes to characterize their characters by their eyes alone (like childe, aventurine, kaeya, etc.) and the lack of light that make sthem feel lively gives that gloomy feeling And the overall shape!!! his eyes just straight up make him look like some wet soggy pathetic cat This makes him look more shy? kind? harmless? but combined with the darker upper part of the iris they have some of that... unsetteling vibe to them if that makes sense His eyes are described as emerald in colour, so yeah, a kind of gree, but one that compliments his overall palette more, His eye's tie everything together nicely Green eyes have a symbolic meaning of being mysterious, due to being one of the more reare natural eye colors, but can also corelate to mischeviousness, madness, chaos, also often used as a colour representing toxicity and poison (funfact, in the design that colour doesn't appear only in his eyes, it can also be seen in the "eyes" of the lock of his little heart shaped suitcase)

the not-elongated diamond shape can be seens across his design, like the metal ornaments on the gloves and shoes that 4point diamond shape (rhombus like) has other symbolic meanings, but unfortunatelly I don't have enought time to look more in depth into that rn :((

THE HAIR OH MY GODD okay so there's a few things 1. if the hair was dyed blue, the white parts would be maybe near the scalp instead?? as in growing ut, so i think it's safe to assume that the blue hair is his natural color 2. I find it reminescent of how acheron's hair turn white while she's in the alternate form, could be fitting to the ex sel-annihilator sampo theory! 3. the hair, blue with white ends, also look like magpie wings to me THE HAIR OH MY GODD okay so there's a few things 1. if the hair was dyed blue, the white parts would be maybe near the scalp instead?? as in growing ut, so i think it's safe to assume that the blue hair is his natural color 2. I find it reminescent of how acheron's hair turn white while she's in the alternate form, could be fitting to the ex sel-annihilator sampo theory! 3. the hair, blue with white ends, also look like magpie wings to me

You can describe person as a "magpie", and I think it suits Sampo quite well

The hair looking like that could also be reminescent of the "koski" part of his name (water rapids), when the water current is strong enough that it starts looking white in some places, again, possibly another referrence to how Elation is described using water metaphors colours time babyyyyyy The combination of Blue (melancholy, sadness, calmness, calculating but also knowledge and reliability) and red (well, in that case it's maroon, color associated with depth and passion) could be reminescent of the contradictions in the character themselves, it's balanced out by the purple details (since it's the color right between the two on the colour wheel) and yeah Both red and blue being "more purple" makes it work together nicely!!! the abundance of metal elements is also giving off that "cold", unapproachable feeling and the eyes being green, on the opositte of the colour spectrum, makes them stand out more:DD Abundance of layers is something we can see across allthe designs, it'a a way to make the characters more visually stimulating in a way and to make the form more interesting But Like i mentioned before, his outfit is still wayy les complex in the silhouette aspect and it lacks flowy details, further "closing in" on itself and yeah again referring to something i mentioned before: his coat looking like ringmaster's coat! pretty self explanatory~ I'd also like to point ut the heart motifs hidden on his outfit, ofc they are mostly visible in form of the small suitcase and the bomb BUT following the diagonal lines in the front part of his chest we get a broken heart shape

same goes fo rthe backside, but here the heart is full, potencially crossed out/restricted, in a similar manner to how the little suitcase looks like

the exposed skin along side the sharp details and striking colors make him look quite provocative, straight up it gives off a different vibe to the usual hoyo shenanigans with the more revealing clothing for other characters or with the strategic chest windows In his case it feels, like i said, provocative, "edgy", primal, unapologetic, not welcoming yet still filling one with desire, deliberate on his own part, not as "fan servicy" as others, if that makes sense? Thank u for the very cool and epic analasis of that guy once again!!!! i hope he explodes /aff <3

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ OUTFIT & DESIGN MOTIFS ⌝

sampo analysis m.list

— what the stars reveal: half-character-study, half-analysis, waxing poetic, elation!sampo

— word count: 3.1k

— overview: a look at sampo’s outfit and design, as well as how it may link to an identity closely connected with the elation.

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

For the sake of my own sanity, I’ll be splitting this analysis into clear-cut sections:

Snake Motifs

Binding Chains

Weapon

Hair

Color Palette

Shoes & Walking

Layers

Exposed Skin

Here’s his splash art for reference, although I’ll also be including other photos of his outfit:

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ SNAKE MOTIFS ⌝

One of the biggest aspects of Sampo’s outfit design are the snake bones littered across his clothing. From the scaled chain behind him to the shoulder guard that has a protrusion reminiscent of venom-dipped fangs, there is a lot of snake imagery present. Not just snake, however, but dead snake. It’s important to note that none of these pieces have skin or lively color — they’re all bones, bleached and picked clean. For me, this implies Sampo to be a skeleton character, a whisper of a dead or dying thing that still carries a last bit of venom in its fangs. Whether that “thing” is a metaphorical emotional state (centering themes of disillusionment and fatigue), a literal identity (centering themes of lessening power and lowering status), or a combination of both is up for interpretation. Either way, something inside him is decaying.

The snake — the living, hunting predator — is past its prime, stripping away over the years into something that barely resembles itself, the bones of an ancient and powerful thing. Emanator!Sampo may find himself slowly drawing away from the compulsive Elation first bestowed upon him, while Aha!Sampo may find Themself rotting into Their own mortal shell, the remains of what used to be a superficial avatar sticking to Their bones and sucking them clean; alternatively, the restrictions placed upon this mortal form of Sampo may cause Aha to be whittled down, only an echo of Their full strength. In another case, the silhouette behind the masks, the bones behind the meat, may have found himself steadily falling out of orbit with his larger mind, eventually ending up as nothing but a shadow of his former power as an Aeon — a skeleton, removed from the body when it was no longer needed. Or, perhaps, he is trying to keep the venom in.

(Note: His eyes are also snake-shaped like Baizhu’s from Genshin Impact!)

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ BINDING CHAINS ⌝

When looking at Sampo in a 360-degree view through the camera, something became apparent to me — the snake motifs (the spine and scales especially) seem to wrap around him tightly. In the splash art, this is a little difficult to tell (as the spine is flared out behind him), but here, they are tightly wrapped around multiple parts of his body:

Here, we see a fairly small part — a cuff wrapped around his upper forearm. This sticks out to me because it seems similar to a handcuff, or some kind of article of containment. It fits snugly, pressing in on his skin. There is also a similar wrapping around his thigh, showing that this is not a one-off design decision. There are multiple tight wrappings of containment around his body, which then implies a something in containment. Additionally, there’s the bone chains on his back:

They wrap around to the front, resting in the hollow of his neck. There are also two latches fastened to his back, giving the idea of the bones almost “hugging” him. Now, we are beginning to get a dual picture: a snake, slowly choking and constricting its prey, and a binding chain of bones, something meant to keep danger contained. We can see this even more clearly once the full picture comes together from different angles:

(These wrappings are even reminiscent of the symbol for Ouroboros, an ancient Gnostic and Alchemical symbol that represents the constant cycle of life, death, and rebirth, as well as the unity of all things material and spiritual. As I’ll discuss in its own dedicated analysis, this presence of the snake as a symbol of rebirth and unity may speak to a constant cycle of different emotions or consciousnesses within him — a loop he seemingly can’t escape. He is trying to live, but death ever looms in the background. Additionally, this points towards him trying to reconcile multiple facets of his being.)

The snake does not want to leave. It is cloying, constricting, containing at every waking moment, unwilling to relinquish the meat inside it. I believe the snake and the chains are one and the same: at the same time Sampo is being hurt and constricted, he is also being contained. The snake bones may represent Aha as a separate entity, the Elation as a addiction-filled Path, self-imposed rules from a more powerful past self, or even the “restrictions” placed on higher beings by virtue of existence.

An Emanator!Sampo may be constantly choked by the chains of his status, the realization that this Path isn’t the one he wants — disillusionment is hard to hold on to when surrounded by those who move from sorrow to joy at the drop of a hat. The gaze of an Aeon may constantly weigh on his shoulders like venom-tipped fangs waiting to strike, waiting to strip everything away from him once he becomes no longer “interesting.” Or perhaps that interest is the binding itself, the consuming, compulsive need to laugh, to operate on impulse, to push all feelings of doubt out before they can even be felt; the want to so desperately escape from Elation despite it clinging to him like a specter, regardless of his wants or needs. Emanator!Sampo may also be contained in his power, the same disillusionment that drives him to stray forcing him to hold back his true power, the truth that he could ruin everything he cares for with a single mistake. He doesn’t know what to do when the Elation grows ever tighter, ever higher, the bones of a rotting thing turning him rotten as well. He wants to escape but doesn’t know how.

(Perhaps, this desperation has rotted into hate which has rotted into vengeance, a dedication to using his life to push out the last of his venom, if only to stain an Aeon with Their own blood before falling away.)

Alternatively, an Aha!Sampo may find Themself now restricted by flesh and blood, feeling Themself to be a shadow, a dead skeleton of what They once were. For whatever reason, Their mortal form is forced to have restrictions, perhaps the same ones They face in Aeonic form. But it’s small. Too small. Ten thousand sizes too small, as it always is, and now They’re trapped for a longer time, forced by a looming threat to operate in the shadows, slowly hollowing out with the distance of consciousness and time.

Who are They, if not the masks? Who are They, if not an Aeon? Perhaps this is not even mask-related at all, but rather a silhouette who grew tired, determined to carve his own path when the stench of decay became too much. The Original, The Progenitor, far outlasted by feelings that grew too strong for his body to handle. He is not an Aeon, not a mortal, but somewhere between a bleached skull and a mouth full of venom. How can he spit out what is rightfully inside him? How can he cut the binds that tie him to an eldritch being he was never meant to be?

He does not want Elation, but Elation has always wanted him. How can he escape something so dedicated to swallowing him whole? How can he escape something so natural to his being? There is no clear answer besides one: if he does not find a way to escape, the only thing left of him will be bone.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ WEAPON ⌝

Anyway! Haha! Isn’t he so silly? Let’s look at his weapon next:

It seems to continue the snake theme, with both sides of the blades marked with the same bright purple of the “fangs” on his shoulder guard. I don’t think it’s a mistake that these are the brightest colors of the outfit, but I’ll save that for later. For now, let’s focus on the dual nature of his weapon. Besides carrying on the snake theme, these are dual blades, able to be split apart and combined at a moment’s notice. To me, this seems like an indication of two “sides” to Sampo, two different personas that can be separated, combined, or interchanged at will. This could be an Emanator form, an Aeonic form, or simply another personality or “deeper” emotion behind the con-man persona.

I find this choice of weapon very fitting for him, as it capitalizes on the dexterity of both his personality and fighting style. It’s something that is easily able to be tossed from a distance, allowing him to damage enemies over time without getting too close to danger. There is also an inversion to its form, and while that could just be so he doesn’t scratch himself when throwing it, I also see its connection to the “inversion” of Sampo’s E6 and Aha’s splash art silhouette. There is an implication of inversion, mirroring, and duality with this weapon. Whatever power or consciousness he may be holding, there’s a good chance there are multiple dimensions to it, the kind of dimensions that exceed mortal standards.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ HAIR ⌝

Something of note is the grey in his hair, a color often attributed to older and more powerful characters (Welt has a (albeit dyed) strand of grey hair and Acheron has grey strands as well). They are, however, at the bottom of his hair, like the (perhaps also dyed?) blue is trying to override it. This could speak to an attempt to find his own identity, to cast aside the bleached white of decaying bones and find some vibrance to live for. There’s also a lot of it compared to other characters. It’s not just one or two strands, it’s entire parts of his hairtips, with the implication even more may be white behind the blue. This would line up with what he says about being an “old timer,” most likely downplaying his own status to “just an old guy” when he is vastly more powerful than others realize.

Additionally, his hair obscures one of his eyes, always casting half of his face behind blue.

I feel this speaks to the idea of “multiple” sides, since one part of him is literally hidden from view. There’s the laughing, joking con-man we see, sure, but we don’t see the “hate” festering beneath, the potential despising of one’s own power and being. We don’t see the silhouette behind the masks. It wants to be free, most likely, of the chains that bind it, wants to step into the open with the clarity of rage, but it is not allowed. And so it stays, hidden behind blue. It stays, allowing the turquoise eye of a red-tinted mask to operate beyond, leaving itself to fester and rot into itself. Would we see an eye, if we pulled back that hair? Would we see something besides a wink here, a crease there? Would we find a matching color, or would we find blood red, a space infested with angry maggots? Would we perhaps find a hole? The blank, staring Nothing of Nihility? Only time will tell.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ COLOR PALETTE ⌝

An interesting thing I noted while staring at pictures of this man’s splash art for way too long is the clash between colors. When dealing with the visible light spectrum, red and blue are on opposite ends. Red and blue are also popularized opponents, despite them not being true opposites on the color wheel. They can clash very jarringly, although the muted reds and blues (bordering on purples) used in Sampo’s outfit compliment each other better than in other combinations. Still, they stick out against each other, chafe against the backdrop of muted grays and blacks of dying bone. The red, often associated with blood, is also associated with Aha’s masks in this case, since most masks have a combination of white and red or red and orange to them (especially in Aha’s splash art). Additionally, blue is often associated with water and calm, which ties back to Sampo’s name “Koski” which means water rapids in Finnish. There is a clear conflict between these colors in Sampo’s outfit, the starkness of drying blood mingling with the attempted free-flowing blue of a new identity. The blue that is so strong in his hair, his mind, is slowly beginning to peek from beyond the red of the rest of his body — a solitary flower, perhaps, watered by the rain and allowed to cautiously, timidly, lean into the doorway of his being. Still, it is a battle. The red will not give up. The pain, the addictive nature of being consumed by the snake, has been there for so long it naturally attempts to obscure whatever new healing the blue brings. But the blue is persistent. And so, it stays.

All the while, the grey hangs in the background, shadow-like. The monochrome, the static, has been there longer than both the red and the blue, so ingrained into him that it’s easily overlooked for the war between blood and water. But it’s there. The bones of that ancient beast will never fade, stagnant as they are. That’s the thing about bones — they last. Even when the blood runs out and the water stops flowing, bones take the longest to decay. They symbolize longevity, perhaps too much of it. An immortality, perhaps, granted by Emanator or Aeon status, that refuses to disperse even as the mind begins to wither. Thus, the red and the blue arrive. They attempt to revitalize the dying bones, the winding snake, putting just enough contrast between them to create a spark, a single flicker of life — a turquoise of bright running water in the eyes, enough to see the world in better clarity.

(And then there is the glowing purple of the fangs, the looming threat, the contained power. Beyond everything else, the venom is still there. It has always been there, waiting to strike.)

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ SHOES & WALKING ⌝

The only thing I want to talk about here is the lack of footprints Sampo leaves behind (I just wanted a dedicated section for it). We can see clearly in the splash art that Sampo has regular soles that should make indents in the snow, yet his character never leaves footprints when walking through Belobog. To me, this indicates an otherworldly nature of being, or a lack of being there in the first place. This can fracture into several different theories, some of which being that it’s intentional on his part and he can manipulate his body and surroundings in a structural way; that it’s simply a byproduct of a higher being taking mortal form (and thus not fully “conforming” to all minutae of human bodies); and that it’s because he is a projection or puppet of some sort that was never really there to begin with. Whatever the case, this seems to be a strong indicator of higher status, whether that be Emanator, Aeonic, or something different. After all, no regular, unassuming guy would be able to so casually and effortlessly defy gravity to not leave footprints.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ LAYERS ⌝

Man, this guy’s outfit is confusing. Sorry, I just had to get that off my chest. I’m just still not entirely sure what’s going on in his chest region, there seems to be a lot of straps and buckles and zigzags and windows. I’d like to say this still speaks to the idea of “containment,” as many layers like that would certainly feel constricting, but I also feel like it’s meant to be a “look” as a whole. The bottom layers being black and gray, then blossoming out into blue and red almost makes me think of a decaying animal, with the blood being exposed as well as some of the bone beneath. I also feel like it ties back into his “layered” personality, in which he has different feelings and personas he chooses to either show or hide at any given moment. His neck and hands are also covered (with the red gloves dipping below the black), perhaps further speaking to concealment. The snake motifs are also present on multiple layers, giving the feeling that this is a constriction that runs deep.

✩ ‧₊˚ ⌞ EXPOSED SKIN ⌝

I will say it: this man’s outfit is sluttyyy (affectionate). Despite the heavy themes of constriction and concealment, the encroachment of the colors and layers do not affect his forearms and hips. He very much has his “V” out to show the world, and I for one am not complaining. To me, this exposed skin feels like a breath of fresh air, something beyond the rotting, constricted animal for once. This seems to really be Sampo — the flesh and blood Sampo, the mortal, the guy who likes striking poses and probably gives great hugs. Yes, it is still strategic (probably trying to ramp up flirt appeal for when he tries to scam people) but it also seems genuine. Sincere. If the rest of his outfit is a constraining, dying bloodbath, then these pockets of skin are the eye of the storm, the places that seem to be untouched by the onslaught. Here, we see a human being. Not an Emanator or an Aeon or a byproduct of compulsive Elation, but a man. Just a man. Breathing, like everyone else. It’s nice.

My main takeaways from this outfit are:

The bones of an Aeon, with mortal and “Primum Mobile” restrictions combining to constrain.

The bones of an Emanator, slowly whittled away with time and the weathering of longevity bestowed by Elation.

The general themes of rot, decay, snakes, venom, constraint, and being suffocated.

Ouroboros, constant cycles, prey caught in a trap of potentially its own making.

Any combination of these!

(I also wrote this piece before really getting into the Doll!Sampo theory, but there is definitely an interpretation to be had regarding Sampo as a creation of Aha! The decaying animal and contradictory colors could represent the fight between Sampo’s “purpose” and who he really wants to be, as well as the chains of Elation choking his freedom of self-expression and want to be his own person. The consistency of constricting and containing bones could also speak to him being a “shadow” of Aha, the echo of a greater being while still powerful himself. If he was created in Aha’s own likeness, he would probably feel the pressure of always being in the shadow of his creator.

Additionally, many other parts of this analysis can still apply to Doll!Sampo, as I see him as at least Emanator status. Longevity would take even more of a toll on him here, since he would have lived so long being disregarded by others as a “toy.” I’ll probably elaborate more on this when I do a dedicated breakdown of my Doll!Sampo theory!)

A note I couldn’t find a good place for earlier: snake bones also imply shed skin, some siphoning off of a greater part of oneself to be reborn anew. Perhaps he is the dead and dying snake, preparing to molt into something even greater. That’s all!

The End! Overall, I feel like I realized a lot of potential things about Sampo going through the parts of his outfit one-by-one. I’m definitely more on board with the idea of being simultaneously constricted and constrained now! Ties that bind, and all that. I also didn’t realize just how much of a battle his outfit feels like until I really looked at it, and now I feel bad for the poor guy. Whatever his endgame identity is, he is not having a good time. I want to give him a hug :((

Also, I want to include this bonus concept art since it shows the snake motifs were a big aspect from the beginning:

Anyways, that’s all!

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ જ⁀➴ thanks for reading to the end!

(volume warning)

☆━━━━━ ⋆⁺｡˚⋆˙‧₊☾ ◯ ☽₊‧˙⋆˚｡⁺⋆ ━━━━━━☆

#sampo yapping

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ignitification · 4 years ago

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Colour Analysis III: (LoV Series II) - Dabi

Yes, no - you don't have any hallucination. It's here. It is. And yes, it took an absurdly long time to, but it's here so mh, yeah - enjoy.

I suddenly remembered that an ask, long ago, asked me about the design pattern evident for Dabi. It's here in case you want to have a look at it.

As I stated there, Dabi is a living contradiction, especially in terms of colour theory.

