#hes quite literally spiraling (as it is drawn in his eyes) | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

therogueflame · 30 days ago

Text

Below the Surface

Hi my little cherubs,

here is a piece based on this request. ik i said i'd make it POC focused, but that got really hard really fast and i found it easier to make it ambiguous. and i tried to make it visceral but i feel like..I FEEL LIKE THIS IS BAD IM SORRY pls dont be mad. i literally wrote this in one day if you hate it ill cry. bye love you.

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Summary: In the warmth of a bath drawn by your own hands, he lets you touch what the world was never meant to see. Beneath scar and silence, something softer begins to surface.

WC: 5.8k

Warnings: 18+, angst, smuff, sex (p in v), fem!reader, scars, comfort, hurt i guess, idk what else

Daemon Targaryen x Fem!Reader

MDNI!

You draw the bath yourself. No servants. No one to bear witness. Just your hands on the brass tap, the weight of the basin warming slowly beneath your palms as steam begins to rise. The scent moves first — rich and heady, thick with crushed clove and sandalwood, something floral underneath that never quite settles. You tilt a vial of oil into the surface, watch it spiral and shimmer before vanishing into the heat. It clings to your skin. It soaks into your sleeves. It fills the room until the walls themselves feel steeped in it.

The fire crackles in the hearth, steady and low. Shadows stretch across the stone like they’ve been waiting too. You sit for a while beside the tub, one hand resting on the edge, the other trailing through the surface. The water is scalding. You don’t pull away.

You leave the door unlatched.

He doesn’t come right away. He never does. You don’t call for him. You don’t go looking. He’s still coming down from whatever place he’s been, the battlefield or something worse. The kind of place that leaves blood crusted in the creases of his hands and silence thick on his tongue. You imagine the weight of it on his shoulders as he moves through the halls. Imagine the stiffness in his fingers, the sharp edge of whatever’s still clinging to him. It always lingers. You don’t try to chase it away.

You just wait.

When the door finally shifts open, it doesn’t creak. It doesn’t slam. Just the soft sound of it catching the latch before falling back into place again. You don’t turn to greet him. You don’t rise. You can feel him behind you anyway. The drag of his gaze across your shoulders, the pause in his breath, the way the air seems to bend slightly around him.

You rise slowly. He hasn’t said a word. He never has to.

He’s still wearing his armor. Dark and dusted with ash, one shoulder dented, the hem of his cloak frayed and clinging with dried mud. There’s something on his jaw — maybe blood, maybe just dirt — and a shadow beneath his left eye that hadn’t been there before. He holds himself like he’s still bracing for something. Like he hasn’t decided if it’s over yet.

You move toward him and begin with the clasp at his collar. Your fingers find the cool metal and linger. He doesn’t flinch, but you feel the twitch of restraint in his posture, the way his jaw ticks when you press a little closer. You unfasten the first buckle. Then the next. The cloak slips from his shoulders and falls behind him, pooling silently at his feet.

You work your way down.

Leather, chain, the plates of his breastplate. It’s all familiar now, this ritual, this undressing. Not a task. Not a duty. A reverence. You unlace, unfasten, peel the layers away like sheaths of armor carved into flesh. Beneath the steel, his tunic is damp with sweat. The cloth clings to his skin, and when you tug it free, it catches along a scabbed-over cut beneath his ribs. He exhales, sharp and quiet. You don’t apologize. You touch it with your fingers, tracing the edge where healing has already begun. He does not look away.

His hands stay at his sides.

You reach for his belt and work it loose, then push the fabric of his trousers down over his hips. He steps out of them without a word. The scar on his thigh is still pink from whatever nearly split him open weeks ago. You run your knuckles along it and feel him shift, just slightly. His breathing changes. But he still doesn’t speak.

There’s nothing left between you now.

You stand back just enough to see him fully, lit by firelight and the flickering glow of candle stubs burning low in the corners. His body is all muscle and ruin. Every line of him shaped by survival. Scars like constellations across his chest, his shoulders, the sharp ridge of his stomach. You know them. You’ve counted them. You’ve kissed them all. Still, you look at him like it’s the first time.

And he lets you.

He watches you with that look — the one that says he’d let you take a blade to him if you asked, the one that says he’d still reach for you with blood on his hands. There’s something in his eyes that doesn’t soften, not really, but you don’t need softness. You need this. You need him like this. Bare. Waiting. Still breathing.

The water waits too.

You lift your hand and hold it out for his. He doesn’t take it right away. Not because he doubts. Because the gesture is too quiet. Too tender. Because it’s always easier for him to kill a man than to be held by someone who sees through every bone-deep wound.

But then his hand finds yours. Rough, warm, calloused from blade and bridle.

You lead him into the steam.

He follows you, silent as a shadow, heavy as the weight he never puts down. You lead him in slowly, one step at a time, until the heat laps at his thighs and he sinks lower, knees bending as he braces one hand against the edge of the tub. His breath stutters when it hits the surface. You don't let go.

When he finally settles, chest rising above the waterline, arms loose at his sides, you kneel beside him. His eyes are closed. The tension has not left him.

In this light, you can see everything.

The burn scars cover his entire right shoulder, thick and brutal and deep. Twisting bands of healed flesh stretch from the ridge of his collarbone down across his pectoral and back along the blade of his shoulder. The skin is ridged and warped, no longer smooth, no longer even. It speaks of fire — not flame from a torch or battlefield blaze, but dragonfire. Pure, ancient, merciless. You can almost feel the heat of it still lingering in the way he carries that shoulder slightly lower, how he favors his left side even in rest. The pain never really left. It just became familiar.

You don’t look away.

Your hand reaches for him again, and this time it lands directly on the edge of the burn. His skin is tough there, uneven, but still warm beneath your touch. You smooth your palm over it with care, as if your hands could ease something even time hasn’t soothed. His breath catches. His eyes stay shut.

There are other scars too. A narrow one just beneath his ribs, pale and thin, from a blade you never saw. Another on the inside of his left forearm, sloppily stitched. One above his knee. One along the curve of his hip that vanishes into the water. Ghosts of battles. Warnings etched into flesh. You’ve seen them before, but never all at once like this. Never with so much quiet between you.

“You don’t have to look at them,” he says, low and quiet, like he’s offering you a way out. Like he expects you to take it.

“I want to.”

You say it simply. You mean it.

You run your fingers down his chest, letting your knuckles drag softly over the old wound near his heart, then up along his collarbone until your palm fits again over the ruined shoulder. You stay there. His chest rises, uneven. He’s waiting for you to flinch. You don’t.

Instead, you lean forward and kiss the very edge of the burn.

He doesn’t move.

Your lips press gently to the seam where fire met flesh, then the curve just below it. You kiss along the rough texture, across the skin that puckers and pulls in strange directions, and then over the bone beneath where it starts to smooth again. It’s not soft. It was never meant to be. You kiss it anyway.

Your mouth lingers longer than it should, but you don’t apologize. His hands are gripping the porcelain edge. You glance down and see the whiteness of his knuckles.

You pull back just enough to look at him again. He’s watching you now, jaw tight, but his eyes have lost their usual sharpness. There’s something vulnerable there. Something open. Something almost afraid.

You pick up the cloth beside the tub and soak it in the water, wringing it out slowly until it drips between your fingers. Then you bring it to his chest and begin to wash him. You start at the center, moving in small, circular motions, letting the heat soak into his skin. Then upward, toward his shoulder.

You do not avoid the scar.

When the cloth reaches the burn, you go slower. He sucks in a breath through his teeth but doesn’t stop you. You wipe gently along the ridges, careful not to drag too hard. The water beads over the rough surface and rolls down his side.

You move in silence, washing each part of him with the same steady care. Across his throat. Down the slope of his ribs. Along the length of his arms. Every mark you find, you tend to. Every old wound is a story you don’t ask him to tell. You already know enough.

He breathes deeper now. Slower. His body has begun to settle. Not relaxed, not fully, but something close. Something like surrender.

You dip the cloth again and bring it to the side of his neck, your free hand resting lightly on his jaw. His eyes flutter closed. You’re close enough to feel his breath against your wrist.

You move slowly, your hands steady, your breath calm even as your heart begins to press harder behind your ribs. The cloth slips from your fingers and sinks into the water, forgotten. You reach instead for the small vial beside the basin, uncork it with a quiet twist, and let a few drops of oil fall into your palm. The scent rises instantly — something dark, resinous, touched with smoke. You warm it between your hands, then slide them over his shoulders.

He tenses beneath you. Not with resistance. Just instinct. Just the old memory of pain and what came after.

You smooth the oil into his skin.

The burn scar on his right side is thick beneath your touch. The flesh rises in ridges and dips, uneven and rough, but warm now from the bath. You start there. You don’t rush. You spread your palms wide and press into the edges of it, coaxing the oil across the twisted surface. The heat of the water and the heat of your hands work in tandem. You feel the slight tremor that goes through him. His eyes stay closed. He doesn’t speak.

You trail lower, across his shoulder blades, then down along his spine. His skin is damp and slick beneath your palms, but still coarse in places, the marks of healed-over lashes or blades or burns you’ve never asked about. Some wounds don’t come with stories. They don’t need to. You’ve learned them by feel. You’ve memorized the terrain of him with your hands in silence.

You rinse your hands and move back up, this time to his chest. You sit on the edge of the tub now, half-kneeling beside him as he leans back against the curved wall. His neck is tilted toward you, throat exposed, jaw tight. You pour more oil into your hands and work it into his skin — over his collarbones, the slope of his chest, the scattered scars that mark the space beneath his ribs. Your thumbs press gently into the space above his sternum. He exhales through his nose. It sounds like surrender.

You lean down and kiss the scar closest to his heart.

Not with hunger. Not with pity. Just presence.

The skin there is thin and pale, almost white. You kiss it once, then again, slower the second time. Then you drag your mouth a little lower and breathe into the place where the scar curves toward his ribs. The water sloshes softly around him when he shifts.

You feel his hand rise beneath the surface and brush lightly against your thigh. Not a grip. Not a request. Just contact. Just proof that he is still here.

Your mouth moves to the old wound at his side, the one you know came from someone who meant to kill him. You kiss it, then speak into it.

“This one saved your life.”

Your voice is barely there, more breath than sound, but you know he hears you. His hand tightens slightly, then loosens again. You look up at him and his eyes are open now, heavy-lidded, watching you like you’re doing something sacrilegious and holy all at once.

You reach for the cloth again and dip it in the water, then lift his arm with care and begin to clean it. His bicep, his forearm, the space just beneath his elbow where the skin is softer. You move to the other side and do the same. You soap your hands and return to his back, working the lather into his shoulders with gentle pressure, then rinsing it with fresh water from a waiting pitcher. The sound of it pours soft between you, trailing down his spine and into the bath.

When you’re finished there, you slide into the tub behind him.

You pull him back into you slowly, his shoulders fitting against your chest, his head resting beneath your chin. His body is heavy with heat now. Not limp, but loose. Not completely at peace, but close enough to pass for it. You let your hands glide over his chest again, lathering soap into his skin, careful not to move too fast, careful not to break the spell.

You press another kiss to his temple, then to his jaw. Then lower, to the burn at his shoulder. This one you linger on the longest.

“You came back to me.”

You say it into the scar. Into the silence. Into the water that holds you both.

The bath has gone quieter somehow, though nothing has changed. The fire still crackles in the hearth, the water still laps gently against the sides of the tub with each shift of your bodies. But the silence feels different now. It feels heavy. Thick with all the things he has not said, all the weight he refuses to set down. You can feel it in the way he breathes — shallow, steady, careful. Like he’s afraid of making a sound that might undo him.

Your hands are still moving across his chest, slow and deliberate. You’ve washed every scar, kissed each one like a vow. You’ve spoken softly, not for comfort, but for truth. You’ve asked for nothing in return. You’ve let him be held.

You feel his body tighten.

Not in tension. In restraint. In the kind of quiet bracing that comes before something breaks.

Your fingers slide down, one last pass over the ragged burn that scars his shoulder, and this time his breath catches. It doesn’t fully release. It stays trapped there, just behind his teeth, and you feel it tremble through him like a low shudder.

Then his hand finds yours beneath the water.

It’s sudden, not rough, but urgent. His fingers close over yours and hold. Too tightly. The pressure is unmistakable. You pause.

He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t look at you. He just grips your hand like it’s the only thing anchoring him to the surface, like if he lets go he might drown. And maybe he would. Maybe this is what drowning feels like to him. Not war. Not fire. Not blood.

This.

Being seen.

He doesn’t know how to do this. He knows how to fight. How to burn. How to fuck. But this is something else entirely. There is no armor for this. No sword to swing. There is just your hand in his and the steam rising around you and the unbearable stillness of being touched with reverence instead of want.

You let him hold on.

You do not pull away. You don’t even move. You let the moment stretch until the tightness in his grip softens, just barely. Until his thumb brushes over the back of your hand like he means to memorize it. Like he’s sorry for the pressure, but can’t stop.

You can feel it in him. The way everything in him coils tight to resist the thing rising to the surface. You can feel the ache of it in his bones, the rawness in the way his jaw stays clenched, the faintest tremor in his exhale when your other hand moves to rest over his heart.

Still, he says nothing.

But something in him changes.

Not all at once. Just a flicker. A tilt of his head against your shoulder, the weight of it heavier than before. The slow release of breath that leaves him like he’s giving something away. The slight turn of his fingers so they fit between yours more easily now, not a grip, not a hold — just contact. Just trust.

You glance down at him and his eyes are closed again, but not the way they were before. Not guarded. Not braced. Just closed.

You stay where you are.

You don’t speak. You don’t try to ease it or label it. You just let him feel it, whatever it is. The ache, the quiet, the grief he never let anyone see, the fear stitched into his bones that he would never be more than the worst things he’s done. You let him have it. You let him fall apart in the smallest way a man like him ever could.

He is still Daemon.

He is still danger and fire and chaos wrapped in silk and blood.

But right now, in your arms, in the water, in this silence that holds the shape of something sacred, he is just a man.

You don’t know how long you sit like that, the water cooling slightly around you, his weight settled into your chest like a second heartbeat. The scent of oil still clings to your skin, warm and spiced and heavy. Your hands have stopped moving but remain on him, one still resting over his heart, the other cradled gently between his fingers beneath the surface. Neither of you speaks. There is no need.

The silence is thick, but not heavy anymore. Just full.

Then slowly, he lifts your hand from where it rests against his ribs. He brings it to his mouth, kisses the inside of your wrist, then your palm. It’s the smallest thing, but it undoes you.

He turns.

He shifts in the water and faces you for the first time, knees brushing yours. He doesn’t speak, but you can see it in his face — the permission, the question, the hope he hasn’t dared name. His hands rise to your waist, tentative, like he’s grounding himself. Like he’s asking.

And you move with him.

You reach for his face, fingers curling along the rough stubble at his jaw, and lean in until your lips find his. It’s not rushed. It’s not hungry. It’s slow, steady, certain. The kind of kiss that doesn’t demand anything. The kind that simply says I’m here. He kisses you back like he means to stay. Like he’s already staying. Like there is nothing left in the world but this moment and the shape of you in front of him.

The water shifts around you when you rise slightly, adjusting your position, and he follows your movement without hesitation. His hands find your hips and hold you there, not tightly, just present. His mouth moves to your jaw, then your neck, not rushed, not desperate — just reverent. Your shift is soaked, translucent and useless, clinging to your skin in a way that makes him pause. You feel his breath catch. His eyes sweep down over you like he’s seeing something sacred.

You reach for the hem and lift it slowly over your head. It lands somewhere behind you with a soft sound, forgotten the moment it’s gone. You are bare before him now, firelight catching the water on your skin, steam curling around your shoulders. You don’t cover yourself. You don’t move to hide. You just look at him. Let him see you. All of you.

And he does.

He watches you like you are something he never thought he’d be allowed to have. Like he still doesn’t believe you’re real. He doesn’t reach for you right away. He just looks. His eyes are darker now, the line of his mouth softened, parted slightly as if he’s still holding something back.

You step into his lap, straddling him slowly, one knee at a time, and he receives you like he’s been waiting forever. His hands come back to your hips, his touch steady this time. His eyes lift to yours and stay there. You settle against him and press your forehead to his.

The kiss that follows is deeper. More certain. Still gentle, but full of heat that’s been waiting beneath the surface. You feel it in the way his fingers slide up your spine. You feel it in the way he breathes you in like he needs to memorize you. You let your hands find his shoulders, the curve of his neck, the back of his head. His body is solid beneath you, heat and muscle and memory.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his hand rising to cup your cheek, thumb tracing the line of your jaw with unexpected tenderness. In his eyes, you see a question—not of desire, but of worth. Even now, he wonders if he deserves this. If he deserves you.

You answer without words, pressing into his touch, closing the space between you once more. This time when your lips meet his, something shifts. The careful restraint that's held him together begins to unravel. His arms encircle you completely, pulling you flush against him, water lapping at the edges of the tub as your bodies align.

The heat builds between you, slow and inevitable. His hands map your skin with reverence, following the curve of your waist, the arch of your spine, the hollow at the base of your throat. He touches you like he's memorizing you, like each inch of your flesh is sacred. Every touch is deliberate, patient, a quiet worship in the language only your bodies speak.

