#ok KO echo au | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

obutsuwrites · 4 years ago

Text

confectionery kisses (fat gum x reader)

summary: “I know you’re enjoyin’ me, but -- uh -- can I kiss ya?” The alcohol hit him fully now; the hero too enumerated to be bashful. Steamie looked up and was greeted by lemon color eyes that held utter kindness. xxx lord forgive me bc this is so wholesome it killed me!!! but basically, bakery!au ft. meet-cute w/ drunken kissing shenanigans~! (well it's 1 kiss ok but it is what it is)

author note: i’m considering a part 2 that picks up where this leaves off, but w smut. if that’s sumthin anyone would b interested in, pls lmk~!

reader is nonbinary/afab!

word count: 2,130

my ao3 for more shitposts~!

my ko-fi~!

my inbox is open 4 requests :3c

Focused, flour caked hands kneaded the dough before them. The young baker too engrossed by the magic of dough to notice a soft chime sound through the shop. Customers weren’t uncommon for them. Steamie’s Bakery was a word-of-mouth local treasure. A bewitching pastry shop that had the best donuts, honest. Steamie -- as they prefer -- adored their neighbors praises. Steady streams of patrons in a ‘hot spot’ for criminal activity wasn’t exactly the best business decision. However, this run-down homestyle bakery -- and it’s holes -- were theirs.

Steamie hummed as they worked. Their mind was stuck within sugary confectionery.

“Hey… y’all open?” This man’s voice was gruff and carefree. A smile wrapped in his syllables.

Fat Gum stood within the tiny bakery. His form dwarfed the modest space; the edge of his hood scrapped against the ceiling as he waited for a response. The BMI Hero was surprised his lumbering footsteps hadn’t alerted the owner. Was it possible he had misread the sign? Work had drained him recently. Fat Gum had practically dragged himself to Steamie’s Bakery. Locals babbled constantly about the place, and he desired a quiet bite after hours. The quant business was one of the only eateries open at such an hour.

The abrupt sound whipped the enamored baker from their task. Warm eyes glanced up, irises bright and alive despite the time. “Hi. Yes! Yes, we are. I’m Steamie.” Their eyes met the giant man who stood awkwardly in front of a display. He looked so out of place, the man’s body bulbous and impossibly large. Steamie guessed by the man’s rather campy mask that he was an off-duty hero. A species of hero not seen often around their street. The area deemed too dangerous for such leisurely activity.

Truth be told, Steamie didn’t care about heroes. Or villains. The tall baker instead hyper focused upon baking. A hobby that morphed into a job. However, a small voice inside Steamie wanted to impress the man. He seemed so friendly and looked so… cuddly. Like a sentient teddy bear. A man composed of pillows and kindness.

Fat Gum furrowed his brows. The BMI Hero seemed to be in deep thought over exactly which eclair to buy. He had never seen so many flavors before. Strawberry, blueberry, cherry, watermelon. Every flavor sounded as delicious as the last. Pink tongue darted out between his lips and teeth. A sugar overload was tempting. Simple black coffee wouldn’t cure this sluggy fog. Besides, he had burned away precious fat today. It was a treat.

“Steamie? Does your quirk help with your work?” Fat Gum asked, as he scanned the pastries. He noticed their designs now. Soft and lacy intricate artwork that intertwined on each eclair; each pattern unique and perfectly executed. Every baked good was a labor of love.

A snort escaped Steamie; the sound high pitched and hearty.

“I wish. No, I just emit a puff of steam. I’m basically a glorified dehumidifier.” Steamie brushed flour decorated hands against their apron. The young baker was keen to serve the hero. Hero culture wasn’t an interest of theirs, but the physical embodiment of a pillow was too enticing for the baker. They wondered what exactly their job was. ‘Due to his size… maybe rescue?’

It was now Fat Gum’s turn to laugh. Rumbly and soft. “I don’t do rescue. Say, uh, how much are these eclairs?”

Rambling out loud was habitual for them. Their thoughts grew legs of their own and walked out into tangible space. They were immune to the embarrassment of it, instead accepting their odd trait.