His colour pattern is a chameleon of sorts: he both represents light and dark at the same time, as if he cannot decide which one to stick with. I think that this duality has all to do with his genealogy. Inheriting his mother constitution and his father's Quirk amplified, Dabi goes through an adaptation process, manifesting especially by the change in his hair's colour (same as Tomura, that is - you can find the link for his analysis at the bottom of the post). The dyeing hair is also part of the process, but this time it comes about with a voluntary part, which brings us to the point that even if not entirely, Dabi's personality is build around a feeling and a character, which he wants to express and contrast at the same time. This is why, as I already specified the most important colour when it comes to Dabi are Blue, Purple and White (with a sprinkle of Red).

I.) Royal Blue

More than any other colour, Blue is what fits Dabi the most. His eyes are blue, his fire is blue and his clothes are blue (different variation, but you get the gist).

Blue usually stands for coolness, loyalty, intelligence and responsibility. But pushing this aside for a minute, blue has a distinct effect on the human body: it lowers the heart rate and the body temperature and has a calming effect. It's a constant colour which represents the tide of waves and the never-ending blue of the sky. In respect to Dabi, it can be seen how this hardly applies - but, at the same time it does. As Dabi inherits Rei's constitution and her resistance to the cold - but his father's 'fiery' personality, his fire manifests as both. It creates a friction, until the burns on his body become an evident purple. This characteristic has a distinct connection to Red (section IV) - however, the leitmotiv is that Dabi's body is used to the effects that blue should have on him, and instead of seeing it realise they are brought down and counter-affected by Red (which is a metaphor for his entire persona).

Blue has the feature of being ever-changing, which, as you'll have understood by now, is one of many contrasts in Dabi's appearance. He indeed goes through an exterior change - but as blue, he remains steady on a path (which is revenge, and will to actually prove to Endeavour that he is not a mistake), making his character consistent with his ideas throughout the arcs and steady.

An overuse of blue is cold and impersonal - indicating the presence of deep dark secrets and having a connection with feelings of sadness and depression. It creates the pictures of someone hiding in the dark just not to reveal their secrets, and for a long time we see Dabi trying to keep a low profile and then approach with an attitude of uncaring and cold indifference. He has burned his eye glands, which should allow him to express this feelings - but they are expressed, on the contrary, in the strength of his fire, and causes old feeling to settle and burn their way through his persona.

Blue is a susceptible colour and it hurts deeply - because in the first place, people associated with blue tend to feel too deeply. This fits the pattern of Dabi's fire being conditioned by his emotions, and why likely it creates deep wounds on his body: as a remainder that his feelings, expressed through the fire are way too intense and affect Dabi deeply. Deep enough for him to survive an astonishing fire and to hide for years in wait of having the right opportunity, the perfect opportunity to actually redirect this feeling onto the subject which caused them. As the constant colour that it is, indeed, blue (and Dabi) lives in the past.

Light blue is associated with healing, understanding and softness (his eyes), while darker hues are instead expression of power and knowledge (clothes - as a reminder of adulthood).

Finally, back on the literal meaning of blue: blue is a giver in the relationships that matter, but at the same time this colour can be unfaithful and deceiving (and we saw this in his interactions with the League at first and with Hawks, too). It is associated with intelligence and and consciousness (and indeed, the one who sort of had the reigns of the Training Camp was Dabi, and furthermore he is the only one who Ujiko retained mature enough to control a High End). This encompasses his characteristics of being reliable and responsible - and of course, Dabi embodies the whole spectrum.

Also on a final, funnily enough note, blue is usually associated with voice communication and someone who needs order, and strives for perfection as well as tending to be the one to speak in public. It's idealistic and expresses a will to satisfy its higher needs - and by doing that it expresses devotion in these ideals. So if you think about how Dabi's character is focused on reforming society, and giving Stain's will freedom and realisation, Dabi comes full circle - with a devotion which makes him focused on his goals (Stain's will, reformation of society and the Endeavour' downfall) , the commitment to actual plan their perfect realisation, and the ability to achieve it through the right means (The Broadcast).

II.) Pure White

White. Integrity, purity, innocence. Mourning, for some cultures. In particular in Japan, it is used as a colour meaning death, and is used in funerals. Same as for Tomura, Dabi uses both White and Black to somehow mourn himself and his loss (Tenko for his family, Touya for the himself he leaves behind) and especially in his adulthood, the concealing of such a colour through pitch black, is not only an effort to hide his identity but also to express a refusal to be the same person. White represents a new beginning, a blank slate. And if we consider these two to be somehow related (because death is seen as not the end, but instead a new beginning) it is clear how this colour, has a relevance to this character. After Touya's death, and his white hair hidden - he becomes Dabi, who has no time to still appeal to the childish feeling of wanting to impress his father and instead throws himself onto a new chapter of his life, because the past he will always remember, has been burned.

Same as blue, white brings serenity and peace - and at the same time it represents coldness and emptiness. I think this somehow emphasises the change in colour from red to white, and the loss of believing in strength (read: Endeavour) instead leaving an empty space in his heart, filled with emotions which he cannot control. The loss of innocence and the acquisition of the fact that Touya will never be what his father wanted him to, and the acceptance of such a thing - further brings out the meaning of the colour blue. (As already stated before, white, in Dabi's case is of enormous relevance - because it amplifies its relation to blue.)

Finally, white brings forward independence and freedom - and it stands for perfection. And I think it's really ironic how white, is not only the colour he inherited from Rei - a cold stark white - but at the same time, Endeavour has tossed him aside for the same reason, and that is because in his eyes he could not be more 'wrong'. But when his hair settles into his ultimate colour of white, Touya also breaks free from his father's expectation (but does he, really?) to start instead a new chapter as Dabi. Hiding the mistake he thinks he is, an instead embraces the personality that has been thrown onto him.

White is also the symbol of truth - which is tied to the revelation that Dabi is Touya Todoroki, and his dyed black hair becomes white, again (revealing the truth of his persona).

II.I) Pitch Black

Just to be as precise as possible, I'm adding a tiny section on black, which can be summarised in two sentences: black is associated with mystery, sophistication, power and authority. It brings forward the symbol of darkness, rebellion and ultimately it stands as a synonym of death. It's a colour which, when considered in respect to white, stands for the struggle between right and wrong - good and evil. Dabi presents himself as someone mysterious, and he does not reveal his name until far down the line. But he is still a representation of power, in terms of quirk and his position both inside the LoV and the PFL. Furthermore, him covering up his hair colour with black, as already said, has to do with wanting to appear a villain more than it has to do with his identity. He wants to fade into background for a while, and then come from the darkness to sweep everyone away - covering himself in black so it sends a clear message to everyone looking at him: that he is dangerous, and that there is no escape from his evil.

III.) Daunting Purple

Now, this is a controversial section. When I first thought of Dabi, I associated him with blue more than anything else, because after all, even if purple is an ever-present colour, it is just a reminder of how dangerous his quirk is, and how his body does not fare well in the friction of his firepower and his constitution. However, I think it is still important to put things into perspective when it comes to Dabi.

It is not a surprise, that Purple comes about as a combination of Red and Blue. The eternal struggle - which comes forth into the most detrimental way possible, for him. The shade of this colour has different meanings (not surprisingly) but, as far as I am concerned, Dabi's is a 'darker purple' (which is the one we have figured in the pictures) and fulfils its duty to evoke sadness and gloom. This is just a constant reminder of his story, and also the why Dabi is not very big on concealing the scars: because he thinks of them as a fair punishment, and that they remind him constantly of what and when exactly things did go wrong. Purple is also a colour associated with royalty and people with authority. On this meaning, there might a controversial stake, because it would actually give a relevance (or positive connotation) to the colour, however, as already stated before - I think that the scars are not only a reminder for himself, but same as the conscious choice of wearing black, Dabi makes a conscious choice to reveal his burn marks and to stitch his skin with evident metal piercings. He is putting them in evidence for a reason, and I'd guess this is the same reason for why he sticks on wearing dark colours, and to due his hair black: Dabi's objective is to appear as a heartless villain, and usually the image of somehow badly injured and wearing dark clothes, as sad as this might be, projects the image of exactly someone you'd like to avoid on the street.

Purple is also the colour of 'Fall', with its fading light. I found this particularly poetic when it comes to Dabi, as Fall might as well be the eternal representation of his character, and the fact that instead Dabi's fire just grown bigger and bigger, hurting him even more in the process - is the total contrary of fading light. But on the other hand, the light of his own personality, and those emotions he keeps tucked away just tend to be fade, dwindle at every sign of possible emotional connection.

Purple promotes the balance between mind and emotions - between the spiritual and the physical world. The balance between Red (emotions) and Blue (mind), and to which Dabi is not accustomed, yet. Finally, purple - among others - is also a mourning colour (reminder that both White and Black are also mourning colours). And it also inspires mystery, which again the image Dabi likes to project about himself onto others.

IV.) Flourishing Red

Red is Dabi's curse and representation. The contrast to white, and also the exacerbation of Blue. Red is the colour that gets the blood going (or rather, in this case, 'The one that turns up the heat' and which contrasts the calming effects of Blue) and the one who expresses passion and strength (which is why Endeavour's personality colour is Red - it's not a case that Red is associated with violence, anger, blood, obsession of power and strength, danger and fiery passion).

Red is the colour which Touya denies, and that instead comes back to bite him back. Red is energising and full of spirit and passion - and the image of a young Touya, striving to get better and make his father proud comes to mind. It's prideful and full of power - the will of a child, and his enormous Quirk-power struggling to keep it in check. This is why, Red after a while fades to Blue - and burns even more than it used to. Passion felt too deep, the exploitation of power which brings destruction. An all clear sentence to actually see why Dabi ends up with denying the all-too-overwhelming presence of Red and its characteristics, opting instead for a more suited to him Blue, which is also highly contrasting to the pure anger and passion associated to Red. The fact that Touya's hair changes, is an indicator of how he negates his father's influence, but still insists on hanging on those feelings, because he cannot let go of them. A walking oxymoron.

Thank for staying all the way, and for reading.

P.S. The colour analysis featuring Izuku and Shigaraki are respectively linked.

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nalu-love-4-life · 3 years ago

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Dragon Swan Song

Author’s Note:

It’s been a very long time since I wrote a drabble on Tumblr for NaLu. But I have had an itch lately to write something for them, because I haven’t written anything passionately in a very long time, and what could be more fun to jump back into writing than to write about my OTP?

I hope you all enjoy this short NaLu drabble where Natsu is a knight assigned to protect the princess, Lucy!

_______________________________________________________________________________________________________

The skirt of my dress flowed freely around my ankles as I paced back and forth from the end of my bed to the chamber doors. A feeling of impending dread was steadily building in my stomach and each time I stopped to take a breath the anxious knots only seemed to pull tighter. The late morning sunlight streaming in from the balcony created patches of heat on the cool stone floor. While the warmth on my skin brought brief comfort, my thoughts were still troubled and they swirled in my head, going ‘round and around, making me dizzy. My pacing stopped only when I heard a low rapping on the doors behind me.

“Excuse me, Princess. I’m coming in,” a husky voice called.

I swiveled around and straightened my back, and hastily tucked a couple loose strands of hair - which had fallen over my face - behind my ear. After clasping my hands together with a firm grip, I answered, “C-come in!” There was a momentary pause before the doors opened and a familiar mess of pink hair peaked into view.

Natsu, I thought with a soft sigh. I could already feel my worries sliding off from my shoulders. As he stepped into the room, I could see his firm build. He stood almost a foot taller than me and his skin was tanned from spending long days training in the sun.

“Princess Lucy, is everything alright?” He asked. “I could hear your footsteps from the other side of the doors. Is there something on your mind?” His voice was deep and sincere, but the formality of his speech felt strange.

“Y-yes! Everything is fine, really. No need to worry. I’m just overthinking some plans that my father had proposed to me this past evening.” I did my best to brush his concern away with a smile and a curt wave of my hand, but the crease between his eyebrows remained and his lips did not move from the slight frown they were set in.

“Hmm,” he hummed aloud. “Well, though I believe you’re telling me the truth, I cannot take your words at mere face value.”

“Huh?” I questioned.

“You don’t look like you’re in full health, Princess. So I will do my own inspection to make sure you are feeling well,” he said in a raised voice while peering down the long hallway. I waited with anticipation as Natsu quietly shut the wooden doors. He paused, and I watched his shoulders rise and fall as he slowly breathed in and out. When he turned around and looked at me I could see the glimmer of mischief dancing in his onyx eyes.

“Natsu,” I said. “What are you doing? It’s the middle of the day. We could be caught!”

He smirked, briefly flashing his sharp canines. A jolt rippled down my spine and my heart beat faster in my chest.

“We’ll be fine, Luce,” he said. Natsu took a couple steps closer to me. He had a confident air about him. “Anyone who was around thinks I’m simply checking on the princess to make sure she’s feeling well. Nothing wrong with that, right?” He raised his eyebrows and the devilish flare grew in his eyes. My knees wobbled underneath the intensity of his stare. As he entered further into the room, the sunlight illuminated the details of his face. I couldn’t help myself from studying him.

The old scar that ran down his right cheek stopped at his jawline, and another stretched across the right side of his neck. The rough skin healed a bit darker than his normal shade, which only made them appear more prominent. His cheeks were dusted a soft rose giving him a healthy and youthful likeness. Light freckles speckled the bridge of his nose and under his eyes, but if you weren’t looking close enough you wouldn’t think he had any at all. There was a bit of dirt on his forehead and his hair was in mild disarray, so he had probably been training in the courtyard or tending to the horses in the stables earlier. My eyes continued to scan over his face. I didn’t want to miss a thing.

“Like what you see?”

“Huh?!” Startled, my concentration broke and our eyes locked.

Natsu chuckled and closed the little distance that was left between us. His smile was warm. “You’re cute when you get lost in thought,” he muttered bringing his right hand to rest on my cheek. It was as if there was fire in his fingertips. His touch was gentle, but every one set my skin ablaze. I could feel the rough callouses on his palm that had formed from years of hard work wielding his sword and perfecting his skills.

“Don’t tease me like that,” I pouted. My hair fell loose around my shoulders as I turned my head to the side.

“Aw, come on, Luce. I was being serious,” he whined, but the slight twitch at the corners of his mouth gave away his amusement. A gasp escaped my lips as I felt two strong arms circle around my waist and pull me forward. Our bodies pressed together and the palms of my hands rested on his chest. All I could think about was how firm and strong it felt.

“Natsu th-this is embarrassi-!”

“You really are beautiful, Princess,” he murmured. His voice was low and tender and every word sounded so sincere. I really admired that about him. Though sometimes he could be honest to a fault, it was just another one of his many charms.

He used his hand that was on my cheek to brush the hair from my face and place it back behind my ear. “There they are,” he said. “Hey, Doe Eyes.” A quiet chuckle rumbled in his throat.

“Hi,” I whispered almost breathless. Natsu smelled like warm linen and earth, with a hint of something sweet, like honey or vanilla. I wished that I could bottle that scent so I could revisit it whenever, but did my best to focus so I could at least commit it to memory. His dark eyes held me as a willing captive and I couldn’t tear myself away. As frustrating as his teasing could be at times, I was never more at ease than when I was enveloped in his embrace. Whenever it seemed like everything was turning upside down and I felt as if I could float away at any given moment, I could always count on him to tether me and bring me safely back to solid ground.

His face relaxed as he scanned over me. “Now,” Natsu said clearing his throat. “Are you gonna tell me why you were pacing so much? Your footsteps were so loud, I bet everyone in the castle thought an ogre was stomping around in here.” Natsu’s eyebrows lifted and his lips puckered ever-so slightly. I could tell he was holding in laughter.

“How dare you!” I huffed and pushed against his chest so that he would relinquish his hold on me. “And just when I thought you were being genuinely sweet for once.” I crossed my arms over my chest and marched onto the balcony.

There was a cool spring breeze and the sky was bright blue with thin white clouds floating lazily overhead. I positioned myself so that my arms rested against the thick metal railing that overlooked the castle garden. All of the flowers were in full bloom and their many scents mixed in a harmonious melody which filled the air and swirled around me. I took a deep breath in to fully appreciate the wonderful aroma. As my muscles began to relax the sound of heavy boots came closer to my turned back.

Natsu stood quietly beside me with his back leaned against the railing. He craned his neck to the side and looked across the castle grounds. “You always did enjoy the garden, didn’t you?” He asked, although it seemed like it was more of a statement to himself. “Even when we were kids, if you were ever upset you’d always go someplace where you could see the flowers.”

I glanced at him from the side. “Of course I like the garden,” I sighed. “The flowers are pretty, it’s always quiet, and I can lose myself walking around in it. I can pretend like I don’t have a care in the world—like I can do whatever I want—be whoever I want—love whoever I-” I stopped myself and turned to look at Natsu. He was smiling at me, but it was small and there was sadness underneath. Natsu shifted his eyes away from me and turned around so that he faced the garden. His broad shoulders slumped forward and his weight pressed down on his forearms that he’d rested on the railing.

“Do you remember that day?” He asked. “When we met?” I ran my eyes over his face, trying to discern what he might be thinking. “You were picking daisies in the far corner of the garden to make a makeshift crown, and I was running from Makorov ‘cuz I accidentally tore a hole right through his trousers with my sword.”

“As I recall, you caused that tear because you were sparring with Gray again over who was going to get to eat the last slice of Miss Mira’s strawberry shortcake that she’d baked earlier that day,” I mocked. “But then Erza knocked your heads together, claimed it for herself, and ate it right in front of you! So neither you nor Gray got any cake and you were both punished for fighting—no sweets for a whole month!” I raised my hand to cover my mouth as I laughed.

“Y-yeah… Erza’s scary,” Natsu muttered.

I stood with my hands on my hips and gave a disapproving stare. “I haven’t forgotten how you ran straight into me and crushed all of my daisies before I could make that crown, by the way,” I said. “And you caused me to fall face first into the dirt and ruin the new dress Father had gotten for me, too,” I huffed. Natsu grimaced and rubbed the back of his head, ruffling his hair.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” he said. “I remember getting an earful about that too.”

I scoffed in mild amusement. “It’s fine. To be quite honest, Father always ordered the most stuffy dresses back then, anyway, and the one you ruined was particularly stifling to wear,” I said. “Especially when I was out in the garden.”

“Well, I wish you had said something back then before Erza chewed me out for that in between mouthfuls of cake,” Natsu laughed.

“Why would I when it’s so amusing to see how you and Gray shake like puppies when she scolds you?” He pretended to pout at my taunting which only made me laugh more. “Miss Erza’s not so terrible, you know,” I said gaining my composure.

“You only think that because you’ve never had to fight her. After one training session I can barely move for days whenever she’s put in charge of combat practice. She’s merciless!” He whined.

I giggled and Natsu turned his head so he could look at me. His eyes were serious when they met mine. Something about his steady gaze threw my stomach for a whirl. “W-what is it?” I asked.

Natsu shifted his weight and stood tall. His stature blocked the sun and cast a shadow over me. To someone else, he might seem scary using his full height to his advantage like this. But to me, he was no more threatening than a dragonfly.

“Lucy,” he said. His voice came off stern but his eyes were almost pleading. “Tell me why you’ve been so stressed lately. I won’t continue to pretend like I haven’t noticed.” Natsu took my hand in his. I could feel his thumb tracing gentle circles over the tops of my fingers. Unlike before, he kept a respectable distance between us and was careful to hide our clasped hands behind the railing.

We couldn’t risk the groundskeepers or any other castle attendant seeing us, and the balcony was a very public spot. Any affectionate display witnessed by the wrong person was sure to circulate through the castle grapevine, and there would surely be repercussions to face. I knew this, of course, but I still felt my heart longing.

