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steviewashere · 19 days ago

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I don't know when I'll have the time to write this, but:

CW: Minor Mentions of Blood, Character Illness (Hanahaki), Use of Queer as a Slur

Hanahaki AU. Steve develops hanahaki over Eddie. It's not because, oh, Eddie's probably straight and doesn't know I'm into guys...

No, it's because, oh, Eddie doesn't want to be very close to me due to previous hangups he has.

Cut to Steve coughing up dark purple, almost black petals. Soft and wet and sticky to his fingers. Then, after some time, they become small buds. Small black rose buds with gentle, prickly thorns sprouting in his throat.

People around them find out quickly, very quickly, that Steve is experiencing Hanahaki. Everybody, sans Eddie himself, finds out they're related to Eddie—even as these black roses symbolize hatred, even as they come close to death and mourning in their meaning—they're still perfectly Eddie in color, shape, and beauty. Obviously, since nobody wants Steve to, y'know, die, they tell him to confess to Eddie.

However, Steve is faced with a secondary option at one of his doctor visits. A surgery. The petals can be removed, the thorns torn out and tossed, his lungs cleared...but his brain shocked empty of all traces of Eddie. All traces. He wouldn't know Eddie as he is now. He wouldn't know Eddie from when Dustin would ramble on and on and on about his new guy best friend. He wouldn't know Eddie as the mischievous troublemaker in high school.

And he especially wouldn't know Eddie as his childhood best friend that he drifted apart from many, many years ago. Nobody but them knows that part.

And soon, through decision, through the fear of death...Steve chooses to forget that part, too. He chooses to remove Eddie from his conscious. Every last part of him. With the decision made, the party members keep Eddie away, Robin goes through Steve's room and hides anything he has of Eddie's—including a little memory box of their childhood photographs, little trinkets he'd receive from Eddie, doodles and crushed flowers...crushed flowers that look similar to the ones Steve coughed up with a note attached to them: "For the prince to my prince. Mama said they're for royal people, and I thought they were beautiful. These are for you, because you're beautiful, too."

Steve kept all of it. Tucked neatly away for nobody but him to see. All these delicate, baby confessions of two queer kids in rural America, waiting for the right moment; though never getting that after a fall out in their relationship.

According to Eddie, the two drifted away due to rhetoric Steve's dad was spouting; rhetoric that was being passed on and spat right at Eddie's face from Steve's mouth. Even if he saw Steve change during and after Vecna, he'll always remember the last big fight in their friendship; the day he was called a queer.

When Eddie finds out, he's beyond devastated that Steve would make the choice to forget him. He gets it, Steve didn't want to die. He knows. But now he doesn't even have a spot in Steve's life? It cuts deep, it hurts.

He knows so much about Steve. Little details. Favorite things. Where his moles are. How he styles his hair. What he looked like before braces, before Tommy, before high school bullshit, before all the traumas. He knows who Steve really is, sweet and nurturing and nearly unbearably kind.

And now Steve doesn't know him. Doesn't love him.

He wishes he knew, because then they wouldn't be in this mess.

But Eddie gets to fall in love with Steve all over again. Shake his hand and introduce himself. Even though he wishes they could meet each other as kids, just like they did. Because Eddie remembers a dorky, geeky, self-conscious, timid little kid quietly asking him if they could play princes on the playground. And Steve remembers Eddie at twenty-one, full grown and stubborn; not the same shy kid, not the bubbly kid...just a man haunted.

But! Plot twist!!!

What if, yeah, Steve does forget Eddie...initially?

He meets Eddie again, for the first time. He gets to know Eddie. He begins a friendship with Eddie.

And then he begins getting these awful...awful migraines being around Eddie. Flashes of fractured, half-formed memories of some kid with big brown eyes and a shaved head, of a kid crouched down in wood chips trying to find a guitar pick he had dropped. Little glimpses of smiles: some with teeth missing, some with teeth growing back in, some with blood-stained lips, some with a blue tint. There's splintering voices, a little boy's and an older man's and a squeaky, pubescent voice—he hears his own name crackled around the edges, hears Prince Stevie cooed and King Steve snarled, soft words whispered through choking sobs and whip wild yelling.

He looks Eddie straight on at one point, his face open with concern, but all he sees is an angry, sobbing, red-faced, wet-faced little Eddie talking with Steve, "You think I'm...I'm a dirty queer? Why would you say that to me? No...no, Steve, keep your voice down, keep your voice"—and then, quieter, a whisper—"I thought I could trust you. I know I like boys, but that was a secret. You're an asshole, Steve. Go fuck yourself."

And when he blinks again, Eddie's concerned face staring back at him, all Steve does is cough and cough and cough. Eventually, he's hunched tight into himself and spitting directly into Eddie's palm. Out comes a fully formed black rose.

A bud that hadn't bloomed, that hadn't been removed. Sharp thorns and wet petals and an eye that swirls and swirls and swirls.

It all comes back to him, then, staring at that flower, floundering backwards, catching Eddie's eyes in a daze.

It all comes back to him.

How much he's always loved Eddie Munson.

Anyway, just like, a hanahaki surgery gone wrong, I guess. Like they all think it works until, y'know, it doesn't. They get close again and it floods back in. The very thing he tried to get away from.

I imagine that after Steve coughs up that fully formed rose, Eddie squishes it in his palm. The thorns cutting up his hand, the petals crushed between his fingers. And then he just...eats it. Like fully puts it on his tongue, chews it up between his teeth, and swallows the whole damn thing—yes, even the thorns. There's blood in his mouth, petals between his teeth, blood and drool on his hand.

And he lunges forward to grab Steve's face, to kiss him so roughly they could be devouring each other. And all they taste in each other are the bittersweet ghosts of black rose petals and the metallic harshness of one another's blood; Steve had hacked up blood, too, from the thorns cutting his throat.

And when they separate?

"You were the first boy I ever fell in love with," Eddie confesses, "you're the only boy I've ever loved. There's been nobody else in that place, Steve. Only you, after everything, have remained."

Okay. Now I'm done. I promise I'm done rambling. Would this be interesting as a fic? I don't know. It's fine.