You feel him harden against you, his desire unmistakable now beneath the water. But there's no rush in his movements, no demand in his touch. His lips trace the curve of your shoulder, then the hollow of your throat, lingering at the pulse point where your heartbeat quickens against his mouth. Your fingers thread through his hair, still damp, curling slightly at the ends where it's grown longer than he usually permits.

"I saw it," he says suddenly, the words so quiet you almost miss them. His voice is rough, raw with something he's been holding back. "When I was out there. In the darkness. I saw this."

You pull back just enough to look at him, your hands still cradling his face. The vulnerability in his expression nearly breaks you. You understand what he means without asking. Out there, in whatever battlefield or nightmare he's returned from, when death was close and darkness closer—he saw this moment. This tub. This room. Your hands on his skin. The quiet between you. It was the thing he held onto. The thing that brought him back.

You press your palm to his chest, right over his heart, and feel it beating strong and sure beneath your touch.

"I'm here," you whisper, the words barely audible above the gentle lapping of water. "I'm always here."

He catches your wrist and kisses the inside of it again, then pulls you closer until there's no space left between you. The water rises around your bodies as you shift against him. His mouth finds yours again, hungrier now but still achingly tender. You feel the restraint in him breaking, not all at once but in small, deliberate surrenders.

When he lifts you slightly, adjusting your weight against him, the motion sends a ripple through the water that echoes the shudder passing through your body. His hands slide beneath your thighs, supporting you as you rise above him, poised at the edge of something inevitable. Your eyes meet his in the firelight, and for once, there is no shadow there, no darkness lurking. Just hunger and reverence and something deeper that neither of you has dared to name.

You sink down onto him slowly, taking him into your body with a soft gasp that he catches with his mouth. The fullness of him inside you draws a tremor from deep within. His hands tighten on your hips, not guiding, just steadying, as if he fears you might disappear if he doesn't hold on.

For a moment, neither of you moves. You stay joined, foreheads pressed together, breath mingling, as the world narrows to nothing but sensation and shared breath. Then, with deliberate slowness, you begin to move.

The water ripples around you, lapping gently against the sides of the tub as you rise and fall. Each movement is unhurried, almost reverent. His hands slide up your back, one cradling your spine, the other tangling in your hair. His mouth traces the column of your throat, then returns to your lips with renewed hunger.

You move together like this is a prayer, like this is absolution. For all the blood on his hands, for all the fire in his past, for all the darkness that still clings to him when he returns—here, in this moment, he is clean. He is whole. He is yours.

His breathing grows ragged against your skin. You feel the tension building in his muscles, the way his fingers press more firmly into your flesh, the slight tremble that runs through him as he fights to maintain control. You can feel him holding back, even now, afraid to let go completely. Afraid of what might happen if he surrenders entirely to this moment, to you, to the vulnerability that terrifies him more than any battlefield.

You cup his face between your palms, bring his gaze to yours. In the flickering light, his eyes are almost black, pupils blown wide with desire, but there's something else there—a question, an uncertainty. You answer it with a roll of your hips that draws a low sound from his throat, something between a groan and a plea.

"Let go," you whisper against his mouth. Not a command. A permission.

His hands tighten on your waist, and for a moment, you think he might refuse. Then something breaks in him—not with violence, but with relief. His arms encircle you completely, and he buries his face against your throat as he thrusts upward with new urgency. The water sloshes around you, spilling over the edges of the tub as the rhythm between you deepens. His breath comes hot against your skin, punctuated by sounds he never makes outside this room—soft, broken groans that vibrate through your body.

Your fingers dig into his shoulders, one palm pressed against the burn scar, claiming even the parts of him he considers ruined. His mouth finds yours again, and this time the kiss is raw, unguarded. He tastes of salt and smoke and something uniquely him. You drink him in, feeling the tremors building in your own body as he shifts the angle of his hips, hitting something deep inside that makes your vision blur.

You cry out, a soft, broken sound that echoes in the chamber as pleasure crashes through you in waves. He holds you tighter, his rhythm faltering as your body tightens around him. You feel the exact moment he surrenders—his shoulders tensing, his breath catching, his hands gripping you like you're the only solid thing in a world gone liquid. He breathes your name against your skin like a confession, like something sacred he's been holding back.

The aftermath finds you still entwined, water cooling around your bodies, his forehead pressed to your shoulder. His breathing gradually slows, matching yours until you can't tell where your exhale ends and his begins. Neither of you speaks. Neither of you needs to.

When he finally lifts his head to look at you, there's something in his eyes you've never seen before—not vulnerability, exactly, but openness. The walls haven't fallen completely, but a window has been opened. Just enough to let you in. Just enough to let him breathe.

You brush the damp hair from his forehead, a simple gesture that feels more intimate than what your bodies just shared. His eyes flutter closed briefly at your touch, then open again with a clarity that wasn't there before. The water ripples around you when he shifts, pulling you closer, his arms encircling your waist as if he can't bear the thought of letting go just yet.

"The water's getting cold," you murmur, though neither of you moves to leave.

His thumb traces the curve of your cheek, follows the line of your jaw. "I don't feel it."

His voice is still rough, but there's something else in it now. Something softer. Something like peace.

You lean forward and rest your forehead against his, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his shoulders. The scent of the oils has settled into your skin, marking you both with the same earthy fragrance. It mingles with the smell of him—smoke and iron and something uniquely his own that you've come to recognize even in darkness.

"We should move to the bed," you say, though you make no effort to rise.

He nods, his hands still wandering along your spine as if he can't quite stop touching you. When he finally moves, it's with reluctance. He helps you stand, water cascading from your bodies as you rise from the cooling bath. The air feels sharp against your damp skin, but before you can shiver, he's wrapping a heavy linen around your shoulders, his own still draped loosely around his hips. His movements are unhurried, deliberate, as he guides you toward the bed across the chamber.

The sheets are cool against your heated skin. He settles beside you, one arm sliding beneath your head, the other coming to rest at your waist. His body is a line of warmth against yours, solid and present. The fire still burns low in the hearth, casting long shadows that dance across his features. In this light, with the water still beading on his skin, he looks almost peaceful—the hard edges of him temporarily softened.

You trace the scar near his heart with your fingertip, feeling the slight ridge of healed flesh beneath your touch. He watches you without speaking, his eyes half-lidded but alert. You've seen him like this only a handful of times—the warrior at rest, the dragon momentarily tamed. Not conquered,never broken, but willing to lay down his blade for just this one night.

His hand catches yours, brings it to his lips. He kisses each fingertip with deliberate care, then your palm, then the inside of your wrist where your pulse still thrums quick and steady. You feel the rasp of his stubble against your skin, the warmth of his breath, the slight press of teeth that sends a shiver down your spine despite the lingering heat from the bath.

"Sleep," you murmur, though you know he rarely does. Not deeply. Not without dreams that leave him gasping in the darkness, reaching for weapons that aren't there.

He shakes his head slightly, eyes still fixed on yours. "Not yet."

There's something in his voice—not desire, though that's there too, banked like coals beneath ash. It's something else. Something almost like fear, as if sleep might steal this moment from him. As if whatever peace he's found in your arms might vanish with the dawn.

You understand without words. You've learned to read him in the spaces between what he says, in the things his body tells you when his voice cannot. You shift closer, your leg sliding between his, your head finding the hollow of his shoulder where it fits perfectly. His arm tightens around you, his hand splaying across your back, spanning the width of your spine.

"I'm not going anywhere," you whisper against his skin.

His chest rises and falls beneath your cheek. You feel the slight catch in his breath, the way his fingers flex against your back. He doesn't answer, but his body relaxes by degrees, tension seeping out of him like water through stone.

The fire pops, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney. Outside, the wind has picked up,whistling through the eaves like a distant wail. The sound makes him tense briefly, some old instinct still alert for danger, before he settles again beneath your touch.

You lie together in the growing quiet, your bodies cooling, breath syncing until you can't tell where yours ends and his begins. His fingers trace idle patterns across your shoulder, following no particular design, just touching for the sake of contact. It's these moments—not the passion, not the fire—that reveal the most about him. The way he holds you when no one is watching. The way his guard lowers inch by inch until something almost vulnerable peeks through.

You feel the exact moment he finally surrenders to sleep. His breathing deepens, his hand goes slack against your skin, and the tension that never fully leaves his body ebbs like a tide pulling away from shore. In this unguarded state, he looks almost peaceful—the furrow between his brows smoothed, the hard line of his mouth softened. You've rarely seen him like this, vulnerable in a way he would never allow himself to be if conscious.

You stay awake a while longer, watching the play of firelight across his features, memorizing the moment because you know how fleeting it is. How rare. Your fingers trace the edge of the burn scar on his shoulder, feeling the uneven texture beneath your touch. Even in sleep, he stirs slightly at the contact, though he doesn't wake.

The night deepens around you. The fire burns lower, casting the room in amber shadows. Outside, the wind has died down, leaving only the occasional whisper against the stones. It's in this perfect stillness that you feel the weight of what's happened between you tonight—not just the physical joining, but something deeper. Something unnamed that flowed between you like the water in the bath, washing away the barriers he's spent a lifetime building.

You don't name it. You don't need to. It exists in the space between heartbeats, in the way his body curves protectively around yours even in sleep, in the slight furrow that appears between his brows when you shift away briefly to pull the covers higher.

His hand finds yours in his sleep, fingers brushing blindly across the sheets until they close around yours. Even in rest, he reaches for you. Even without thought, some part of him remembers you're there. The knowing settles deep in your chest, warm and heavy and impossibly tender. You hold on.

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yoursinisforgiven · 5 months ago

Text

EPHEMERAL ──

pairing: none, asirel x reader (pet) mentioned.

cw: mentions of death, existential spiral(?).

you are responsible for your own media consumption

You were locked away from the outside world, yet again.

Perhaps not literally, but nonetheless. It has been raining for several days now, and since given permission from Asirel to explore the estate grounds you were hoping to take advantage of this as much as you could.

You, of course, had not minded the rain. Though Asirel insisted—demanded, you had not left the building until the skies had cleared to reduce the chances of mud tracking on the expensive marble flooring—you doubted he cared much about the price of the material, rather the labor of his servants cleaning it up.

The gods must have loathed you. You were so sinful—impure, they had sent you to this forsaken place, to suffer in isolation. The heavy rain outside felt like the god’s punishment, an endless reminder of your failure to meet their expectations—ones that seemed so far fetched out of reach you ponder if they were ever meant for you at all.

You pressed your cheek against the glass of the window, it was cold, quite a contrast to the temperature of Asirel’s estate, not that you had minded. You’ve spent countless hours staring into its roaring flames of the fireplace, mesmerized by their flickering dance, as if you could find something there to match the restlessness inside you. But it never comes—just the same ever-present ache, the same gnawing sense that you’re as far from the world outside as you are from yourself.

The wind howled outside, rattling the windows, and for a moment, you thought you heard a voice carried in the storm—whispering, perhaps, or calling your name. Were you being compelled? Was there a chance there was another mythic close by wanting to cause harm to you—even worse Asriel?

Surely this had been reason enough to disobey Asriel’s orders, so with great deliberation, you pushed yourself away from the cold window and straightened up. Though you could have simply gone downstairs and walked through the main entrances, that would include walking past Asriel’s study where you would surely get his attention.

With little to no time to hesitate you open the window and leap out. As you hit the ground you flinch slightly, the landing wasn't hard—a mere 3 story jump wouldn't have caused any harm to you.

The rain was thick, heavy, blurring the world into a dismal watercolor of grays and blacks. You stood for a moment on the damp ground, inhaling the cool, wet air. You took a moment to adjust, rain streaming down your face, dripping from your clothes. Your eyes scanned the garden, a patch of green that barely registered in the dim light of the storm. You’d been here many times before, watching from behind windows, as Asirel never allowed you to venture outside the boundaries of the mansion unless he deemed it necessary. Tonight, though, the storm seemed to free you in a way that was both exhilarating and terrifying.

Your feet moved almost of their own accord, drawn toward a small, hidden corner of the garden where shadows clung to the wet earth. There, amidst the damp soil and the rain-soaked plants, you saw it. A flower. Not just any flower, but a black dahlia. The petals shimmered darkly under the dim light, impossibly deep in hue, as if they absorbed the light around them rather than reflected it.

You froze, heart racing in your chest. You didn’t know why you were so drawn to it—perhaps it was the unusual color, the richness, the way it seemed to stand against the odds of nature, or perhaps it was something else entirely. There was a strange, haunting beauty to it, something that made your breath catch in your throat. The black dahlia was not a flower of life; it was one of endings, of love lost, of grief too great to bear. The fleeting nature of beauty, of time, of all things that would eventually decay and disappear.

You knelt down to it, your fingers brushing the wet petals gently, as if afraid to disturb its perfection. The flower was trembling in the wind, but there was something in its fragile form that felt… alive. Alive in a way you hadn’t felt for years.

It was like holding your own reflection in the dark—fragile, imperfect, and already decaying, even as you tried to preserve it.

You could sense its fragility, its imminent fate. But still, you couldn't bring yourself to pull away.

───

Each day, the flower withered more. Each time you returned to it, its petals seemed to droop further, its color fading to a duller, more muted version of its former self. The storm had not been kind. The rain had not been kind. Even so, you cared for it tenderly, as if by your touch, you could somehow protect it from time’s cruel hand. You brought it water, though the rain came relentlessly. You shielded it from the wind when it howled, though it never seemed to stop.

And with each passing day, you found yourself more consumed by it, as if the flower’s decline was your own. Its impermanence was not just something you observed; it became something you felt. The slow unraveling of the petals mirrored the slow decay of something deep inside you—an ache, an emptiness, that you hadn’t been able to name until now. Something about the flower’s dying—its inevitable loss—felt painfully familiar.

Was it an attachment? You were afraid of it—a human emotion, one that your kind couldnt have the luxury of experiencing. But still, you clung to the flower, clung to the sensation of watching it slowly fade, as if that very act of watching could preserve it somehow. The need to hold onto something, anything, gnawed at you. You had been alone for so long—so very long—and now, here was this delicate thing that needed you, or so you imagined.

But you knew it was hopeless. No matter how gently you cared for it, no matter how much you wished to stop its decline, the flower would die. It had no choice. It was simply the nature of things.

As each petal fell away, the ache inside you grew sharper, more profound. You understood, perhaps for the first time, the true meaning of impermanence. You could feel yourself slipping, too. The flower was dying, and you—whether you wanted to or not—were falling apart with it.

You considered picking it, a selfish thought–one that would do more harm than good. You were sure Asriel had taken notice, he always did. He had a way of knowing when you strayed too far, when you dared to step outside his watchful eye. His cold, calculating gaze would find you eventually. He would ask why you had left the mansion in the first place, why you had defied his orders. But those thoughts, those concerns, were distant.

───

You stand over the lifeless remains, struck with the painful, silent realization that everything you touch dies. The flower was no different from the lives you had lived through, from the countless people who’ve come and gone in the wake of your immortality. Perhaps you were not meant to love anything, as tears you try so dearly to choke back blurs your vision you think back to Asriel—would he soon end up so lifeless in front of you?

The rain falls steadily, washing away what little remains of the black dahlia. Its once-vibrant petals now lie scattered on the damp earth, their dark beauty reduced to a sad, broken semblance of what it had been. The sight should have been familiar—another thing, another part of the world that would slip from your grasp, another loss to add to the collection of lifeless memories you've accumulated over the centuries.

But this time, something is different. This time, the ache in your chest isn't just the empty gnawing of loss; it's something deeper, something raw. Your hands tremble as you stare at the remnants of the flower, the fragility of it pulling something fragile inside you to the surface.

You had never believed in fate, but you had always felt its weight. It was as if life was a series of moments stitched together with sorrow, an endless cycle of attachment and separation, each turn of the wheel bringing you closer to despair. You had tried, once, to fight against it—tried to protect those you loved, tried to guard your heart—but it was always the same. In the end, everything you held dear slipped through your fingers, disintegrating into nothingness.

Was that why you had kept your distance from Asriel? The thought of losing him, of him becoming just another casualty of your existence, was too much to bear. Maybe that was why you stayed locked in the mansion, bound by his rules and your own self-imposed prison. To keep yourself safe from that pain, from that inevitable ending. But now, as you stand in the cold rain, staring down at the black dahlia– though it's truly just petals, you realize how futile that has been.

Your chest tightens, and despite the cold, despite the rain that lashes against your face, a tear slips from your eye. You wipe it away quickly, but the feeling remains.

The sound of the wind howling through the trees suddenly feels like a threat. The world outside, the one you'd tried so hard to ignore, is closing in on you. You think of Asriel, of his watchful eyes, his cold demeanor, and wonder if, somehow, this was all a test. Had you been led here by some cruel fate to feel the full weight of what it means to live, to care, to *lose*? Was the flower just another reflection of your own brokenness, an omen of the destruction that awaited anyone who dared to step too close to your heart?

You glance back at the mansion, its dark silhouette barely visible through the sheets of rain. The walls that have kept you trapped for so long. The walls that have kept you safe, perhaps, but also suffocated.