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Author’s End Note:

I hope you all enjoyed this first installation of this NaLu drabble as much as I enjoyed writing it! Sorry to leave you all on a bit of a cliffhanger there but it was getting much longer than originally intended haha Should I continue it and make it a real story? If you want more please like, comment, and/or DM me and let me know what you think! And make sure to follow me on here on tumblr for any updates on this story and so you don’t miss any other Fairy Tail NaLu drabbles or fanfic posts/art or story reblogs!

❤️ nalu-love-4-life

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poptod · 4 years ago

Text

Pull the Stars Out of the Sky (And Gift Them to Me), pt. 3 (Ahkmenrah x Reader)

Description: Things get busy as the palace prepares for the Pharaoh’s journey to Thebes.

Notes: WC: 5.1k

Warm flame blotted out the stars shining through the marble arches, leaving their light dim and diluted. In each corner of the small room, a floor torch illuminated the rows of papyrus scrolls, fire and shadow dancing as the men at the table conversed quietly. At first you had attempted to follow the topic, but the longer the hours grew the less patience you had. Eventually you found yourself wondering how the Pharaoh did this seemingly every day.

"I think we're getting a little ahead of ourselves," said a man you eventually learned was named Gyasi. He, along with most others gathered at the table, was an old man donned in golden linen, bearing curved lines drawn above his eyes. "We don't have time for such provisions. A number of things has delayed the King from planning earlier, so the journey to Thebes cannot be as detailed or grand as the last years, with Merenkahre."

"But we cannot arrive barren of gifts. As much as the mayor is loyal to the crown, it is good to keep in the graces of those ruling your cities. We can't afford any doubt of obedience," said the man sat on the far end of the table.

"I shall attend to the provisions and gifts myself, if need be," Piye said. Very rarely had they spoken at all this evening, and the deep tones of their nearby voice nearly startled you.

"What of the ships? Our fleet was destroyed and we don't have enough of the right design to carry what Merenkahre's advisors planned for their trips," said another man, whose long hair fell over his shoulders as he spoke.

"If the rest of you agree to tend to the soldiers, and for you the offerings," Ahk turned for a moment to the several priests gathered, "I will go through our models to find the best fit. Agreed?"

"I'm not –"

"It's nearly midnight," Piye interrupted. "The King needs his sleep, as do all of you. If you have any grievances you can bring them up tomorrow."

"... thank you, Piye," Ahkmenrah said, sighing sharply as he buried his face in his hand. "You're all dismissed. Get home and sleep well."

Rings of 'thank you, my king,' came from the men, cloth and cushions shuffling as they rose to their feet. You watched with wide eyes as they left. All who remained in the study were you, Piye, and Ahkmenrah. For the first time in at least several hours there was a quiet surrounding you, which you made sure to appreciate.

The night outside appeared to calm down, leaving only the sound of flowing water and cricket bugs chirping. Not even wind dared to brush through the arches. You sniffed, feeling sleep tug at the bags beneath your eyes. Ahk had gotten up early, and of course he insisted on taking you with him, creating for you a schedule you were very much not used to.

"I'm sorry, Amoke," Ahk said lowly, clearing his throat. "I didn't mean for this to carry on for so long. Are you tired?"

"Uh, yeah," you mumbled as you rubbed your eye.

"I'll see to it that Naguib doesn't wake you two until later. Will you be staying in your regular room or...?" Piye asked, their back turned to overlook the city.

"Inner," Ahk said with a stretch of his arms to the ceiling.

"Coward," Piye said, heading towards the door.

"Hey now, just because you have the body warmth of Ra doesn't make me a coward," Ahk said sternly, pointing a vindictive finger in Piye's direction.

"Right, sir," Piye said before swinging themselves out of the room.

He let out a long, weary sigh as he bent forward, resting his head on the low table. The blanket spread out between your laps shifted, as did the cushions, and though you tried to give him space he pulled himself into you the moment you moved. There he hid himself in you, breathing deep as he fidgeted with the cloth of your skirt.

"Did you have any thoughts about the meeting?" He asked, muffled against your neck.

"Your advisors are disappointed in you for being distracted when it comes to the religious part of the state, but can't realistically say anything since you're good with foreign diplomacy," you said.

What exactly they were planning and why had escaped you, but within the first thirty minutes of genuinely paying attention to the discussion, you'd deduced that with the prior knowledge of Ahkmenrah's and Merenkahre's reign.

"Are your advisors inherited from your father or did you choose them yourself?"

"Most of them are my father's," he said, pulling away from you to look you in the eye. "I know my cabinet needs some reorganizing, but it's not something I can concentrate on right now. Once we return from Thebes... I ask your help in deciding what changes to make."

"Um – that doesn't sound very wise, asking the advice of a civilian," you said, trying to back away from him. As usual, he did not let you, and held tighter to your hips.

"Do you question my judgement?" He asked, though kept a smile on his face.

Your answer to that was yes––very much so. There was no way you could say that, obviously, but you didn't want to lie either, so you stayed silent as he scanned you.

"A King knows what's best, my dear."

In the morning, Naguib woke you, and as he dressed Ahk, the King spoke to you. You had yet to leave the confines of silk sheets, and thus lay on your side with your cheek squished into the mattress as you watched them.

"We've got many a designs for ships, but only five of those are properly big enough to support us, the court, servants, soldiers, and offerings. Of those five there are about.. seven, I think, variations in the sails. We'll need to try each of them. How many ships is that?"

Naguib quickly looked away, avoiding the question. Similarly, you shrugged your shoulders, too out-of-it to formulate the correct answer.

"Thirty-five. Thirty-five ship rides today. Have you ever been sailing before?" He asked as he fiddled with his gold bracelet, turning to glance in your direction.

"No," you said quietly. As revered and important as water was, you still clung to your fear of the depths, and thus had never taken the opportunity to travel by river.

"I think you'll enjoy yourself," he said, with quite the amount of confidence in his tone. You, with insight into yourself, knew otherwise, and shriveled at his smile.

Massive sheets of linen rippled above you, tossed and blown by the eastern wind. The creak of wood sounded beneath your feet, spiking an uneasiness that plagued your stomach, and only worsened by the sway of the massive raft on the battering tide. All that remained to comfort you was the sun, shining blazingly overhead. You combated the burning heat by staying beneath the overhang of the little shack built into the middle of the boat.

Meanwhile, Ahk stood with hair flying in the breeze, his crown long forgotten on the floor. The skirt he wore was the only thing on his body now, allowing rays of sun to shine off the sheen of sweat worked up by his succinct movements. Mid-air he caught a rope in his palm, twisting it so it wrapped around his hand, and tugging harsh till the sail calmed itself. The billows dissipated into a smooth pillow of white, standing like a cloud against the blue sky.

"What do you think so far, Amoke?" Ahk asked above the splashing waves and muting wind.

"Takes an awful lot of effort, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," he said, panting lightly as he released the rope and headed towards you. "I won't be doing the sailing on the way there, however. At least not most of the time. We'll have our soldiers do that. Besides, this ship is large. Perhaps it is the sail hindering our work."

Our work. He could galavant off to wherever he wanted to, fix the entire problem himself, and he'd still say 'our,' or 'we,' or 'us'. You couldn't quite pinpoint why that annoyed you.

Along with the help of several other sailors on the ship, Ahk brought the hull to a rest against the sandy shore, while the sailors began to strip the sail and replace it. While they did so, Ahk rejoined you beneath the overhang. Once he arrived, the two servant girls on either side of the door held up their fans, blocking the sun further for the King.

"It may be a little windy, but today is a beautiful day," he said to you, circling an arm around your back. He rooted his hand to your waist and pulled you closer.

"I don't... like big boats," you mumbled, shoulders tight as your fist.

"Really? Why's that?" He asked with a grin.

"The wind is unpredictable and you can't see past the surface of the water."

"I think I can help you with that," he said, and his hand fell from your waist, tangling his fingers in your own.

Before you could say anything in reply, he was dragging you out from beneath the shade, into the open, unmanageable expanse of floating wood. The floor swayed as the boat was removed from the makeshift dock, nearly toppling you over from your poor balance.

"Careful there, dearest," he said as he steadied you. You bit your tongue, but reluctantly accepted his help in leading you evenly forward.

He took you to the tall mast, almost swaying with its' thin height. Wind filled the sail with a great howl, and with a little assistance from the soldiers, the boat was back to coasting down the Nile with the new sail.

"The wind is coming from the southeast," he said, leasing his grip on you to grasp a loose rope. "It'll be coming from there all day, so you can adjust the direction of the sail accordingly. If the wind is blowing too strong, you tie up the sail so it doesn't catch the wind. If the wind is weak, you open up the sail. It's all very simple. The design of these ships are specifically tailored for conditions along the Nile, so it's very rare any ships are overturned.

"For example, right now we're going a little fast. A few pulls and a few knots later," he tugged hard, lean muscles popping up beneath tanned skin as he did. Your eyes widened, unconsciously staring at his arms. "There. Didn't close it up all the way, cause we'd probably go to a standstill at that point and it can be a little hard to pick up momentum again."

"... momentum?"

"Thrust force," he clarified. Despite yourself you blushed and turned away, embarrassed of your own question, and flustered by his answer.

"Right," you said, mouthing the word, though not fully saying it. "It is easier for things in motion to remain in motion rather than to stop and pick it up again."

"Exactly," he said with a grin.

He stepped nearer to you, wrapping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you in close. Your own shoulders locked and tensed as he did.

"You know, Amoke," he said, looking down to you, "I quite like having you along with me on my daily duties. I know it's not the most interesting thing for you, but... I hope you enjoy it as well."

The obvious answer, at least to you, was that you weren't enjoying yourself. Never once in your life had you given a thought to learning how to swim, which made you antsy and nervous whenever you were near water. Even a shore felt like too much. To be stuck right in the middle of a massive, overflown river with a man essentially holding you hostage kept you on overload.

As the boat continued its' leisurely pace down the water, your fingertips and feet began to itch, desperate to leave the swaying rock of the waves. Sickness welled in your stomach and crawled up your throat, acid burning the back of your tongue. You tried your best to swallow it down, but your discomfort was already noticed by the Pharaoh, whose eyes turned to concern as he faced you.

"Are you feeling alright? You look a little... um, nauseous," he said, his brow furrowed.

"I feel very warm," you admitted with flushed cheeks.

"Oh, well there's a very easy cure for that!" He grinned. "Do you know how to swim?"

"Never learned."

"Don't worry. I shall take it upon myself to teach you, for now and future instances," he said, placing his hands on your upper arms.

"I - I'm not sure I –"

"Don't worry," he murmured, pressing his cheek to yours so as to whisper in your ear. "Would you rather have to face the possibility of drowning, should I not be near?"

His hands traveled down your arms to your waist, where he began to tug at your belt. The motion had your hips bumping against his, and though you tried to jump back, all that did was loosen your skirt further. Your heart began to beat against your bones, practically thrumming in your chest. While your anxiousness grew tenfold, the Pharaoh kissed your forehead, soft as his ministrations continued.

Soon your clothes were tossed to the wooden floor, forgotten as he took in your bare form. For a moment he appreciated you, ran his fingers down your skin as his eyes dragged from your shoulders to your hips, keen to move exact and slow.

"Come now," he said, ceasing contact to take your hand, and leading you to the edge of the boat.

Steps built into the boat's side led down to the water. He led you down them, helping you to perch beside the rushing water as his own skirt fell, crumpled and tossed in the same direction as your own clothes.

By example you dipped your feet in the cool water, mimicking Ahk's own legs pushed to the side by the current.

"Moshe?" Ahk called over his shoulders.

"Yes, my King?" came from the bow of the ship.

"My pet and I are going into the water. Slow us down, will you?"

Your what?! you thought, but said nothing concerning that, and attempted to change the subject.

"Don't you have a lot of sails to go through?" You asked.

"We've got all day, and tomorrow. And maybe the day after that. After that, though, we're out of luck," he said, a wide, crooked smile cast across his face. "But, of course... anything for you."

You almost laughed with him, but you tempered it down to a half-smile. From the spark in his eye and his blushing cheeks, you realized that it didn't matter if you laughed or smiled––it was still a positive reaction in his view.

Once the river slowed to the steady pulse of a sail-less ship, Ahk dropped himself into the water, his head sinking beneath the murky surface. Your eyes widened, but you made no attempt to reach him. For a moment you imagined he'd died, and pondered upon what you would do then. Probably leave.

Wouldn't that be nice, you thought, spacing out as you stared at the sandy shore.

Drenched curls drew slowly upwards, till they sat plastered against Ahk's forehead. Droplets fell down past his eyes, trailing down his cheek, and settling on the bow of his lips. His hands reached for you, settling on your ankles with a tug. You instinctively jerked away, and he grinned slyly, humored by your easily-won reactions.

"The water won't bite you," he said, tugging harder on your ankle. "Promise."

When you still barely moved from your spot on the step, he said, "I won't bite you either, if you're worried about that. Tread water with me, dear."

Gingerly your legs untensed, thighs slipping into the water as you sunk down. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you stared into the hidden depths, hypnotized by the streaming rays of sunlight, reflecting off the sand floating in the river. His hand moved from your ankle to elsewhere, though you lost track of it until it reappeared on your hip.

"Not too cold, right?" He asked with a pleased smile.

"No," you said.

It was indeed a bit frigid on your skin, but you attributed that to the fact that you'd been overheating all day in the sun. The burning cold soon began to dissipate, and what you were left with was a pleasant relief from the sun, hidden in the long shadow casted by the boat upon the ripples of water.

"Keep kicking your legs or you're going to sink," he said, moving to give you room to experiment.

Once you got hold of your legs, he mimicked how to move your arms, and soon you were floating untethered to the boat. Before you realized it, the ship was drifting away with the cool breeze. You very nearly panicked, but Ahk began to swim leisurely alongside it, and motioned for you to do the same. The slow speed of the new sails treaded steadily on, allowing the two of you to keep the same pace as the hull.

"How do you like it?" He asked, turning to drift down the river on his back, hands entwined behind his head.

"What happens if there's a creature beneath us?" You asked in return, still attempting to see the bottom through the murky water.

"We get back on the boat," he said with a shrug, a sly grin spreading across his face as you glared at him.

In order to keep with his schedule, he soon hauled himself back up onto the ship's ledge, offering a hand for you as well. You took it, but remained on the edge with your toes dipped into the water. Behind you, Ahk discussed something quietly with one of his soldiers, and reordered the sails.

Those gathered on the boat––numbering about eight or nine––went through the seven variations in the sails, and soon the boat was pulling back into the docks with the scribe's notes in the Pharaoh's hands. The crew trampled off the ship, boarding the next one in line as the sails were moved from the first deck to the second. You watched from the side, careful not to interfere, and listened to Ahkmenrah's conversation with his scribe, whose name you learned was Zaid.

"Speed can be sacrificed for storage, if we leave earlier," Ahk mumbled, biting at his bottom lip.

"Those faster ones are easier to tear," said Zaid. "If you're putting even more weight on the ship, they aren't going to work."

"Hmm. No use debating when we've got four more boats to go through."

"Yes, my King. Very well."

Zaid left the Pharaoh's side to help with the sails, earning you once more time alone with Ahk. He stepped nearer to you, placing his arm over your shoulder and pulling you in, squeezing you in a gentle side-hug.

"Zaid is a very special scribe," Ahk explained, eyes still training after the crew. "He learned his trade from Piye while they were travelling the world on a soul mission. Piye doesn't remember him at all, but he does his job very well so I don't think it's a problem, even if he is lying."

"A soul mission?"

"Yes, well, Piye didn't always look like that. You know, the whole very tall, very dark skin and very white hair. They've got a very special magic about them," he said with a nod. "I believe most of it was unlocked during their soul mission, which caused the change."

"... right," you mumbled. Ahkmenrah had said a great deal of strange things to you, but claiming magic to be real was a little much, even for you.

Egyptians were always a bit of an enigma to you––from what you'd learned in your own travels, they were fiercely protective of their homeland, such to the point that they rarely invaded other countries. Magic was something as entwined with their daily life as eating or sleeping. Every town seemed to have their own pantheon of Gods, and each tomb their own spells scarcely found in doubles. Harmony was of utmost importance, and family life was revered, having its' own pedestal to rival the significance of the Pharaonic family. The incestual Pharaonic family.

You shivered instinctively at the thought. As much as you wanted to believe Ahkmenrah was not a part of that area of his culture, you had no way of knowing, and asking him directly seemed too great a task.

For the remainder of the day, your weight was grounded on wooden decks, only breaking when you let your feet hang off the side and into the water. Ahk tried to keep his focus on the project at hand, but his attention would often waver whenever he caught sight of you. Unfortunately for the crew of the ship, that was quite often, and the Pharaoh had no trouble acquiescing to your every desire. Be it questions, or a wish to swim or break the ship routine, he would immediately fulfill your request.

By evening the tests were finally complete, leaving a few stacks of papyrus containing Zaid's notes on the ships and their sails. Ahkmenrah invited him back to the palace, where the two of them conversed quietly in his study, ignorant of the outside world and ignorant of you. To bide the time you tried looking at star charts, as the actual night sky was blinded by torchlight both in the study and the city.

The rows upon rows of scrolls and tablets soon bored you, at which point you listened on the duller conversation between Ahk and Zaid, who had a pleasant back-and-forth concerning the trip to Thebes. Slow, soft murmurs brought your shoulders to sag, muscles aching from the minimal effort of the day. It had been a while since you'd gotten any true exercise.

You closed your eyes for a moment––you could swear it was only a moment––but when you opened them, you found yourself rustling from movement, and blearily realized you were being held. Someone was carrying you down a chill hallway, and by diminishing torchlight you recognized the face of the Pharaoh.

"Long day, hmm?" He said upon noticing you were half-awake.

"No," you insisted with a frown. "I'm awake."

"Not standing, though," he teased.

"I'll fuckin' stand if y-"

"Shhh," he said softly, leaning in to peck your forehead. "We'll be sleeping soon anyway. It's far too late to do anything else."

Morning came and you found Ahk already awake, dressed in commoner's clothes and speaking softly with Naguib. From your spot on the bed, your cheek pressed into the pillow, you watched their tiny motions and the few words you could hear.

A couple minutes into listening, Ahkmenrah noticed you were awake, and hushed Naguib as he turned to you.

"Good to see you're awake," he said with a peppy smile, too bright and cheerful for your morning eyes. "I'm afraid I have to go into the markets today for a special deal. I won't be able to take you along. You might get lost in the crowd, or get hurt, and I abhor that idea. You understand, right?"

He was lying. Something about his choice of words, or the way he held his shoulders, hinted at the lie. What the truth was you wouldn't ask, though you speculated it to be a shady deal he didn't want you to know about. Instead you nodded, shifting to sit up, silken sheets pooling around your hips.

"Naguib, does this door have a lock?"

"Only from the inside, sir," Naguib said, his hands dutifully behind his back.

Ahk paused for a moment to process the answer, a detached coldness glazing over his eyes.

"Fetch me some rope, will you?" He said, and your eyes went wide, limbs suddenly scrambling backwards.

"Yes sir," Naguib said as he left the room.

"Please don't," you asked, almost on the verge of begging. Your wrists were just now barely healing, the blisters from tweed rope bruised instead of bleeding. "I'll stay with you in the market. I won't try to escape."

"I'm sorry, pet, truly," he said as he knelt on the bed, crawling up until he pinned you against the wall, your thighs pressed tightly together as you stared with pleading eyes.

"Please, Ahk," you begged, succumbing to your natural self-protective instinct.

"It won't be for long," he promised, stroking your cheek with his thumb. You shivered in disgust of his movements. "I'll come back in a few hours and I'll... I'll take you anywhere you want to visit, alright?"