#hanahaki au #I love hanahaki aus #stranger things #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #childhood friends au #angst and hurt/comfort

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leona-hawthorne · 14 days ago

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HOW MANY THINGS. mattheo riddle.

mattheo riddle x fem!reader.

summary ; mattheo was never the type to stay where he wasn’t wanted; that is, until he met you… inspired by the song how many things by sabrina carpenter. words ; 5.7k warnings ; modern au (cellphones are used), angst, swearing, drinking, vague sexual innuendos

navigation. masterlist.

Mattheo had never been a pushover; no, he was rather a force to be reckoned with — a hard-ass, for lack of a better word. Born with razor sharp thorns pricking up from under his skin, leaving him bloodied red as roses and torn up before he ever even needed to fight, and barbed wire forced into his throat as he grew older in a world that proved itself impossibly difficult to conquer, he didn’t put up with bullshit.

He didn’t take disrespect or let people get close enough to see even the faintest scab marks of an old wound, and if anyone crossed him, he would make sure they’d live to regret it, erase them from his world like they were nothing more than chalk on pavement — quick, cold, and final.

Maybe he should’ve kept it that way with you too.

He finds himself unable to recall the exact moment that you’d managed to cut through the vines of poison ivy that had snaked their way around his heart, but he does recall the moments that may have led up to it, the ones that brought you closer and closer to his softened center without even trying.

A brush of shoulders every morning when you walked through corridors, secret smiles exchanged like swapping keys to locked rooms, long-lasting conversations that moved from crowded classrooms to the cozy confines of your homes, allowing you to make your own little corner in his heart.

You never had to beg for space in his world. You carved yourself into him like you belonged there. Not forcefully. No, it was slower than that, more deliberate. Like water through stone. You wore him down until the sharpest parts of him didn’t point at you anymore. Until his anger softened at the sight of your tired eyes. Until your name stopped sounding foreign in his mouth and started sounding like home.

Oftentimes he found himself reminiscing on the beginning of your relationship, when you were warm and inviting, your love being the kind of fire he’d learned to cup his hands around to protect from the wind, aloof to the burn that grazed his fingertips every once in a while. For he was willing to put up with any pain as long as it meant your soul was still intertwined with his, his fingers mindlessly pulling at the strings to keep you close.

But lately, it felt like the fire had been snuffed out. What was once an embery, bright red blaze had dwindled to a lone candle flickering in the dark — and Mattheo couldn’t shake the sense that he was the only one still trying to keep it alive.

At first, he tricked himself into believing it was just a fluke. You were tired, or stressed, or busy; that had to be it. That had to be the only reason why he felt like there was a fucking chasm growing between the two of you — why he felt like you pulled away every time he got close.

It had to be something small. Temporary. Fixable. That’s what he told himself, anyway.

He was certainly never one to pry, opting to bury his feelings under layers and layers of soil from which beautiful flowers would sprout to cover the truth. If he could just make everything look okay — if he kept showing up, kept kissing your forehead, kept making excuses on your behalf — then maybe things would be okay. Maybe you’d notice. Maybe you’d come back to him without him ever having to ask.

Because asking meant acknowledging, and acknowledging meant accepting the possibility that he wasn’t imagining it. That it really was slipping.

Being a bother, a burden, was his worst fucking nightmare. He lived under the fear that you would grow even colder if he troubled you with asking. He knew what happened when people got annoyed with him. He knew what abandonment tasted like — cold and metallic, a childhood memory rotting behind his ribs — and he wasn’t ready to taste it again.

So he didn’t say anything. Not when you stopped reaching for his hand the way you used to. Not when you started spending more time on your phone. Not when you kissed him absentmindedly like it was part of a routine instead of something you wanted. He told himself it was just life getting in the way. Just stress, just timing, just hormones.

It was ridiculous; he knew that. You weren’t some ice-hearted monster that would shut him out for trying to communicate, but maybe that would’ve been easier. Because at least then, he could’ve hated you. At least then, there would be something clear to hold onto, something he could point at and say, this is why it hurts.

Instead, it’s all this fog. This slow, suffocating quiet where your love used to live, and somehow, that’s worse.

Mattheo stares at the wall across from him like it might offer answers, like it might tell him when exactly things changed. When your love became absentminded. When he became convenient. A fixture. Familiar, but no longer thrilling. Something you didn’t hate, but something you didn’t crave like oxygen either.

He hears the soft rustle of your perfume spritzing into the air in the other room and imagines the way it’ll cling to your coat, to the hollow of your throat, to someone else’s memory when they catch a whiff of it in the street. You’ll smell like something perfect and untouchable, and no one will know that the boy who notices every time you change your scent is sitting on your couch, barely holding himself together.

You hadn’t even asked him to come tonight, wherever you were going. Not even a throwaway “you can come if you want.” Not even a lie.

And maybe that’s the part that hurts most — how easily he’s been written out of your world, how you make it seem effortless. Like love was never supposed to be permanent, just something you tried on until it no longer fit.

He sinks further into the cushions, elbows on his knees, hands dangling uselessly between them. He hates this, hates the version of himself he becomes when you’re like this: quiet, pliant, desperately waiting to be noticed again. It’s humiliating, really. He used to take pride in being cold, in being impenetrable. But now?

Now he stays alone at your flat when you’re out and remembers how you like your tea and flinches when you forget to kiss him goodbye.

Your heels click down the hallway. He doesn’t look up until you’re at the door.

“Do I look alright?” you ask, tugging your coat sleeve down, eyes flicking toward him only briefly.

He nods, eyes trailing over you, heart already unraveling. “Yeah. You look beautiful.”

You smile, distractedly murmuring a soft, “thank you,” before reaching for the door.

“I love you,” he says quietly, like a reflex.

“Love you too. Don’t wait up,” you mutter, adjusting your coat, pulling your phone out of your bag without sparing him more than a glance.

He nods and forces a small smile, the kind that feels like a lie made flesh.

“I won’t,” he says.

But he will, of course he will.

The door clicks shut behind you, and Mattheo stares at it like if he focuses hard enough, it might open again. Like maybe you’ll come back and say you forgot something — your wallet, your lipstick, him.