It is then that you hear the sound of footsteps approaching. They are quiet at first, muffled by the storm, but they grow louder with each passing second. Your heart races in your chest. You don’t need to turn around to know who it is.

Asriel.

You straighten, wiping your face quickly, though the traces of tears are still there. The storm's roar masks your own quiet breaths as you brace yourself. You had never been good at hiding things from him. His presence has a way of pulling the truth from you, like gravity, like a force that bends everything toward its will.

The footsteps stop just behind you, and you can almost feel his gaze on your back, cold and piercing, as if he can see the turmoil roiling beneath your skin. You don’t turn around, afraid that if you do, you'll crumble into nothing. The silence between you stretches, heavy and thick. It feels like it has been years since you were last alone with him, but it is only a matter of moments.

"What have you done?" His voice is low, almost gentle, but there is an unmistakable edge to it. A command disguised as a question.

You swallow, the words caught in your throat. The weight of everything presses on your chest, and for the first time, you wonder what will happen when the inevitable end comes for you—whether it will be through Asriel's hand, or through something even more painful, like the slow unraveling of everything you’ve ever touched. You couldn’t answer him. Couldn’t explain.

Instead, you let the silence hang in the air, the rain beating against your skin, and for a brief moment, you feel something—something that could be guilt, or perhaps something deeper. Something like a broken promise to yourself, a promise to never let anyone too close.

Asriel's voice cuts through your thoughts again, this time with a sharper edge. "You left the estate." It isn’t a question anymore, but a statement.

You turn slowly, finally meeting his eyes, though you cannot read them. His face is unreadable, his expression neutral as always. But there is something in the way his gaze lingers on you—a flicker of something, of understanding, perhaps. Or maybe just the cold calculation of someone who knows you too well.

"You were not meant to leave." His tone is soft, but the weight of it lands on your chest like a physical blow.

You stare at him, and for the first time in a long while, the storm inside you stills. It’s as if, in that moment, your entire existence hinges on his next words. You wonder if he sees it—the cracks, the decay. The way everything you touch falls apart. You wonder if, like the black dahlia, you’re already beyond saving.

"I needed to see it," you whisper, your voice cracking slightly. "The flower. It reminded me of—" of everything. Of loss. Of what it feels like to care for something only to watch it die. But you cannot finish the thought.

Asriel's eyes narrow, and for a moment, there is an understanding between you, unspoken but undeniable. "You can’t save it," he says, his voice soft now, almost too soft. "Nothing you touch stays."

You swallow hard, the weight of his words pressing down on you. But there’s something else there, too—a note of something close to pity. Or maybe something darker. You can’t quite place it. But it’s there, just beneath the surface, like a shadow moving in the corners of his eyes.

For a long time, neither of you says anything. The storm continues to rage around you, but the world seems smaller now, the distance between you and Asriel almost nonexistent. And in that silence, you feel the inevitable truth settling deep inside you, like a stone sinking in water: No matter how much you try, no matter how hard you cling to the things you love, they will slip away from you.

And in the end, perhaps, you were never meant to hold onto anything at all.

#zsakuva #sakuverse #asriel #pet

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clandestineivory · 1 year ago

Text

Affogato Cookie x Amnesiac Reader (part 3)

Summary: Congratulations, you aren’t dead or anything! Apparently the head injury that you got from falling headfirst into a pile of rocks made you get amnesia! Hooray…yay…🤗. Luckily, you have a caretaker who’s here to tell you what you missed, who you are, and what happened to you! How sweet, right? And, uh, what was his name again? Oh, Affogato Cookie? Yeah, that’s fine. He’s probably a great guy, y’know?

TW: FINALLY some manipulation, normal gremlin Affogato, you don’t get wtf is going on because nobody is telling you besides the ex-advisor, and mentions of blood strawberry jam loss! Probably poisoning if you squint your eyes~ AND NOTHING I MAKE IS PROOFREAD.

Link to #1

Link to #2

You let out a soft groan, feeling both sleepy and sore as you blink your eyes open. Your gaze darts around, trying to make sense of where you are. It's freezing and everything is covered in snow. You’re in a cave... How did you end up here? And then it hits you—wait a second, who even are you??

“Agh…my head..”

You mutter softly, attempting to stand up but quickly collapsing back onto the ground, curling up from the pain in your chest. You notice someone has bandaged you up. So, you got wounded, someone brought you to this random cave, and then patched you up? Hm. Well, it feels like you should thank whoever helped you out. It just seems like the right thing to do.

However, a quiet yet amused voice was heard from the darker corner of the cave, where little to nothing would be seen without a light.

“Well, you certainly look like a mess. I’d suggest that you sit down, but I doubt that I get a say in what you can or can’t do.”

It was... someone. Not in a rude way, just that kind of voice that triggers a faint sense of familiarity, like you've crossed paths before but can't quite recall where or when. That damned memory loss; you can't even remember your own name or how you ended up in this situation. Everything feels like a haze, pieces of a puzzle scattered and lost in the fog of your mind.

“W…who are you? Do you know who I am too? How did this happen, what am I doing-”

You asked, trying to limp closer to the darker corner of the cave before the stranger giggled, cutting you off as he walked into the light. At first you were taken aback by how he looked. How could a voice as smooth and sultry as that fit someone who looked so…feminine? Well, you didn’t have time to question it, as he suddenly grabbed your hand and gestured for you to sit down, which you did.

“Oh, a lost little sheep like you must be very hurt after your incident. You don’t remember me, do you? That’s alright, I can tell you. My name is Affogato Cookie, but you can call me Affogato. You were attacked by one of the beastly snow lions within the kingdom’s snowy borders, and I stepped in to save you before you crumbled and bled out.”

Affogato, at least, that’s what he calls himself, just smiled sweetly, lighting some incense as he spoke. His demeanor exuded confidence, as if he held all the answers in the palm of his hand. And honestly? All you needed was someone to explain what the hell was happening in a way that wouldn’t send you into a panic spiral. His voice had this soothing quality, like a gentle breeze on a hot day, and you found yourself inexplicably drawn to it. You let out a shaky sigh, feeling a sense of relief wash over you as you nodded slowly, silently thinking that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be okay.

"You saved me…? Oh, you must be the one who put the bandages on my body. You saved my life - literally. Is there any way I can repay you?"

You asked, your voice a mix of gratitude and curiosity as you looked up at him, trying to read his expression. However, even as you spoke, you realized you had about a hundred MILLION questions buzzing in your mind, waiting to burst out.

Affogato merely smiled and tucked away a few messy strands of your hair behind your ears. Oh, you looked so naive and innocent…like a child who just found out about the world. It was delightful, seeing someone so strong and resilient be reduced to a confused and weak little sheep in need of a shepherd to guide them.

“All in due time, dear. Oh, and you were called [name], in case your mind forgot about that. You also were my most closest servant and disciple during my time as the Royal Advisor, as well as former King to the Dark Cacao Kingdom. Oh, you were so loyal…maybe I could make you remember what it was like..”

It was an obvious lie on Affogato’s side, but for you, it definitely sounded like the truth. If he was so eager to save you, of course he would’ve known who you were and how much you were loyal to him!

—

For the next few days, you were asking questions to the ex-advisor, and he answered with his own twisted way of reality. All to keep you under his thumb and become his sweet little puppet.

Yet, during the nights, you still seemed to have those horrible nightmares, this time coming back stronger and stronger to the point of curling up in a ball and just plain sobbing. What the hell were you even thinking about? What kind of stuff have you encountered during your time as a Watcher? It made Affogato ponder for many hours on end, still allowing you to lean on him during this period of time.

Affogato became more affectionate, as time went on. Well, during nights only. In the day he was that manipulative and cunning snake that everyone knows him as.

But he certainly can get you to quiet down, whether it be whispering in your ear or lighting some strong incense around you, keeping you sleepy and relaxed instead of terrified and anxious like a mouse.

He didn’t even know how you managed to break down his first wall of coldness and gaining a certain level of trust.

But of course, he had to be wary in case you somehow got your memories back.

For now, the feeling of your warm body breathing softly as you lean on his shoulder feels more relaxing then it should’ve.

I’m gonna explode

#affogato cookie being a little shit #would this be considered a very short fanfic #cookie run kingdom #writers on tumblr #cookie run x you #crk x you #crk x reader #crk affogato #affogato cookie x reader #affogato cookie

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honeybunniii333 · 1 year ago

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ED ANGST

(GLADLY, he's my favorite to torture, actually. Aside from Nevin! It's my love language ❤️)

Pain, burning piercing pain in his stomach. It hurt... it hurt really fucking bad. It was so bad that he couldn't hold in the pained cry that the force of the blade drew out of him. His gaze slowly drifted down to stare at the blade embedded deeply into his stomach before it shot back up to the perpetrator of said action. "James..." he choked out. The boy looked mortified, in as much shock as Ed was. They'd been arguing again in the midst of yet another supernatural mishap in the kitchen of the home ec room when James had angrily drawn a knife. Ed had assumed it was a bluff as James had never dared to get physically violent with him. He'd threatened, sure, but it had only ever been just that, a threat. So when James had gotten angrier and angrier and approached closer and closer with said weapon, Edward had not been afraid. Why would he be scared of his friend? Perhaps he should have been...

As James seemed to finally register the depth of what he'd just done, he panicked. Yanking the blade back out of his 'boss', which resulted in another pained noise and Ed's legs giving out on him as he pressed his hands to the wound to try and slow the bleeding. "james.." he wheezed again. "I didn't..boss.. I didn't mean.. I-" His long stammering session was quickly interrupted by a horrified shout. "ED!?" Dez, Cody and Isaac, they'd gotten separated during the commotion, and the trio had finally managed to find them again, only to stumble upon quite the scene. James turned to face them, dropping the bloody knife in his hands as he stumbled back. "holy...shit.." Isaac whispered before they were all surrounding him. He was still processing what was happening as Dez gently pushed him back to lean back against the counter behind him. "Shit shit shit.. oh god..." Dez stuttered out as she brushed Ed's hands away to put pressure on the wound.

"I'm okay.." he croaked out, and the glare Isaac shot at him made him shrink a little. "You are literally bleeding out." he hissed, though Edward was pretty sure it was because he was worried and stressed. Isaac got pissy when he was stressed, so he chose not to take it personally. He coughed a bit. He was starting to feel really tired and woozy. Figures, they always seemed to need Drew anytime he wasn't with them. His senses felt dulled, his vision was blurry, and his head felt heavy and fuzzy. He knew he was losing blood pretty fast and partially registered the sound of Dez frantically chattering with someone on her phone, her hand reaching out to squeeze his in an attempt to keep him present. He didn't understand. He'd been so certain James wouldn't hurt him. Where was he anyway? Ed couldn't see him anywhere nearby, nor hear his rambling anymore either. He started to sink into his thoughts more and more until those thoughts started to fizzle out halfway through. His eye lids started to get heavy as he began to feel a bit chilly, shivering as he let his head fall back fully against the counter wall behind him.

"Hey, look at me." Isaac's voice drew him out of his dazed half thoughts. He forced himself to look up at the blonde hovering beside him. "Mn lookin.." he mumbled, Isaac's form looked hazy in his blurry vision, but he could still make out the boy's worry. Isaac tended to always look annoyed. He had an awful case of resting bitch face. But Edward had always found that to be an odd concept because he personally didn't think anyone looked very friendly when their expressions were blank. But maybe it was just him, Ed tended to think differently than everyone else, it seemed. "Ed..." A harsh grip on his arm startled him back to reality yet again. He'd hardly noticed his eyes starting to drift shut as his mind spiraled. "Mn here." he croaked out, his voice didn't sound like him... at least he didn't think so. It sounded weak, barely there. He'd have been embarrassed if he wasn't so out of it. Isaac looked somewhat panicked like he was scrambling for the answer to a question. He could hear Dez still talking and registered that at some point, Isaac's Flannel had been taken and tied against his wound to hold stop the bleeding. It didn't look to be working well, but neither were hands... Speaking of hands... Isaac had one on his face now, drawing his attention back to him as his own blood was subsequently wiped across his cheek. "Hey..uh.. uhm.. Stars!" he blurted out, and Ed couldn't help but wheeze out a laugh at the randomness of it. Laughter hurt, and his head hurt really bad, too. "Stars?"

"Yeah, stars.. tell me about them." he insisted like talking about stars was the most important thing ever. And in that moment, it was. God, as long as Ed kept talking, it was. Isaac had never ever thought he'd be praying for Edward Quinton to keep talking, but here he was... Ed winced as a shiver and a cough racked through him again, before speaking finally. "Well...There are about 9,096 stars visible to the naked eye in the entire sky... and.." he trailed off for a second. "The color of... stars can range from red to white to blue. But... I... know the colors are usually the... the opposite... but... Red is actually the coldest, and Blue is the ...the hottest." He continued on, and when he'd start to trail off between words or slur them around a little too much, He'd feel Isaac's grip tighten and try with all his might to will himself to keep talking. He talked.. and talked... until talking started to get really hard. His head was practically resting against Isaac at this point. He wasn't sure when he'd ended up like that. He could feel hands in his hair, too. "Ed.. cmon... you're almost there... stars?" he whispered, he sounded.. strained? Kind of... But his head was too foggy to piece together why. "Stars ...a..re..." he tried, but his eyes were nearly shut by this point, and staying awake sounded like such a pain. His head felt like it was full of static, and he couldn't move anymore. He just wanted to go to sleep. He knew Isaac was talking to him, telling him to stay awake. He could faintly register the sound of sirens.. and the hands on his face again, but that was it as he blacked out, finally.

The next thing he heard was the slow and steady beeping of a heart monitor. His eyes slowly fluttered open, and everything still felt kind of hazy. Not quite the same as before, though. He squinted, trying to take in his surroundings in the dim room. It took a moment for him to register he in a hospital room. And even longer to register, there was a hand holding his. His eyes trailed over to find Isaac. Resting against the bed holding his hand as he slept. Dez was across the room and passed out in an armchair. They both looked like wrecks, and Edward felt a pang of guilt as he realized it was because of him...His shifting seemed to wake Isaac. "Hey.." his voice sounded so soft it almost felt wrong coming from him. Not that Edward disliked it... "You gave us a real scare, Asshole." he grumbled, and that sounded a lot more like Isaac. He frowned, wincing in guilt and glancing away. "I'm... sorry.." he whispered. "How long.. have I been out?" He added after a short pause of silence. "About a day... everyone's been to visit. Your brother and Janet went for food. They'll be back soon..." he hadn't let go of his hand. Their fingers still laced together. "Fuck... haha.. guess I'm gonna get quite a few lectures huh?" He wheezed out a laugh. He smiled but was definitely not looking forward to that. "I don't think they'll be super hard on you..." Isaac assured quietly, which was followed by another long pause.

"... Have you been here this whole time?" He asked. Noting that Isaac's clothes hadn't changed at all. "...for the most part.. I've left to get food a couple of times." he admitted. Edward felt the urge to scold him for it bubble up in his chest, but he felt currently he had no right to lecture on self-preservation at the moment, considering where he was. "Dez needed someone to swap watching over you with, and I didn't have anything better to do." he insisted using the age-old excuse of boredom. "Isaac..." he sighed. "What?" The blonde huffed back indignantly. "Thank you." He hummed, letting his eyes fall shut and weakly squeezing the smaller teens' hand. Isaac's expression faltered, and he let his head sink back down to rest against the bed. "... Yeah..."

#ibvs #ibvs posts #isaac beamer versus the supernatural #edward quinton #isaac beamer #dez gonzalez #Edward gets fucking stabbed #also probably not super medically accurate #ive never been seriously stabbed sooo #i did do basic research tho

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literatureloverx · 13 days ago

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some more romantic Fyodor thoughts since I’m still feeling very much delusional 🤭 but what I think would make Fyodor a good partner is since he’s very old (lived 100s of years) he didn’t “grow up” with modern beauty standards of skinny perfect smooth bodies that are hairless (he probably even finds our modern beauty standards odd). He’s probably got a pretty old type of beauty “standard”/ what he finds attractive

So he wouldn’t bother with body hair, a bit of chub, cellulite or anything that is LITERALLY natural on a women’s body. He would just simply appreciate it all with no manipulated modern view on a woman’s body. You can just simply BE

Aaahh I hope this makes sense? Thats just something I despise about modern men…they’re all so brainwashed by “perfect” beauty and flawless smooth skin and unrealistic body proportions, they criticise women’s bodies endlessly it’s like they’ve never seen a woman in real life but only on social media💔 I just need a man that lets my body be itself without getting grossed out by one singular hair on my arm

(plus kinda nsfw but another green flag is that this man probably never once watched porn, and never will lust about any woman in a disrespectful manner)

- 💓 anon

Well, you can share as many thoughts as you wish. I am sure your siblings are delighted about it.♥️

I do think it is very likely true that Fyodor would hardly care for modern beauty standards. But at the same time, he is incredibly meticulous. I am not sure if my opinion is truly asked here, or if you were simply sharing your thoughts, but I think we should not forget that Fyodor is far more toxic than we often anticipate.