His kind words made you falter, and once more you reminded yourself of an unfortunate illness that happened often to those kidnapped by lust-driven people. It was a condition you'd seen a few times––the kidnapped begins to sympathize with the kidnapper, falls in love with them, and never realizes the implication of it all.

Those sweet words of his would not bring you to your knees. You kept your resolve best you could, even as tears began to well in your eyes, pain shooting through your nerves as he wrapped the tweed rope back around your wrists and tied you to the bed frame.

Before he left to follow Naguib, he kissed your forehead again, brushing the hair out of your face as he did.

"I'll have the servants bring you some food," he said, shutting the door behind him.

You sighed sharply. Since you were last tied up, this would be your first moment alone, hidden deep within the stone walls of an alien palace. Irritation grew within you as you looked to the paintings on the wall, and soon you were grunting as you pulled at your restraints. The rough hay poked at your skin, stabbed and chafed as you struggled, attempting to find some give in the tight knot.

In the end you lay back down on your side, tears crossing your eyes and temple as blood began to drip from your already-bruised skin.

Damn him, you thought, sniffling. I swear I'll kill him.

About an hour later––though you had no idea of knowing how much time had actually passed––a servant came to visit you, a tray of food in hand. You sat up best you could, attempting to wipe away your teary shame.

"My name's Haji," he said. "I've seen you around, with the Pharaoh. I'm sorry."

"... thank you," you said blankly, despite the horrifying array of emotions that came to you. That was the first time you'd actually gotten sympathy in this Godforsaken place. Mostly you were met with people who thought you were lucky, or people who thought you were bad for the King.

"Yeah.. do you want me to undo those?" He asked, gesturing to the rope.

"Yes please," you mumbled, shoulders tightening as a blush dusted your cheeks.

He reached up, nails digging into the strange knot. Slowly it began to loosen, eventually falling over your shoulders, with your arms no longer numb from blood loss. Freezing cold first overcame your limbs, followed by tingling warmth that finally brought about movement.

"Thank you," you said, reaching for a roll and biting into it. "Are you actually allowed to do that?"

"Not really," he chuckled, "but usually people like to keep their dignity and not be handfed as an adult."

"Right?" You said, your first smile in Egypt crossing your face. "Ahk insists on it sometimes, it's incredibly strange."

"He probably has some sort of weird mommy complex. I do know he really wants kids," Haji said, drifting off slightly in thought.

Your eyes widened. Is that why he wanted you? Then came the next question, barreling into your mind without thought for your sanity––were you the child, or was he keeping you there to have his children?

You very nearly threw up.

"... but that's probably just because he enjoys protecting people," he finished.

"You seem to know him well," you said, attempting to speak through your nausea.

"I've worked for the royal family my entire life. I kind of grew up with the Pharaoh... he used to steal wine from the kitchen and I always let him. Don't really want to risk saying no to a royal," he joked.

"I understand," you said softly. "If it makes you feel better, it doesn't really matter what you say. He'll take whatever he wants."

"I know," he said, looking to you with a regretful brow. He allowed a moment of silence before he asked, "you begged with him, didn't you?"

"Yes," you said, voice cracking.

"Bit of advice? If you struggle physically, he'll get more forceful, but if you cry, he'll feel bad about himself and stop," he said.

Without thought you burst out laughing, covering your face with your hands as you tried to stop the torrent of giggles. He grinned as well, less amused by his advice, and more delighted that you found it so entertaining. Caught up in your own laughter, neither of you noticed the door swinging open by the Pharaoh's hand. When you did turn, you found the King beaming at you, his smile bright enough to fill the whole of the room.

"Amoke!" He said, striding across the room to you. Your eyes darted quickly to Haji, who looked as alarmed as you, before you were pulled from your spot and heaved into a tight hug by Ahk. Even there you glanced to Haji, whose mouth was now open in disbelief.

"Um, I'll leave you two alone," Haji said, gingerly raising himself from the spot on the bed.

Ahk promptly dropped you back into the soft cushions, a high-pitched huff unwillingly leaving you as you landed.

"Nonsense Haji! You made my pet laugh," he said, turning from Haji to you as he spoke your name, fingers dragging beneath your chin to force you upwards. "Considering I've rarely seen Amoke smile, much less laugh, I think some new arrangements in order. You shall join us on our journey to Thebes."

"Like... a professional friend..?"

"Sure. Whatever you'd like to name yourself. Go get packed––we leave within the hour," he said, information that sent Haji bolting out the door with an obedient, 'yes sir'.

“You’re awfully chipper,” you noted with mild suspicion.

“Someone burned a whole pot of blue lotus and it got caught in the, um, room. With the traders. You know, where I was for an hour. That’s probably why.”

"Oh. I thought we were leaving in two weeks," you said with a confused frown, moving to your feet when Ahk pulled you to do so.

"Not sure where you heard that, but we were hoping to leave within a week. Do you have any belongings you want to bring along?"

"My clothes. I still haven't gotten them back from those washhouse servants," you said.

"Then it shall be done. By someone else. We need to get to the docks. I'm assuming you've never been to Thebes before?"

"No."

"I think you'll like it," he said, taking your hand in his and leading you out of the room. "The orgies there are fantastic."

#ahkmenrah x reader #Ahkmenrah #Night at the Museum #rami malek #rami malek character #ahkmenrah x male reader #ahkmenrah x female reader

62 notes · View notes

j-wont-stop · 3 years ago

Text

The Scarred (Chapter Four)

Title - The Scarred (Chapter Four)

Word Count - 2002

Fandom - Batman: The Dark Knight

Pairing - Ledger!Joker x OC

Summary - Penelope Bishop works at a florist shop in Gotham, barely getting by in the corrupted city. Her life is shrouded by therapy and judgement with little light to find her way with. However, when a certain painted face starts making himself known to her, things take a turn.

Warning(s) - Light cussing, flashbacks/nightmares, smoking

Inspiration - Cold (Aqualung & Lucy Schwartz)

Masterlist

A/N - Sorry for the later post, I’ve been on 12 hour shifts lately and it’s messing up my schedule :/

“The hell is happening?” Penelope whispered to herself as she stared with a wide eye. She carded a hand through her hair, unsure of what to do, what to think. Whoever was behind this, they were intelligent. Patient and calculative. It frightened her. It frightened her and yet she hadn’t even met the person. That was the most unnerving part about it all.

Her hands moved to pick up the larger shards to throw away, then to grab the broom and sweep the rest. She scrambled to look through every hatch, every door, cabinet and closet for anything that might have been left behind. Yet there was nothing. Once more, the only sign that someone had been there was the face that had been cleared already. There was no lingering smell, not even a hair.

“Okay,” She muttered. “Okay-okay.” Her mouth rambled on as she carried out her night routine, heart pounding faster than she would have appreciated as she tried to relax under the warm stream of water. Her feet padded against the cold tile as she tended to her scars, pacing the small room before throwing on her pajamas. She raced to her jacket, fumbling through the pockets for her phone and shuffled through her contacts. The coldness of it rested against her ear as she chewed on her cheek, wiggling the fingers of her left hand absentmindedly.

“Penny?” The familiar voice made her perk up. “What’s up?”

“I just needed someone to talk to…” The woman practically whispered. She made her way to lay on her bed, listening attentively to the shuffling in the background over the phone.

“Oh, ’course, hun,” Emma had an underlying tone of understanding in her voice. “Did everything hold up okay at the shop?” Penelope thought back to the bald man.

“Yeah-everything went fine. Sold three vases.” She started fiddling with the hem of her shirt.

“Three? That’s amazing!”

The voices echoed in the auditorium, the petite woman messing with the tassel that hung from her head. Everyone migrated to their families after having all walked the stage, visiting friends from time to time to say their goodbyes or reminisce in their memories. The woman searched for a familiar brunette bun, but her height made it all the more difficult.

“Penny!” She turned to face the voice, but was soon met with engorging flames. They towered over them all, everyone screaming and scattering in a panic. “Penny!” The voice screeched again, but no matter how many times she spun around and searched, she couldn’t find them. She started sweating profusely, both from the heat and stress of it all. Flames licked her skin, almost teasing it before it grew volatile.

Penelope’s eye snapped open, breathing heavily. Her hair stuck to her skin from the cold sweat she was left in. She laid there for a moment or two, collecting herself as best as she could. She listened to the wind humming through her window, the birds chirping as the sun’s first rays peaked through the clouds. She closed her eye again, imagining the bird. What kind of bird it was, what it was doing. Perhaps it was a swallow? It’s boring, brown feathers smooth as they glided and fluttered. The curious black eyes that fidgeted as it cocked and turned its head.

She took deep breaths, opening her eye once more to sit herself up on the edge of her twin bed. She stared at the soft carpet below her, loathing herself for waking up at such an ungodly hour. The faintest shade of blue colored the sky if she were to squint. Penelope then stood, stumbling over to her dresser to change out of her now drenched sleepwear. She thought about taking a quick heat dump to cool her off, but the amount of energy it took for her to get in the shower right now made her shudder, so she settled with splashing cold water on her face instead.

She trudged into the living room to her box TV, turning it on and having the low noise of the news play in the background as she migrated to the kitchen. She decided to simply pop an egg sandwich from the freezer into the microwave, pouring herself a glass of milk to go along with it. She bounced when she plopped onto the couch, pulling the lap blanket from the top of it to wrap herself up in. Her eye stared at the screen with a bored expression, heavy as she watched.

With how consistent the news was it was a wonder to her how it was never a rerun. The same news anchor, the same monotone voice with the same type of news. A new murder case, Bruce Wayne’s next trip to an extravagant venue, cloudy skies with an expected drizzle all week. None of it came as a surprise to her anymore.

Crime rates continued to slowly increase, the mob being thrown into a tizzy ever since The Joker showed up. Little changed since he was caught and put in Arkham. If anything, the people just grew into a rampage once they found out what had happened to their newfound idol. Penelope would be lying, however, if she said she wasn’t intrigued. From what she had seen on the news and heard from around the city, he was a very finicky person. He seemed so clumsy and careless, yet was always the one in control. No one could ever predict what he would do next, keeping everyone on their toes at all times.

She somewhat felt bad for the first responders who seemed to just be ragdolled from one end of the city to the other or thrown into ever frequent traps when he was out and about. She couldn’t deny that the thought of it made her snicker, wondering how they hadn’t learned their lesson the first few times. How they thought that The Joker being locked up would put their minds at ease. It was all a joke.

A vibration sounded from her phone and she looked to where it buzzed on the coffee table, the green icon showing that she had received a message. She reached over and picked it up, flipping it open in curiosity.

I’m stopping by Gotham Coffee. Want anything?

Emma. Penelope smiled at her phone, fingers moving to reply when another buzz went off. An unknown number, and all that was sent was the number twelve. That was all she needed to know who it was.

———————————————————————

The two women sat at the counter, sipping casually from their now cold coffee cups as they made small talk. Emma noticed how tense Penelope had seemed when she first entered the shop, what with her stiff posture and gaze cast down on the floor more so than usual, so it was a relief to see her smile a little more the longer they talked. They had just finished with one of their many giggle fits when the bell of the shop went off, cutting it short. Their heads snapped to the front and Penelope’s stomach dropped, mouth suddenly dry.

Once again, the light of the shop reflected off of the bald man’s head as his eyes focused on her own. With every step he took she felt as if she just shrunk smaller and smaller. It wasn’t until he stood directly in front of them that she shot up from her seat, scrambling into the back room to grab the vase she previously prepared. Her multitude of tiny footsteps echoed from the back as Emma and the man practically held a staring contest, the latter holding a sickly sweet smile. When Penelope emerged from the back room with the vase her arms shakily handed it to him, sucking on her bottom lip anxiously. With how rough he seemed, the gentleness with which he handled the vase amused her. But she wouldn’t dare show it. Emma looked over at Penelope as soon as he left.

“Was he one of the three vases?” She quipped, quirking an eyebrow. Penelope took a deep breath in, then casted her a sheepish smile.

“Four.” Emma stood to throw away their coffee cups. “He paid yesterday. Said he was picking it up at noon today.”

“How much?” Penelope’s mouth started to water, mouth faltering as she tried to form a response.

“Just twenty-five.” Emma, always having been good at reading people, knew she was being lied to, but for her friend’s sake decided not to push. She knew that if Penelope ever held something back, she did so for good reason. She just chuckled.

“How was it when he ordered it?” Her voice took on an amused tone. “‘Begonia and baby’s breath, please’.” She mocked the man, driving the two of them back into a giggling fit. They wasted the day away talking, trying to busy themselves one way or another until the end of the day. The last hour was the hardest. In silence they sat and watched the grandfather clock tucked away in a corner. Yet it only worsened their predicament.

Fridays had always been slower than any other day, and it was on Fridays that they truly realized that time was never on their side. When they had fun, it flew by. When they wanted something to just be over with, it dragged on. It was cruel. Time was cruel. Life was cruel. Penelope knew these things. So when the clock sounded at the hour they were out the front door, Emma locking up the shop and tossing Penelope a smile. They gave each other their ‘goodbye’s and ‘have a good weekend’s and made their way back to their respective homes. The city was in chaos, full of eager citizens who all wanted the same thing as Emma and Penelope. Some had already made their ways into their local bars, choosing to drown out their lives or celebrate simply because they made it through another week.

As for Penelope, she sat on the edge of her open windowsill and watched. A cigarette balanced between her lips as she struck a match and lit the end of it, shaking it out as she breathed in the all-needed nicotine. Her weekly treat. She rested her head on the wall beside her, the buzz starting to get to her after a significantly larger inhale. She stared out at the scenery in wonder, mind finding its first moment of peace since the last time she had a smoke.

Then a sudden knocking on her door jolted her from her spot, the stick nearly falling from her mouth. She quickly put it out in the ashtray next to her and climbed down to close her window, bare feet skittering across the floor. She stood on her tip-toes to look through the peep-hole, yet no one stood at the door. She unlatched it and opened it cautiously, peeking through until something caught her eye. She opened the door a bit wider to see a familiar vase sat on top of her welcome mat. Her vase. She noticed something dangling off to the side and delicately picked up the flowers to see what it was, and what she saw made her heart make its way to her throat. A playing card. A Joker card dangled from the vase.

#ledger joker x oc #ledger joker x reader #ledger joker #heath ledger x oc #heath ledger x reader #heath ledger #the joker x oc #the joker x reader #the joker #joker x oc #joker x reader #joker #the dark knight #batman #fanfiction

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girldirectionsource · 4 years ago

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hey!! could you recommend any long wlw fics?? preferably more than 70k words. thanks:)

Hi! Unfortunately, there aren’t that many longer girl direction fics but I do have two amazing ones to rec you that are both over 100k:

You Make Lovin’ Fun by @homosociallyyours

Harry is a 28 year old travel writer at a gay magazine who gets the assignment to go a lesbian cruise. She figures it's a nice chance to have some fun in the sun, but she's not expecting much else-- even if her partner and best friend are both encouraging her to hook up with someone while she's there.

When she locks eyes with a gorgeous silver fox from across the room, she starts to think she could've been wrong. There are lots of things standing in the way of anything real happening with her and Louis, but that doesn't stop them from falling for one another. True love isn't always easy, but they do make lovin' fun.

Crazy and Infectious by @star55

“Y’know,” Louis starts. “While we’ve got our phones out, you should give me your number. In case they ask who referred them.” “Oh, they don’t do that,” Harry replies as she locks her phone. “They’re not the kind of company who keeps tabs on who refers who.” Louis raises her eyebrows and smiles at this beautiful girl. “Harry,” she says slowly. “I’m hitting on you.”

A Shades of Pink story in which we flash back to find out just how Louis and Harry actually got together.

(If you haven’t read it yet, the entire Shades of Pink (Crazy in Love) series is over 400k at this point and I highly recommend checking it out!)

more under the cut!

And then here are some recs between 50k and 70k:

I love your demons (like devils can) by ariadne_odair

"I am right here," she says loudly, and she can almost hear the crack when Louis' head whips around to stare at her.

"Why?" Louis asks, and Harry feels her insides shrivel up and die.

Harry didn’t plan to join the football team. She didn’t plan to sleep with the captain of the football team. She definitely didn’t plan to sleep with the closeted captain of the football team, who promptly acted as if nothing happened and left Harry a pathetic, pining mess.

The Changer and the Changed by @homosociallyyours

It’s the spring of 1977 and Harry Styles has just moved to New York City after graduating college. She knows she’s a lesbian. She just needs to figure out how to meet other lesbians.

Louis Tomlinson works at a popular women’s bookstore in the Lower East Side, Womon’s Direction, where she spends her days reading feminist literature, writing poetry, exchanging friendly barbs with her boss Niall, and dreaming of finding someone to love.

When Harry and Louis meet, their connection is instantaneous. Slowly but surely, Louis welcomes Harry into her community of women. Stonewall veteran and old school butch Niall; Liam, a land dyke who’s moved to the city for love; and Zayn, a lesbian musician who’s been ostracized by a vocal part of women’s community for being trans, welcome Harry with open arms, ready to help her find her place in New York City’s bustling lesbian scene.

It’s a time of growth for everyone involved.

If I Was Stronger by @haloeverlasting

Harry’s fingers find her lips, in a silent moment of wonder and reverie, and her knees wobble as she’s assaulted with the image of Louis, right here in her bedroom, with her light blue eyes, and her gentle hands, and Harry feels an overwhelming rush and longing to reach out and touch. She imagines Louis stepping towards her slowly, treading lightly with her fingers on her cheek, where Harry’s dimple may appear, and whether Harry would like it if Louis’ thin lips found hers.

With her eyes closed, she imagines Louis standing very close, and she finds the wait to be agonizing, but when she goes to close the distance, there’s no one besides herself in her bedroom.

Harry lets out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. She feels tingly, and hot, and absolutely terrified, but the next time she looks in the mirror, she sees someone she knows intimately. She sees that girl with bright green eyes, and unruly hair, and parted lips, and she loses her breath a moment, because while she knows that girl inside and out, she hasn’t been honest with herself until… well, now.

“I might be gay.”

A Girl Direction AU where Louis holds universes inside her, and Harry just wants to hold her.

That Smile and That Midnight Laugh by @uhoh-but-yeah-alright

Harry’s never noticed how lovely Louis really is. Maybe it’s just that she’s usually so guarded – a little tense, a little irritated, a little put out. At least when she’s at school, and also usually when she’s around Nick, which are the only times Harry has really seen her. Until tonight. Tonight Harry’s seen her with her guard completely down. Too busy laughing and enjoying herself to remember to be prickly, maybe. She seems different.

It feels different.

A Ferris Bueller's Day Off AU that picks up right where the movie leaves off, and imagines what might happen if Ferris' girlfriend and sister become friends. And maybe something more, too.

Sea Asunder by @cupcakentea

It’s only then, as Anne elegantly sits at the other end of the table, that Louis realises there’s a third set of cutlery and plate laid out on the side between them. She feels something twist in her belly, right when the sound of small heels coming closer echoes from the drawing room. She looks at Anne’s side, where the door she came from remains ajar. But she realises, as the steps slow down, that the one on hers is wide open. She feels the hair on her neck standing up slightly with what feels like a shift in the very atmosphere of the room. A gravitational pull that passes right by her side with no words, no sound, just a disturbance of the air. There she is.

A Portrait of a Lady on Fire AU

i must admit i thought i’d like to make you mine by @disgruntledkittenface

Louis fell apart when her ex broke up with her and moved across the country. Just as she’s starting to move on, Zayn comes back to town for their mutual friends’ wedding – with a new girlfriend as her plus one.

Blindsided and scrambling to save face, Louis lets herself get talked into a fake relationship with her new friend Harry. Their arrangement makes Louis feel pathetic and embarrassed, but it’s only going to last a few weeks. She just has to get through the wedding – what could happen?