But you don’t.

He sits there for a few minutes, motionless, before finally dragging his phone out of his pocket and opening his messages.

Mattheo: You doing anything tonight?

It takes less than a minute for a reply to come through.

Theo: Depends.

Theo: Are you trying to get drunk or are we brooding in silence again?

Mattheo exhales through his nose, the closest thing to a laugh he can manage.

Mattheo: Bit of both.

Mattheo: Come by.

Theo: Be there in 20.

By the time he stands up, Mattheo’s limbs feel heavy. He stretches them out like he’s been sitting there for hours instead of minutes, runs a hand through his hair, and glances around the apartment — too clean and too perfect, all the edges smoothed out to fit your preferences.

He heads toward the kitchen, opens the fridge, then closes it again. Nothing sounds appealing. He’s halfway to the couch again when he remembers — your cat.

The tiny gray menace you insisted on adopting from a shelter last winter. She hated him at first. Clawed up his pillow and pissed on his shoes. But eventually, she started curling up on his lap when you weren’t home, started head-butting his chin like she chose him. He didn’t say it aloud, but he liked that. He liked her, mostly because she never made him wonder if she wanted him there or not.

He finds her in the corner of the living room, perched on the windowsill like she’s waiting for you too.

“Yeah,” he mutters, kneeling down to scratch behind her ears. “Don’t hold your breath.”

She blinks at him slowly, then jumps down and pads toward her empty water bowl.

Mattheo goes to the kitchen to fill it, and that’s when it hits him.

The memory comes sideways, like most of them do lately. It’s nothing big. Just a night with you barefoot in the kitchen, your hair messy, laughing at something he said, one hand absentmindedly stroking the cat’s back while the other held a mug of tea. You were wearing one of his shirts — he remembers because he liked how it looked on you, the way it hung loose on your perfect frame, driving him mad with temptation and adoration.

“You’re staring,” you’d said back then, smirking without looking up, and he instantly knew your thoughts of lust and love mirrored his own.

“Can you blame me?” he’d replied, walking up behind you and wrapping his arms around your waist before his hands slid down to squeeze at your ass, pressing a kiss to the curve of your neck. “You’re kind of perfect like this.”

You turned, kissed him slow and sleepy, and murmured against his lips, “I love you, y’know.”

He’d believed you. With everything in him, he’d believed you.

Now, standing in the same kitchen with the same damn cat and none of that warmth, he feels the grief of it. Not for a breakup or for something that’s over, but for something that’s still here, still breathing and just not alive anymore.

He closes his eyes, pressing the heels of his hands against them like he can shove the memory back where it came from, but it clings. The knock at the door a few minutes later makes him flinch.

Theo.

Good. He needs the distraction. He needs something to do with his hands besides remembering you.

His best friend steps in with a bottle of firewhisky and a raised brow, already shrugging off his coat.

“You look like shit,” he says, by way of greeting.

Mattheo huffs a sound that might be a laugh if it weren’t so hollow. “You’re one to talk.”

They settle in the living room without ceremony. No need for pleasantries; they’ve known each other too long. The bottle is uncapped, poured, and the silence stretches comfortably between them, thick as smoke. Mattheo drinks like he’s trying to set fire to something inside of him. Maybe he is.

Theo throws his feet up on the coffee table — your coffee table — and leans back with a sigh. “You’ve been quiet lately.”

“Mm,” Mattheo says, noncommittal. He takes another swig, the burn catching in his throat like a warning he ignores.

Theo’s voice cuts through the silence again. “You still working on that bike?”

Mattheo nods, grateful for the shift. “Put in new pistons last week. It’s still fucked, though. Can’t get it to run clean.”

Theo grunts, swirling the amber in his glass. “Sounds like you.”

Mattheo lets the jab land and doesn’t argue. He just presses the rim of the glass to his lips and stares ahead at nothing in particular.

Truth is, he does feel like a broken engine. Still functioning, technically, but something deep in the machinery has been misfiring for a while. Maybe it’s grief. Maybe it’s fear. Maybe it’s just the slow, dull rot of being in love with someone who’s stopped remembering to look at him like he’s hers.

But he doesn’t say any of that; he can’t.

Because saying it would give it shape. It would make it real.

Theo doesn’t push; he never has. That’s part of why Mattheo still lets him around — why he doesn’t flinch when he hears his voice, doesn’t tense when he catches his gaze. Everyone else wants pieces, explanations, a crack in the armor so they can stick their fingers in and pry it open. But Theo? He just sits there and lets him speak or not speak. Drinks the same as he always has, like it’s just another Thursday.

Mattheo leans back, glass balanced on his knee, firewhisky burning down into the pit of something he hasn’t named yet. The cushions under him dip like they’re caving in from the weight of all the words he won’t say.

Theo breaks the silence again, voice low but not soft. “You ever think we peaked in sixth year?”

Mattheo snorts. “I peaked in fourth, mate. Back when I still thought I was fucking invincible and didn’t know what it meant to be gutted sideways by things you can’t punch.”

“Mm,” Theo hums, tilting his head. “I miss when the worst thing we had to worry about was detention.”

“Now I gotta worry about whether I forgot to take the bins out and if she’s gonna come home pissed about it.”

“She usually pissed about it?”

Mattheo’s silent for a beat too long. Then, flatly: “She’s not usually anything lately.”

Theo nods, just once, like he understands, because he does, he always fucking does.

Mattheo shifts in his seat, tilting his glass in his hands like it might tell him something if he stares hard enough. “You ever feel like you’re—” he stops. Swallows, then tries again. “Like you’re… giving so much of yourself to someone that there’s not even anything left to miss when they don’t notice?”

Theo raises a brow, not surprised by the half-confession, but not pouncing on it either. “Yeah.”

Mattheo exhales. It’s not relief. It’s more like… confirmation. That this ache, this raw, bone-deep hollowness isn’t unique, isn’t special, isn’t even interesting. Just another fucking casualty of caring too hard.

“You ever say anything about it?” he asks, voice quieter now, but not weaker. Just less performative.