Steamie slapped a dusty hand to their forehead. “I don’t have price tags..?” The sentence was in limbo between a question and an answer. They had rearranged the shop recently. Changing pastry stock required innovation. The elclairs before Fat Gum had been a stroke of late night genius. Birthed from the desire for a gooey center and intricate lace. A happy medium for the proud baker.

The baker quickly stepped behind the counter, dust flew from their hands. Diligent hands eventually found a leftover tag and wrote down a price. Patrons caused Steamie to envelope themselves into baking. Most days, flour and powdered sugar felt impossible to wash off. Almost like a second skin; signs of their success.

Steamie beckoned Fat Gum to the counter. The BMI Hero obliged; pep in his gait.

“Here. Don’t go thinking you’re getting a discount!” Steamie’s laugh echoed in the bakery as they handed the hero price tags. Fat Gum could swear the baker’s body vibrated from the sound. “I’ve been busy lately. Cakes and pies don’t sell themselves.”

The hero’s smile grew like marigolds; fast and vibrant. Steamie didn’t mind looking at this hero. His posture was proud, but hid something. A mystery Steamie couldn’t quite figure out. ‘Kinda interesting…’

“What’s interesting?” Fat Gum asked, the giant of a man still enamored by pastries.

“You know my quirk; what’s yours? It’s probably super interesting.”

The hero’s face contorted into a mix of confusion and admiration. ‘Does she not know who I am?’ “My quirk is fat absorption. I don’t usually look like this!” A laugh erupted from the man. His notoriety meant everyone knew of his quirk. The banter was refreshing. Fat Gum enjoyed the naivety of the baker.

Their conversation died down as Fat Gum perused baked goods. Steamie wandered back to their original post. They almost forgot the hero was in the shop. Heavy footsteps dissolved any fantasy of peace and quiet. Little moments of serenity were scarce, but nightfall brought the quiet Steamie craved. A meager smile etched into the corners of the baker’s mouth. They hummed as they worked; now fully absorbed in kneading dough.

“Hey,” the hero’s gruff voice broke the silence between them, “hope it’s not too much trouble, but I’m ready to be rung up!” His words carried an airiness to them; like cotton candy. Steamie wondered if this was a natural state for Fat Gum.

Steamie nodded, again wiping their hands on their apron. Dusty fingers worked at the register and completed the transaction between the two.

Fat Gum stopped short of the door and turned to the baker still stationed at the counter. “What’s your name?” He asked with childish curiosity, as if Steamie’s name was a mystery.

“Like I said, I’m Steamie,” they replied, eyeing the hero. It wasn’t uncommon for locals to ask what their real name was, but as far as Steamie cared, Steamie was their name. An abstract, genderless name that suited them.

Fat Gum laughed, a hearty sound that echoed through the empty bakery. Steamie swore display cases shook. Almost reminiscent of thunder. “No, uh, your… Your real name, unless you prefer Steamie. It’s cute.” A tint of red dotted his cheeks, unable to hide the embarrassment that painted his face. He didn’t intend to tell the baker; the compliment had slipped past him.

“Steamie is who I am. Is Fat Gum not who you are?” They chose to ignore the comment, it was muttered anyway, as if the hero was embarrassed. It was polite to not intimate customers.

“Toyomitsu,” the hero said and pointed to his chest; a smile stretched across his face.

“It was nice to meet you, Toyomitsu.”

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

Fat Gum -- or Toyomitsu as he preferred -- was absent from the shop, until several weeks after their first meeting.

It was closing time and Steamie was locking up. Despite their dingy location, the baker only carried two keys; one to lock up and the other to unlock their apartment. There were better things to steal than confectionery.

“Long time no see, huh, Steamie?”

The thunderous voice obviously belonged to Toyomitsu; unique and hearty.

The baker flinched at the sudden noise and swiftly turned to the BMI Hero. His face was no longer taunt and long, but instead, squishy and soft. Chubby cheeks that were made for pinching and a soft, bulbous belly. The man before them sounded like Toyomitsu, but his hefty frame was the opposite of the hero Steamie met.

“You’re… Toyomitsu, right?” Remembering names wasn’t one of Steamie’s strong suits.

A light blush crept across Toyomitsu’s face, ending at the tips of his ears. “That’s me! Kinda surprised you remembered, it’s been awhile.”

Steamie nodded and finished to lock the door, pocketing their key.