And here some fics I found while putting this together that I haven’t read yet but which look good!

into the great wide open by @ficshl

It only took a week or so for Harry to truly get into the routine of life on the road. They woke before dawn each morning, ate a small meal, packed up the tent and rounded up the livestock, all before setting out. On a good day, they could make it twenty miles. There hadn’t been many bad ones, but Louis confessed that on a previous trip there had been a solid week where they hadn’t made it more than five miles a day. Soon, Louis promised, animals would start going lame, and wheels would start breaking, and people would start going hungry. The beginning was the easiest, and the end was doable only because the hope of finishing the trek fueled everyone. It was the middle bit, with the tedious marching hundreds of miles from any settlement, that people succumbed to the journey.

Safe and warm in your coat of arms by frenchkiss

If she's being completely honest with herself, Louis didn't want a girlfriend. She had fully intended to head off to university, fuck around a bit, and be the lesbian that her hometown hadn't let her be.

Too bad fate wanted to throw a spanner in the works. A tall, curly haired cherub of a spanner who tends to answer to the name Harry, to be exact.

Me, Her, And The Moon by star55

All Louis wants to do is survive secondary school and her A Levels, be the best sister that she can possibly be to her five sisters, and train as hard as possible to be her family’s future alpha. She doesn’t expect to meet her mate on the first day of school and have her entire world changed.

#i hope this is helpful!#50 to 60k #60 to 70k #100k+#Anonymous

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lilliannelson · 4 years ago

Text

Maybe, Definitely

Summary: Reader is a long time guest at the Holmes’ Estate. They have been associated with the family for years. One conversation leads to a whole new outlook on the life they thought they knew.

Pairing: Sherlock Holmes x Reader

Trigger Warning: Just fluff

A/N: Most definitely going to continue with a jump ahead in time. Let me know your thoughts!!

You had been staying at the Holmes’ Estate for a few weeks; a tradition that began 5 years before. You had entered society as a young lady and became acquainted with the youngest Holmes, Enola. To say you kept this tradition going for nothing more than the company of Enola and her elder brothers, was simply not at all truthful. While Mycroft made your blood boil more than you can count, and Enola being one of your best companions, your eyes always seemed to flitter towards Sherlock. He had many rungs to his social ladder but currently his consulting agency was thriving in the ever-crazy London Town. As intelligent as he is, he had rare moments of conversation with anyone other than his siblings. It seemed that he couldn’t be bothered by anyone else, which was a positive to the fact his business was blooming. He didn’t have to stay here all the time.

Right now, you’re walking about the large study of which held all of the best novels you could get your hands on in this day and age. You glance up and spot him. He’s tall, very tall. And he has the most gorgeous head of dark curls you have ever seen. You have been observing him from a far for a while. You couldn’t help but wonder what he would say next or if he would even give you the time of day.

‘There he is,’ you think, stopping yourself with the book you’re currently reading in hand looking out the large bay window to see him walking up the drive.

You blink and knock yourself out of the trance you were in. He may be opinionated and gorgeous, but you were better than that to drop yourself to his level. No man was ever worth it.

You continue to walk out the large French-style doors to the wooden swing that hung from your favorite tree in the side yard. The gardeners had done so well this year and the flowers that lined the path that led to your spot was exceptionally darling this time of year. Autumn was your favorite season, after all.

You sit on the swing and get lost in the book. Hours seem to have rolled by as the sun was on the brink of setting. You stretch and yawn as you suddenly realize your surroundings. You feel a set of eyes on your back. An intuition you’d grown to enjoy. You slowly swivel around to see him looking at you. You give him a shy smile and can see him capture his bottom lip with his teeth; a sort of kryptonite to you. As you stand, wiping off the front of you from some invisible outdoor dander, you walk towards him. He stands with his hands in his pockets. You suddenly feel the urge to run, but it subsides as you draw in closer to him.

“Hello,” his deep voice fills your ears.

“Hi,” you greet him back.

“I seem to always find you outside these days. What book are you reading?” You show him the book, a book of poems that he most likely has not read. “Never read that one.” ‘Ha, I knew it,’ you think.

“It’s good to switch up the type of writing sometimes.”

“Yes, it is.” His blue eyes keep your hazel ones, “Listen, I’m having dinner tonight, and I’d love it if you joined me.”

“What time?” Who were you and why were you accepting? Lowering yourself to his level was, again, something you didn’t want to do. But, it made sense to go to dinner with him, since you hadn’t eaten since breakfast. Your stomach rumbled as if on command.

“Right now, actually.” He grins, “Your stomach just gave you away.”

You match his grin, “It has. Shall I change?”

He shakes his head, “I don’t believe so. It’s just you and I.”

You feel a shade of pink flush your cheeks at the realization. But of course you knew it was just the two of you. His siblings and everyone else had already eaten. “Lead the way, then.”

——————————————————————————

You sit across from him at the large wooden dining room table. An extravagant floral arrangement was placed on the table prior to you two sitting down. He moves it over, allowing both of you to be able to meet eyes once more. He’d began to speak about a book he had read last week, and then the conversation moved to you.

“What would you like to know about me?” You take a dainty bite of the meal.

He sips his wine, “Everything.” You spot the grin he’s making behind his glass. This causes you to raise your eyebrow at him, looking down to your plate but also a small grin forms on your lips.

“I’m surprised you haven’t already come to one of your conclusions about me yet.” A little jab at him, but he pressed on.

“Where do you see yourself? The next 5 years?”

“That’s rather deep.”

“If you’d rather not answer, that’s quite alright. I can ask you something else.”

You grab the glass of wine, taking a big gulp before beginning, “Five years? Why not the next year?”

“Because it’s the most generic question people ask to get to know someone. And because I’m sure you have a list of ideas. I would love to hear your thoughts instead of coming to a conclusion.”

“Okay, well... I’ve been trying to read everything I can. I want to educate myself as much as possible. I want to write a book. I want to go to university and get a degree. I want to be a teacher. I-“ you stop when you meet his eyes. He’s so enamored by you in this moment.

“What kind of teacher?”

“English. I want to see a child’s eyes light up when they learn to read and understand the meanings of words and sentences. I used to play Headmistress when I was a child. I didn’t have any friends, but I made them up in my head. Probably why I am such an odd one nowadays.”

“You’re not odd. You’re intelligent. And any child would be lucky to have you as their teacher. Where are you planning on getting a degree?”

“Oxford. I know that it will be difficult to get into any program there, but I’m very certain I can do it. I am fully capable.”

“Yes, yes you are.” A silence falls over your conversation as you recollect all you said, and his eyes stay on you.

“Thank you,” you say in a small voice.

His eyebrows raise quizzically, “Whatever for?”

“For not making my want to teach seem like a death sentence.”

“Whoever has given you that idea?”

You look down to the table, fiddling with your fingers in your lap, “Oh, my uncle. And Mycroft.”

“Of course they have. I should’ve known.”

You shrug, “It’s the times we are living. I expect it most of the time. I can tune it out, it’s just tough sometimes.”

“If it helps any, Mycroft has always been that arrogant and self absorbed to the point he will do anything to raise his status.”

“It doesn’t, but thank you for trying.” You feel tears threatening to form in your eyes. After a beat, you blink them away, “How’s business in London?”

Sherlock frowns slightly, “It’s going. I’ve picked up quite a few new cases. Nothing too important yet, though.”

“I’m sure something will come up.”

“I hope so. I would hate to have to hang up the practice before its prime.”

“But it brings you joy. I have never seen someone so intricately indulge into their craft like you. I’m sure you’re the first one anyone at Scotland Yard thinks of when cases come in.” You look down bashfully when you see him gaping at you.

“I didn’t know you paid that much attention to me.” His grin exposes a dimple. He looks shy.

“You’re Sherlock Holmes. How is that possible?”

“When it comes to my personal life, I tend to refuse to sink into any inklings I may have. I’m much better at helping others, if that makes sense.”

You nod, “It does.”

“You pay this kind of attention to everyone else?”

“Only the ones that are intriguing to me.”

“And what about me is intriguing?” His voice is low.

“Your knowledge, your composure, your personality.” You take another gulp of your wine, calming down your growing pulse, “I like observing you in your natural habitat.”

“Why?”

“Because you act like you don’t have feelings, but it shows in the way you present yourself. The slight grin you get on your face when someone outsmarts you regarding something you were sure no one else could. The other day when Mycroft was sure to prove me wrong, and I told him off, you had this look on your face...” You quickly change your tone, “I will never not laugh at his reaction.”

Sherlock has leaned forward, as if having to prove he was paying attention to you, but his eyes are semi-glazed over as if lost in thought.

“Sherlock?”

“Hmm?” That knocks him out of his daze.

“Did I say too much?”

“No, no. I don’t believe you said too much at all.”

“Shall I continue?”

“Please.”

“I do believe your attachment to Enola is very sweet. She is just like you. She idolizes you, more than she lets on to your face.”

“She does?”

Nodding, you continue, “She and I are friends, after all. She and Mycroft make the air very tense when they are around each other, but when she’s in any room with you, it’s very calm. You’d think it would be the opposite, because you both are attentive, but that’s not the case.”

“You are very good at paying attention.”

“It’s my gift. I tune into energy and gut-instinct. I’ve learned to read people over the years.”

“Sounds very similar to my line of work, can I observe you sometime?”

“Yeah, any time.” You feel timid. But he can’t seem to take his eyes off of you.

He clears his throat, “Let me escort you back to your rooms.”

————————————————————————————————————————————

He walks you through the house, seemingly knowing the route you use even though the wing you’re in is opposite his. You watch him through your peripheral and catch him with his gaze on you more than once. Occasionally as you walk side by side, your hand grazes his but you notice he doesn’t tense up or show any signs of displeasure.

You arrive at your doorway, going inside to the sitting area. You weren’t used to having anyone other than Enola visiting you, so you tidy as you walk around. You hear a chuckle come from Sherlock, making you turn towards him.

You grin to yourself. “Please, have a seat if you’d like,” you gesture towards the chair to his right. He sits. You pace before sitting opposite him. You feel something looming in the air, like there are some unspoken truths, but Sherlock breaks your thoughts.

“Would it be too untoward if I tell you that you are intriguing, too?”

“I am?”

Sherlock nods, “You present yourself unlike any other young woman I have encountered. It’s nice to see you speak up and be unfiltered from time to time.”

“You pay attention to me?”

“Of course.”

“But how come it never felt like that?”

“I don’t follow...” his voice trails off as your eyes link.

You stand up, “It felt, in some ways, that my presence wasn’t allowed. No, not allowed, just you seemed above it all.” You scoff, “Somehow, I’ve always felt invaluable to you. And I always refused to let it bother me because I am a woman and I am better than that. To let a man’s opinion of myself get to me would be against everything I’ve learned in the past. But again, it bothers me. I guess I’m not as good as I thought.” You walk to your drink cart and pour yourself a glass of wine, gulping it down, “So to hear that you notice do notice me, well, that’s a lot.”

Sherlock stands and walks towards you, “I was unaware. You never made any gesture to feeling this way.”

“How would I when your actions...” you take a breath. “There’s been a miscommunication.”

“Yes, there has.” Sherlock pours himself a glass of wine, sipping it delicately.

You lock eyes again, “So what do we do now?”

“I’ve never been one to speak of...feelings. But I care for you, deeply. I believe we are going to need to speak up. And perhaps there won’t be any more miscommunications.”

You catch yourself grinning like an idiot, “I care about you, too.” You reach a hand up and caress the side of his face; he leans into your touch.

#Sherlock Holmes x reader #Enola Holmes #story #writing #please forgive formatting again #be gentle #enjoy #Sherlock Holmes reader insert #reader self insert

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forbidding-souda · 4 years ago

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Hi!! If its okay could i get Mondo, Sakura, Kazuichi, and Kaito with a short S/O (Think 4'11 to 5'0) who's the SHSL Florist? Bonus ponits if you you give me their reaction to their S/O giving them a large bouquet of flowers as a gift? NB pronouns if that's okay!

Mondo Oowada, Sakura Oogami, Kazuichi Souda, and Kaito Momota with Short SHSL Florist S/O

‘Bonus’! How cute is that :D /pos

Also your taste in men is iconic yes our minds - I DID NOT MEAN TO MAKE THE KAITO ONE TWICE THE SIZE AS THE OTHERS BUT I LOVED THE IDEA

Also also I use the word bumblebee bc once I thought of it I thought it was really cute. Bc get it?? They are small and also flowers yeah <3

Do I get ten points now? =D

-Mod Souda

Mondo Oowada

He thinks you are like a little bumblebee.

So nice and small! Adorable.

Short jokes all the time.

He definitely thinks flowers are a little lame.

But is definitely impressed by your knowledge of them!

So when you pile together a purple toned bouquet, you’re honestly a little curious on how he would react.

Or if he would even react at all. Does he know to put them in water? Maybe these should be your flowers too.

The roar of the engine is a comfort noise. So when it abruptly stops outside, you can just feel how the butterflies hatch in your stomach.

So you travel to your almost garden in the guest room, picking up the bouquet. It still looks beautiful. That’s good. Admittedly, you do get quite impatient at times.

Ah, the front door! And his welcoming voice telling you he’s home. How nerve-wracking. Your whole plan has a lot of questionable details, but as long as the response isn’t negative then what’s the harm in showing him your love?

“Mondo!” You call out with a bubbly tone before walking down the hallway searching for where he might be.

Your boyfriend, who you are terribly unimpressed with, lays slumped on the couch, tired from the heat.

Again, you speak, interrupting his decline into sleep. “I made you these!”

He opens one of his eyes. “You got me flowers?”

A bit of heat crosses your cheeks, and you squeeze them harder. “I thought maybe you would like them.”

“Of course I fucking like ‘em,” he says while sitting up. His think fingers brush against yours when he takes them from you. “These are some cute ass flowers.”

Cute ass flowers. How romantic!

Sakura Oogami

She can give you piggy back sides whenever you want and likes to carry you around.

Definitely lets you put flowers in her hair.

Flowers in her hair sounds so cute I am crying.

A part of her actually is jealous of your talent. She wants to know everything about flower patterns, too.

And so she listens every time you explain things.

You pick together the pinkest flowers you can, trying to make it as aesthetically pleasing as you can rather than focusing on intent.

A few white roses find themselves in the batch, too.

The shop around you is cold. The layers of warm clothes aren’t going to help you when you go outside.

But the flowers always need special things that are not convenient for you.

While you contemplate whether or not you can leave clothes here, the bells attached to the door ring out.

A customer! Or maybe Sakura is here to bring you lunch.

You pop your tiny head towards the main shop, looking left and right.

She holds a styrofoam box in her hand, holding god knows what meal.

Horrible for the environment, by the way, how embarrassing.

“Sakura!” You exclaim. And then it surprises you. You got so excited over something as simple as seeing her.

Even in the way your heart pounds at her soft eyes.

“I brought you a meal,” she says. You dip into the back room, and she follows your lead.

But before she comes through the door, you offer her the flowers, almost shoving them into her face. “Flowers!”

“Flowers... What a thoughtful gift, thank you very much.”

She looks nothing more than flattered. Her face usually sports a content look, often a light flush on her face, so seeing her smiling so wide feels special.

“Oh,” you snap yourself out of your admiring gaze, “and thank you so much for the food!”

Kazuichi Souda

Kazuichi is definitely the sexiest man alive when he’s working on a car. His jumper will be tied around his waist, his hair slicked back.

He never wears his beanie when he’s working. It’s probably the best thing about him.

I just wanted to get that out of my system.

You like to surprise him whenever he’s working. Even though he doesn’t mind the work, you’re sure he’d have a better time being together with you.

The optimism is definitely appreciated.

Especially when it’s easy to scare him. You’re tiny and he gets over concentration. Just sneaking under the car and grabbing his ankle is your favorite.

But for Valentine Day, you didn’t want to be cruel like that.

So while puffing your cheeks, you hop on downstairs, carrying a bouquet of different shades of yellow flowers. A few pink ones are thrown in for his hair.

And so you approach him, trying your best to shrink yourself even shorter.

You don’t even know what he’s doing. What do cars need when they get fixed? A new engine? Something about a gas tank? You have no clue.

But whatever it is, it takes a lot of hard work.

And it’s your job to distract him.

You are almost an arms distance away until, and it scares the shit out of you, he immediately turned around screams as loud as he can.

The flowers run too close to slipping from your fingers. God, that was about to be the worst day of your entire life.

Before anger can crack through your demeanor, the sense of humor the both of you have came back. So you started laughing, placing a weary hand to your chest.

You were laughing because you noticed his hands holding a plastic container of sweets.

“Ah, you nut head!” You call out. “I got you flowers!”

“Why did you get me something? You were supposed to come and scare me!”

Kaito Momota

You hum underneath your breathe while you pick together the best array of flowers you can. Purples and dark colors, just for him.

The moon shines through the school’s window. With the dorms downstairs, every night has became a game of who is going to catch you this time?

Every night you’ve been sneaking up to the garden, trying to raise these flowers just for this occasion.

For the last few months, all you’ve ever wanted was to be with Kaito Momota, Luminary of the Stars!

And now is your time to impress him! The flowers are all ready!

You wrap them together in green tape. The trembling of your hands makes the job quite difficult. And then the white ribbon to top it all off, but you have to take a deep breath while wrapping it.

There’s no backing out of this.

The fight to continue raged on while you walk upstairs, going up the many of them. It gives you time to think.

To think about how much you love him.

Horribly sickening how much you love him. His positive outlook on life motivates you all the time. If you ever feel like giving up, you just remind yourself that Kaito Momota wouldn’t want you to!

The door to the roof is unlocked, as you assumed. No - as you knew. You’ve watched him climb up here every day when he first interrupted your gardening. “I’ll be up on the roof whenever you need me, I tend to go every night.”

You never forgot about it.

Pulling open the door comes with a click. A pang of anxiety rings through you. But why? Should you really be sneaking if your intention is for him to notice you?

He lays on his jacket, arms behind his head and one of his feet crossed over his knee. And he pipes up when he sees you.

“Bumblebee! It took you long enough.”

The flowers in your hands don’t even cross his mind until after he stands up. There’s a nervous blankness as your expression.

When he steps closer, he can even see the way your pupils dilate. “Are these flowers for me?”

It feels as if your words are trapped inside your mouth. He’s actually in front of you, towering, and flattered. So you shove the flowers against his chest.

Your body feels like it’s in front of a fire.

“I grew them for you. And I tried to make it look like space, you know? With all the dark colors.” You whisper.

He smirks with satisfaction that only he could portray. To say he is proud is an understatement. You have always been obvious about your interest in him. It was just a matter of when you would gain the confidence to make a move. That’s why he invited you to join him on the roof all those months ago.

Still, he looks a bit smug. But that doesn’t last long, as his face falls to contentment as he turns back around. “Come, come.” He beckons.

You follow him up to his jacket, where he places the flowers down. His eyes are cast upwards, at the sky. You follow his gaze.

How can he gaze up for hours? It’s almost unbelievable.

You sigh. “Can you explain to me - woah!”

His arms grip onto your thighs as he lifts you up. The lack of struggle terrifies you, in more than being in the air.

“Kaito, what are you doing?”

“Look up at space! Tell me what colors you see.”

A small noise escapes your lips. You relax a bit, accepting your position while placing your hands on his shoulders.

What colors? There are a lot. Not exactly the purple you thought it was. Maybe a dark blue, light blue, too.

You haven’t thought about what color space is.

“Blue.” Is the only word you let yourself say.

He lets you down slowly. “Blue is a good answer. I’d like to think space is every color - Eh? Why are you looking at me like that?”

You blink, once... and maybe a dozen more times. “No reason, I just like you.”