Theo laughs, sharp and short. “Fuck no. What good does it do? You either say it and scare them off, or say nothing and rot from the inside out.”

Mattheo lets out something between a laugh and a sigh. “Cheery, aren’t you.”

“I’m drinking with you, aren’t I?”

They clink glasses without ceremony. The sound is dull, like the whisky knows it’s not celebration but survival.

Mattheo stares down into the amber, watching it slosh against the sides like it might spill all the things he’s too much of a coward to say. And he is a coward, though no one would dare call him that to his face. Not when he’s always been the firestarter, the mouthy one, the first to throw a punch and the last to back down. But when it comes to you? He folds like a paper bag, like one sharp word might split him clean through the middle.

“I think I broke something,” he says suddenly, gaze still fixed on his drink.

Theo tilts his head. “What kind of something?”

“Dunno.” Mattheo shrugs one shoulder. “Something inside me. Feels like there’s this… noise all the time. This pressure. Like the inside of my chest is gonna collapse under it. Like if I breathe wrong I’ll fall apart.”

Theo watches him for a second, then offers, “Could be your ribs.”

Mattheo gives a weak laugh, the kind that doesn’t reach his eyes. “You’re such a prick.”

“And you’re dramatic as fuck.”

“Says the bloke who wrote a sonnet after that girl dumped him in fifth year.”

“That girl had cheekbones carved by angels and smelled like cherry pie. Show some respect.”

Mattheo smiles, despite himself. Not because he’s okay or because he feels better, but because this — this banter, this brutal kind of loyalty masked as sarcasm— is the only kind of safety he’s got left.

“Thanks for coming,” he says finally, not looking at Theo.

Theo nods. “You’d do it for me.”

“Yeah. And I’d mock your heartbreak the entire time.”

“Obviously.”

They fall silent again, but it’s easier now. Less like drowning.

Mattheo leans back against the couch, head tilted toward the ceiling, eyes fluttering shut. He can still hear your cat pawing at the edge of the hallway, somewhere near the closed bedroom door. He knows exactly where she’ll curl up when she gets back. He knows she won’t come to him first. He knows he won’t say anything about it, about how you don’t come to him first either.

He’ll stay quiet. He’ll stay still. He’ll let it fester like a wound wrapped in silk.

Because saying something would make it real. And if it’s real, then he has to admit that this version of love — the one where he’s always last, always small, always too much and not enough all at once — is the only kind he’s ever known.

And if he loses this?

He’s not sure there’s anything left worth being. So instead, he’ll cling on as long as he can. Who knows if he’ll ever find anything better?

Time passes until he’s not sure how late it is, the hours blending together like chalk left out in the rain. Somewhere between his nth drink and Theo’s incessant babbling, the sound of the front door unlocking cuts clean through the air.

Your laugh filters in first, bright and bubbly. Something about it makes his stomach twist, because it’s not for him; it hasn’t been for a while.

Mattheo sits up straighter, suddenly too aware of how much he’s had to drink. His pulse stutters. You walk in a moment later, eyes sparkling, coat still half hanging off your arms like you rushed home in the middle of a story you couldn’t wait to tell.

“There you are,” you say, breathless. “Oh my god, baby, you’re not gonna believe this.”

His heart stumbles again at the word baby. You haven’t said it in days — maybe weeks — but now it’s casual, light, tossed out like a sweet nothing instead of a tether back to him.

You spot Theo on the couch and smile. “Oh, hey, Theo.”

Theo nods. “Hey.”

Mattheo’s mouth curls upward, slow and tentative. For a second, all he sees is you. The version of you from months ago, when you used to walk in the door with that look in your eyes and fall into him like home. You’re glowing now, lit from within by whatever you’re about to say, and fuck, he lets himself believe, just for a moment, that maybe it’s about him. That maybe you’ve remembered him again. That maybe he still matters.

You laugh, tossing your bag onto the floor, and sit beside him, cupping his jaw with both hands and pressing a kiss to his lips like it’s still the most natural thing in the world. He melts into it, eyes closing, body sighing against yours like it’s been waiting all night for this moment.

Then you pull back, grinning. “I said yes.”

He blinks. “What?”

“To Spain. The study abroad program. My friend Daphne and I — remember, I told you about her? — we’ve been talking about it forever. And today, we just looked at each other and went, ‘Why the hell not?’ So we signed up. We’re going next term.”

It takes him a second to process the words. Another to feel the floor tilt beneath him.

You’re still smiling, proud of yourself, waiting for him to join in your joy.

And he wants to. Fuck, he wants to.

But all he can hear is the shatter of something delicate breaking inside his chest.

“You… what?” he says slowly, blinking. “You signed up?”

“Yeah,” you say, eyes sparkling. “Isn’t it crazy? I wasn’t even planning to do it, but it just felt right.”

He stares at you, blinking once. Twice. The smile doesn’t come back this time.

“You didn’t tell me.”

“I’m telling you now,” you say lightly. “It all happened so fast.”

Mattheo forces a tight breath through his nose, jaw working. “Did you even think about me?”

Your face falters slightly. “What do you mean?”

“I mean,” he says, and his voice is rawer now, frayed at the edges like old rope, “you made this massive fucking decision — one that changes everything — and I wasn’t even in the room for it. Not even a conversation. Just… you and Daphne going ‘Why the hell not?’ like it was booking tickets to a bloody concert.”

Theo shifts slightly, rising from the couch. “Right,” he mutters, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna go ahead and, uh, not be here for this.”

Neither of you look at him as he leaves. The door clicks shut behind him and the silence that follows is dense. It wraps around Mattheo’s ribs like iron.

You sigh, the kind that sounds like it’s been waiting to happen all day. “I didn’t think I needed to ask permission.”

“I’m not saying you needed permission,” he replies, voice quieter now, but colder. “I’m saying I thought we were a we. And I guess I was wrong.”

You frown. “Mattheo, don’t do this. It’s an amazing opportunity.”

“I know it is,” he snaps, then winces and runs a hand down his face. “But I’ve been sitting here for weeks wondering if I’m even in your head anymore, and then you come home smiling like the sun to tell me you’re fucking leaving. And I wasn’t even a passing thought on the way to the decision.”