“I was wondering,” Toyomitsu began, “if you wanted to get a bite. It’d be my treat!” The hero’s tone was excited, like a child asking for a sweet. ‘He’s so enduring like this… reminds me of a teddy bear.’ Steamie’s lips curled into a petite smile. A secret between friends.

In truth, Toyomitsu wanted more than a dinner date, but any meaningful relationship is built on friendship. At least that’s the advice he offered to Red Riot. The pro hero wanted to kiss the baker and pinch their cheeks; all while cooing at them.

“No thanks, I’m exhausted from today,” Steamie replied. They saw Toyomitsu’s wide grin falter and felt a pang in their chest. ‘His face is just too cute!’ “Actually, I don’t live far from here, and I have some left-over pastries. They don’t sell like my eclairs.” Anything Steamie baked was delicious, Toyomitsu decided.

“Sure!” He eagerly replied. A grin encompassed his face as the couple walked towards the baker’s apartment.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

The BMI hero sat across Steamie as the baker dove into another work related story. He adored the spark in their eyes, like tiny sprinkles decorating a vibrant treat. A treat he wanted to admire and cherish. Watching Steamie become animated while they talked caused Toyomitsu’s heart to quiver against his ribcage.

Steamie -- to their credit -- truly opened up after several cups of wine; slurring and excited. Their thoughts were no longer accidental blurbs, but drunken fragments.

“...an’ that’s why I don’ keep sugar an’ flour!”

Toyomitsu nodded, tufts of blond feathered around his forehead.

“Wanna touch your cheeks, can I?” The baker asked, their voice small and childlike. This was the first sentence that wasn’t a slurred mess, and yet, Toyomitsu still felt heat bloom in his cheeks.

Gently, Toyomitsu brought their small hand -- that his own dwarfed -- against his cheek. The baker’s touch was warm, like fresh baked bread. Without realizing, the hero nuzzled into Steamie’s palm.

‘So soft…’

“Yeah, you are.” The alcohol had made Toyomitsu brave, lion hearted and flustered.

Pink sprinkled across Steamie’s face as they withdrew their hand and buried their face within their palms. “Sorry,” the baker slurred, “you… You look so ‘oft.”

Toyomitsu chuckled at the mumbled apology. “S’ok, you’re cute.”

Steamie let out a soft gasp, “Cute? Dunno ‘bout that! But I think your cheeks…” They weren’t accustomed to compliments, especially compliments from a teddy bear. ‘Wanna bury myself in his chest.’

“You can.”

Steamie’s face was uncovered and ever red, the baker unable to justify hiding the inferno that burned into their cheeks.

The baker devolved into a red and squealing mess; unable to form coherent sentences, like little pieces of creamy confectionery. The pro hero wondered what their plush lips felt like pressed up against his… They looked so small, so delicate. A treasure he wanted to covet. The hero’s large, calloused finger reached up and quickly swiped across the supple flesh. ‘Like a flower petal,’ Toyomitsu thought.

The baker drifted into Toyomitsu’s lap; scorching and far too big for their frame. “Ya smell ‘ice,” Steamie mumbled and buried their face into the gigantic man’s chest. Fluffy and cozy, like a pillow. “Like a pillow!” Steamie couldn’t help the outburst. Toyomitsu wasn’t a man, but a plushie they wanted to bury themselves in. He was velvety and felt like home. The baker inhaled his scent, trying to memorize the floral notes of his laundry soap. Vanilla and honeysuckle.

Toyomitsu petted their hair, running his fingers through long strands. Even their hair was soft. Steamie was a squishy marshmallow he wanted to keep. He wrapped an arm around their small body, hyper aware of their delicate structure. Warm hands began to rub Steamie’s back as they nuzzled against Toyomitsu’s sweatshirt. ‘Feels like a hug.’

“I know you’re enjoyin’ me, but -- uh -- can I kiss ya?” The alcohol hit him fully now; the hero too enumerated to be bashful. Steamie looked up and was greeted by lemon color eyes that held utter kindness.

Their tongue refused to cooperate, the baker only able to produce a curt nod. Their face was a blazing wildfire, a vibrant array of pinks and rogues.