#mondo oowada #mondo owada x reader #sakura oogami #sakura ogami #sakura ogami x reader #kazuichi souda #kazuichi souda x reader #kazuichi soda #kazuichi soda x reader #danganronpa kazuichi #kaito momota #kaito momota x reader #kaito is literally bae

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just-horrible-things · 4 years ago

Text

Caution for: a little gore and body horror

---

Atna

Between the encampment palisades and the edge of the forest is a cleared zone, empty as a fresh page. The smooth expanse of fallen snow belies the broken earth beneath. Dusk gathers, and the first gusts of the night wind moan in the trees. A weary figure trudges out from the treeline. Without skis to spread her weight, she ploughs through snow up to her thighs. The makeshift sled behind her is heavy, laden with an unmistakably human form.

The call goes up from the sentries, and the figure -- dark against the snow and featureless in the gloom -- stops to wave her arms in response. The dogs, loosed, run out to greet her, barking up a storm. They race across the open snow only to prance around her, throwing up great white plumes. When she continues her slog, they race back and forth ahead of her, churning the snow unhelpfully in their enthusiasm.

Two more soldiers emerge from the gates to meet their returning comrade partway. "Captain!" the scout calls in acknowledgement. She is too weary to salute. "What happened?" the Captain demands. "This man is hurt, his ankle is broken." "Where is Ionas?" "He's not here? He was just ahead of me --" "You split up? Vanei, scrip, are you stupid?" The scout does not hang her head. "He went ahead to warn you! We only split at the brook."

As the Captain approaches the sled with lamplight, she examines the injured man. His furs are strange, bound close against his body. Beneath the coat of snow thrown up by the dogs, they are marbled dark and light like no animal she has ever seen. In place of hat and scarf he wears a hood made from a single length of fur wound around head and neck and crossed over itself until only his eyes are visible. "Atna," the Captain breathes.

She rounds angrily on the scout. "Dellie, what are you thinking?" "He can't walk. Nightfall would have killed him! He's done us no harm, we couldn't just--" "You split up, broke with orders, and endangered yourself and your partner for this? You know as well as I do that the forest isn't safe. Ionas may be dead already. I hope this atna's life is worth his!" "I'll go back," Dellie promises, "It's not far, I'll follow his tracks –" "You will do no such thing. You need decontamination. And I'll not have anyone else touch the atna. You're both going into quarantine immediately. If Ionas lives, he'll be joining you. Come on, hurry now. Did any of the dogs touch him?"

By the time the little party reaches the gate, a small crowd has gathered to see the atna. At the Captain's angry words they salute and disperse. But a handful of the scrips make themselves busy very nearby, and trail carefully after as the injured man is dragged to the quarantine tent.

"Stoke the fire," the Captain orders Dellie. "You're shaking like a fish, and he can't be any better. Once it's warm enough you will strip him and burn everything. Be sure to check his mouth. Yourself as well -- strip to your underthings and burn the rest." "I barely touched –" "Don't argue with me, scrip. You handled him enough to tie him to your skis. Everything burns." "This is my only coat." "You'll have another from the stores." "My mother made it!" "Then you should have been more careful with it! This is not up for discussion. Who knows what contagion he might be carrying?" Dellie's shoulders slump. "Yes, Captain." "Move then, hurry it up!"

The inside of the tent is warmer than the outside air, but not by a lot. In the large central fireplace, the coals burn low. No one has been using the tent, so the fire is tended only often enough to keep the fire alive. Dellie brushes the snow off the atna and herself, then parks the sled close to the fire and starts raking out ashes in preparation to pile on more fuel. The man is silent and still, and Dellie could almost forget he's there as she shovels coal and fans the fire to life.

But as the flames begin to take and the fire breathes in in earnest, he finally speaks. Dellie almost drops the poker in her surprise. His voice is low, and she thinks tight with pain and stress, but it is hard to decipher tone through the foreign sounds and the muffling of the fur over his face. "I don't understand you," she tells him uselessly.

She can guess that he might want to be untied, and she can't imagine that he's any danger to her in his current state. So she sets the poker back on its stand and crouches beside him to start undoing buckles. It's warm enough now to take off her gloves, which makes the whole process easier. The atna lies still even once the straps are removed, but he speaks again and it could be gratitude.

Dellie spends a little longer fanning the flames and nudging the coals around. It's not often she gets to bring a fire to a roaring blaze like this, but the injured man is an excuse to bring the temperature of the tent up to a heat like she hasn't been able to enjoy in months. She shrugs out of her coat to soak up more of the fire's glow, letting it seep through her shivering flesh and lift the cold from her bones.

Her orders are to burn the coat, but she folds it out of habit and lays it across the bench beside her gloves. Her eyes skim over the familiar curls of her mother's embroidery. Her heart twists at the thought of destroying it. She turns away.

Crouching beside the atna, she takes a deep breath. His eyes are shockingly green, brighter in the firelight than they were in the shade of the trees. They watch her steadily. "Come on then," she sighs, more to herself than to him. He doesn't fight her as she sits him up, but he doesn't cooperate much either. He makes a low, breathless sound that could mean anything at all.

Dellie leans him against her body as she searches for the fastenings of his clothes to start undressing him. Layers cross over layers and she isn't sure where to begin. There's no buttons, only the many lengths of leather thonging that hold the furs against his body. She chooses a knot at random and starts to pick it undone. The atna lifts one shaking hand to stop her. His eyes, very close to hers, crinkle in a smile, and he reaches for a different knot instead. Dellie watches his gloved fingers grope clumsily at the hanging tail of the cord, then reaches hesitantly to drop. He lets his hand drop.

The knot unravels easily with a simple tug. He says another incomprehensible thing, then indicates two more knots for her to undo. When the third loosens Dellie can suddenly see how to unfold the furs. With his cooperation, she peels them off his body.

Underneath the outer layer, his clothes are shockingly vibrant. Pink and blue like summer flowers mingle and flow together. The fabric is thin and clinging and seems to be his only layer beneath the fur. No wonder he was freezing so fast. Dellie lays him back on the sled -- it'll do as a bed for now, while he needs to be as close to the fire as possible -- and gets to her feet. Clumsily he begins to unwind the wrap from around his head and neck, while Dellie inspects the garment she's just taken off him.

She can't really call it a coat. It looks like nothing more than a collection of fur scraps fastened together at odd angles. It seems as though it should fall apart in her hands into patches and cords, but it holds the shape of his arms and upper torso remarkably well. It reminds her of holding an animal skin. Not all the patches are of the same fur, but there's a kind of haphazard elegance to it. It didn't come together this way by accident, but by some exotic design.

She bundles it up and throws it into the fire.

The atna gives a strangled yell and lurches forwards. He's so weak still that he can barely push himself up to sitting. As he tries to get his good leg under him, he pitches forwards towards the flames. Dellie yelps and grabs him to pull him back, but he squirms with remarkable vigour, hands grabbing in the air as she wrestles him away from the flames. "You -- moron -!" she squeaks over the babble of his strange language "-- do you want to burn --!?"

He fights her for a couple of seconds more, then stops. The stink of burning hair fills the air. She lets go only tentatively, half expecting him to throw himself back at the fire. He glowers up at her, panting, then starts talking again. Dellie doesn't understand a word. But she gets the distinct impression that he's cursing at her. "I'm sorry!" she snaps. "I don't like it any more than you do. But it's going to happen whether you like it or not!"

She grabs at the head-wrap in his hands, and he pulls it closer against his chest. "Dja!" he growls, and that's one word Dellie does know. No. "Yes," she hisses back. "Dja!" Her hand snaps forwards and manages to catch a fistful of fur, but he rolls away from her and she loses her grip. The fur is trapped under his body as he lays sprawled on the canvas floor, glaring daggers at Dellie.

"Is everything alright in there?" calls a voice from the door-flap. "Yes," Dellie grouches. "He doesn't want me to burn his clothes." "No surprise there." Mannel ducks into the tent just far enough to see. "Can you handle it?" "Yeah I think so." "Well, I brought new clothes. Don't touch them until you're both decontaminated." "I know, I know." He leaves the thick bundle on the side beside the door, ducks back out, and returns a second later with a second bundle. "Good luck in there," he chuckles. "Call for backup if you need it."

Dellie sighs dramatically. She looks at her unwilling charge, still face down and looking fit to kill her if he could only get up. "We saved your life, you know." He says nothing.

Dellie stomps over to the bench where she left her coat and gloves. "Look," she says, picking the gloves up. "It's not just your stuff." She chucks them one at a time into the fire to join the shrivelling husk of the atna's garment. The wild-coloured fur has burned away, but the leather is reluctant to catch. The smell of char intensifies as the fire finds the furry insides of the gloves.

The man is staring at Dellie with naked incomprehension. It takes the hard edges off his anger and leaves him looking lost and vulnerable. Dellie holds her hands out for the fur. "Come on," she coaxes, "It has to happen." "Dja," he growls, and starts blabbering again.

Patience exhausted, she resorts to force. He is still weak from the cold and he has a broken ankle. The conclusion is foregone. He fights her as she wrestles the fur wrap off him. He lashes out with fists and elbows. He tries to headbutt her. He even bites like a feral animal, sinking his teeth into the sleeve of Dellie's jacket hard enough that she cries out with pain as well as surprise. She feels fewer compunctions after that about pinning him until he hollers.

Inevitably, the fur goes into the fire to join the rest.

Dellie starts to worry about putting too much on at once and smothering it. But the first piece is smouldering now and starting to burn away. The stench is enough to make her gag, but the smoke exits through the top of the tent and they will not choke on it. It just feels like she might.

Between the fire and the exertion, she is starting to get over-warm. She peels her fur trousers off and adds them reluctantly to the pyre, then paces to the edge of the tent to cool off a little while the fire chews through their clothing. She thinks about taking her jacket off too. But she can still see the indentations of tooth-marks in the leather.

Piercing green eyes watch her with suspicion. When she is still for a little while, the atna pushes himself carefully up to sitting. But he doesn't try anything else. Dellie returns to the fire, scrapes away the ashes and adds a few more coals. She looks at the coat that her mother stitched for her. She looks at the atna. "I should have left you to die," she grumbles.

He fights her again as she peels off the rest of his furs, but the fight goes out of him when she has to pull them over that broken ankle. He holds still so that she can go gently, and contents himself with lowering blackly at her while she unlaces the cords and threads his foot out from the furs. He is silent, this time, as his clothing goes into the fire. Dellie dares to hope that he's done with making this difficult for her. But when she comes back for the rest of his clothes he gets frantic again.

His struggles are outright frenzied as Dellie tries to pull his colourful shirt over his head. His voice pitches up through anger into desperation. She has to sit on him to stop him pulling away. He shrieks like a rabbit and bites her again and again. He was so human just a minute ago, but now he is every bit the wild thing that she knows the atna are.

"What's going on in here?" "Captain," Dellie answers breathlessly, still wrestling with him. "He's -- fighting me, Captain!" "Do you need support?" "I can handle it -- I think!" She gets the fabric over his face and at least it stops him biting. "I'm not sure!" "I'll have someone standing by."

The colourful shirt is firmly caught around both arms, and he will not relent. Dellie gives up, grabs the knife off her belt, and starts cutting into the fabric where it's pulled taut. He jerks sideways and the knife slips, scoring a shallow line up his arm. He shrieks again. Cursing, Dellie lets go of his arms. He pulls the shirt down off his head immediately, and freezes when he sees the knife. "Stop fighting me," she snarls.

Miraculously, he does hold still while she slices the shirt clean up the back. His eyes are wide and wild, his lips pulled back from his teeth as if he's more dog than man. But he holds still. Dellie cuts the sleeves off him too, and drags the rags out from under his body. He doesn't make it any easier for her, but he doesn't fight it either.

The brief spell of cooperation breaks the instant she takes the knife to the waist of his leggings.

"You animal," Dellie curses him as he struggles underneath her. She has to drop the knife for fear of cutting him. He wails and babbles and snarls, and she pins him with a knee on his bare back and strips him like a recalcitrant toddler. There is laughter from the door-flap, where her promised reinforcements form an audience of two.

When she finally has both his leggings and his boots off, the atna scrambles away as if afraid for his life, dragging the broken ankle behind him. He cowers against the back wall of the tent while Dellie straightens her clothes in a huff. Into the flames the last of his clothing goes.

"You rescued a wild animal, Dellie," Alan laughs. "What did you think was going to happen?" "I should have left him," she agrees. "Maybe his own kind would have come back for him, like with baby birds." "That would have saved me a whole lot of trouble. Ugh, the Captain wants me to search his mouth -- he'll bite my fingers off! Can't we get one of the dog trainers in here?"

As she approaches, the atna does indeed bare his teeth at her again. He curls up a fraction tighter. "I really don't know if I can do this without help," Dellie confesses. He's more lively now than he was, and she isn't as confident. "Decontaminate first," Mannel suggests, "then I'll come in and help." "You lazy bastard," Alan accuses. "You just want to get out of work."

Shaking her head, Dellie returns to the hearth and strips down. Her jacket goes into the fire. Her boots she sets aside. They didn't touch the atna -- maybe she can keep them if they go through quarantine and nothing grows. Her socks go into the fire. Her leggings she will burn, but she leaves them on the bench for the moment, lest she smother the flames.

The Captain only said she had to strip down to underthings. She could keep her shift and hose. But Dellie thinks about sharp seeds burrowing into fabric, lying dormant waiting for the host to sleep. She shivers, and peels off the woollen things too.

There's a barrel of carbolic among the stacked supplies. Dellie ladles it liberally over herself, making sure to soak her hair to the roots and to rub it into her skin from top to toe. It itches on the skin, and even in the growing heat of the tent she will be cold with wet skin. But it eases Dellie's nerves to know that it is killing any foreign germs that the atna has left on her skin. She fills a bucket, and hauls it over to the atna.

The brief reprieve hasn't calmed him down at all. He snaps his teeth fiercely and balls his hands into fists. Dellie stops a pace short of his reach, casts a rueful glance at her thoroughly amused backup, and takes a deep breath. Then she throws the content of the bucket over him.

The atna sputters and gasps, anger momentarily displaced by shock. He goggles up at Dellie. "Wash with it," she tells him slowly, miming rubbing her own skin like she was a moment ago. "Dja," he refuses. "Look. You wash yourself," she jabs her finger at him, "or I wash you."

He flinches back when she moves forward, and tries to hit her as she grabs his arm. She fends him off long enough to demonstrate rubbing the antiseptic into his skin. He pulls violently away from her. She lets go and watches bemusedly as he scoots frantically backwards along the tent wall away from her. "Wash," she orders him again. Very reluctantly, he puts his hands on his own arms and mimics her gesture. "That's right! Just like that. Thank fuck, he gets it."

She stomps off to refill the bucket. It's the last of the carbolic -- "Fetch me some more, would you?" -- but it should be enough. The atna flinches when she brings it close and turns his head away, eyes screwed shut in anticipation of another dousing. But this time she just sets it down on the canvas beside him. She dips her hand to demonstrate, and wets her hair a little more. He stares flatly at her, so she cups a palmful and splashes it over him.

When she reaches to touch him again, he snaps out another quick sequence of syllables and pulls away. Dellie withdraws her hand, but she points firmly at the bucket. Reluctantly, he dips his hand in and wets his hair.

Every single step requires a similar level of prompting. Dellie demonstrates persistently. It's like he's never washed before, and perhaps he hasn't. Do atna bathe? Frequently she has to threaten to do it herself. She can't understand why he is so afraid. She itches to just get on with it. But so long as he will do it himself she won't force him. He seems so scared.

He is particularly reluctant to uncurl, preferring to hide his belly behind his arms and legs wherever he can. When she prompts him to wash that area, he shuffles awkwardly round to put his back to her. "What's he hiding?" Mannel chirps from the door. "I can't tell. Get in here and help, and we'll find out." Mannel saunters in in no particular hurry. "Wow, it's hot in here," he remarks. "I hope you're not intending to keep it like this all week."

They corner the feral atna between them. He repeats his foreign no over and over. Dellie despairs of communicating. All his squirming and flailing is futile. Between the two of them they have no difficulty securing him. Mannel kneels behind the atna, holding his arms behind his back, while Dellie levers his legs down to expose his stomach.

"Vanei," Mannel gasps.

The skin of the atna's stomach is marred by a ragged-edged patch of brown the size of Dellie's palm. She takes it for mud at first glance, or perhaps a scabbed-over wound. But as she takes in the rippled texture, she realises that it is tree bark.

The atna takes advantage of her shock to wrest his legs out of her grip and curl up again, still babbling in his garbled foreign tongue. "What is that?" she wonders aloud. "I don't know." Mannel twists the man's arms harder to make him holler and stop trying to kick Dellie with his one good leg. "But it can't be anything good."

It only takes a brief tussle to pin him again. Dellie sits on his thighs as he shrieks his head off. "Shut up!" she yells back in his face. "Shut up shut up shut up!"

His frantic squirming stills momentarily as she brushes cautious fingers over the patch. Dellie can hear Alan at the door, explaining the situation to whoever is outside. Mannel nudges the bucket towards her with one knee, and she snaps out of her confusion. She splashes carbolic liberally over the whole area. Then she touches the bark again. It doesn't easily come away from his skin. "It's stuck," she informs Mannel. The atna's voice is low with a different kind of urgency as repeats "dja" again. But Dellie still can't understand another word of his jabbering. "Creepy," says Mannel.

Dellie forces her fingertips under the edge. The bark seems glued down, separating only stickily and reluctantly from the skin. There is warm wetness beneath, and Dellie jerks her hand back in surprise. The liquid is clear and colourless on her fingertips, both slicker and tackier than the carbolic. She grimaces at Mannel. Their unwilling patient's protests have taken on a fresh pleading tone. There's nothing to be done to reassure him. She prises the bark away from the skin carefully, sliding her fingers sideways beneath it to widen the gap. Near the centre there is heat, and the atna howls. Dellie falters. "Gods alive," she swears, "I think it's growing into him." "The poor fuck." "Just stay still," she tells the atna. "We can heal this. -- I hope." His struggles have grown weaker. He still pulls against Mannel's grip, but he is panting hard. His eyes are mad and inhuman.

There's nothing else for it. With her fingers far enough under the bark to get a solid grip, Dellie pulls. The atna convulses. His voice rises in another raw howl, climbing and climbing until it breaks. Red blood wells up and soaks her hands as the bark comes free. As she feared, it was not just stuck to his skin. As she pulls, a wet tangle of pale roots slides sickeningly out of his abdomen, dripping with his blood. The wound left behind is deep. Dellie stares in horror for a second, then lurches away as bile rises abruptly in her throat. She hears Mannel shouting for a medic as she empties her stomach. He sounds far away.

By the time the nausea has receded, the medic is already in the tent. The atna is on his back on the floor again, with Mannel's hands clamped over his abdomen. The firelight paints the scene in stark, dizzying colours.

The medic spots Dellie staring. "Get that abomination into the fire," she commands.

Dellie jumps to do as she's told, and the tent spins. She tries not to look at the blood-soaked mass of bark and pallid fibres as she grabs it one-handed. The slimy feel of it has her gagging continuously until she can cast it into the flame.

She turns back just in time to see the medic forcing something - probably concentrated carbolic - into the wound. The atna shudders and screeches. Dellie winces hard in sympathy, but the hard-faced woman isn't dissuaded. "Hold his legs," she orders.

Dellie starts forwards. The medic grabs a piece of white rag and shoves it firmly into the wound. The sight of the fabric disappearing into the man's belly turns Dellie's stomach again. She stumbles, as her limbs go limp. Darkness closes in, blotting out the sight of all the blood. She barely feels herself fall.