You look at him, softer now, but not in the way he needs, not with the urgency he craves, not like he’s the thing you miss when you’re gone.

“I didn’t think you’d care this much,” you say finally.

And that is what kills him.

Because he has never cared about anything more.

Mattheo swallows it down, lets it burn on the way to his stomach like the firewhisky still warm in his veins. He nods slowly, then stands up without a word and disappears down the hall

You call after him once, quietly, but he doesn’t answer. He’s already in the kitchen, filling the cat’s bowl, hands shaking slightly as he listens to the soft mewling by his feet. And it’s that — the goddamn cat — that triggers it.

Because last winter, you brought her home shivering and tiny, wrapped in a scarf you’d stolen from Mattheo’s drawer. You’d fed her with an eyedropper every three hours like she was a child. He remembers you laughing when she curled up in the crook of his elbow for the first time.

“See?” you’d whispered, like it was some profound truth. “She knows you’re safe.”

He stares at the cat now, blinking hard. She nudges against his leg like nothing’s changed.

But everything has. Everything is.

You come after him a few moments later — he hears the soft tread of your feet against the wood floor, the tentative way you stop at the doorway like you’re not sure if you’re supposed to enter.

He doesn’t look at you, just crouches down beside the cat, scratching gently behind her ears while she eats, her tiny pink tongue darting rhythmically into the bowl like she’s unaware that the air is thick enough to choke on.

“Mattheo,” you say, quiet. “Can we talk about this?”

He lets out a breath that feels like it deflates something inside him as he stands back up, deliberately keeping his eyes off yours. His voice, when it comes, is low and tight. “Sure. Let’s talk. Now that the ticket’s booked and your bags are already half-packed.”

You cross the threshold slowly, arms folded like you’re trying to shield yourself from something. “Mattheo, please.”

He wipes his hands on a dish towel, not because they need drying, but because he needs something to do before he turns around and sees your face. Because he knows the moment he looks at you, he’s going to feel it all over again. The ache, the hope, the slow realization that maybe he’s been more alone in this relationship than he ever wanted to admit.

Still, he turns. And when he sees you — eyes wide, arms crossed over your chest like you’re cold or nervous or both — it hits him like it always does. That gut-deep devotion that refuses to die, even when it’s being starved.

“You didn’t even think about me,” he says again, quieter this time. Not accusing. Just… hurt. Bone-deep hurt. “That’s what kills me.”

You shake your head, stepping closer. “That’s not fair. It’s not like I’m moving to Spain forever. It’s one semester. Five months. It’s not that serious.”

“Not that serious?” he repeats, and there’s a bitter edge to the laugh that leaves his throat. He tilts his head slightly. “You didn’t think about what it would do to me. Not once. You didn’t think about how I’d feel waking up in a bed that smells like you, in a flat that echoes without your footsteps in it. You didn’t think about how I’d spend the next four months pretending I’m fine while you’re off drinking sangria and forgetting I exist.”

“I’m not forgetting you,” you say, voice a little sharper now, defensive. “You’re being dramatic.”

He laughs again, harsher this time. “Yeah. I guess I am. Must be all the fucking firewhisky.”

You glance at the half-empty glass on the counter. “Maybe you should stop drinking.”

“Maybe you should’ve told me you were leaving before you already packed your goddamn suitcase.”

That silences you. He watches the way you flinch, just barely, and it makes him hate himself a little more, because he never wanted to be cruel to you; he just wanted to matter.

You take another step toward him, arms still folded, like you’re bracing yourself. “I thought you’d be happy for me.”

“I am happy for you,” he says, voice breaking around the edges. “But I’m also fucking heartbroken. Do you get that? Can you even hold both of those things at once, or is it just easier to pretend I’ll be fine no matter what you do?”

He can feel the frustration building under his skin like pressure in a pipe, threatening to burst. But underneath it, worse than all of it, is the fear. The slow, creeping terror that this is just the beginning of the end.

“You didn’t talk to me,” he continues, hands flexing at his sides. “You didn’t even ask if I’d be okay with it. You just… made the choice.”

“I didn’t think I had to,” you say, voice rising a little now. “You’ve never made me feel like I couldn’t do things on my own. I thought you’d be proud of me.”

“I am proud of you,” he bites out, because of course he is. That’s the sick part. That even now, even as he’s drowning in the weight of being left behind, he still wants you to fly. “But I’m not made of fucking stone, alright? I’m not some goddamn statue you keep on your shelf to cheer you on from the sidelines. I’m your boyfriend. And maybe, just maybe, I wanted to matter enough to be part of the decision.”

You look down, suddenly quiet. He swallows hard.

Silence stretches again. The cat meows softly, as if trying to bridge the void.

You stare at him. He can see the tears swimming in your eyes now, but it doesn’t undo what’s already been said.

He shakes his head and leans back against the counter, running a hand through his hair. “You used to tell me everything. Now I’m lucky if I get leftovers. And I’ve been trying, alright? I’ve been trying to not be that guy. The clingy, jealous boyfriend who can’t handle his girl having her own life.”

His eyes meet yours, bloodshot and bright. “But fuck, love. I didn’t think I was completely disposable.”

“Mattheo, you’re not—”

“Then why do I feel like I am?” he cuts in, and it’s louder than he meant, harsher. “You didn’t even consider what it’d mean for us. What it’d do to me. You didn’t think, ‘Oh, maybe I should talk to the person I come home to every night before I decide to vanish across a continent.’ You just decided. Like I’m some guy you’re dating, not... not me.”

You look down, and for a moment he thinks you might apologize. That maybe you’ll reach for him, finally. That maybe he’ll feel like yours again, instead of some antique you pass by daily without noticing the dust collecting.

But instead, you say, “I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

And maybe that’s what wrecks him most. Because you didn’t mean to. You just did. Like it was easy, like hurting him was just a side effect you forgot to list on the bottle of whatever freedom you’ve been chasing lately.

“I know,” he says, voice barely holding together. “You just didn’t think about me at all. And I don’t know which is worse.”