Slowly, Toyomitsu pressed his chapped lips against the baker’s mouth. The kiss was slow and sloppy, neither party capable of coordinated motion. Toyomitsu brushed his tongue along their lips and tasted sugar. His mind was clouded with lewd thoughts of the baker as he finally broke the kiss; greedy lungs heaving -- desperate for air.

“Ya taste good, wonder what this tastes like,” the pro hero pondered. His hand gently palming between their thighs.

#Taishiro Toyomitsu x reader #fat gum x reader #bnha #fluff #wholesome #Bakery!AU

75 notes · View notes

loftyexecutor · 4 years ago

Text

paled and wrapped up emotions

Rating; T WC; 1098 Characters; Error, Blueberror, Pale Notes; error bonds with the multiverse’s troublemaker. and gets a gift from BB

part 3 of Multiverse #379 AO3 mirror | Ko-fi

Error gazed at the expansive space that filled Outertale. Or what passed as Outertale in this multiverse. It was the same set of asteroids he was used to, but the constellations overhead were all wrong, the colors just off in the nebulae.

It didn’t even matter much. Bit by bit, all those colors faded around him; first into a monochrome that then bled into inky darkness.

“What’s it this time?” he wondered idly, turning to look from what used to be a sky at his companion.

Pale was… Nowadays, Error hesitated comparing him to either himself, or Ink. He acted like Ink when he’d run out of paints, not possessing emotions a lot of the time, but instead of carrying paint vials around like the infernal artist, he’d just go to an AU and bleed it dry for them. The result was always a black void, too unstable to keep its shape when left empty afterwards.

Pale turned towards him, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“Melancholy,” he said, eventually.

Error nodded, slowly standing up since the asteroid he’d been using as a stargazing spot was long gone. This had been one of many AU copies made up by Template, its express and sole purpose to be used by Pale.

He marveled at how this multiverse functioned from the moment BB had explained it to him.

The balance held, because Pale only destroyed AUs to feel something again, and a copy of the original worked for him just the same. And Template, unlike fate-damned squid-dick, knew how to keep the creation of new AUs in check. This multiverse worked almost like a well-oiled machine, and Error would’ve been jealous of it, once upon a time.

As it was, the moment he’d been thrusted into Template’s Anti-void, the ever-screaming voice of Fate was gone from his skull, and the only voices left there were the quiet cacophony of pseudo-creators, eternally vying for his attention.

He felt no desire or drive to destroy a single AU in here. He just tagged along with Pale sometimes, to watch him at it. Not aimed at him, or anything else, for that matter, as an attack, the black ink was almost mesmerizing to watch.

Error opened a portal to the Anti-void, where BB was already sitting in a tangled web of blue strings that made up a hammock not unlike the one he’d had in his own Anti-void. He’d made it maybe a week ago, and BB took it for his own within an hour.

He stared at the shifting mess of code that surrounded the glitched edges of the portal, visible only to his eyes. Or maybe the other glitches could see it, too, though they never mentioned it. It took a while to re-acquaint himself with his own powers, to learn how these universes connected and what they were made of. Their code, just like the coordinates, were just off enough for Error’s instinctual ones to fail.

“Oh, hey!” BB called out as they slipped from endless black into the stretching white.

Error nodded his greeting and Pale raised a hand. “Hello, BB.”

BB pulled a notebook out of his glitching inventory, almost dropping it twice in the process. A blue pen — with a pom-pom on top, no less! — was next, and BB held both while regarding Pale with starry eyelights.

“Mweheh, ok. How was that one?” he asked, flipping to an empty page to write down the emotion that copy had elicited. They all made BB do it, because Template was too scatterbrained (another thing he shared with Ink, though with Template, it didn’t bug Error nearly as much) to not lose the notebook somewhere.

“A rare one,” Pale said, watching the hammock slowly swinging to a stop now that BB was no longer in it. His eyelights sparkled with something. “Melancholy.”

BB hummed, flipping through the pages until he stopped on a specific one, rowing over the neat, capitalized lines. “We already have one with melancholy,” he noted, voice stuttering over a glitch, and then scribbled ‘OUTERTALE #4’ next to ‘SWAPFELL #2’. “Though I think… pure…? melancholy… might be better than ‘melancholy and self-loathing’. Heh.”