#my writing #my ocs #gore #body horror #first aid tw #blood tw #emeto tw #threat of noncon tw #(nothing happens)#forced nudity tw #stripped tw #manhandling tw #painful caretaking #and now for something completely different

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keelywolfe · 4 years ago

Text

FIC: Welcome to Backwater ch.18 (spicyhoney)

Summary: Stretch has already dealt with the local sheriff about his adventures in the local woods. Seems like Edge might have a thing or three to say.

~~*~~

Read ‘Electric Boogaloo’ on AO3

Read it here!

~~*~~

It was funny how some things become automatic. Stretch was still thinking about Buford when Edge came into the store not long after the sheriff left. Still thinking about those strange white eyes of his, wondering at exactly how much he could see. How much, how far, how deep did it go. Stretch knew a little something himself about seeing a bit too much.

Still, habits were habits. Even though his mind wasn’t necessarily working in the here and now, Stretch automatically stood up straight and greeted Edge when he came in, customer service skills were a heck of a learned trait, even if he was the only one who worked here that had them.

“morning, hey, what’s up? what do you—" need, he didn’t get to say. He barely had time to notice that Edge didn’t look like his normal gorgeous self, hips notwithstanding. Sure, he was wearing his normal motorhuckle gear and he was walking like he was on his way to kill Captain America. But he looked pale, his skull chalk-white and stark, his eye lights faded to a shade closer to dull pink.

That wasn’t what cut off his ‘can i help you’ spiel. Nope, that was Edge stalking right over to the counter and around it into the register area. Stretch found himself roughly pulled into Edge’s arms and held in a painfully tight hug that nearly threatened to crack ribs.

Okay? This was new but fuck it if Stretch wasn’t going to go for it. He wrapped both arms around Edge and squeezed back, relished the feel of that long, lean body against his own, even buffered under a layer of leather. “um. hi?”

Edge said nothing, only held on, with all ten fingers digging in through the back of Stretch’s t-shirt and damned if he was gonna try fight his way loose. Was it his imagination or was Edge shaking a little? Or maybe that was the earth moving under his feet because Edge smelled so good, no bone cologne could compare. Like spice and woodsmoke, like the heavenly pies he made for Mama’s.

Nothing to be done for it, might as well dive into the deep end and see if he could drown. Stretch closed his sockets and basked in it, reveled in it. Maybe this was some weird frosting on top of an already bizarre cake but Stretch really wanted his slice.

After a minute, Edge was showing no signs of letting up and much as Stretch would’ve been perfectly fine standing like this all day, probably he should say something. It’d be pretty hard to run register if he was stuck to Edge like a conjoined twin and considering that they were sort of the same person, maybe better not to risk it.

It was just a damn shame that Stretch was so shitty at digging beneath the layers of other people’s traumas. Hell, he could barely take a shovel to his own.

He managed to work up enough air to wheeze out, “is…something wrong?” A horrible thought occurred. What if he wasn’t the only person the lady ghoul went to visit last night? Maybe she took the nickel tour of the woods, maybe Buford’s all-seeing eye blinked and missed something. “is frisk okay?”

“Yes,” Edge choked out. His voice was muffled into Stretch’s shoulder. “Everything is fine.”

Stretch shifted in his arms and only managed about an inch in any direction. “don’t take this the wrong way, but as fine as this feels, you don’t seem fine.”

That didn’t get any reply. Instead, Edge loosened his grip just enough to press his face into the hollow of Stretch’s collarbone where he inhaled deeply, mouth opened as if he wanted to taste whatever scent gathered there, get the whole experience.

Um. Holy shit. Okay, well, that was a fetish Stretch never knew he had, and if he wasn’t pinned like a sardine in Edge’s kung-fu grip, he might’ve honest to angel flailed at the feel of damp, hot breath against his clavicles. Every time Edge decided to go through his scratch ‘n sniff routine, it sent willie wonkers tingling right up his spine and right down his pants. All he could do was grit his teeth and stare blankly up at the ceiling as he tried desperately not to embarrass himself any more than the usual.

Finally, all too soon, Edge drew away. He took two steps back, putting some distance between them. He seemed almost embarrassed now and Stretch could only reluctantly let him go.

He was really, really grateful for his work apron right about now; good for catching dust and gook, with a side bonus of hiding inconvenient boners. Hopefully it wasn’t the not-at-all-a-pencil-in-his-pocket that chased Edge away. “not that i mind, like, really not, but you think you could let me in on what that was all about?”

“I’m sorry,” Edge said, stiffly. He crammed his hands into his jacket pockets and looked anywhere but at Stretch.

“uh, nope,” Stretch shook his head, “no apologies, hugs are free real estate.” He’d been this close to Edge before a couple of times but always before there had been distractions. Now looking at him was the distraction and Stretch let his gaze linger on the razer-sharp lines of his cheekbones, the tight narrowing of his eye sockets. The crack that ran through his left socket was obviously old, the edges worn relatively smooth, smoother than their owner.

Edge still didn’t look at him, not directly, anyway. A flick of his eye lights towards Stretch, then back away as he said, tightly. “We came very close to losing you last night. It was…upsetting.”

Oh.

Well, good news traveled fast, didn’t it, basically at the speed of light around these parts. He wondered glumly if Red was in his apartment busily composing a profanity-laden symphony titled ‘I Told You So.’

“How did you know?” Stretch sighed out. Maybe Frisk was tuned in to the local airwaves or Edgar Allen might branch out into branches instead of corn gossip.

“Buford,” Edge admitted. “He is the town constable, he looks after the town. Literally, in his case.”

Also had a big mouth, seemed like. “yeah, uh, he showed me his eyes.”

“Did he?” Edge seemed surprised, then pleased. “He usually wears his sunglasses. He rarely takes them off when he’s on duty because outsiders tend to find his eyes unsettling. But yes, it’s his duty to watch out for problems and he does it well.”

Stretch nodded slowly, “must be tough on him sometimes, seeing all that.” He had a little personal experience in that.

“Buford does his duty,” Edge said with a certain finality. Welp, looked like that topic was done and Stretch was fine with that since Edge was starting to look a little calmer. His eye lights weren’t on Stretch’s but lower, focused more on the mouth region and when Stretch flicked his tongue across his teeth nervously, those crimson lights went heavy and dark.

To his disappointment, Edge didn’t go for Ginormous Hug 2: Electric Boogaloo. Instead, he reeled back, shaking himself visibly and turning towards the door. “Well. I only wanted to check in on you, I should be going.”

“wait!” Stretch blurted and Edge hesitated, raising one browbone. “don’t go, not yet.”

He waved a hand in offering at the stool behind the counter and after a moment of hesitation, Edge stepped around the dog and took it. Mutt never stirred, burrowed down in the blanket Red had laid down for him, snoring away. Good thing they hadn’t been in the market for a guard dog.

Stretch hopped up on the counter to sit, (hey, his butt was cleaner than the whole store had been when he first got here) and wondered what the hell to do now. He’d wanted Edge to stay and now he didn’t know what to talk about. Every other chat they’d had was about some kind of Backwater weirdness, the peanut butter and pickle sandwich version of a conversation. He wasn’t sure he even knew how to have a white bread and butter chat.

Edge seemed to agree. He swiped a finger along one of the shelves behind the counter and checked the results, finding it to be relatively dust-free. “The store is looking much better since my brother hired you on.”

“yeah,” Stretch latched on to that topic gratefully, it was marginally better than bringing up the weather. “try to keep up on it. he’s paying me well enough for it, plus room and board, figured i can do my mr clean impression.” He gave the top of his skull a pat. “i’ve already got the bald part down.”

Edge made a rough, scoffing sound and even that was somehow delicious in that voice of his. “I suspect most of what fills up your board comes from my kitchen.”

Stretch suspected the same but leapt to his landlord’s defense, anyway, he owned Red that much and more. “hey, red is a damn fine microwave wrangler when he puts his mind to it.” Okay, so that was less of a leap than a trip and miss, but he’d tried. Maybe better to steer the topic boat out of the rapids and into calmer water. “my bro likes to cook, too.”

“Is he very good?” Edge leaned forward curiously, propping his chin up on a hand.

Woah, wait, abandon ship, that was not calmer waters, that was a storm a’brewing, a freaking typhoon. “good is relative,” Stretch said stoutly.

“Ah,” One corner of Edge’s mouth curled up into a smile. “Rest assured, I would never force you to disparage your brother’s cooking. If it’s any comfort, my recipes were somewhat unique when we first came here as well. Like the garden, it took some time for my skills to come into bloom.”

“seriously?” There was a little too much naked relief in that one word but fuck it, Blue wasn’t here to hear it, “so how many years until he’s less ‘nailed it’ and more ‘chef’s table’?”

That half-smile widened. “Time is also relative, as are brothers. How is your brother, I’m assuming he’s still back in Ebott. Have you spoken to him since you came here?”

Welp, he’d avoided the storm only to end up in shark-infested waters, wasn’t that just his luck, “sort of,” Stretch hedged.

Edge’s teeth parted in a silent ‘ah’ as he successfully decoded that message. “You texted him. Well, that’s better than leaving him completely in the dark.”

“i think he’s doing okay. he was even before i left.” He really hoped so, but then, Blue settled in easily enough from the start. From the Human’s perspective, his bro looked a little like he’d stepped out of some kind of cartoon. He was small and adorable, his starry eye lights in his huge sockets were as cute as if Disney blessed him from beyond the grave. Stretch didn’t begrudge his brother for that, ‘course he didn’t, but that didn’t make his own experiences easy cheesy. “frisk was pretty right about ebott. when it comes to monsters, it sure isn’t backwater.”

“I’m sorry.” Said with enough quiet sincerity to make Stretch shift uncomfortably.

He shrugged weakly. “eh, not your fault.”

“No, but I can still let you share your pains.” Edge reached up and took his hand. He rubbed a scarred thumb gently over his knuckles and Stretch caught his breath. “You know, I used to dream about coming to the surface. Back in my world, in the Underground. Frisk told you that it was a place of LV, not love. My brother and I spent much of our time there simply struggling to survive.” The reminiscence in Edge’s voice held no hint of fondness, but there was a certain faint wistfulness. “I had such grand dreams of what the surface world would be like back then. Hope was difficult to come by in my universe, I never truly believed a human would come and when they did, well.” Edge chuckled and there was the fondness missing from before. “Frisk was not at all what I imagined.”

“did the surface world live up to your dreams?” Stretch asked, curiously. His own dreams of the Aboveground were shaken to their foundations barely an hour into the sunlight, when the first Humans to arrive greeted them not with welcome, but with automatic rifles.

“In some ways,” Edge said. “Mostly, it’s very different from what I imagine. But like Frisk, not necessarily in a bad way.”

“ebott is sure fucking different then i imagined,” Stretch only realized how hard he was squeezing Edge’s hand when both of their joints popped. He loosened his grip, then pulled away entirely, picking up the pen from the counter to fiddle with; at least if he broke that, he’d be the only one stained. “doesn’t matter, anyway. i’m not there right now, am i.”

“Indeed not. You’re here, and Backwater is probably as different from Ebott as it is the Underground.” Edge stood in a jangling, creaking rhapsody of leather and buckles. “On that note, I do need to get going.”

Stretch stood too, hopping down from the counter. Much as he’d like Edge to stay, he did have some work to get done and who knew what Edge needed to get back to. “thank you for checking in on me.”

“Of course.” Too fast for Stretch to do more than blink, Edge leaned in and Stretch stood frozen as he pressed a chaste kiss to his cheekbone, the delicate scrape of his teeth almost ticklish against sensitive bone. He pulled back before Stretch managed to gather up all his scattered wits, and his smile was the soft, real one as he said, “I’m sure I’ll see you again soon.”

“soon,” Stretch parroted dumbly. He stood there like an idiot and watched Edge leave, only coming back to himself at the jangle of the bell over the door. Then he cursed himself, roundly and in every language he knew, including modified flamespeak. Smooth moves, there, Marvin Gaye, couldn’t even turn your head for a real kiss? Just stood there with crotch plug store book and didn’t even try to kick it up a notch? But he’d gotten one hell of a hug and a hand fondle, that was worth nearly getting eaten by Lady Cthulhu out there.

Well, almost.

“mind not getting your sop all over my counter?”

Stretch whirled around, barely managing not to trip over his own feet, to see Red standing in the hallway entrance. He was leaning heavily on his cane with a brutally unimpressed look on his face.

Fuck.

“i’m sorry—” Stretch began and faltered, unsure of what to say. He’d tried to listen to Red, he really had. He’d warned Stretch against starting anything with his bro from the beginning, offered plenty of warnings against rebound fucks and people getting hurt, and Stretch had tried. Except he hadn’t, had he, not really, and he could try to blame Edge’s hips and that gorgeous voice all he wanted; in the end, it was his fault, just like everything else. He hadn’t really been fighting that hard, why would he, it wasn’t like he wanted to win.

Red only sighed heavily and waved him off. “ain’t nothing to be sorry for. toldja before, i ain’t worried about my bro. you’re the one keepin’ me awake at night.”

“speaking of worrying,” Stretch took a deep breath before plunging forward, away from the sharks and heading into the shallows where the piranhas swam. “look, before anyone else decides to spill the beans, i need to tell you something.”

Red held up a hand and Stretch fell silent. “lemme get my coffee first.”

Coffee sounded better than it had any right to and, in his chest, Stretch’s soul gave an uncomfortable lurch like it could hop out and get a cup of its own. Hopefully, he asked, “can i get some?”

“yeah, sure,” Red turned back towards the apartment and tossed back over his shoulder, “whatcha want in it?”

“honey?” May as well dream big.

“yeah, darlin’?”

What? ”No!” Stretch blurted. “I mean…I didn’t…”

“yeah, yeah,” Red snickered. “i gotcha, brat.”

It was both entirely too long and much too quickly that Red made his way back with two heavy white mugs that looked as if they’d been stolen from Mama’s diner. He handed one to Stretch and settled in to lean against the counter, sipping from his own. “so, this about why you and my bro were cozying up behind the counter?”

“uh, sort of,” Stretch hedged. He stalled by taking a sip of his coffee, glorying in the thick, over-sweetened brew. “he came by because buford got a hold of him.”

Red lurched upright as if someone goosed him right on his tailbone. Hot coffee sloshed over his hand and he hissed, shaking his wet, stinging fingers as he demanded, “he did what now? what the fuck happened?”

“it’s not that bad.”

It was a weak attempt at best, not that it mattered. Red didn’t fall for it in the slightest. He didn’t move, there was no noticeable change in his breathing or posture, but the sardonic humor that seemed to cling to Red like another shirt evaporated entirely and left behind nothing but cold sincerity. “buford don’t exactly text, he don’t get ahold of anyone unless—” Red stopped and gave Stretch a coolly assessing glance that he squirmed beneath. Quietly, he said, “kid, what did you do?”

“i didn’t do it!” Stretch blurted and no amount of defending himself to his own brother or even the Ebott police could have prepared him for this. “the dog ran off, but i didn’t go into the woods! not until—there was this…this thing!” Stretch gestured wildly, trying ineffectively to convey with skinny bone hands the shadowy, awful creature that lured him into the dark last night. He couldn’t hold back a shudder of revulsion, simply thinking about it was filling him with a renewed sense of horror. “it looked like a woman and then it didn’t, she was singing, she was doing something, and i couldn’t stop myself, i couldn’t even think!”

He stopped, panting, and Red said nothing. He only stood there statue-still and Stretch would have given about anything for the door to open, the bell to jangle as someone looking for a fresh supply of ass wipers broke that awful silence.

Desperately, Stretch pressed on, letting out a nervous laugh. “anyway, i’m okay. she didn’t touch me or bite me or anything. i got out okay.” He didn’t mention the bone dragon, wasn’t even sure why, but Red was still frozen and silent over hearing about one terrifying encounter, maybe better not to mention two.

“red?” Stretch tried, hating how his voice sounded so small and forlorn. In a dismal corner of his mind, he was already mentally packing his bags. He couldn’t go back to Ebott, not now, not yet, but where else could he go, what other job could he possibly find? Maybe a waiter at Mama’s or maybe the thrift shop needed a helping hand. He didn’t know. The little money he had wouldn’t last long and definitely not in a bigger city. He didn’t really have any options, no choices at all.

He jerked back as Red suddenly jolted into movement, limping around the counter without his cane. He staggered almost drunkenly and then swung around to violently ram his fist into the first rack of the shelves. The wooden frame rocked and groaned, scattering boxes and cans to the floor on either side. A small bag of cornmeal fell and burst open, scattering dusty yellow across the floorboards.

“i…i’ll just…” Stretch couldn’t say go, he couldn’t, saying it would make this real, and he couldn’t let it be real. He took a step towards the hallway, tasting heavy tears on the back of his tongue.

Red’s voice stopped him, “kid.”

Stretch stood there and watched Red wrap both arms around himself. The fingers of one hand were streaked with marrow, he’d probably cracked his phalanges, but Red only shuddered faintly, drawing in a long breath and letting it out in a shaky rattle as he said, “if i’d’ve known she was awake, i woulda warned ya.”

Oh.

Oh, that made a terrible amount of sense and it didn’t make Stretch feel one fucking bit better to realize that Red wasn’t mad at him.

“it’s fine, red,” Stretch said, gently. It was hard to bank his own fears, but he managed, “it’s not your fault. i’m okay.”

Red heaved out a hitching little sigh and Stretch didn’t need Buford’s powers or his own magic to see that Red didn’t believe that, not even a little.

“okay,” he muttered under his breath, low and indistinct, “okay, okay.” Then louder, “okay, kid, get on out of here.”

“you’re firing me?” Stretch blurted, horrified. He’d begun to believe it was all right, more fool he, hadn’t he had the rug ripped out from under him enough times by now, when would he ever learn?

“what?” Red said, aghast. “fuck no! take a little time off, is all, after a shitty night like that, you need it. go see a movie, ‘wizard of oz’ ’s playin’, think it’ll be right up your alley.”

Relief left him weak, but he made no move towards the door. “but. your hand?”

“what about my hand?” Red raised his browbones and his hand at once and Stretch stared at the clean, pristine bones in confusion, what the fuck, he was sure he’d seen—

“okay, but,” Stretch still didn’t want to leave, some part of him vaguely convinced that if he left he wouldn’t be able to come back, like this shabby little store was some kind of fae place. “here, let me clean up.”

“i can fucking clean,” Red said impatiently. “been doing it since long before you got here.” He hooked his perfectly unbroken thumb at the door, “now, git! scoot!”

It seemed better not to comment on Red’s cleaning skills. Stretch hung up his apron and obediently scooted while Red limped over to the broom.

Outside, the temperature was just above a swelter. Stretch headed towards the theater even as the kids pulled up by the shop and dropped their bikes to head in, about five minutes too late.

Red had the right idea, he decided tiredly. A movie sounded like a good idea right about now. If, that was, he could stay awake through the opening credits.

tbc

#spicyhoney #papcest #keelywolfe #underfell #underswap #underfell papyrus #underswap papyrus #underfell sans #welcome to backwater

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stefahlicious · 4 years ago

Text

Hashira x Child! Pillar Reader (2) Pt.1

yuhh pt 2 after like 3 weeks lolol, so this is going to be the second time you see each individual hashira!! btw i’m going to do like 4 hashira in this post and 5 in the next!

-Mitsuri Kanroji

*As you’re taking a stroll through the Ubuyashiki mansion’s garden, you stop and stare at a familiar pink and green-haired girl. Mitsuri is standing directly underneath a cherry blossom tree, wearing a kimono that has pink flowers all over it. The pink and green-haired girl holds out her hand to catch a falling petal, and all of a sudden, ten-year-old you accidentally lets a word slip out of your mouth.

“Pretty. . .”

Mitsuri hears this and turns around, only to see you in all your adorableness. Immediately, her heart is struck by an arrow and she’s obviously surprised that you’re standing there. Immediately, she realizes that you just complimented her and her cheeks become a shade of pink. Flustered Mitsuri makes her way over to you before crouching down and smiling at you.