“I just thought—” you pause, struggling to find the right spin, the safe angle. “You never say much when things are bothering you. I figured if there was something going on, you’d have said something before.”

“I don’t say things,” he repeats, letting the words echo in the space between you. “Right. And what, that means I don’t feel them?”

You flinch, ever so slightly.

Mattheo’s hands come to grip the edge of the counter behind him, knuckles going pale. He’s trying not to let it spill, but it’s close. He’s spent so long swallowing every sharp edge that his throat feels permanently bruised from it. And now, there’s blood on his tongue and no way to pretend he can’t taste it.

“I don’t say things,” he says again, quieter now. “Because every time I’ve opened my mouth to ask someone to stay, they’ve left anyway. Because I learned a long fucking time ago that needing someone is a liability. So yeah, I didn’t say anything. But don’t mistake that for not caring. Don’t twist my silence into apathy. You’re not the only one who matters here.”

He watches the way you absorb that. The way your eyes dart, the way your mouth opens, then closes again, like maybe you didn’t realize how far he’s been falling.

The cat hops up onto the counter and purrs by his back, utterly unaware of the storm between the two of you. Mattheo reaches around and scratches her behind the ears, the movement grounding, automatic.

Mattheo’s voice is quieter now, but there’s no softness in it, just weariness. “You didn’t even ask me to come with you.”

You flinch. You weren’t expecting that.

His laugh is bitter. “Guess you didn’t think I’d want to.”

“Would you?” you whisper, barely audible.

He meets your eyes, and there’s something hollow in him now, some void that’s widened and finally swallowed the last of his hope. “I’d follow you anywhere,” he says. “That’s the problem.”

He doesn’t know how to tell you that you’re still everything to him. That he still waits for your messages like a schoolboy, still sleeps on his side of the bed even when you don’t come home from hours. That he notices the way you’ve stopped wearing his hoodies. That he’s counted the times you’ve kissed him in the last week and still has fingers left over. That he finds your name engraved into every mundane object he sees.

That he’s got ways to find you any and everywhere.

The silence returns, heavy and absolute. You take a step forward, like you might close the gap between you, but Mattheo steps back.

It’s not out of anger, not meant to punish you. Just... self-preservation. What little of it he has left, anyway.

He swallows hard, voice rough. “You’re gonna do what you want anyway. I just wish, for once, you’d wanted me enough to factor me in. You used to want me. I’m not even a priority anymore.”

You’re still, eyes shining with something you don’t say.

But he’s not waiting anymore. Not tonight.

He turns from you, opens the cabinet to pull down another glass. “You want a drink?” he asks, not looking at you.

“Mattheo,” you murmur. “I love you.”

He gulps down what’s remaining in his cup, then lifts his gaze and stares at you for a long moment. Your words should be enough; for most people, they would be enough.

But love without presence, without consideration; it’s like flowers growing in a room with no light. They bloom for a while, but they always die in the end.

“I know,” he says.

And he does. You love him in the way people love things they’re used to. Love the old songs they don't play anymore, love the sweater that sits untouched in the closet. It’s love, but not the kind that stays.

Eventually, he hears your footsteps retreat. The door to the bedroom clicks shut a moment later, soft and final.

Mattheo stays in the kitchen long after that, staring at nothing, the cat curling up by his feet like a cruel reminder of what used to be.

He pours the drink, slow and steady. Not because he wants to forget.

But because remembering is killing him.

reminder that reblogs, feedback, and comments are very appreciated and make me smile :)

a/n: completely unintentional but a line somewhere in here also reminded me of the song scared of my guitar by olivia rodrigo so there’s that too </3 this is not fully edited and i’m tired so i’m sorry if it’s kinda shitty :’)

#; leo’s works! ⋆. 𐙚 ̊#mattheo riddle #mattheo riddle x you #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle angst #mattheo riddle imagine #mattheo riddle x fem!reader #slytherin boys #harry potter #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle fic #mattheo riddle oneshot #benjamin wadsworth #slytherin #angst #mattheo x you

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makeitmingi · 8 months ago

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When Flowers Bloom In The Dark [Chapter 2]

Genre: Romance, Mafia!AU, Violence, Angst, Slow burn

Pairing: Hongjoong x Reader (y/n)

Characters: Florist!Reader, Mafioso!Hongjoong, Mafioso!Seonghwa, Mafioso!Yunho, Mafioso!Yeosang, Mafioso!San, Mafioso!Mingi, Mafioso!Wooyoung, Mafioso!Jongho

Summary: When you appeared and wept at his mother's funeral, Hongjoong found himself wanting to find out more about you. A regular girl, who owns a flower shop in his territory and has a relationship with the mother that he hasn't spoken to in years, why hasn't he ever noticed you before?

[Warning(s): 18+ for violence, use of weapons, smoking, alcohol consumption, slight gore, gang affiliation, tattoos and character deaths. Minors DNI. This is a work of fiction and does not represent the Ateez members in real life.]

Word count: 3.2K

With an iced tea in hand, you unlocked the glass doors of your shop and entered. You turned on the lights, placing your tea on the counter and your bag in your locker. Since you were the only worker here, there was no one else to use the lockers but you.

"Roses, tulips, carnations..." You grabbed your notepad to check the incoming deliveries today. The first thing you did was check on your plants and water them.

"You're growing well." You smiled softly, seeing the plant that you sprout, moving the pot away from the direct sunlight.

"(y/n)?" You heard the familiar voice of your supplier at the back door and went over.

"Good morning, Mr Lee. Do you have any surprises for me?" You giggled. You had a good relationship with all your suppliers, they always helped you bring in quality products.

"Well, besides your usual orders, I have some hydrangeas if you would like." He climbed into his truck.

"Here." He pushed the bucket to show you.

"Oh, they're absolutely beautiful. I'll take them." You smiled. He nodded and helped you bring everything in, he usually knew where everything went.

"Sunflowers aren't selling too well." You shook your head in disappointment, seeing your sunflowers there.