Pale snorted, shaking his head. “At least marginally.”

“Mweheh! Alright! Just let someone know when it starts wearing off. I’ve got three more copies lined up for testing, but that can wait for another time if you just wanna feel something specific. Template should be in Fell number uhh… two!”

Pale stared off at nothing for a while more, but then he nodded in BB’s direction. “I’ll think it over. Thanks.”

And he was gone, presumably off to ‘Fell number uhh... two, with an exclamation mark,’ which just left Error and BB in the Anti-void.

“Hey, Error, wanna see what I knitted yesterday?” BB asked, not missing a beat.

Error regarded him with a surprised and, admittedly, curious look. They’d found a hobby they shared, though BB wasn’t that skilled in knitting just yet. Just another thing that set him apart from the Blue Error had known. Just another thing that made him like BB more than he ever could’ve Blue.

“Look!” BB exclaimed, exchanging the notebook and pen for a bundled mess of something blue, which promptly glitched as it exited his inventory and spilled on the ground. “Shoot!”

He scrambled to pick it up and held it out for Error to see. It was a long strip of blue, the stitching a little loose here and there, but it looked like what it was — a scarf. Probably. “A scarf?”

BB nodded vigorously. “For you,” he elaborated, explaining exactly nothing.

“For me?” Error echoed, staring at the scarf as it was being held out to him.

“Yep! Cause yours is singed and stuff. I thought you’d like a new one. Mweheh, but it’s okay if you don’t!” BB looked just a little sheepish, not meeting his gaze but instead staring off to the side. Immediately, Error snatched the scarf from him and pulled his own off.

“I would,” he said, too quick. “I do.” It felt comfortable sitting around his neck. He hoped it showed on his expression, because he didn’t know how to convey what he was feeling with words.

BB seemed to, thankfully, get it. His face lit up and he laughed. “Good!”

It was just them in the Anti-void now, as often. Even without his collection of puppets and souls, it didn’t feel lonely anymore. BB retreated back to the hammock, beckoning him along.

Error didn’t want to go back to his own, even if he could.

#undertale au #undertale #sans undertale #error sans #blueberror #pale sans #.gen #.1k #multiverse 379 #.undertale

12 notes · View notes

sockablock · 5 years ago

Note

would it be ok to ask for a continuation of the Winter Soldier Molly AU you did last time? if not, can I instead have a Widomauk reunion at a masquerade ball that goes awry? thanks! also congrats on the 5k followers hot dang.

(oh effy it’s so tempting but you can’t just say MASQUERADE and expect me NOT to write that djfhsdjk)

—

Later, years later, so many years later that the road and the grove and the blood on the snow were nothing but lingering, colorless echoes, the Mighty Nein attended a ball.

It had been at Ormid Hass’s suggestion—there’s nothing else like an imperial function for trying to weed out government spies.

So it was really rather a shame that the King had chosen a masquerade gala. All the guests twirling through the ballroom had exquisite masks and veils across their faces, tracing their temples, hiding their eyebrows, draping their noses and wholly covering their features. Occasionally, one noble would lower their visor to eat an hors d'oeuvres or dab delicately at their cheek, but quickly their ornate costume would return, the disguise re-set, the facade readorned.

“Think of it this way,” Fjord had said, while Jester tied a mask to his head, “at least nobody will actually recognize us.”

“You have green skin,” Beau had answered. “Caduceus is literally eight feet tall.”

For him, though, Caleb mused to himself as he drifted past the dancers and tried to name what he was eating, it was really easy to fit in. Red hair might be a bit uncommon, but his plainly lanky build and tendency to stick to corners meant that he’d be out of the general eye. Best to leave everyone to stare at Jester, who was currently tearing apart the dance floor with “Veth.” Fjord had been roped into waltzing with some noblewoman, and Caduceus and Beau were doing a good enough at job socializing and cancelling each other out. No, luckily for Caleb, standing to the side and memorizing what he could of the gentry would suffice. And even better, there didn’t seem to be Archmages present, not unless they’d opted to abandon their ceremonial robes, a very real possibility that Caleb hadn’t decided—

“And what are you doing here, standing alone all by yourself?”

He did manage, at least, not to groan.

He turned, saying, “I really do not see why—”

And stopped. He tried not to stare.