He loves the arts, and canonically, it is one of the very few things that bring him joy. Do you know what that means, my dear? When something becomes your only genuine source of joy, it becomes everything to you. It defines your standards, your ideals, your expectations. I believe he would be quite severe in his preferences because of that. He would likely romanticise his own, personal ideal of beauty and declare it the “ideal woman” without question.

I would agree wholeheartedly regarding body fat and softness; after all, such traits were admired in Renaissance art, Baroque portraiture, and even earlier in classical antiquity. Fyodor would almost certainly find that genuinely appealing. But body hair? It truly depends on the type and location we are talking about here, but I very much doubt he would tolerate it easily. Fyodor is meticulous. He does not touch others lightly. He is tidy, deliberate, and strict, not just with others but with himself. If we are taking a brutally realistic view, I would say he might even be weirded out by visible body hair and expect rigorous grooming habits from his partner. (Hygiene is not optional for him; it is sacred.)

I also think people overlook that Fyodor’s great age brings its own burdens in thought processes. He sees himself as superior, detached from the mortal coil in many ways, and because of that, the expectations he holds would be impossibly high. You would be expected to reach them. Otherwise, you are likely not worth his time.

Finding beauty in nature and distinguishing it from hygiene are two entirely different things. Fyodor is a perfectionist. He would have witnessed centuries of shifting standards, only to spiral away from them and create his own, quietly unyielding preferences.

(If you are curious, I have actually dissected Fyodor’s “ideal type” once and included pictures and explanations about the physical traits he might be drawn to. You can find it in the Fyodor masterlist, if you would like to have a look.)

So yes, I do believe he could appreciate natural softness, real curves, the delicate beauty so often erased by modern expectations. But refinement, discipline, and immaculate self-care would still be non-negotiable. In his eyes, that would not be vanity, it would be respect for the ideal he has built.

That being said, I always love reading your thoughts about him. It is wonderful to see how deeply you think about these things. Thank you again for sharing them with us.♥️

And yes, my dear. It all makes perfect sense. I get you. I would recommend you to find yourself a man who either has no social media or is simply not active on them (the biggest green flag ever), because the ones who are active simply lack something I am not going to name because I do not want to be rude.

And… being grossed out by a literal arm hair is the weirdest thing I have ever heard. Some people are so strange, truly. I am wishing for you to find a man to your heart’s content.♥️

And yes, Fyodor probably finds people who watch porn to be sinful anyway, haha. (One of the reasons why he would not want me is because I am feeding my children with BSD smut.)

#my children #💓 anon #💓

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jxrmngxndr · 2 months ago

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[ Happy Birthday, Kevin Kaslana ]

"May I have the hand of one such as yourself this day?" To anyone else the words would be impersonal yet pleasing, one would take the bureaucratic words at face value in a past life. Flattery via prestige did wonders once, but he knows it's as good a rain on the ocean to this man.

Yet, it's the coldest day in this hell of a life when his offer is taken and the hand that takes his chills to the bone. The nerves granted by the Imaginary Tree conflict with the air but do not wither, although they do not seem pleased by prolonged contact.

He takes the lead upon Kevin stepping before him and assuming position, no matter how reluctant or emotionally unassigned some of his gestures may seem, and chivalry dictates he leads as he takes a step backwards. He takes the man back with him as his posture is kept straight, he dances using the ball of his heels, and he keeps his right arm bent and steady to dance around. How they ended up overtime, he would not care—any pride the Sire wished he had between them could be taken as he please, as Otto selfishly falls into old thoughts.

A tall man with white hair and choppy hair came to mind, his figure taller and larger than life itself when he could barely grace the man's thigh. A girl with white hair and blue eyes to match her father taking the leader in ballroom dancing and swinging him, blonde hair askew and tripping from her mighty twirls, laughing along with her father. Hearty was his laugh, and heavy was hers as she mimicked him—Francis tired, but eyes ablaze underneath it all as he leaned along the wall to chastise him, playfully, for not keeping up with a Kaslana. Like a proper father...

His shoes don't dare mimic hers in stomping his toes with the failed savior he shares a dance with. Not physically, anyways. "I will thank you properly for taking my offer in stride. Just as I will acknowledge you for supplying the world with the potential for growth."

The test tubes run out of her being taken out as she's passed through to the final tube, her time in the tundra pushing back the dates he had plotted. Was it Sirin or Kiana at that point, a wash of memories of other sprouts of white coming to his mind, and then he reigned in his feelings as he remembers Theresa at one point sharing a similar sight. A fall of his mind as he passes through the 20th century like a man on a mission. And he had been, yet...

"But I must say, you left little room in your wake for improvement without a push from me. No offense to be taken." He'll hurt as he is hurt, staring straight into cold blue eyes that he remarks—

Hm. Truly only half like Francis, what he could remember of him now. Not dissimilar to Siegfried. A stunning antithesis to Kiana, but feeling familiar and the same where they stood. That look could make a man feel insignificant, he remembers a deal in a secluded space as Void Archives leave his hands.

"I cannot stand you." He confesses. "Happy birthday, O’ venerable Sire."

Theirs was a dance that never seemed to end, regardless of figurative, spiraling around one another's orbit – or one spiraling around the other's, drawn in by the enormity of his influence, but never willing to admit that he was a satellite to the other's giant star – or literal, the way that they kept coming together and circling as wolves biting one another's heels.

Kevin allowed the movement, unflinching, unafraid of the man who called himself the end of times, no matter how much Apocalypse might have wished for his submission, his cooperation, his life, his soul, something else that Kevin could not quite put his finger to the pulse of but could see it flicker and linger in those cold green eyes, burning with a want that he had never known.

Deliverance did not submit. Would never.

"The world will always have the potential to grow. Even with me in it. Even with you in it." If it's a baring of fangs, then the Sire of World Serpent has those to spare, and cuts a glance across the space to see daring green, flashing venom at him.

The steps were familiar, he realized, even if he had not done them in longer than an age, longer than an epoch, and they whirled for a long moment, stuck together by their eternal velocity, their eternal stagnancy, until Kevin brought them abruptly to a halt, hands gripped to Otto's, the other man dipped back and hovering over the ground.

"I don't think about you much," he admitted, chilly gaze down his nose. "But when I do, it isn't kind."

#in character #birthday 2025 #interaction: imaginarynoumenon #okay finally getting to these hahaha #thaaaaank you for sending cru they are so nasty together i hate them

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kneelmylucille · 2 years ago

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On Your Knees - Chapter 2

Abstract: “Sweetheart,” Negan’s raspy voice growls above you, as he places the bat in your face once again, carnage dripping and hanging from the barbed wire. He opens his mouth with a shit-eating grin as if to speak, but as you look up and meet his eyes just as before, he falls deafeningly silent.

Characters: Negan x Female Reader

Warnings: violence and gore, eventual smut, nsfw, 18+

Words: 1,971

Awaking with a strained gasp, you heave your eyes open to find yourself in the same place you had been for what felt like days. Upon arriving at the Sanctuary, you had been thrown into the equivalent of a cell. It was pitch dark other than the sliver of light that peeked under the door, taunting you. Your every muscle aches from only having the cold concrete to rest your head on, and your stomach lets out a low rumble. You had refused to eat anything that they had given you, distrusting the gesture.

Though, the physical ailments pale in comparison to the mental. Your mind had not stopped turning since the moment you were taken from your group. You couldn’t help but fear that Daryl had met the same end as Abraham, after his lashing out at Negan. Hell, they could all be dead for all you know, and Negan could be saving you for last.

You were still in the same blood-drenched clothes from that night, a fact which you had chosen not to dwell on, as it would send you spiraling even farther down into the deep dark depths than you already were.

You had given a lot of thought to how you would die, even before the world had ended. Whether it would be something sudden and simple like a car wreck, something drawn out such as sickness, or if you would die of old age surrounded by those you love. Dying in the place of someone you loved had always seemed like a good way to go.

Yet of all of the countless possibilities which you had pondered over the years, you had never suspected that you would die somewhere such as here, quite literally backed into a corner, after watching your companion die kneeling and not having moved a finger to try and stop it.

The sound of heavy footsteps drawing near brings your attention back to the true weight of the situation at hand. You straighten your form, back pressed firmly against the far side of the cell, as you see the shadow of feet fall outside of the door. The door swings open, and you hide your searing eyes from the sunlight which pours in, your eyes having become accustomed to the dark cell.

“Hi there.”

You squint up to see a mustached man, whom you immediately and particularly do not trust the sight of, as his lips are stretched out into a wide-toothed and not-so-charismatic grin.

“It’s your lucky day. On your feet.”

Not wishing to stay in this cell any longer, despite any possible outcomes of leaving, you rise slowly to your feet, your injured knees screaming in disagreement.

The man takes off with long strides down the hall, implying that you should follow closely, and you hesitantly comply. What had he meant by ‘it’s your lucky day’? While he could have meant the words sincerely, after seeing what the Saviors were capable of, a chill runs up your spine as you wonder what other meanings could have been hidden behind the hope-inspiring words.

We could take him right now, he wouldn’t see it coming, the devil on your shoulder sneers, as it slowly wields a knife from behind its back.

But you have no true weapons at hand, and your malnourished body aches with the simplicity of each step as you continue to follow blindly. Even if you were able to overpower the larger man, you had no idea how to navigate your way out of the Sanctuary, nor who else you may run into on your journey.

We should follow him. He did say it is our lucky day after all, maybe he’ll give us some water, the angel on your adjacent shoulder states through chapped and peeling lips.

“I’m Simon. You’ll be seeing a lot of me around here,” the man in front of you bellows, giving an almost knowing look over his shoulder. For a moment, you worry that he had been listening in on your silent debate.

So, they don’t plan to kill me, at least not right away, you deduce. Otherwise, you wouldn’t be seeing much of anyone around anywhere.

Simon stops abruptly outside of one of the many doors within the Sanctuary. You hold your breath, preparing yourself for what or who may meet you on the other side. Yet, as he opens the door in a very ‘be my guest’ manner, you find an empty bedroom on the other side.

“Welcome home!”

Not bothering to spare another glance in Simon’s direction, you carefully pass over the threshold, examining the unfamiliar surroundings. The room is warmed by the burnt orange glow of the now setting sun, pouring in through the large circular window to your right. A full-sized bed sits pushed back against the far-left wall, on top of which looks to be a small stack of neatly folded clothes. A bookshelf rests alongside the bed, stocked sparingly. To your surprise, there also seems to be a full kitchen, but the sink is what pulls you in. Rushing over, you turn on the faucet and unabashedly stick your head in, gulping down the cold water which gushes out. The angel on your shoulder sings gleefully as her wilted face blossoms back to life. The devil rolls its eyes in defeat.

“Ahem,” Simon clears his throat, and you turn to him slowly and wide-eyed before smiling shyly and turning off the faucet behind you. “Make yourself at home. Showers are just down the hall. Expect company soon,” he smiles that same repugnant smile as before, his eyes never following his mouth’s lead, “Much to discuss.”

With that, he disappears back into the gloomy hallway, shutting the door behind him, once again leaving you alone with your thoughts.

~ ~ ~

Some time had passed since Simon had made his unnerving exit, and you now found yourself laying wordlessly on the freshly cleaned linens of the bed, gazing up at the unpigmented ceiling. Dried blood clung to your skin, as you had not yet taken advantage of the shower, nor the new clothes which were laid out for you. You did not want to get too comfortable in this setting, especially when you were still unaware as to what was to be discussed when ‘company’ arrived. You had, however, found the fridge stocked top to bottom with fresh produce, which you had ravenously gorged yourself on in order to silence the growing frustration of your then empty stomach.

Images of that night begin to flash through your imagination. Your stomach twists as you recall the squelch of Negan’s bat coming down onto Abraham’s ravaged form, a sound which was still so clear to you that you would swear you could still hear it. Your stomach drops as you think of where Daryl is now, was he wondering the same about you? You raise your hands to your eye-line and study the cuts, placed there by the gravel which you had gripped onto. Replacing your hands to your side, you allow your eyes to flutter shut and take a deep breath, relaxing into the mattress.

A slow, rhythmic knocking at the door brings you to your feet in an instant.

You float towards the door, having lost all sensation in your legs, placing your hand lightly on the doorknob. Although he had made your skin crawl in disapproval, you crossed your fingers and toes that it would be Simon who stood on the other side.

Though, as you unhurriedly pull the door open, your heart skips a beat as you’re met with the looming figure of Negan.

He is adorned in the same outfit as that night, minus the red scarf, and holds his bat leisurely over his right shoulder with a gloved hand.

You apprehensively look up to meet his fixed gaze, and find him smirking in acknowledgment at your shock.

“Well, hello there.”

You remain in a dazed silence, unsure of how to greet the man before you.

His gaze turns vaguely stern as his eyes shift to the room behind you, and you quickly step aside to let him in.

He wrinkles his nose and smiles, as if there were some inside joke which you had missed, and strides into the room, shutting the door behind him.

Throwing his arms proudly into the air with a waving gesture around the room, he turns facing you, and leans back on his heels, “Nice, ain’t it?”

Not wishing to illicit any rash decisions on his part, you nod firmly, “Yes.”

Scanning his eyes over the room, they land on the mess of leftover and gnawed fruits and vegetables left out on the counter. Somehow, his smile grows even wider, as he points passively at the massacre, “I see you’ve fucking made yourself at home already.”

Your face turns a deep shade of red as you tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, wondering for a moment if the food was not yours to take, “Yes, Simon insisted that I do so.” You give an involuntary look of disgust at the remembrance of the weasel-like man.

Negan’s brow gives the ghost of a furrow, as he takes note of your reaction. His eyes move down over your body, taking in your rough appearance, focusing a moment longer on your scabbed knees, both on full display through your decrepit jeans. You squirm under his gaze, not sure how much longer you can withstand the growing tension of this encounter.

Finally snapping, you ask the question which had been plaguing your thoughts, “What do you want with me?”

Negan smiles, tongue poking the inside of his cheek, “Isn’t that obvious, sweetheart?”

As he’s met with a mute silence on your end, he takes a step forward, lowering his bat pointedly in your direction, “I want you to work for me.”

You take a brisk step backward, eyeing the bat anxiously, before analyzing his face for intention.

He throws up his hands in mock surrender and lowers the bat to his side, “Now, don’t you worry your pretty little fuckin’ head about Lucille here, she’s just along for the ride.”

You blink in confusion for a moment, wondering if he saw someone in the room whom you couldn’t, before realizing that the ‘Lucille’ in question is his bat. Internally, you let out a long, drawn-out sigh, if you hadn’t already known that he’s a psychopath, this would have tipped you off to that fact.

“You want me to work for you?” You ask as if not believing his response.

He gives a dark chuckle before taking another step toward you, eyebrows raised, “Yes,” he drags out, “Is that too much to fucking ask?” He once again gestures to the room around you, “I’ve, generously might I fuckin’ add, fed you, clothed you,” He points lazily to the clothes which are still folded on the bed and takes another long stride toward you, so close now that you have to crane your neck to maintain eye contact, “Given you a bed to rest that pretty little head on.” He smirks for a moment, eyes flashing down and up your face.

“Hell,” he booms, “You’ve even got A/C!”

You glance around the room before returning your gaze to his own, struck into silence for a moment by his close proximity, “Why me?”

He looks between your eyes for a moment and smiles that wolfish smile, which is quickly becoming far too familiar for your own liking, before taking a long step past you toward the door.

“Dwight will show you around the place in the morning,” he drawls as he struts out the door and disappears without any further explanation.

You realize, then, that you can hear the hum of cicadas in the distance, dancing in through the ever-so-slightly ajar window.

#negan #negan smith #the walking dead #jeffrey dean morgan #negan fic #negan fanfic #twd fanfic #daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #negan fanfiction #norman reedus

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strayheartless · 2 years ago

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Well here’s a series I thought I had grown out of…

Welcome back (albeit on a new account) to Flo copes! A series where I channel what I’ve just been through into my faves because I’m incapable of dealing with strong emotions on my own!

Todays topic? Panic attacks! And how each character deals with them!:

Sora: simply put, he doesn’t. Sora is incapable of recognising when he needs to stop and breath. Nine times out of ten he thinks a panic attack is his body finally giving up the ghost and he makes himself worse. It usually hits him randomly and any little moments of panic he locks down until it mounts up and makes him cry and throw up and then cry again.

Kairi: Kairi good at managing her emotional well-being, and regularly takes brakes to ensure she’s doing okay. But when it does hit her it usually manifests itself as uncontrollable crying. Usually her panic attacks are more drawn out, their like an all day thing. She will wake up feeling terrible, spend breakfast fighting tears, cry by lunch, then get set off by small stuff like music that sounds sad, cry again around bedtime and end up going off to look for someone to help her calm down (usually Aqua or Axel because they give the best hugs.)

Riku: ah yes, my boy is hyper aware of panic attacks and the minute one presents itself he takes himself off -like a dog in distress- and deals with it alone. It manifests it’s self as intense nausea, swimming vision and shortness of breath. He’s thrown up more times than he hasn’t, and nobody except Ienzo and Even have ever seen him have one.