"Sunflowers aren't trendy anymore. Have you seen what's on the internet? My daughter told me that girls are content with just bouquets of baby's breaths now. How times have truly changed, right?" He chuckled with a click of his tongue. You nodded and moved the roses into the refrigerated area.

"It's a minimalist thing, no? Bigger isn't better anymore. No one comes in for traditional bouquets anymore." You sighed, going to the cash register to get the money.

"Tell me about it... And this should be everything." Mr Lee said, glancing over the flowers that he brought in.

"Thank you, this is the payment." You handed the money to him. He nodded and placed it in his pouch.

"Also, Mr Lee. I remember you mentioning that Mrs Lee keep getting her hands burnt when she's working at her restaurant. I made her an aloe balm. This should help soothe the burns." You held the tin out.

"Oh, you're too kind, (y/n). Thank you so much for making this." He patted your shoulder.

"Have a nice day. See you next week." You walked him out.

"See you." The both of you bowed to each other and he jumped into his van before driving off. You returned to your counter and began your work for the day.

"Let's see..." You checked the online orders that you had and printed it out for reference.

Moving to your work bench, you began to prepare the flower preparations for each other. You trimmed the stems, removed the excess leaves and cut thorns away before wrapping them up with either cellophane or tissue paper.

"Hello? Are you open?" The bell above the door jingled. A girl walked into store, carrying a pot with her. You cleaned your hands and walked out to the front.

"Yes, we're open. How can I help you?" You smiled.

"My fern seems to be wilting and I can't seem to revive it. Can you help?" She asked.

"Let's see what's the issue." You escorted in. She placed the pot on your work table and you inspected it. The girl patiently waited, watching you as you checked it.

"From what I see, the soil isn't draining water properly. It's retaining too much water and suffocating the roots of the plant." You said.

"What? Can that happen?" She blinked.

"Yes, so that suffocation prevents the roots from absorbing the vitamins and minerals. You should mix a well drainage soil of this ratio and move your fern in." You wrote the ingredients down.

"And I can find this at the plant store?" She asked, reading through what you wrote down.

"You should be able to find the components. But if you don't mind waiting, I can mix some for you to take home." You offered. Hearing that, she let out a sigh of relief and nodded her head excitedly. You went to your storage area to grab the different soil components that you need.

"Peat moss, sand and potting soil." You mixed the components into a bag, adding some fertiliser as well since the fern currently lacked essential nutrients.

"For two weeks, put two drops of this plant reviver into the soil even if you are not watering it." You handed her a small vial.

"Thank you. Actually, do you mind repotting it into the new soil for me? I'll pay you." She requested.

"Alright." You took the fern out and got rid of the old soil. You poured the new soil in, creating a well to put the fern in. After that, you loosely covered the roots with the soil.

"Done." You smiled, removing your gloves.

"Thank you. This is actually my mum's plant and I'm helping her take care of it. I know nothing about plants." She said in embarrassment.

"No worries, the plant should be fine from here. If there are anymore issues, you can come back." You chuckled and rang up her bill. She nodded and paid.

"Thanks again." She bowed and walked out of the shop. After that, you went back to preparing your orders. There were some pick ups today so you wanted to make sure that everything was in order for a smoother pick up.

"Hi, I'm here for a pick up?" A guy walked into the store.

"Sure, can I see your order number?" You asked. He showed you the confirmation email and went to retrieve his order. It was a flower box instead of a bouquet.

"Just make sure everything is okay for you before paying." You said, rounding the counter to the cashier.

"Do you mind changing the ribbons to pink too? She really likes pink." He requested.

"Of course." You grabbed the ribbon. With pink flowers, you wanted to add contrast with a different coloured bow but since he wants it to be pink, there was no issue with changing it.

"That's better. Thanks." He handed you his card.

"I wrote the congratulatory message as you stated in request email but if you'd like to write your own message. This is a spare card, on the house." You handed him the blank card.

"Thank you, I don't know what else to write but if I come up with something I'll add it." He rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish smile. You hummed and rang up his bill, writing the invoice and handing him a copy, along with his credit card. With a grateful bow of his head, he left the shop.

Before you knew it, the clock hit 1pm, with customers coming in to buy, place advance orders or collect orders they've placed.

'Closed for lunch.'

You sat behind the counter with a tired sigh, taking out your lunch box. Your meals usually consisted of sandwiches or leftovers from dinner the night before.

Which was why Mrs Kim would usually come with food for you, always disapproving of how your eating habits.

RING!

"Sorry, we're closed at the moment." You said from behind the counter, not looking at the door. But you didn't hear the second ring of the door opening again so you stood up.

"Oh!" Your eyes widened in surprised as Hongjoong stood there, looking around the shop.

"Hongjoong sshi..." You blinked, maybe you were dreaming. Maybe your guilt was too much that the male was appearing in your dreams.

"Good afternoon, (y/n) sshi. Is this a bad time? Should I come back at another time?" He asked with a slight tilt of his head, fingers resting on the buttons of his blazer. You shook your head, reaching to get a tissue to wipe your mouth.

"It's fine. What can I help you with?" You came out from behind the counter to properly greet him. He patiently waited as you pulled a chair for him to sit.

"Please, would you like something to drink?" You offered.

"No, I'm fine. Actually, (y/n) sshi, I came to apologise for my reaction during my mother's funeral." He stood back up.

"What? There's nothing for you to apologise for, Hongjoong sshi. I should be the one apologising, I overstepped and said too much. It wasn't appropriate of me." You bowed deeply.

"You didn't overstep at all. Your intentions were good, I reacted poorly." He bowed back.

"No, you're grieving, it's normal." You smiled softly.

"Thank you for understanding." Hongjoong held his hand out but remembered that it was bandaged and cursed under his breath, hiding it and putting his other hand out for you to shake. If you were phased by his injury, you didn't show it. You smiled and slipped your hand into his to shake.

"I should go and let you carry on with your meal." He said once you both let go.

"No, it's fine. You can stay if you'd like." You smiled softly. He let out a small hum and continued to look around your shop, observing all the plants around.

"So, this is where my mother hung out?" He asked, picking up a stalk of rose from your work bench and twirling it.