Which was a very difficult task, as the individual before him was…odd, to say the least. They were taller than he was, almost by half a foot, and wore a long, flowing gown that might have been a dress. Their collar rose high, their arms were gloved, and their mask was a strange combined silver visor that drifted down with a thin, flowing veil that obscured the bottom of their face almost entirely. Their eyes were all but hidden from the light, but that was alright because Caleb was busy gawking at the two, enormous ram’s horns curling up from the side of this person’s mask, really an impossible feat of engineering that Caleb himself was almost impressed by—

The stranger cleared their throat.

Caleb felt his cheeks, blissfully hidden, start to warm.

“Entschuldigung,” he quickly muttered. “I did not mean—”

“Oh, no, it’s alright. I dressed up tonight just to get that reaction.”

Caleb cleared his throat. He probably nodded.

“Ah…well, then I am glad to have helped. Excuse me, I will be going to get a drink.”

“So quickly?” The stranger, it sounded like they’d pouted, “and here I was looking forward to a conversation. I’m not that boring, am I?”

“My friend,” Caleb snorted, “you are the least boring person I think I have ever seen. It is just that I am not much for conversation.”

“Is that so?” A flicker, like they’d just raised their eyebrows. “How tragic. I had assumed that you were a dashing nobleman with some stories.”

Caleb choked. “D-dashing?” he repeated incredulously. “Noble, nein, no, again you are mistaken. I am not anyone of good breeding.”

He could’ve sworn that the stranger just snickered. But they quickly answered, “In that case, dear, I’m in good company. I’m not exactly a noble person myself, but I’m trying to find someone who is.”

Caleb wasn’t sure if they’d said “noble-person” or “noble person.” Somehow, he felt that the distinction was important.

“Well,” he said slowly, gaze shifting for just a moment, “you…certainly are in the right place, for that.”

“You’ve never heard of a ‘Tanila Pucine,’ have you?”

Caleb shook his head. “My apologies.”

The stranger just shrugged, and through the veil, came a smile. “No worries. I’ll just keep searching harder.

He nodded, and glanced back one last time. “Well, I wish you all the best in that endeavor. M—Mi…ah…?”

The stranger tilted their head.

“Your name,” Caleb said, and then wondered why he had. “Is there a way you would like me to address you?”

Their mask drifted downwards, staring into Caleb’s.

“I…that is a good question,” they said slowly. “Personally, I’m not really so picky, but the one who knows me best seems to always call me ‘Lucien.’“

They lifted a glove and scratched at their chin. “And as for the title…well, I suppose ‘Mister’ works—”

—calls him Lucien?

Caleb grabbed their hand and yanked them to the side, shoving past dancers and almost smashing a vase of flowers and nearly elbowing a waiter to death. His fingers dug into the stranger’s arm but they didn’t seem to mind, didn’t even fight it, just immediately, easily, let Caleb drag them into a courtyard.

The music was softer here, below the cricket-song. Summer sighed in the breeze of this garden and the moonlight shone on the night-blooming flowers.

Caleb spun around. He threw his mask down.

He gripped the stranger tightly by the shoulders.

“Are you real?” was the first thing that he said.

The stranger chuckled. He said, “I believe so? That’s not a bad line, Mister.”

It took Caleb a moment to begin dissecting that one. As he did, the stranger calmly began reaching down to remove their gloves in the silence.

The first one came off, and his skin was light purple.

“You know, there are better ways than kidnapping to do this. But I’ve got to say, I like your fire, dear.”

Caleb felt his blood freeze. He suddenly stepped back.

The gloves tucked neatly into their belt and the stranger—not so strange—took off their mask.

Those horns weren’t actually part of the visor.

But Caleb knew that.

His gait uneven, arms quaking, he stepped back again.

This was answered with a raised eyebrow, another pout.

“What? Are you only getting cold feet now?”

Shakily, Caleb raised a hand. He pointed. He gaped. Then finally, found the words—

“M—Mollymauk? Mollymauk Tealeaf, is that you?”

Molly stroked his chin. He blinked a few times.

And then his eyes went wide.

“That…that name, wait, that’s—” He shoved his hands into his pockets. There was a second of rifling, loud as thunder, and then he produced a scrap of paper, stained and crumpled—

He shook it around like crazed, astonished flag.