Roxas: this kid don’t have the time nor the inclination to deal with panic attacks. He knows what they are and that he has them, he just simply refuses to let them rule him. If one starts he goes and plonks himself between Axel, Xion and Isa and stays there until it stops. It usually feels like a overthinking spiral that leads to shortness of breath but he’s never let it get far enough to know if there’s anything else.

Axel: Axel tends to get explosive when he’s having a panic attack -in the emotional sense (although fire has been known to happen too.). He snaps at everyone and starts to get an intense feeling in his chest until he can’t cope and starts yelling in panic. It’s kind of scary to watch him go through it.

Xion: my poor girl shuts all the way down. It’s more like a PTSD episode. She gets this far off look in her eyes and she’ll stay in the same position for a while as her heart races and she tries to focus on coming back. Touching her is not a good idea because she is likely to lash out and then get upset that she’s done it. Which invariably ends in tears.

Ventus: here’s another little fellow who simply shuts down. His ears start to ring, his heart Jack hammers and then he’s somewhere he didn’t remember going and being told he just clocked out. It’s scary because he generally doesn’t know where the time in the middle goes.

Aqua: like sora, she doesn’t realise it’s happening and then it’s on her and she can’t escape. She ends up throwing up a lot of the time, and quite often panic will grip her FAST and then she’s incapacitated by it. Unlike sora however, she doesn’t put it off or try to push it down. She lets it happen and lets people take care of her when it does.

Terra: cries. Uncontrollable, heaving, body wracking sobs, shaking violently, doesn’t know what’s happening, vision goes blurry, the whole nine yards. Terras panic attacks happen frequently and with an intensity that shocks everyone. He ends up feeling literally everything all at once and sometimes he’s been known to start laughing out of sheer fear. Nobody. Likes. Watching. It. Happen.

#kingdom hearts #kh3 #kh1 #kh2 #kh1 riku #kh2 riku #kh sora #kh ventus #kh terra #kh aqua #kh kairi #kh xion #kh axel #wayfinder trio #destiny’s trio #seasalt trio #panic attack #kh headcanons #kingdom hearts headcanons

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sissytobitch10seconds · 6 months ago

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Better Me Than All of Us

Fandom: The Umbrella Academy Summary: Viktor manages to get through to Ben and take the Durango from him. He does the same thing to Jennifer, but then he has the two elements resting entirely inside of his body. The Cleanse doesn't feel like he thought it was based off what his not-brother and acquaintance were going through. Warnings: Temporary character death, heavy angst, POV character death Word Count: 11,404 Ship(s): Viktor Hargreeves-centric

Archive link!

A/N: Let me preface this by saying that I liked s3 and if you came here expecting this to be one of those fics that just shits on it and then moves on, you're going to be sorely disappointed. This is simply a different path that the show could have gone that I would have enjoyed, not a shitting on the original plot. If you're still interested after that then I welcome you to come along this journey with me! Stay sissy and bitchy everyone <3

It was exceedingly rare that all eight of them were present in the same room at the same time, but not completely out of the question.

They had spread out around the eastern most part of North America after they had arrived in the new universe, as a way to protect themselves. Luther had continued to live in The City and nearby Oblivion Memorial Park so that he could visit the spot where he had lost his wife, having long since given up on being able to find her. Diego and Lila had moved a little further south to the suburbs to that they could raise their family and live with Lila’s parents and brother. Allison had moved to the next biggest city, New York, so that she could try out for some small parts in shoots and perform on Broadway. Klaus had moved in with Allison after recovering from his next lapse back into drug addiction and a near-death experience when he actually knew what it was like to be mortal. Five lived in The City as well, so that he could work for the branch of the CIA that worked there. Viktor was the one that had gone the furthest, moving all the way up to Nova Scotia and opening his bar so that he could reinvent himself without his siblings always reminding him of the world-ending mistake that he had made in partners.

Then they had all come back together for a birthday part, five years after they had ended up in an unfamiliar land where none of them knew the rules or how they were meant to behave. It had been scary and confusing at first, but they had adjusted and were able to be amicable around each other. Then Viktor had been kidnapped and things had spiraled widely out of control after that.

None of them had really believe Sy when he said that his daughter had been brainwashed, so they were on alert when quite literally everyone in that little town pulled a gun on them. On the way back to their home base, Lila and Diego’s house in The City, they had decided that they were going to ask Reginald some questions. They had to figure out the universe on their own and now things were getting weirder by the second, including the Marigold reappearing and giving them their powers back in a very strange and indirect way.

When they had arrived at his house, they were met by something that none of them had really been expecting. A woman with gray hair, kind eyes, and an angelic appearance due to her clothing greeted them with the sound of a violin wafting through the room. She set it down when she noticed the eight of them and then said, “You must be a handful of the children that were created by my Marigold. It’s wonderful to meet you all, please come and join me.”

They all looked at each other and then back to the woman like they weren’t quite sure that they believed her. They had met Jennifer already, and they knew that Reginald had been hiding the poor girl away in the town without an explanation as to why. As Klaus had said, The Truman Show was supposed to be a mind-fuck movie and not something to emulate. Viktor was the one that walked over first, his eyes immediately drawn to the violin that was sitting out on the table. “I think that this was the one that I played back in my universe and timeline. Was it always yours?”

The woman smiled wider and nodded, “I gave it to Reginald when I died and asked him to make sure that it got into the hands of someone that would love it just as much as I had. I believe that was you, from what he’s told me.”

“He remembers the past timeline? I thought that this was the Reginald that raised the Sparrows, not the Umbrellas,” Luther said. He walked over behind his brother and then sat down on one of the white couches. Contrasting to the way that the Academy had looked in both timelines that they had encountered it, the home that Abigail and Reginald had made for themselves was bright white and silver, gold accented in a few places but mostly the two most divine colors one could pick. Viktor was relieved that neither group of kids had grown up here, they would have ruined the aesthetic of the place in an instant.

“He remembers some things, the way that we all do when another version of ourselves within the split timeline dies,” Abigail replied. She sat down on the couch opposite them as she motioned for the rest of the Marigold-holders to follow Luther and Viktor’s example.

“What are you talking about?” Five asked. In the normal timeline, before they’d had their powers removed and then roofied back into them, he would have jumped to the couch and flopped back down as obnoxiously as possible. Despite Five’s attempts to try and distance himself as far away from Viktor as he could, the smaller of the two men was still able to read him like a book.

“I was the one that synthesized the Marigold. I would have assumed that you would have been told this, Reggie said that you were the ones that powered the machine that reset the universe and allowed me to come back to life,” the woman said as she looked over them all.

They all turned towards Allison. Back during their third apocalypse, she had made a deal with their ‘father’ that got her what she wanted brought back into the new universe. If any one of them was going to know what this new person was talking about, then it was her. She put her hands up defensively and shook her head to reject the implication that they were putting on her. “I have absolutely no idea what she’s talking about,” Allison said with a small shake of her head.

“Reginald didn’t tell you anything?” the woman asked. They all shook their heads and she let out a long huff. “I suppose that I’ll have to do it for him, then. My name is Abigail Hargreeves, I’m Reginald’s Queen. We come from a different planet that he had to evacuate because of an accident that happened due to my experiments. The culture there is very different than what you have on earth, but I suppose that you’ve picked up on that by now. Our civilization was advanced enough that we were experimenting with the synthesis of new materials, such as the Marigold. However, when I created and began testing on my prototype, I noticed that it created something called Durango,” Abigail explained.

Viktor could already feel his brain becoming clogged with more than enough information for one lifetime. During his entire childhood, he had never really questioned why his siblings, and then later himself, had their abilities. He supposed that if he had grown up with exposure to the outside world then it would have been something that came to him much easier, but it hadn’t been so he was completely in the dark about it all. He had learned a decent amount thanks to Harlan, though it seemed that it was going to be an entirely different story from the woman that had made their powers in the first place.

“Did you know that Marigold could do this to living beings when implanted inside of them?” Five asked, leaning forward from where he was standing behind the couch.

“I knew that there was a chance that certain beings could have unexpected side effects when it was gifted to them, but the power trait is unique to human beings. You all have such an interesting way of thinking and creating things around you, the world is entirely different through your eyes than it would be through mine,” Abigail explained. “Anyways, I sadly was not able to survive the after effects of taking the Marigold myself and I passed away. My culture has the women sedating the men through a pheromone that we put off after we are married, so my husband was adamant that he was going to bring me back because I did not have time to tell him not to. I’m afraid that was why he released the Marigold in the first place.”

She shifted on her chair as she continued to explain, ignoring the shocked and overwhelmed looks that everyone else was giving her. “The Marigold was sentient enough that it could look for a proper host, the way that bacteria allows certain beetles on this planet to digest coffee beans in exchange for feasting off the caffeine that otherwise would have killed the insect, the Marigold allows you to interact with the world. It chose you as its hosts and I believe that it gave you this power because the Marigold feasts off of the timeline where it exists, changing the world and consuming pieces of it. Each of you has a unique ability that allows you to alter the universe around you, which was also why the Marigold could be used to fuel the machine that reset this universe and timeline. Does anyone have any questions?”

“Yeah, actually, I do,” Diego said as he began to stand up so that he could address the woman more forcefully. Lila placed her hand on his shoulder from where she was standing beside Five and forced him back down in his chair. There were a lot of things about their marriage that made Viktor viscerally uncomfortable, but he had to admit that Lila was fairly good at making sure that their brother didn’t do anything stupid that might get himself killed.

“What is your question, dear son?” Abigail asked.

That was something that shook Viktor enough that he could barely hear Diego’s question. It made sense that Reginald and Abigail would be considered to be their parents now, since she had created the Marigold that had made their mothers grow them and deliver them in the span of a few seconds and Reginald had released it. They had grown up knowing the woman that had carried them and a robotic nanny as their mothers, though, so it felt like a betrayal to both to think anything else.

“What was with that town entirely staffed by people that your husband told to shoot us?” Diego asked. “I don’t appreciate being lead on a wild goose chase concerning our fucking creation or place in the world or something so that you can distract us from the matter that we actually came to talk to him about.”

Luther nodded in agreement, “It is really hard to get everyone together and make them actually stay together these days. I have another question after Diego’s finished, though.”

“It might be best if I answer yours first,” Abigail said. Her elegant hands had fallen down into her lap and she was now wringing them. The idea that a woman powerful enough to create a new element in the universe could be nervous about something made Viktor feel very, very afraid. He felt that white hot sun in his chest chirp to life and had to take a deep breath so that he could contain it before the massive chandelier in the entrance hall a few feet from them came crashing down around them.

“I met and married another one of the forty three children that was born due to the Marigold. I know that we all had to take it to get our powers back and we exited from an elevator instead of just being here, but is there a chance that she exists in this universe too?” Luther asked.

There was a groan from the more mission-oriented members of the family. Ben said something incredibly cruel and indecent in Korean while Diego began to scrub his face with both of his hands. “Guys, shut up,” Viktor almost shouted over their arguments. They may have all moved on from their loves and feelings, but Viktor and Luther had both been the ones that were damaged the most by Reginald and got away from him last. He knew the pain that his brother was feeling and he didn’t like them all acting like Luther was annoying for trying to keep hope for his future happiness alive.

Abigail gave them all a bemused smile as she nodded. “Not all of the Marigold has been collected back into the jar that I assume you have, I gave it to Sy for a reason after all. I believe that the other thirty six children that were created from the original release of my element are still somewhere in the world, with their powers laying dormant.”

Viktor turned to the side to see what Luther’s reaction was. Before he had gone up to Nova Scotia so that he could have better health care and a more accepting community than what The City could give him, he had helped Luther look for Sloane. Neither of them had known where she was adopted from before she had ended up in the Sparrow Academy, so it had ended up being a rather futile attempt in the end. Luther’s face was now being pulled into a small, shy smile as he thought about the idea of his wife being somewhere in the world, waiting for him. Viktor wished that he could still have that kind of hope for Sissy, but given his track records with his last couple partners, it wouldn’t have lasted anyway.

“That does bring me to the question that was asked before, however. When I created the Marigold, somewhere else in the universe another element was created. I have been calling it Durango, though I do not know if that is the proper name because there’s very little that I know about it. These two elements mirror each other, one allows the universe to be changed and warped while the other destroys everything that it touches. From what I’ve been able to learn from my husband about what happened during my absence, the Durango created a host much like it created all of you,” she explained.

“What does this have to do with that town?” Diego asked. The reason that he had done so well in the police academy before he began to defy the upper ranking members due to their politics was because he was exceedingly mission driven. It had been a long time since Viktor had seen him act like this and it was almost kind of nostalgic, in a very weird sense of the word.

“I was getting to that, young one,” Abigail replied kindly.

“Yeah, she was getting to that, idiot,” Lila snapped.

Viktor winced. He really did not like what they had turned into, they needed to sort out the relationship they had developed with each other. Couples staying together for their kids had never ended well, it was one of the reasons that he had so many regulars come to his bar.

Abigail continued, “Durango is entirely passive unless it comes in contact with Marigold. It doesn’t want to destroy the universe, it wants to destroy Marigold. Unfortunately, since Marigold has the ability to change the universe and the timelines those two things end up being the same in the end. My husband, in all the timelines I’ve been able to see into, took care of the carrier of the Durango either by killing her or locking her away in the type of town that you stumbled into.”

“Wait a second,” Klaus said, holding both of his bare hands up towards them. It was strange to see him without all of the person protection equipment that he now festooned himself with and sans all of his tattoos. “You said that you send Sy with the Marigold to us, which means that you also sent us to that town. What do you want with us?”

“Jesus Christ, I am so sick of this,” Five muttered into his hands. Five had come to visit Viktor for a little while in the five years that they had been in the new universe and they had finally had a moment to talk about the time that they had spent apart from each other. It had left with Viktor feeling deeply sympathetic for Five, who had been manipulated and coerced into doing all number of things to try and get back to his family or stop the apocalypse. Viktor would be just as tired as he was if he had been through all of that, so he understood the other Umbrella’s reluctance to be in another mess.

“I apologize for the confusion with that, I know that I’m new to this and don’t really know how it works,” Abigail said. “I want you to have the Marigold destroy the Durango. I was going to have you collect Jennifer and then bring her back to me so that I can try and extract the unstable element from her and then the Marigold from you. I was hoping that if it did not have a proper host, then it would simply eat itself and cease existing.”

“Why would you want that?” Lila asked. “And I have a couple of questions about the powers and how they work. Like why I have laser eyes now.”

“I don’t know much about the way that the element reacts when it has created a human host, I wasn’t given the time and resources that I needed for the types of experiments that would have clued me into that,” Abigail explained. “I know that the Marigold will cause a timeline collapse, however. It’s not meant to be played around with and whatever created the universes does not appreciate my arrogance. It was why I died in the first place.”

“Yeah, the little girl on the bicycle really doesn’t like our kind,” Klaus nodded as if they were all supposed to know what that meant.

“Girl on the… we don’t have time for this,” Allison said. She had her arms crossed over her chest so she was able to bring up one of her hands to her face and rub at her eyes. “So you sent us to New Grumptown in the hopes that we would come in contact with the Durango so that the reaction would happen? Wouldn’t that kill us or something?”

“That’s a good point,” Five said. “You mentioned what the elements did when they interacted with each other, but not what they did when they were inside of a host. I don’t particularly feel like dying today.”

“Truthfully, I don’t know what will happen when it’s taken from you. I know that the Durango and the Marigold only really interact with each other when they’re active, which the Marigold is inside of a host or during certain experiments and the Durango is when it comes into contact with active Marigold. However, once the Durango is active it begins to consume all the Marigold that it can find even if it is not active. The only thing that can stop it is extracting all of the Marigold from the Durango so that it becomes inactive again, which was what I did when I discovered the interaction. Unfortunately, I was too late to save my ow world,” Abigail explained.

“Why did you start the reaction again here if that was something that almost destroyed your planet?” Allison shouted.

Viktor was certain that the rest of them were feeling her anger and just better at hiding it for the moment. It was something that they had gone through before and now they all had lives that they liked pretty well. The universal reset had been the best outcome for all of them when it came to finding a world at the end of an apocalypse, so they didn’t really want to figure out what the higher beings had in store for them next time. With the parents in the group, they also didn’t want to lose their children simply because they weren’t able to pass Marigold on to any of them.

His head snapped in the other direction as he heard footsteps on the tiled floor. He could see a dark figure walking towards the grand, white entrance of the house. At first he thought that it was just a member of the staff before he realized that they actually hadn’t seen any human hired help since they had arrived and Reginald already had experience creating automatons. He got up from the couch and began to stalk towards the door while pulling on the ends of his jacket so that they were back in place.

“Where do you think that you’re going?” Viktor shouted after Ben, craning his neck so that he could see where his sort-of brother was heading.

“This is all stupid and I’m leaving to go find Jennifer!” Ben called back in reply.

None of the siblings liked that very much. Lila and Five complained in almost the exact same cadence and volume. Diego told him that he was being a coward and to come back. Klaus was shouting several different nicknames that the aforementioned man didn’t seem to like very much. Allison was just groaning loudly. None of the reactions were that out of character for them, but absolutely none of them were helpful whatsoever.