“U-Um Y/n, right? If it’s okay, would...would you like to go get some mochi with m-me?!”

-Giyuu Tomioka

* You were just trying to go get a bowl of ramen at one of your favorite restaurants, only to walk in and end up seeing none other than the water pillar there. The familiar black-haired man is sitting down, his back faced towards you - either he didn’t notice or was just ignoring you.

Blinking, you nonchalantly take the seat next to him, and place an order for your favorite food. Then, you glance at the black-haired man and notice his bowl of Salmon Daikon. Giyuu turns to his side as you’re looking at him and both of you make eye-contact.

“.........”

The two of you stare at one-another in silence, Giyuu’s eyes widening as you then give him a small toothy grin, only to have him go back to facing his food immediately.

Confused, you just assume he doesn’t want to talk and just sit in silence until your meal arrives, then smiling and digging into it. Secretly, Giyuu takes a peak at the ten-year-old next to him - examining what you ordered. He wants to start a conversation, but being the introvert he is, doesn’t say anything.

In the end, after many tries of pumping himself up, he finally has enough confidence and a topic to talk to you about.

“That was yummy!”

You mutter to yourself, pushing away your bowl and standing up. At the very moment, Giyuu was about to try to start a conversation, only to have you finish your food. Talk about bad timing!

With a full belly, you hum to yourself happily as you walk out of the restaurant, not realizing that you left poor Giyuu dejected, with his bowl of Salmon Daikon.

-Shinobu Kocho

Staring at the ceiling, you lay on the white bed, trying to recall everything that happened. You were assigned a mission to investigate why a lot of people were going missing in a village, and ended up fighting against four strong demons. After defeating three out of the four, you go in to finish the fourth, only to get surprised attacked and sliced in the stomach by his Demon Blood Arts. After using the last of your strength to kill him, you end up fainting.

In the middle of you trying to remember all of this, the sound of the door makes you turn your head - and in comes a certain black-haired woman with purple tips.

“Ara ara, you’re awake. I wish we could have our second time meeting each other on better conditions, but more importantly, how are you feeling~?”

You blink, wondering why the insect Hashira is here, but then you faintly remember that the Butterfly Mansion tends to those who are wounded. Shinobu must be the head of it. You give her an adorable smile, as if to say everything was okay, and she returns a bigger smile.

“Can you sit up for me? I’d like to check your injury~” You look at her with confused eyes. Injury? What injury? Nothing in your body ached or was sore. Complying with her request, you start to sit up - only to wince at the pain in your abdomen.

Oh yeah, that injury.

“Ah, be careful. Here - let me help you up~” Pushing you up gently, she gives you a pat on your back. After tightly securing a set of bandages around your stomach, Shinobu takes a seat on your bed. “Ta-da! Your wound is going to heal just fine though. However, make sure to change your bandages every three to four days. If you’re not able to do it, come to the Butterfly Mansion and I’ll be happy to do it for you~”

With a nod of your head, you carefully slide off the bed and Shinobu leads you to the front door of the Butterfly Mansion. As you’re heading out, she stops you for a second.

“Ara, I almost forgot. Can you hold out your hands for me?”

You comply to her request, and the Insect Pillar takes out something from her pocket and drops it into your hand. Your eyes start to sparkle once you see what it is - a sakura-flavored candy. Plopping it into your mouth, you wave to Shinobu and enjoy the sweet taste, forgetting all about your wound.

-Obanai Iguro

While happily sitting down on the back porch of the Ubuyashiki Mansion, your ears perk up at the sound of rustling between some bushes. Confused but curious, you prepare to stand up and walk over there - only to see a small white thing shoot out of the bushes.

“A...a snake!” You say to yourself in excitement.

The small, white snake slithers over to where you are, and you both make eye contact. Its tongue goes out of its mouth and before you know it, you’re already picking it up and having it wrap around your hand. A small giggle comes out of your mouth when you boop the snake’s nose.

“Kaburamaru, where-”

A voice out of nowhere startles you and you instantly turn to the direction of the sound. Going out of the forest and into the light, you see a short man with shoulder length hair. He’s wearing bandages over his mouth and has heterochromia, one of his eyes being yellow and the other being blue. You blink at his sudden appearance, still petting the snake though.

The black-haired man looks at you and then the white snake you have in your hand before he sends a glare and an annoyed look your way. Before you could react, he snatches the snake out of your hands.

“Brat, what were you doing with Kaburamaru?”

As he asks this in a fairly scary tone, you finally recognize his appearance and remember that he’s the Serpent Hashira, Obanai Iguro. You also connect the dots and remember that Obanai had a white snake with him at your introductory meeting.

Standing up, you bow and then smile. “Hi, Mister Obanai! Um, sorry, I should have gotten permission to pet your snake! But it just looked so cute, I couldn’t help myself...” You reply, almost in a sheepish way. It might have just been your eyes tricking you, but you see that Obanai’s face softens a bit at what you said, only to go back to his glare.

“Don’t touch Kaburamaru without my permission.”

In the blink of an eye, Obanai disappears from your sight and you sit back down on the porch. A smile appears on your face and you swing your legs back and forth.

Instead of saying to never touch his pet snake again, Obanai instead said to get his permission first. You plop yourself on the wooden floor of the porch and smile, thinking of how lucky he is to have a cute pet like Kaburamaru.

#demonslayer #kimetsunoyaiba #obanaiiguro #shinobu kocho x reader #giyuu tomioka #mitsuri kanroji #hashira #pillars

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jasontoddiefor · 4 years ago

Note

Medical trauma time travel AU, what’s that thought on the younglings 👀

Wouldn’t you like to know? Read on AO3 too if you like!

Anakin had paled the closer they had come to Coruscant. The moment the planet had been withing sights, he’d looked ready to either bolt or launch a full-on attack on al the horrors he had dreamed of. Nowadays, most of Anakin’s reactions could be systematically sorted to fight-or-flight, all the curiosity that used to follow with his brashness was gone. As much as it had frustrated Obi-Wan, he missed it now. Those times had been easier, didn’t involve a Sith actually being in charge of the Republic. Obi-Wan thoroughly regretted discarding Dooku’s words years ago. Had he listened, been more open to the idea of another Jedi Master betraying all their values, perhaps it all wouldn’t have come as far as Anakin’s terror-filled nights suggested.

“Ready?” Obi-Wan asked as their shuttle landed in one of the smallest hanger bays. They hadn’t announced their arrival loudly on purpose and were, by all means, sneaking in from the back entrance.

Anakin didn’t even turn to look at him. He just stood straight as if he were in a military debriefing, his hands firmly clasped behind his back.

“Yes.”

Ahsoka exchanged a look with Obi-Wan. She wasn’t his Padawan, but she had quickly picked up on their silent communication to send him a look that perfectly expressed her disbelief and the suggestion that perhaps they should stay on the ship just a little while longer, give Anakin some time to get used to being on-planet before they rushed into the temple.

But then the door opened and Anakin, seemingly unaware of what had transpired beneath his nose, marched out like he was strolling through a battlefield, his army behind him and the enemy in front. Ahsoka and Obi-Wan followed him quickly, Ahsoka to his left and Obi-Wan on his right. They swiftly crossed the hanger and made their way to the lifts. The one here wasn’t used particularly often, it was a little out of the way considering the temple’s layout.

“We’re meeting with the Council tomorrow,” Obi-Wan said, simply to make conversation. The air surrounding him felt heavy, like a blanket of stones on his shoulders. “More Council members will be on-planet then and don’t have to be excluded due to long-range communication.”

They had decided that the delicate information Anakin was carrying mustn’t be intercepted by anybody. No matter how secure their lines were, there was always the chance a clever slicer could figure out how to tap into them. Their debriefing would exclude all members who weren’t present in person, but perhaps it was also for the best that they were a smaller group. That way there would be fewer people asking questions and demanding explanations.

Anakin made no sign that he had heard Obi-Wan. He looked distracted, his blue eyes dark and focusing on nothing in particular, just staring at the empty halls. Obi-Wan was glad they had arrived in the early morning when most inhabitants of the temple were busy studying and doing their daily duties instead of rushing through the many passages.

“We’re going to our quarters then?” Ahsoka asked. “The kitchen will be empty, want me to grab something?”

“A light meal would be beneficial,” Obi-Wan mused. His eyes darted to Anakin. He still showed no reaction. His expression was frustratingly unreadable and he had buried his presence deep in the Force. All the instances where he had been unable to keep his face neutral since his awakening flashed before Obi-Wan’s mind he couldn’t correlate that man with the one in front of him.

Anakin had hinted that he hadn’t been in the temple since the creation of the Sith Empire, though he hadn’t been particularly clear on it, nor how the Jedi had been driven out of it.

There were no survivors, he had said and left it at that.

The thought made him sick. It must have been a bloodbath. All their old, the sick, the younglings- Obi-Wan let the thought go. He couldn’t afford to pursue it.

“You and Skyguy will be alright?” Ahsoka asked hesitantly.

“Yes, Padawan,” Obi-Wan replied. “We’ll start cleaning up, see if we can unearth Anakin’s bed from his latest project.”

“And get my room set up?” Ahsoka teased.

Obi-Wan pulled a face. Right. They keep meaning to clean up the room that had turned into Anakin’s greenhouse/workstation and Obi-Wan’s storage to make space for Ahsoka, but they still hadn’t. It was rare all three of them actually needed to be in their rooms at the same time, shuffling around the beds and sofa had become a little too commonplace.

“Why not?” Obi-Wan said. “Might as well use the evening.”

They turned around the corner, getting closer to the place where their rooms were hosted.

“-can’t catch me!”

“Sors, wait!”

Faster than they had any right to be, two younglings ran down the hallway they were just going to turn into. The children saw the trio too late and before they could stop on the slippery ground, crashed right into them.

“Wah!” The blond human boy fell to the ground in front of them while his green Twi’lek companion managed to catch herself on Ahsoka’s robes.

“You should be more careful,” Ahsoka said as the girl let go of her.

Blushing brightly the child, only an Initiate going by her lack of braid, bowed. “Sorry! We’re running an errand for Master Terrak. Sors, c’mon, get up.”

“Y-yeah, uh, sorry!” The boy stuttered and hurried to his feet. His eyes were wide with admiration and darted between the three of them as if he couldn’t decide who to focus on the longest. He too bowed and then, in a more moderate pace, walked past them together with his friend. After only a few glances thrown over their shoulders, the two were back to running, certainly about to cause another accident.

“Good to know the temple is as lively as always,” Obi-Wan sighed. “Let’s continue.”

But Anakin didn’t move. He stood frozen as solid as a block of ice, entirely void in the Force. Obi-Wan could still see him, but if not for that, he wouldn’t believe his Padawan was actually there.

“Anakin?”

Obi-Wan held out his hand, giving Anakin the time to see that he was approaching him, but Anakin still didn’t move.

“Anakin, can you hear me?”

But Anakin still didn’t react at all.

“Master?” Ahsoka tried but her attempt yielded the same results.

The two of them exchanged a look. Anakin had gone still like this before, they had worked out how to deal with it as well, but they hadn’t expected it to happen here, removed from the front. It wasn’t far to their rooms from here, and finding a safe place for the eventual escalation while they were in the middle of the temple was unlikely.

“Go ahead,” Obi-Wan told Ahsoka. “Make sure nobody else is there.”

She nodded and, after shooting Anakin another worried look, rushed off into the direction of their quarters.

“Right,” Obi-Wan muttered. He tried to project as much calmness and peace as he could as he took Anakin’s hand and began guiding him down the corridor.

He started talking about whatever came to his mind, eventually settling on recounting history lessons on how and when the temple was built, stories Anakin had heard countless times since he had come to the temple. His Padawan had said that he appreciated white noise of any kind, just reminders that he wasn’t alone here and that it was no elaborate hallucination and so Obi-Wan stumbled through stories. Anakin tended to remove himself from others nowadays, but no matter how much he closed himself off from everybody, it was written all over his every gesture that he hated being left alone. His Padawan had become a walking contradiction right in front of Obi-Wan’s eyes and he hadn’t been there to witness the change, only the aftermath.

They turned into another corridor and Anakin was still staring at shades Obi-Wan couldn’t see. At the very end of the hallway, Ahsoka was already waiting for them. When Obi-Wan ushered Anakin into their quarters, she closed the door behind them. Obi-Wan guided Anakin towards their sofa and like a doll whose strings had been cut, Anakin followed him and sat down on the light pillows. Somewhere at the back of his mind, Obi-Wan registered that Ahsoka must have used the couple minutes of her headstart to also clean up their living room a little, pack away the small and breakable things, not that there weren’t still plenty of objects Anakin could break apart when he lashed out.

Obi-Wan would prefer it if it were a question of if and not when, but that wasn’t going to be the case. He should have forced Anakin to wait another month, they could have forwarded potential intel on the war effort over the comms without needed to check in with the Council. Obi-Wan could have gone on his own and told them about Sidious. There were countless ways they could have avoided this reaction, but perhaps they would have only delayed it.

“Ahsoka-“

“I’ll keep the room standing,” she said quickly. “You get him out of his head.”

Obi-Wan let out a slow breath and took Anakin’s metallic hand in his as well, then he closed his eyes. He was fairly sure that if an actual mind healer saw this, they’d try to tear him off Anakin and their rather brute solution to helping him.

“Anakin,” Obi-Wan said, speaking his presence into existence not just in the real world, but also in the Force.

It used to be so easy to connect with Anakin. He had to give barely the softest of nudges to his shields and not even a second later Anakin was taking up much more space in Obi-Wan’s mind than it was strictly speaking polite to. It made them better partners, on and off the battlefield. Knowing what the other was up to a split second before anybody else was a huge advantage. They fought well together, achieving synchronicity like no other.

But that too had been of a time before the horrible revelations of the future that awaited them. Now any of such actions didn’t even seem to register as anything on Anakin’s radar. His shields were stronger than the foundations of the very temple they lived in. Anakin reacted to violent force quicker than to any gentle persuasion, had become numb to the latter, but Obi-Wan wouldn’t ever hurt his Padawan intentionally. He couldn’t, even if he had Anakin’s permission to do as needed for the mission.

He only ever talked about what needed to be done, how he could be utilized in the best way, never about actions they couldn’t allow themselves to suffer from.

Come back, Anakin. I’m not hurting you. You’re safe.

It took a while until Anakin started to track the happiness Obi-Wan attempted to show him. His thoughts reminded Obi-Wan of a caged beast, shown kindness for the first time and not recognizing the shape of it.

We’re home, Obi-Wan tried again and only then Anakin began to slowly open the iron doors he had shut himself behind.

Obi-Wan?

Obi-Wan let out a relieved sigh and began to smile, strained but joyful. He reached out a little further, deeper into Anakin’s space. He knew what would come now, braced himself for the impact, but that hardly did anything to lessen the hurt of the assault that followed.

Anakin lashed out, violently. Not with his ‘saber, he had given that to Obi-Wan before they had boarded the shuttle even, but with his mind. It felt like being pressed in-between two burning suns, slowly crushing him beneath their gravity. Flames licked at his bones and he was pulled under the crashing waves of exploding stars.

Jedi didn’t shield like this, they protected themselves with calm, peace and stability. Obi-Wan knew that those emotions only had a place down in the very core of Anakin’s mind where he disappeared to when he wasn’t careful. Before that lingered centuries of torment.

Still, Obi-Wan endured until he could finally get a hold on Anakin. As slow as he had been in reaching out, the faster he was with taking Anakin with him. He pulled Anakin out of his nightmare, catching glimpses of fire and screams, voices he couldn’t place.

And then, finally, there was silence and balance holding itself together with duct tape and safety pins. Obi-Wan felt as Anakin fell forwards, his head coming to rest on Obi-Wan’s collarbone. His breathing was shallow, forced and counted, following a steady rhythm and pattern that was too artificial to be subconscious.

“Master?” Ahsoka spoke up softly, addressing the both of them, even though Obi-Wan was the only one who was really in shape to answer her.

“Everything alright,” Obi-Wan retorted and slowly opened his eyes. Their living room was, as predicted, a bit of a mess.

Back on their ships there wasn’t much for Anakin to tear out of the walls and throw to the air, but here there was plenty. Obi-Wan was pleased to see that all their shelves and cupboards were still standing and nothing important had gotten damaged. Ahsoka’s control had grown considerably since he had first met her. He was incredibly proud of how far she had come.

“Well done keeping our quarters intact,” he told her.

Ahsoka pulled a face, her eyes darting to the broken glass on the ground, the datapads and mechanical pieces lying around, the destroyed plants and pots – it looked like a hurricane had rushed through their home, shattering everything it could get its hands on.

“Anakin, is he-“

“Alright,” Obi-Wan finished for her. “He’s alright.”

Anakin didn’t let go of Obi-Wan’s hands or made any sign of moving, so Obi-Wan let him be. He was present again in the Force, trying to reorientate himself as if he had woken miles away from the place he was supposed to be.

“What happened?” Ahsoka asked.

“I don’t-“ Master Skywalker, there are too many of them! “-know. I’m not sure.”

The images in his mind, the leftovers from Anakin’s memories, were disorientating at best, horrible confusing at worst. He had thought he had seen the temple burning, but the memory hadn’t been clear. It was like trying to look through deep fog, beyond knowing that something was out there, you had no idea what was going on. The only thing Obi-Wan was now certain of now was that they needed somebody who had actual practice in the mind arts and could guide Anakin properly. Of course, that also meant that they had to be someone Anakin was willing to give access to his shields and he strongly doubted that there was a viable candidate.

“I’m sorry.”

Anakin’s voice pulled Obi-Wan out of his thoughts. His grip on Obi-Wan’s hands tightened. He didn’t lift his head, kept his face hidden. “I’m so, so sorry. I didn’t mean to-“

“Everything will be alright. We’re going to fix it.”

Obi-Wan had learned better than to make impossible promises, but this wasn’t one. He would ensure that their future wouldn’t end as horrible as the one Anakin had lived through. There simply wasn’t any other option.

“The children,” Anakin started again. “All of them- they walked into the creche, to the babies and toddlers-“

Anakin’s voice began to rise again.

“It won’t happen here,” Obi-Wan pressed. “We won’t let it.”

He wanted to know what exactly they had to prevent, but for now his assurances appeared to be enough as Anakin relaxed in his arms. Obi-Wan felt drained. He was glad they had pushed the meeting to tomorrow, he doubted he’d be able to sit through that now, never mind Anakin’s own mental state. Perhaps they could even reschedule the briefing once more. Tomorrow would come way too soon.

“Let’s just stay here for a while,” Obi-Wan said. “We can clean up another time.”

Ahsoka grimaced the chaos around them with disdain. “Yeah, right. Dibs on your bed tonight.”

“Whatever you want dear,” Obi-Wan replied. “I think you deserve a good night’s-“

Obi-Wan was interrupted by loud banging against their front door.

“Kenobi!” Somebody shouted intensely. “Is everything alright!? Open up!”

What could anybody possibly want now that warranted such a reaction? Couldn’t they be left alone in the temple for even five minutes-

Obi-Wan cursed under his breath. He’d been so stupid. Back on the ship, there usually weren’t any more Jedi than them, they hadn’t needed to watch out for anybody catching backlash in the Force. Now back in the temple, there were thousands who could feel the Force. Anakin’s breakdown definitely hadn’t gone unnoticed.

“Ahsoka-“

“On it,” the Padawan replied and swiftly got up to reassure the worried parties at their front door that nobody was getting tortured in their rooms.

#star wars #anakin skywalker #ahsoka tano #obi-wan kenobi #tcw #fanfic #medical trauma time travel au #ask #anon #Anonymous

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