“That’s the—that’s the name—but then—did you write this letter?”

—

Ko-fi in bio✨ | Finished 5k fic prompts right here! 💜 Requests Are CLOSED!

#critical role #critrole #critfic #fic #fanfic #jay writes #jay fills requests #5k fic request #long post #text #HOHOHOHOHO #man its just all about reunions this week huh #widomauk #viciousmaukeries #masquerade ball au

338 notes · View notes

doctordiscord123 · 5 years ago

Note

Fantasy AU- Dark continues to keep an eye on Bim bc he's still a bit wary of King, but then someone hurts King's tree and Dark watches as Bim releases hell on earth (and afterwards comfort his boyfriend) and Dark's like "hmm. Ok yeah wow they really do love each other"

Dark swam cautiously towards the surface, glancing around warily for any sign of human ships or discarded nets. As much as he figured that dryad -- King, right? -- wasn’t a threat, he was still a bit...wary. Bim living so close to the surface made him especially nervous. He just...wanted to check up on Bim. He was Bim’s father, it was job to worry. He just wanted to make sure he was alright.

Soon enough, the legs of the pier came into view, and Dark cautiously poked his head out of the water, just enough so his eyes were above the surface. He was still a ways out to sea, but he still worried over being spotted. He’d never hear the end of it from Bim.

Bim was sitting on the edge of the pier, holding King’s hand, and chatting endlessly, his other hand waving about and his fins slapping against the surface of the water. King was smiling, blushing lightly, and just watching Bim talk. Neither were looking towards the sea. And they looked happy. Dark’s fears were alleviated, for the moment, and he smiled a little himself, moving to slip back into the ocean.

Something was coming out of the forest, behind the pair, and Dark lingered for a moment, tail flicking nervously in the water. A pair of humans, heading straight for King’s tree. Neither noticed, and Dark almost called out to them.

But then one human was gripping a thinner branch of King’s tree, and ripped it off.

King immediately cried out, doubling over and clutching his chest. He and Bim turned around, and King scrambled to his feet, racing back over. “Hey -- ah!” His steps faltered as one human climbed his tree, plucking leaves off of one branch, and the other continued to rip off smaller branches still close to the ground. He was limping now, struggling to get back to his tree. “L-leave that alone! Why --”

King collapsed, his color visibly dulling and browning, as another branch was ripped free. Even from his distance, Dark could hear him sobbing. Bim was snarling on the pier, fins slapping agitatedly against the water, and then he was dropping back into the ocean. Dark watched his purple shadow swim over to the beach, the shore, and Bim hauled himself halfway out of the water, the waves still lapping at his glimmering tail.

And then he began to sing.

It was an angry song, a wordless song, but God, it took everything Dark had to resist Bim’s siren call. The humans were far less strong-willed. The emotion poured into Bim’s song made it impossible to resist, and Dark’s only saving grace was he was used to siren calls, particularly Bim’s, and his distance.

The humans staggered away from King’s tree, leaving the sobbing, pained dryad limp on the sand, rushing over to Bim with ridiculous smiles on their faces. Bim was smiling, too, sickly sweet, luring them in.

The second one was within his reach, he grabbed their ankle, pulling them to the ground, and sank his fangs into their throat.

The human writhed, the other still standing listeless on the shore, Bim’s song still echoing in their mind. Dark grimaced as the sand was dyed red and the ocean began to bleed with it. While Dark tended to resist his vampiric urges, stubbornly only ever feeding on Wil with his consent, Bim was a lot more....impulsive, and violent, as his ripped out the human’s throat, drinking as much as he could, before flinging their body away to float out to sea, and he grabbed the next, murdering them in an equally brutal fashion.

Dark slunk back into the ocean, swimming back home, before the blood in the water could ignite his own instincts.

Bim didn’t need him, he could take care of himself now, and though the thought terrified Dark as a father, it also made him swell with pride.

Buy me a ko-fi

#ask discord #fantasy au #darkiplier #bim trimmer #the king of the squirrels #bim trimmer/the king of the squirrels #blood #murder #hypnotism #sort of #injury #cannibalism #also sort of #my writing

56 notes · View notes