Viktor was the one that sprang off the couch and then chased after Ben. The taller Marigold holder broke out in a run, which made Viktor stop in his tracks. He closed his eyes, took in a deep breath, and then focused on the sound of the ticking clock up the stairs and to the left. He used the sound to channel into orange and white hot energy, which reached out in long tendrils and grabbed hold of Ben. They pulled him back and away from the doorway until he was finally standing with the other siblings.

“I think I saw something on your arm, did you touch Jennifer?” Luther asked as he looked down at Ben’s arm.

None of them had noticed anything strange about the man until they were looking down at it as well. If it had been their Ben, then there was a chance that they would have picked up on the strange obsessive behavior when it came to Jennifer. Unfortunately, he was the Sparrow version of their brother and none of them knew him well enough to identify when something was well and truly wrong.

“It’s nothing! And of course I touched her, what’s so wrong about that?” Ben asked as he snapped his hand back and away from Allison.

“Weren’t you listening, you utter buffoon?” Five asked. “Abigail said that when the Durango, which is inside of Jennifer, and the Marigold, which is inside all of us thanks to you spiking you sake and Klaus almost dying, interact then they start to create a reaction. If you touched her then the reaction is going to start,” Five snapped. He was seething with anger, like he so often had been before when they were dealing with the end of the world.

“Show me the rash on your arm,” Abigail commanded. Viktor didn’t know if it was her ethereal presence or the fact that she was a special type of matriarchal alien, but he felt compelled to listen to her no matter what she was asking for.

“Absolutely fucking not, you weirdo,” Ben snarled as he once again tried to get away. Luther wrapped his arms around Ben to prevent him from moving more than he absolutely had to, pressing his stomach to Ben’s back so that the Horror couldn’t get out either. Viktor was momentarily worried that it was going to cause Luther to become infected as well, but there was no reason for them to believe that was how the Durango spread yet.

He stepped forward and reached towards Ben’s sleeve so that he could see if there was a rash or not. If they were going to be stupid about the substance that may or may not destroy them and the world, then he was going to have to do it too. He was sick of his siblings being the one to start something and then dragging him along like he was dead weight.

His fingers had just barely brushed the material of Ben’s shirt before he felt like two hands had wrapped around his neck and squeezed. All of the air was stolen from his lungs so quickly that it left him lightheaded. His vision danced with black spots as he stumbled backwards and tried to steady himself on the nothingness behind him. When he came back into his mind, when the static had receded enough that he was able to make out some of the voices around him, he realized that he hadn’t even touched anything.

He was hyperventilating as he supported himself on Diego and Klaus, blinking his eyes seriously. “Either that’s some sort of weird timeline shit or you have the Dorando. I have never in my life felt something like that before and I have been subconsciously picking up on Marigold my entire life,” he rasped out. He wondered if he had been screaming, his voice was sore and his uvula was painful when he tried to swallow.

“Yeah, I don’t ever want you to do that again regardless,” Ben said with that closed-mouth, tight-lipped smile. It made Viktor want to sock him across the face like he almost had when they were in the remnants of that universe’s version of the Academy. The only reason that he didn’t was because he felt about as strong as a limp noodle and he didn’t really care to repeat that experience again.

“Hold still, would you?” Allison asked, her tone totally exasperated. She pulled up Ben’s sleeve and then turned his arm around so that she could see his palm and where the Sparrow/Umbrella tattoo would have been had those not been erased during the reset. In place of the dark black markings was a bubbling, boil-like irritation of the skin that pulsed and glowed red with the beat of the man’s heart.

“Oh, that’s not good,” Diego commented as he peaked over his sister’s shoulder at what they had found.

While staring at it, Viktor could feel the rhythm of the substance the way that he could with everything and everyone else in the universe. The Marigold had adapted itself to the way that the person holding it felt, either singing like Allison’s or screaming like Diego’s. Instead, the sound was the loudest static that had ever appeared in his mind. It was like every single particle that made up the substance was vibrating at a different frequency, but they were running together in a way that made them indistinguishable from each other the way that the Kugelblitz had been. It was loud and overwhelming, but he couldn’t look away from it if he tried.

Allison dropped the sleeve of Ben’s coat back down over the rash and then took a panicked step back. Luther refused to let go of him, because he was certain that the other was going to bolt the moment that his hold loosened even a little bit. Viktor blinked as he was tossed from his mind and back to the world of the living that he was supposed to be inhabiting.

“I think that’s definitely being caused by the Durango, a reaction from when you touched Jennifer. I believe that some of the substance was transferred from her body into yours as it searched for active Marigold,” Abigail explained. “I don’t know what will happen when it continues to move up to where the Marigold is inside of you.”

“It’s in his chest,” Viktor said. “It’s going to continue to move up through his body until it basically gets to his heart, like a poison. I’m guessing that it will destroy the vessel of his body as well,” he said. The rash was his best evidence for it, but the way that he had felt when Harlan had almost dragged some of his Marigold from his body reminded him that they were very intricately locked into their being. It was painful and if it was done incorrectly or by an unconscious substance, then it could very well be their end.

“How do I get this fucking shit out of me, then? I want to go see Jennifer!” Ben shouted as he struggled once again in Lucifer’s strong arms.

“You’re not going anywhere until we figure out how to get that out of you and then maybe out of her,” Lila said. Her fingers danced on the edge of his cuff as she attempted to pull up the fabric so that she could see the rash again, but he managed to get away from Luther just enough to sock her across the face.

“Hey, man! What the fuck?” Diego shouted as he advanced on Ben.

“Stop, he’s not himself right now, and fighting wouldn’t do anything anyway,” Allison said as she stepped between the two of them with her arms outstretched. She had taken the place that Viktor had always occupied when they were children. He hadn’t had powers, or rather he hadn’t known, back then so he had always been the one to stand between them. They wouldn’t attack him because it wasn’t a fair fight and it usually ended with Grace or Reginald telling him to back off and grounding him.

Viktor turned to Abigail just as Five asked, “Do you think that you would be able to contain it like the Marigold if we were able to extract it from Ben and Jennifer?”

She brought one of her long fingers up to her face and tapped her chin as she looked rather pensive. “I’m not sure. I didn’t get the chance to do nearly as much studying done on the Durango as I did the Marigold. I suppose that it would be worth a try. But how would you propose that we get it out of them? The substances have a mind of their own, but it’s not intelligent enough that we could ask if to leave the hosts that it’s fighting inside of.”

“I can do it,” Viktor said quickly. He didn’t even glance back at his siblings because he didn’t want to see them rolling their eyes or underestimating him again. He was the most powerful out of them all, he had caused the end of the world three times and had very active parts in at least two of those, he could remove some particles from his family to save their lives. It wasn’t like he had much going for him in Canada, what with his shit luck and run down bar.

“You can?” Abigail asked.

He nodded. “I have the ability to translate sound into energy, but I can also manipulate that energy when I focus. It allows me to sense and feel the Marigold and Durango in others, which was why I had such a strong reaction when I almost touched Ben. I’ve removed Marigold particles from someone before, I think that I could do it again if I was given the chance.”

She thought about it for a moment before the alien nodded her consent. “I do have a testing facility in this house, so if you would bring Ben with me then we can get started on this.”

Abigail set her violin and bow down in the case instead of next to her on the couch before she rose and began to move through the white and cream halls of the grand mansion. The siblings all looked at each other before Luther picked Ben up and began to follow after her, Viktor walking silently by his side. Allison was the only one that had known how much it took out of Viktor to remove the particles from Harlan and that had been his own Marigold, not even particles that had belonged and created another person.

“Wait, what about Jennifer and the rest of us?” Lila asked.

“Reggie?” Abigail called through the hall, towards a grand spiral staircase that was the only dark color in the room.

It took about two seconds before a the sound of footsteps rang through the high ceilinged hall that they were standing in. Reginald’s brow was furrowed and his book was clutched tightly in his hand as he looked over them all. “You eight just will not leave me alone, will you? I’ve already told you that I am not the man you knew in the other timeline, I am just a very good duplicate of him that made similar choices in wards to adopt for my plans. I can’t believe that you would go so far as to kill the people in my town and then come to harass my wife!”

“Reg, that’s enough,” Abigail said and the man immediately snapped his mouth shut. “I sent them to collect Jennifer as part of a poorly thought-through plan, But now they’re here and they’re going to help me rid the universe once and for all of this horrid science experiment. I need you to send your men out to find Jennifer and bring her back here, Viktor is going to remove the substances from all of these fine individuals and Jennifer needs to be included.”

“Who?” Reginald asked as he looked from the eight beings standing next to his wife and then back to the aforementioned woman.

“The girl that was born inside of the squid, the one that you set up the town to protect so that no inactive or active Marigold would ever touch her,” Abigail explained patiently. Viktor wondered if what she had mentioned about the females of their type soothing and controlling them men had gone a little further than she had first implied. It was kind of fun to watch the man that had terrorized them for years be simplified and subdued in such a strong way.

“Right, of course. I will see you in due time, my love!” Reginald chirped.

“I’m coming with you,” Five snapped.

“I need you here so that I can take your Marigold, Five,” Viktor said. The two of them had grown so far apart since they were children, huddling under the same quilt while reading books that Five had snuck into their home. Viktor knew that part of that was his fault since he had run all the way to Canada so that he could set up a life for himself, but it still hurt to recognize the distance between them.

“You can do it once I get back. My power isn’t quite the same, but I think that I should be able to bring Jennifer back faster than a car,” Five replied.

“You shouldn’t touch her, dear,” Abigail shook her head. “Please, I know that my husband has treated you all poorly in the past but when he’s fulfilling a wish of mine he’ll do exactly what I’ve asked of him. You can trust this, I wouldn’t lie to you.”

“We don’t know that you wouldn’t, we’re trusting you on blind faith,” Allison huffed. She crossed her arms over her chest against as her mouth twisted to show her discomfort, it had been her one singular tell her entire life.

“You could Rumor me if it would make you feel better, my dear,” Abigail replied as she gave her another small smile.

Ben thrashed in Luther’s arms again while the two women were staring at each other, which broke the conversation. “Can we get him restrained or in a jail or something, please?” the largest of the siblings asked.

“Right, right, of course,” Abigail replied. She continued down the hall once she had bid her husband goodbye. They stopped at an ornate shelf full of all kinds of artifacts from every country, and likely a couple of different planets. She reached forward and tugged on one of the vases, which was glued to the shelf beneath it. When she let it fall back down, the entire shelf turned sideways to reveal that it had been attached to the wall as well. Through the opening that had just been made was a dark room that she motioned for Luther to enter through.

While stepping around the bookshelf and into the narrow hallway, Ben thrashed again. His legs kicked out like he was an unruly toddler and hit one of the objects towards the bottom of the shelf, knocking it over so that it shattered on the ground. Luther winced as he turned back to Abigail, “Sorry about that.”

“It’s alright, dear. After all, the Japanese humans have this wonderful method of putting things back together that gives them more meaning. And it will give Reginald a puzzle to do after this whole mess is over,” Abigail replied. She followed after him once he had gotten all the way through the door and then Viktor and the rest of the siblings followed after her.

They walked down the dimly lit hallway until it opened into a much larger space that was pitch black. Abigail clapped her hands together twice and made a clicking noise with her mouth that cemented that she absolutely was an alien similar to their insects on earth. The lights around the room, embedded in the edges of the ceiling so that the walls were entirely illuminated in soft white, flickered to life at her command. Around the edges of the room was a number of workbenches, each of them with a different project. The center of the room had a bed with several large mechanical clamps on it.

Viktor remembered seeing one of them in the Academy. He knew back then that it had been so that if one of them got hurt they could be restrained and Grace could work on them without fear that they would damage her, allegedly. This one, though, he didn’t know what Abigail and Reginald had been using it for. There weren’t any blood stains on the top of the metal or near the base, so they were either really good at cleaning it or they hadn’t had the chance to use it on someone until the Umbrellas and Ben had arrived.

Luther grunted as he shifted Ben around in his arms to get him down onto the bed. He leaned heavily over his brother, who was halfway supine and still thrashing about. “Do you think I could get a little help here?”

“Shit, sorry, Luther,” Viktor said as he stepped forward to help his brother.

Before his foot had even hit the ground the rest of his siblings launched forward with a chorus of ‘no’s and ‘wait’s. He put his hands up in a surrender as he stepped away from Ben and towards one of the workbenches. He could hear them all arguing with each other about who had to take which limb and what they were going to do when all of their hands were busy. He was focusing on the desk that he had just approached.

The same silver-gray metal as the rest of the room shone up at him, but the contents on top were unique. On the edge of the desk was a tape measure, glued to the bottom so that it could be used every time someone cut something. There was a holder with a myriad of pens, pencils, scissors, and everything else someone would typically need on a desk. In the center was the item that had first caught his eye, the one that made Viktor feel a bit like he was drowning again. There was the red, leather bound book that Reginald had made all the notes in when they were children in the Academy.

With a tentative hand, he reached out and flipped the pages open. He glanced over the black words scrawled in his adoptive father’s handwriting but was unable to process any of it. He kept looking for his name or number designation, anything to show that this version of Reginald also knew what had been done to him. He knew that this wasn’t the man that had adopted and abused him, but part of him couldn’t let go of the idea of screaming at Reginald and making him hurt just as bad as Viktor had been.

“Viktor? Are you ready?” Abigail asked.

He snapped his head over to her and let the book fall shut again. “Yeah, I can get started,” he nodded as he walked over to the desk again. “Should I start with Ben or with someone else? I don’t want them to get Durango from me if something goes wrong.”

“I don’t know how it will interact once it has left the first host that it found, but we have him contained so that he cannot return to Jennifer. If you can go quickly, please start with the others,” Abigail said as she gestured one of her elegant hands out to where the others were crowded around a terrarium containing plants they had never seen before.

“Okay, who wants to go first?” Viktor asked loudly as he clapped his hands together to get their attention.

Klaus raised his hand. “I didn’t want this stupid power back anyway and I want you to remove it before it destroys my life like it did every time before,” he said. He shot a look to Allison which made her role her eyes.

Viktor hoped that after the powers were removed that it would become a non-issue for them and they could go back to being just as close as they were before. She had only been trying to save his life and had been pressured into doing it by the rest of them, it wasn’t her fault and she needed the support of her brother. Viktor had tried to be that for her, but it had ended up working against him because the two of them simply had too much damage to see past to the good that their relationship could have been.

Viktor nodded his head and then held his hand out to Klaus so that he could come over. Luther and Diego grabbed two chairs, setting them down on either side of their other brothers. The siblings that weren’t involved in the initial experiment went to stand on the other side of the table that Ben was strapped into. Despite the tense moment filling the room, Viktor couldn’t help but think that it was a good thing that the Horror had changed to come out of his back, based on the way that he was thrashing against his restraints. Abigail gave Viktor a smile of encouragement before she moved to stand with the other Marigold holders.

Viktor sat down on the chair that had been placed behind him and then reached out for Klaus’ hands again. “I think that you need to use your powers at least once so that I can feel the way that the Marigold resonates outside of just you. I don’t want to hurt you or take out your soul or something,” he sai after a moment of tense words.

Klaus’ eyes flicked over to where Ben was laying on the table and Viktor immediately knew what he was thinking. It must have been hard to go from having a constant companion hovering over his shoulder for nearly a decade and a half to it being silent all the time. Perhaps that was why he had moved in with the sibling that was most likely to come down and chat with him in the same way that Ben had when they were kids.

He looked back to Viktor and gave him a strained smile. “You can do this,” Viktor whispered, trying to be encouraging. Klaus nodded his head and then bowed it so that he was staring down at the floor. He rose in his chair so that he was hovering a couple of inches above the surface.

Viktor leaned back in his own seat and let out a breath as he focused on the sounds around him. The air conditioning vent rattled as it pumped in new oxygen. The breathing of his siblings and Abigail mixed together with their heartbeats and every other sound that their bodies made. Finally, he heard the steady, constant thrum of his own Marigold in his heart. He focused on Klaus and heard the sound of his own soul, what made him, before he signaled out the back and forth pitter patter of the Marigold inside of his chest.

He focused on it as he translated the sound of the Marigold into energy and then began to draw that into his own epicenter. His hands burned while the particles transferred themselves through Klaus’ hands and into his own body. He could feel the way that they were sliding through is veins and settling amongst their brethren in his chest.

When the ordeal was over, he felt as though he had run a marathon again. His body was shaking slightly, like he had just been shocked with a thousand volts. He steadied himself back on the chair and asked, “Can you do the power thing again?”

Klaus nodded and then placed his hands down on his knees. He closed his eyes and hummed as he tried to summon the Marigold back to life so that he could hover. His eyes opened as he stared at Viktor, which was all the confirmation that he needed to know that it had worked. “I could kiss you!” he squealed in excitement.

“Please don’t, I feel like I’m going to be sick,” Viktor shook his head. “Who wants to go next?” he asked as he looked towards the others.

Allison stepped forward just a little bit but then pursed her lips. Klaus grabbed her hand and gave it a soft squeeze, “Ray and Claire will be able to be protected the same way that they were before, you don’t need your power to keep them with you anymore. They love you and will stay because of that.”

“Thank you, Klaus,” Allison whispered. She hugged her brother briefly before she sat down in the chair he had occupied before. Viktor reached his hands out and met hers, like he had so many times before when they were chatting in the sixties.

He let out a low breath as he focused on the same things that he had with Klaus. Her power was drawn straight from her voicebox and mouth, floating through the air before they zapped into him. His mouth went dry instead of damp with saliva and his throat ached with an itch that he was entirely unable to describe. The shaking got a little worse and he felt his skin become clammy with the fever that was developing just below his skin.

Diego was next, his Marigold slipping through the tips of his fingers and his lungs into Viktor’s. It was nice to not have to pant for air anymore, he was already so exhausted from the fight to bring in air that didn’t want to stay with him. He was already getting so tired and every time he thought about the others that he had yet to do, he felt his body shrivel up on itself more than it already had.

Luther made him feel like he was stretched to his max capacity. His body felt like nothing could ever happen to it, no cut would ever bleed and no bruise would ever form. At the same time, it was like he could feel the atoms that made up his human form rattling against each other as they tried to escape the flesh prison that they were contained inside. Luther’s body had shrunken back down to what it had been before he had taken the Marigold and before his accident, which he looked rather happy about.

Lila was a strange one to do. He didn’t feel any different after he took her power into his body but he did feel an itching in the back of his head. The fever had gotten far worse as the buzzing of her Marigold began to interact with the rest that he was currently acting as a vessel for. It was like it was duplicating the sound of every single individual power that was resting inside of him at once which made him want to spew his guts all over the ground.

Five was the last of the siblings not infected with Durango to come and have his power taken away. Before he took Viktor’s hands he said, “You’re not looking too hot.”

“What are you talking about? I am way too hot,” he tried to joke. The smile on his face felt stretched too far. He felt like he was staring into a mirror and the little girl that he had once been was looking back at him, but amplified up to a thousand. There were literally people that were not him rattling around inside of his chest.

“Viktor, are you sure that you should be doing this?” Five asked. He placed his hand down on Viktor’s knee and that tipped him over the edge.

He turned to the side and vomited, spewing out everything that he had ever eaten in his life. His throat ached as the Rumor tried to push itself out of his mouth and his lungs burned despite his lack of need for breath. His body was shaking with the magnitude of power that was inside of him and the lack of an outlet that it had. He needed to get it out, it had to solidify into something else or it was going to kill him.

“I should have remembered. Oh shit, Vik, I’m so sorry,” Allison said.

“What?” Abigail asked, encouraging her to speak on whatever topic she had kept from them about the very dangerous thing that they were doing.

“Viktor has done this once before. He transferred some of his Marigold into a little boy that he cared for to bring him back to life. It was an accident and it had ruined him, so he took it back so that he could live the rest of his life normally,” Allison explained.

“All ten minutes of it,” Viktor griped. He felt bad for doing so when he saw the guilty look that clawed at Allison’s face, but the feeling was immediately taken from him when his body was once more overwhelmed with the feeling of the Marigold rattling around inside of him.

“What happened, Allison?” Luther asked urgently.

“It almost killed him. I had to put a stop to it once or twice because I thought that it would,” she explained. “This isn’t something that we should have rushed him into, we should have taken it slowly or found another way or something!”

The room went very quiet other than the dripping of vomit into the center of the floor where the drain was. Viktor let out a staggering, shaky breath to try and center his body. “It didn’t kill me then, it might not kill me now,” he explained.

“But it might,” Five said. “Remember, you’re not taking the Marigold out of us and then putting it somewhere else exclusively. You’re also handling Durango while your body is still holding active Marigold.”

“What do you care? What do any of you care?” Viktor asked. He felt the particles come to life in his chest. Wind picked up in the room, swirling around him in circles so that it had partially formed a shield. “None of you have ever cared about me when it doesn’t benefit you. Luther picked me as his best man not because he wanted me as a brother but because Klaus was already officiating and he had issues with Five and Diego. Allison tried to be my friend until I stopped being able to give her what she wanted and then she killed my son. Five was my friend until he moved away and realized how much I sucked and that I had stopped being a way to get back at Dad. Diego fucking abandoned me and humiliated me on stage because he was just humoring his stupid little sister by starting a punk band with her. Lila and Klaus and Sparrow Ben couldn’t give a shit about me if I was the last person on earth with them! So just let me fucking do this so that I can make up for all the lives I’ve ended by blowing up the moon and the FBI building and trying to save the life of a little boy that I owned.”

When he stopped talking, he felt a bit better in his soul and spirit than he had before. It was nice to have those words out in the open, to finally bare the dirty laundry that he was running out of places to hide. Physically, he still felt just as awful as he had before.

The room was entirely silent as he let his power die down so that there was nothing but the clinking of the vents above them. He reached out and took Five’s hands into his, yanking his power out of his entire body and then shoving it into his own. It took everything he had for it to not activate immediately since Five had been on the edge of jumping away before he did it.

“Viktor. I want you to know that I did care about you, I just didn’t know how,” Five whispered. “I’m sorry that you didn’t feel like you were my best friend anymore.”

“Best friends don’t abandon each other in brand new universes for six years,” Viktor replied hoarsely. He stood from his chair and then wavered dramatically. Luther and Diego surged forward so that they could steady him as they brought him over to Abigail.

She removed another one of the containers that they had removed the Marigold from originally and then said, “I want you to remove all six of the powers that you’ve removed so far into this and then work on Ben, so that the reaction doesn’t get bigger.”

Viktor nodded. It sounded logical to him, but when he began to move around the Marigold that he was playing host to, he let out a scream that shattered every piece of glass inside of the room other than what she was holding. “I can’t! I can’t,” he shook his head. It had ripped at the very fiber of who he was, like he was trying to bite off his own finger as hard as he could.

“I didn’t anticipate this,” Abigail hummed.

“It’s okay, Vik, it’s gonna be okay,” Luther said as he sat his brother down on another one of the chairs. “You’ve done so well, just close your eyes and rest for a second.

Viktor shook his head, “I can’t rest, it all hurts too much. Bring me to Ben, I want this over with.”

“Are you sure that’s a good idea? He’s the one that has Durango and Jennifer isn’t back yet,” Lila said as she stepped around Allison so that she was facing him again.

“I can do this. You should go back to your kids. You and Diego have so much shit that you need to talk about. Your relationship with him is worse worse than ours was,” Viktor slurred. It was hard to keep the words inside of him when he felt like this, they all came tumbling from his mouth without him even thinking about it.

Lila shut her mouth and her lips pressed together tightly. She stepped back so that she was standing beside her husband and the two of them began to have a quiet conversation with one another. It was nice to have something to distract them with, so that Viktor could focus on the more important things that he was dealing with in that current moment.

He turned his head towards Luther and then gave a nod. He rose from his feet and walked over to the brother that wasn’t. It was so hard to remember that the Sparrow didn’t know them the way that their Ben had, that he shared none of the same memories and barely loved them at all. Viktor reached down and pressed his hand into Ben’s stomach. He knew where the Horror had been on the other version of him so he knew where he had to draw the Marigold from.

His legs began to shake something fierce as he worked his overtired body further than it was meant to go. He would have crumbled down to the floor if Luther hadn’t been holding him. He felt blood pooling in his mouth and dripping from his nose again. His fingers tingled and his vision went splotchy, but the red and gold particles of both substances removed themselves from Ben and then mixed in with Viktor.

He collapsed down into one of the seats while the others worked to remove Ben from his restraints. He asked, “What the fuck just happened to me and where am I?”

“You touched Jennifer and then went all coo coo bananas for her, Benny,” Klaus explained. “Apparently your attachment to her had to do with the Durango inside of her moving into you, so now that it’s gone she’s gone!”

“You’re so fucking weird,” Ben snarled. He picked himself up off the table and then walked over to one of the desks so that he could play with the shards of broken glass to look nonchalant.

Viktor didn’t know how long they had to wait before the door down the long hallway opened and Reginald entered with someone else following behind him. She had a round face with pretty brown eyes, long black hair that was slightly curly towards the end, and a flannel wrapped around her waist. She spotted Viktor and then immediately rushed towards him, kissing him furiously.

He hadn’t been anticipating that, but it did make sense given the obsession that Ben had developed when he was containing the Durango. “Viktor, if you don’t take it from her and hold both substances in one vessel then you two are going to turn into a monster. I’ve seen it happen before,” Reginald said loudly. “You can do this, my boy. Save the world.”

Viktor broke the kiss with some amount of effort. He wasn’t sure if he was going to be able to do this, he felt like he was breaking in two already. He panted as he launched himself forward so that Jennifer was pinned down on the metal table that Ben had been on before. He sat back before he placed his hands around her neck and then began to draw her power from there.

The Durango had an entirely different feeling than the Marigold had. He was putting something other and different inside of him, something that very much did not belong. He could hear the tinkling of Ben’s Marigold somewhere inside of her, but he drew that into the mess that resided in his chest as well. He could feel the two substances warring inside of him and his body got even warmer and sicker than it had been before.

A memory flashed to the front of Viktor’s mind once he had grasped all of the Durango and Marigold inside of Jennifer and yanked. It played in his mind as he removed himself from on top of her and then stumbled back into the waiting arms of his childhood best friend. Harlan had mentioned something about not being able to control the power that Viktor had given him because he wasn’t like them. They had been born from the Marigold and the Durango was the antithesis of them. He had taken in a bunch of powers that were no longer meant for him to have and the exact thing that was trying to kill him.

He felt the cool of the floor touch his hair and back behind him. His fingers twitched as he continued to call the rest of the Marigold that was out in the world. The only thing that he was able to get out of his mouth was the location and name of each person that he took the Marigold from. He saw some of their memories from when they had used their powers in other universes flash through his mind. Each time he got another piece of the entirety of the Marigold, it felt like he was being electrocuted and shot at the same time. He felt his entire body seize up with the force of the power that it was pushing into something that couldn’t handle it, before he collapsed back down onto the heated ground.

Eventually, it stopped. Everything had pooled inside of his chest. He knew that his skin was glowing with the force of the Marigold and Durango as it fought against itself inside of him. His skin was so hot that he could smell the hair on his arms burning and his clothing felt like it was stripping back his flesh with every movement that he made.

Viktor let a scream finally tear past his throat as his chest was lifted into the air by the force of the reaction that was coming from him. Red and Golden light poured from him and made the bright, aggressive popping that fireworks did when they were set off in the wrong way. The substances that had caused all the mess that they were involved in was eating itself alive inside of him and pouring out into the space around him.

The pain that he was in was absolutely indescribable. It radiated through every single part of his body from the skin downwards until it had sunken down into his bones. He was writhing with the force of it but the movement only made it worse. He could barely move his fingers or his hands in general, everything was falling apart. His lungs were struggling to bring in air and that was making him dizzy and sick, the power that he had gotten from Diego working against him to try and shut down his body. He screamed with every single pulse of blood throughout his body because it felt like lava was filling his veins instead of blood. He could feel his back burning with The Horror as the portal opened and closed on the poor creature over and over again, preventing it from coming out like it wanted to. His mouth filled with blood and he just barely managed to spit it out before it choked him, each time it poured out of him. His eyes burned with the effort it took to keep them open and he was sure that his nose was also soaking his front with crimson.

His mind was buzzing with thousands of memories from thousands of versions of himself and his family. He carried them all, all their pain and hurt and power and sorrow.

He felt the last of the reaction go and then there was only his heart.

It thumped steadily and slowly in his chest, the sound filling his ears.

It was soothing, reassuring.

Then it stopped.

---

The tinkling of the bell above the door was what alerted them to the last few members of their party joining them. Luther and Sloane were seated next to each other, with their hands tangled together under the table like they were school children hiding their love from the teacher instead of adults that had been married for years. Diego and Lila were at the end of the table, though they weren’t married anymore since they had decided they would work better separately. Five sat alone at the other end of the table as he toyed with the coffee in his mug, refusing to drink it but still not letting it be cleaned up by the waitress that kept hovering nearby. Allison and Klaus were arguing quietly with each other about what they were going to do about Claire’s grades.

Jennifer was the last to join them, giving a quick kiss to Ben before they split apart so that they could sit across from each other at the table. Across the restaurant, Claire whooped to embarrass them further. She was sitting with the trio of kids that had come from Lila and Diego’s fleeting marriage to babysit them while her mother and uncle talked about boring adult stuff.

“Sorry about being late,” Jennifer said as she sat down.

“We know how it is being newlyweds,” Allison said, soothing them and teasing them at the same time.

“Shut it,” Ben snarled back at her.

“Ben,” Jennifer warned. He rolled his eyes but relaxed back into his seat and gave up on the chase.

“So, we all know why we’re here,” Diego said so that they could start the proper conversation. “Has anyone heard anything from Viktor?”

“No,” they all chorused across the table. Klaus shifted and said, “I haven’t been able to find out anything from Reginald, but Abigail said that they hadn’t heard anything about him since before the timelines all merged together.”

“It might be time for us to stop looking,” Lila said.

“You can stop looking, but I’m not going to,” Five snarled back at her. His eyes held that wild feral attitude that all the Umbrellas recognized from when he had first come back from the apocalypse, which was a bit worrying to see.

“Five, it’s been two years and none of us have heard anything from him. We have proper lives here with people that we love. No paradoxes, no powers, no Marigold at all. We should just be happy that we have this and try to enjoy it,” Allison argued.

“Viktor was right. None of you ever cared about him. He died for you so that you could have these lives and you can’t even keep looking for him,” Five slammed his coffee cup down onto the table and then rose from his chair. He shoved his hands down into the pockets of his chinos as he turned and left the dinner entirely, not carrying who was going to have to pick up his bill.

This was the way that their yearly meet ups had gone since they had woken up in the full timeline. They were all pieces of what the timelines had been before, a complete version of themselves that were more than the abuse that had been given to them when they were in their versions of the Academy. They had their memories from the main timelines that they had grown up in since they had been so close to Viktor and it was likely something that he was thinking about when he died. At least, that was the theory that they had since none of them could figure out why else they would have two lives rattling around in their heads.

Five walked further and further into The City until he found the park that was where the Academy used to be. He sat down on the bench and ran a hand through his hair, trying to soothe himself. He had meant what he said, he was going to continue to look for Viktor until there was actual physical proof that he wasn’t somewhere out in the world, waiting for them to find him. He had sacrificed everything to make sure that they had a chance at happiness and the least that they could do was make sure that they returned the favor.

He scowled when he heard a dog barking behind him, being led by someone also inhabiting the park. He really wanted to be alone right now, he was still mourning what he should have done to his best friend. The guilt over not being there for him when he was giving the chance and letting Viktor die a horrible, gruesome death while thinking that was eating him alive. He opened his mouth to say something scathing to the person sitting next to him before he looked down and saw Mr. Pennycrumb.

His eyes flicked up and he was met with shaggy brown hair hanging into intense brown eyes, a pale face pulled into a wide smile, and a short frame. “Viktor?”

“Hey Five. Is this seat taken?”

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the-avatars · 6 months ago

Text

Ooc intro

Ask and do whatever, just don’t be a dick. And keep in mind that Dolly is mentally a kid.

Every character writes with other font but every post is also tagged with their names.

Some posts might be drawn

If you have any ideas for some plot/interaction don’t be afraid to dm me :33

My main is @polutek you can find more info there

Character introductions under cut

Nina (they/it); the corruption avatar, literally filled with bugs, there’s almost nothing else inside, everything is eaten up. Their skin is rotting, falling off so yeah they are quite smelly. They are also my sona, lol. And their father, guy who’s in charge of them not rotting completely bcs why not. He might be an avatar too but I’m not telling u that. His name is Gregory

Dolly (she/it); the stranger avatar, porcelain doll, half of her face is missing. She’s a bit silly. She has ability to mimic voices quite well

Eve (they/them); used to be spiral researcher, now is spiral avatar touched by the eye. They are a stoner, and they love messing with peoples mind that are under influence of various substances. Their madness maze is a huge gaming room, sometimes a strange lab (shared with their sister)

Nora (she/they/it); als used to be spiral researcher but also got sucked into it! She’s touched by the lonely, putting people in never ending empty lab. She had situationship with Lilith back when it was still human

- Iris (he/they); the vast avatar, sky domain. Works as the barista and is the urban climber, streaming his every climb. He’s very tired of everyone lol. Binds for way too long and than have a trouble breathing;’((

Lilith (they/she); Eepy witch, idk. Avatar of the buried and lonely

#ooc #dolly posting #eve #nora #nina posting #iris posting #lilith posting #tma ocs #✨

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thek1ngtalks · 7 months ago

Note

🌧️

And

⭐ Director's Commentory⭐

Both MTN pls!

....and then you'll be forgiven for the long wait of chapter 3 <3

Thanks for the food!

WARNINGS: Spoilers for chp3 of MtN! And certified Yapping on my behalf.

Okay so for 🌧️:

Suho read somewhere, once, that Americans love to move. It's in their blood, the desire to drift. He has no clue what this means for him, now.

If Americans crave change, then South Koreans crave stability. But where does Akatrina fall in all this? What happens to men split in half? He is a man of habit, he is a creature of eternity. He is doomed to change, dealing in all things finite and ending.

He doesn’t know how to live in a state of change. Parts of his mind forever spiraling in a singular moment. Yet he’s drawn to finding something that won’t shift when his feet land. He does not know how not to shake the platform. He’s struggling to find a stable ground but the floor is creaking, the walls are wailing. His rocking tips the scales.

There is an open sky above him, bleeding red with bubbling black clouds. The clouds hang heavy in the sky, faces screaming and cursing his existence.

There is a sky above him and no ground below.

So he falls,

⭐ Director's Commentory⭐

so i really want to talk about MtN's first scene with Aria and Oliver (the mother and son (corn demon))

Something about his mother was held in Aria’s unfamiliar eyes, in the slope of her nose, and in the gentle hand she cards through her son’s hair. Something about the way she cried, glass teardrops on delicate features, over her son’s feverish body that felt like pieces of his own mother preserved. Something about the way he knew her, in moments he can’t quite connect, like an outsider watching his own life recontextualized.

I think this was one of the scenes I liked the most that chapter as well as the one scene i had to rewrite the most (my poor beta reader TT)

so essentially the setting is just "mom and son come to Hajin for help" but I really wanted to expand on Hajin's general wistful vibes and the pain he's been dealing with over his parents literally the entire novel

Aria isn't his mom. I didn't really want to just say "she looks exactly like his mom" even thought it kinda comes a cross that way? a little? but its moreso Hajin searching for any small similarities Aria might share with his mom, being nostalgic about what he is now missing

he is taking her bare features and actions and applying his own history on it. trying to grieve in the only way he's able to

Fundamentally, she is someone she knows and yet doesn't. He is watching his childhood through the lens of someone else's.

His mother has been fundamentally dead since the beginning. He will never see her again, never hug her or hold her hand or collect her ashes. he wishes he could though.

something about his mother. something about all mothers. in the gentleness of a brushing hand and the pain of worried tears.

Sorry, I have a Complex about my mother and projected, whoops.

Anyways, yeah, i just liked writing that scene even if it was probably needlessly vague and also too specific.

I HAVE EARNED FORGIVENESS!!! yippeee!

#k1ng answers #k1ng writes #k1ng talks #MtN #Mountain to No One

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dykeyote · 2 years ago

Note

💔 + 🎥 for tpo or rgu (or both!!)

also maybe 📜 for rgu cause i’m trying to get into it

i assume u mean tpp bc idk what else tpo would be tho i may be being stupid ...... so i will do both bc i like to talk >:)

one of my least favorite characters from penumbra and why: oh god i really cannot stand mick mercury . i really cant . i just really dont like himbo characters or anything adjacent ..... unless its handled INSANELY well or in a really new and compelling way i just Do not like cis guy characters where the whole thing is that theyre like incompetent and dumb and thats their main thing and often feels like their Only thing i just Do not like it they immediately get on my nerves and i dont like his voice either so whenever hes on the show i am Displeased ...... theres interesting aspects to him and idk i get why people like him i suppose but i cannot stand him . at all . he just is like the biggest example of a trope i really hate </3

one of my least favorite characters from rgu and why: this ones tricky because like .... i like most of the characters that dont do awful shit . like i can be like "oh i hate akio" and ur gonna be like yeah duh ......

fav scene from penumbra: i did this a while ago in this post but ill also throw in one that i forgot which is that i do quite like juno and cassandra's interactions in murderous mask also .... its quite entertaining and puts an interesting lens on both characters . and also theyre both really fucking funny

fav scene from rgu: okay like.... there are many INSANELY good scenes in rgu . so beautiful so cool so fucking thought provoking it is an AMAZING show . however ngl the scene i think and talk the most abt (i literally was talking abt this to my friend the other day who was thinking abt watching it) is the goddamn scene in the dub (idk what its like in the sub i havent seen it i might after i finish watching the dub thru bc i struggle w paying attntion to captions) where they like . show this like triple angle shot of utena and all the girls are staring at her with heart eyes and shit and then they go in the silliest fucking anime dub voice "Shes So Cool" when it is so obvious that they all want to say shes smoking hot and they need her rn . love that scene . i think abt it all the time . its so funny . why would u censor the lesbians of ohtori academy which is apparently all the girls ever

plotline of rgu and what kind of media it is: revolutionary girl utena is a late 90s anime that was heavily influential on the anime that came later and on animation in general (: the plot surrounds utena tenjou, a teenage girl (ish . her relationship to gender is VERY complex and she is at the very least clearly butch to me . bigender utena 4eva) who wants to be a prince and who is sort of unintentionally drawn into a duel for (among other things) the hand of the rose bride, anthy himemiya, a teenage girl with some magical capacities who is treated more as an object than a person by those who want to win her. utena wins the duel, and continues to have to defend her spot as champion despite not particularly Wanting anthy to treat her as her owner and bride-to-be. things obviously spiral down and get way more complicated from there but thats the basic synopsis of the beginning without spoiling later stuff (: (and obligatory warning for anyone intrigued by that that it gets very heavy later on check the warnings ideally on smt besides does the dog die bc there is a Large amnt and imo the does the dog die doesnt really cover them properly or explicitly explain how intrinsically tied to the narrative some of said warnings Are)

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zoros-bandana · 2 years ago

Note

Hm... This has been bouncing around my head for a while, I was wondering, how would you handle a zoro x beefy fem!reader who fits into the patient 'gentle giant' trope, at least until that strength is needed? As in, she can and will break people in half if her nakama is in real danger. Maybe the first occurrence when she 'snaps' into this cold fury is kind of frightening, unexpected... but kinda hot?

An Unexpected Match

(SFW)

Warning: Water 7 spoilers, slight mentions of fighting

Summary: Intimated by your strength, Zoro took no notice when you joined the crew, only to later find himself in a spiral of attachment to his newfound crush; the gentle giant.

Word Count: 2,500

(A/n: I started to write this as a literal giant reader and got so carried away I didn't realise until I had all but finished that I had to restart the request. I also apologise I haven't been posting a lot for the last few months both mentally and physically I've been through it and I am exhausted)

The Strawhats stumbled across you in a bleak aftermath of rubble, destined to find their missing friend, to only be met with someone overgrown and timid, waiting for them to strike.

Luffy was infatuated by you the second he saw you, like a shiny new toy in a pile of rusted second-hand gifts. He had only crossed a handful of tall women before you, but non were quite as impressive and buff like you were.

Wasting not a moment longer, Luffy was quick to plead you to join his crew, wishing for the addition to his once low number. Unsure of a proper response you agreed, letting them sweep you up in a serious of frightful and dangerous adventures. New to the crew you stayed timid and uneventful, the exposure to numerous battles only fearing you more. You felt out of place with the kind and bonded people you now called your friends, your status making you feel outcast. It was easy to remind yourself of the differences placed between yourself and your friends; the height being one of the many obvious.

Your friends had to accommodate to your addition height and strength, drawing even more attention to something you wished to ignore.

For the first few months you stayed behind the crew, hiding your true potential in battles, afraid to let everything out. It was a constant nag through your life that you were to conceal your true strengths, knowing the damage it would cause. And although you wished to help your friends, the damage outweighed any of the positives, keeping you in a loop of fear and anguish.

Despite this, there wasn't a day that passed that you didn't catch the attention of Zoro. He could tell there was something about you, something utterly mesmerising, finding it hard to keep his eyes from you. It was obvious you stood out from most, standing almost double his own height and a defined body covered in rippling muscles, but your kindness was enduring. It was something unexpected from you, to behave so tender to your friends and even those who you barely knew, keeping him drawn to you like a magnet.

He saw you in ways you never knew could be seen by anyone. He dismissed any negative proposals of yourself, much like many of the crew, however, he did it in such a way that almost made it believable. He was honest, despite peoples feelings, and his truth hindered part of you, pushing you to explore what the brave swordsman saw in you.

After Robin was captured, however, it felt like a personal attack. Robin was kind to you, as she was with everyone, soon becoming a close friend. She had opened up about her past, enlightening you with stories and knowledge, bringing comfort that she would not harm you. It lit a fire under you seeing how broken she had become, risking everything to bring her back to the crew, even if it meant becoming what you feared the most.

Facing off against CP9 lit the fuse that urged your fire to burn. At first it had stopped the crew, watching how brawling you turned, your physique so muscular and obscene, it was if they were looking at a different person. You held no remorse for the government as your ripped through their walls, wielding your hands into unforgiving weapons that tore through whoever came into your path. You voice held a brutal shake, rumbling the ground as you swore to return your friend. Your face holding a twisted growl, covered in a heavy red, eyes large and dark.

Your crew held the same morbid stance, never expecting such dramatically intense rage to surface. You were so timid and frightful to even raise your voice and now, as you terrorised the people in your path, there wasn't a single drop of warmth in your actions. You were cold, blanketed by your own compressed emotions as you finally let them all surface, brewing into a steaming mixture of fury.

Thrown off by your actions, everybody remained frozen in terror; all except for Zoro. He had never seen anybody so alarming, so consumed in a ravenous anger, it almost seemed beautiful.

And that was when Roronoa Zoro knew, this was more than just admiration for you.

The strange fascination with this unusual crew-mate was more than just an awe of your obvious strength.

This is what he saw in you; such raw beauty it paralysed him with devotion.

This was a crush.

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

Zoro sat with his arms crossed behind him, resting against the bottom of a tree, pretending to be asleep. His eyes, half shut, were drawn to where you stood, helping to hold up the side of the ship as Franky patched up the large hole that forced a sudden stop.

His eyes wondered over your arms, taking in how strong you were, the muscles rippling under your skin as you held the large ship; acting as if it was nothing. Smiling to himself he shifted his gaze up, watching the soft and kind features of your face. Your face was twisted in a shy smile, giggling lightly as Franky told you some joke that he ended with his usual 'super'. Zoro couldn't help but feel jealous at how easily you bonded with other members of the crew, especially taller members such as Franky and Brook, making him feel almost outcasted by your kindness, yet so determined to be flooded by it.

"Who you looking at?"

Zoro averted his eyes quickly, staring up as Luffy blocked out the mid-day sun, devouring some kind of meat that he no doubt stole from the refrigerator.

"Nobody"

Luffy ignored his comment, looking over towards the ship.

"It's (Y/n), isn't it?"

"No!" Zoro spat, although the bright blush on his cheeks contradicted his statement.

Luffy chuckled, unaware of the exact reason his friend was so embarrassed. It was normal for Zoro to act like this, keeping a close eye on the crew as if it was his only mission; growing more protective by each island.

"Oi! (Y/n)!"

Zoro froze, watching as the captain flagged you down, wishing he could disappear. Your eyes rose up from Franky, fluttering sweetly over to where Zoro sat, casting the same precious smile. Confused at Luffy's calling, there was a slight tilt in your head, shuffling your gaze between your captain and the swordsman.

Luffy waved for you to come over, making Zoro shuffle in his seat, anxious to try and flee the scene. His heart hammered loud in his chest, fogging over all senses, unaware you had broken away from Franky and was heading towards him. He could faintly make out Luffy's voice, soon followed by the mouse voice of your own, easing him like an anchor as he looked up towards you.

All eyes landed on Zoro, waiting for some kind of response, as if he had toasted to the audience for an emotional speech.

But what exactly could he say?

What would happen if they knew - if you knew - he had feelings?

He couldn't come across as weak.

"What?" Zoro spat out, keeping his voice as level as he could.

"You were looking at me?"

Zoro could see fear wash across your face, doubt creeping into your mind that he was looking at you for all the wrong reasons; the views that you saw of yourself. He knew none of what you saw was true, years of your own trauma battering you into self-doubt that he wished to ease. He wanted nothing more than to comfort you and show you it was okay to be yourself, as brutal and incredibly demanding as you were.

The fear on your face became a look of sadness, creating your own answer from his silence that it was a look of disgust. Embarrassed, you retrieved back over to Franky, flashing Luffy an apologetic smile on the way.

Exhaling deeply, Zoro shut his eyes, hoping Luffy would disregard what had happened to leave him wallowing in his guilt. He felt so tongue-tied around you, never knowing how to say anything supportive without confessing. Since he realised his intentions it was increasingly treacherous whenever he spoke to you, as if he would blurt his love out loud.

Luffy stayed by his right-hand's side, watching as you walked back over to the ship-right. He could sense that there was something amiss between his two friends - even someone as thick as him could work that out - seeing the interaction first hand. You looked so hopeful when he mentioned Zoro was looking at you, your face lighting up with possibilities of kind words. But once you were met with silence there was a deafening sadness he could feel, his protective captain instincts recognising your troubles instantly.

"I think (Y/n) likes you"

Zoro snapped open his eyes, following Luffy's voice as he chucked to himself.

"Huh?"

Swinging his legs, Luffy sat down next to Zoro, crossing them under him. "She really cares about what you think of her, Zoro. And I think that is more than friends"

He was silent for a second, the cogs in his head turning as he processed further. "Do you like her too? Is that why you keep looking at her?"

There was a mix of realisation and confusion in Luffy's voice, not comprehending if his conclusion was the right one. Zoro did care for all the crew equally, protecting them when he could, so his stab at a confession from the bleak swordsman was one he threw blindly.

"I- I don't know" Zoro mumbled, barely audible to the captain.

“I think you do” Luffy beamed, tearing off another enormous chunk of meat, stripping it off the bone. His pause gave Zoro a moment to think, reevaluating his answer, however, not wishing to confess to his loud mouth friend.

News spread like wildfire when Luffy was involved.

Grunting, Zoro rose from his spot, tracking as quickly as he could through the sand, heading back towards the ship. His heartbeat grew thunderous in his ears, shaking his vision of you as he caught your attention, calling out as he got close.

“Oi, can I talk with you?” Zoro strained his voice, letting it carry up to you.

You look puzzled, darting your eyes away from him to look back at Franky. He had stepped away from his work to assess you both, looking back and forth as he waited for someone to speak.

“You’re free to go, (Y/n), I’m just about done with this anyway”

Franky’s words released you from your excuse to hide from Zoro, more afraid from his stern talks than his silence. You had observed the way he pulled fellow crew members aside, only to inflict negative comments or arguments that you chose to avoid.

Cautiously agreeing, you placed the ship down, following Zoro up the side of the beach to give you both a bit more of space. You knew it would be pointless to escape the crew from overhearing your conversation, your voices soaring even as a whisper. But Zoro wanted that space. He wanted to feel like he could have you alone, even for a few minutes, to be vulnerable enough to apologise. He hated the feeling he had hurt you.

You had turned into the trees, cowering through the thick shrubs, hoping to distance yourself from embarrassment. There was a mutual tension that hung over you both, as if you both wished to share how you felt with neither one wishing to be the first to admit it out loud. Between Zoro's stubborn emotions and your shyness, it became a match for the rest of the crew to turn to for entertainment.

"I didn't mean to hurt you" Zoro mumbled, hoping it would reach you. "It caught me off guard when Luffy invited you over and I didn't know what to say. I don't always know how exactly to act around you. I often look at you because I think you are truly something great, something so wonderful, so beautiful, and I can't help feel drawn to you and your strength. The truth is actually..."

Zoro cleared his throat, speaking louder.

“I like you, (Y/n)!”

A silence fell around you both, forcing Zoro to look back over his shoulder; knowing his words had caught the crews attention. His face flushed over in a bright glow, noting that the crew had indeed noted his words, standing around to wait for your response. He wanted to run from this situation, feeling exposed in front of the people he cared about most.

He knew he would be teased for this.

A soft mumble caused Zoro to turn back to you, realising you had said something, a light blush on your face. Moving closer to you, Zoro took small steps, shaking as he did. He had never been so close to you but he wanted to hear your voice again, hear the melody he loved so much, hoping you would repeat yourself.

Your eyes darted down quickly to look at Zoro, locking onto one another, seeing each other perfectly for the first time.

It was surreal observing each other like this, so close, taking in as much of each others features as you could. You noted the soft curves on his cheekbones, framing his structured face with a deliciously sharp frame. His eyes held a cautious but beautiful edge, deep grey eyes pulling you in like a sinking ship to water. He was just as beautiful as you noted from further away, intriguing you just as much as before.

“I like you, too”

Your blush darkened before you looked away, hearing the faint cheers from your friends as they overheard you reciprocate Zoro's feelings. He was quiet for a moment, letting your words sink in, overwhelmed with how those words sounded coming from you. And how they were aimed at him.

A sense of relief drained from Zoro, easing him to speak clearer, almost cockier. Now he knew your intentions were more than just some half-promised words from Luffy he was ready to go further, guiding the first steps to becoming more than what you were already.

"Well, would you like to do something about it?"

A smile washed across your face, reciprocating his light and almost playful speech. It served almost as a hammer to your walls of fear around him, knowing you could be yourself and he would still like you just the way you were; easily crashing through them.

"That's if you're willing to handle me"

Zoro smirked, amused by your quick wit, seeing a new side to you intrigued to find out how many other layers you were hiding from him. He was elated to see what could come from your growing feelings for each other, tackling these new emotions as you sailed with your friends to accomplish your dreams. And Zoro couldn't think of anyone better to be by his side when he did.

"Oh, trust me, (Y/n). I can handle a lot more than you know"

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