"Sometimes... She would come for lunch or tea. We would just chat over food." You replied awkwardly.

How much were you supposed to say about Mrs Kim to her own son? You didn't want to sound like you were boasting about your time with her either, that wouldn't do any good.

"I see." He said, placing the flower back down.

"Hongjoong sshi..." You rubbed your arm, unsure of how to continue this conversation.

"Sorry for making you uncomfortable. Just... The truth is, you know a lot about my mother that I don't. You've spent time with her while I didn't so I can't help but feel curious. My relationship with her wasn't as good as she made it out of be." He informed.

"Oh. Hongjoong sshi, it's not my place to judge you or your relationship with Mrs Kim. Whatever relationship I had with her is vastly different from your own." You said.

"You're very kind, (y/n) sshi." He complimented. Your cheeks heated up in embarrassment.

"I should go." He stood up.

"Wait before you go. Your bandage, do you want me to help you replace it?" You pointed. Hongjoong looked down and saw the blood beginning to seep through.

"It's fine, I shouldn't take up more of your time." He shook his head.

"Not at all. I can help if you'd like." You offered. With a soft sigh, Hongjoong sat back down.

"I'll go get my medical kit. Be right back." You told him and went to the back room to get what you needed. You also took a salve that you usually used for wound care.

"I'm not a doctor but I am first aid certified and I study medical plants in botany so you don't have to worry." You smiled and took a pair of cutters to cut away the bandages that Yeosang had wrapped around Hongjoong's hand. Hongjoong quietly observed you, not saying anything else while you focussed.

"I made this salve for wounds. It should help with soothing the wounds and healing." You explained, cleaning the blood.

"Do you always make your own medicine?" He asked.

"No, I just make simple stuff. I'm still learning." You giggled, tucking your hair behind your ear before applying a thin layer of the salve over the cuts and wounds.

"Does it hurt?" You looked up at him. He shook his head and you sighed in relief.

"You can bring that home with you to apply when you change bandages. I have some more." You explained.

"You do a better job than my brother." Hongjoong said after observing how you properly wrapped a new bandage around his hand and secured it in place.

"You should remove the bandage after 3 days to let the wounds breathe and dry." You said.

The entire time, you never once asked Hongjoong about how he got injured or acted differently. You treated it like any other scrapped knee and healed him. Usually, people would be scared or ask him how he got injured like that.

"Thanks." He looked at his newly bandaged hand.

"You're very welcome. If you see signs of infection or get a fever, go to a doctor." You advised. He nodded and took the small pot of salve, putting it into his pocket.

Will he use it? Probably not. But he saw how dedicated you were and for some reason, didn't want to disappoint you by not taking it.

"Bye, Hongjoong sshi. I'll see you around?" You blinked at your own words, uncertainty in your voice.

"Have a nice day, (y/n) sshi." He didn't address it, merely bowing his head and leaving your shop. You let out a long exhale, feeling like you've been holding your breath the entire time.

"Ah!" You suddenly remembered the silk handkerchief that you had washed and in your bag.

"Too distracted." You scratched your head and went to the counter to eat a few more bites of your lunch before you had to reopen.

You were not too bothered that you hadn't returned the handkerchief to Hongjoong. Even if you did feel guilty, you had an inkling that you would be seeing Hongjoong again soon. What ate at you more was how foreign Hongjoong spoke about his mother, like she was a stranger that he didn't know.

"Hongjoong, where are you?"

"I went out to run an errand, Seonghwa. Don't worry, I didn't drive. I got the driver." Hongjoong sighed, sinking into the backseat of the Rolls Royce he was in.

"I'm not worried about that. I just wanted to make sure you didn't do something dumb like blow up a building."

"Geez that happened ONCE, let it go... And I'm going to work, I have to go to my club." Hongjoong said, looking at his bandaged hand.

"You don't have to go back to work right away, Hongjoong. The boys and I can take over while you take a few days. You've needed to take a break for a while."

"I'm the leader of Ateez, Seonghwa. I don't need all of you to take over my work." Hongjoong replied.

"But..."

"Yes, my mother died. But sitting around isn't going to bring her back to life. I still have roles to fulfill, I'm not going to let anyone strike us just because I'm down. There are people counting on us, relying on us." He continued.

"Alright. Stay safe then, Hongjoong. I'll see you at the docks meeting at 5pm?"

"Yeah, thanks Seonghwa. I'll see you later." Hongjoong hummed and hung up. The car stopped before Hongjoong's club and the manager came out, opening the door for him.

"Good afternoon, Mr Kim." The manager bowed. The club wasn't open yet so Hongjoong could get some administrative work done.

"Get me a drink and come up to the office." Hongjoong said, walking into the club.

"Yes, sir." He bowed. Upon his entrance, all the workers stopped and bowed down to greet their boss This was the main club Hongjoong worked out of so they were used to seeing him around.

"Give me 10 minutes. No one is to enter." Hongjoong told the guard who stood by his office door.

"Yes, sir." The guard bowed.

Hongjoong entered his office and sat down in his chair. There were some things he needed to do and catch up on privately, without any interruptions. As the leader of Ateez, he had to keep track of the other Ateez members and their work, on top of his own. But the boys always did their work so it wasn't hard on him.

*KNOCK KNOCK*

"S-Sir?" Hongjoong heard the timid voice of the club manager outside his door, making him look up from his phone where he was sending messages to Yunho.

"Has it been 10 minutes?" Hongjoong asked back, tucking his phone into his blazer pocket.

"Yes, sir." The male on the other side replied.

"Come in." Hongjoong said. The door opened and the male came in with his iPad and Hongjoong's whiskey in hand. Hongjoong nodded over to the chair and the manager bowed, taking a seat opposite him.

"Update me." Hongjoong took a sip of his drink. The manager began to update Hongjoong on the business.

"We have been thinking of letting our bartending apprentice go. He had been drinking on the job and getting drunk." He informed.

"Who?" Hongjoong leaned forward.

"This is his profile. The next page has some employee complaints and customer complaints that were logged." The manager informed, pulling up the ex employee's profile and handing it over to Hongjoong to look it over.

"I won't read this, let him go. I won't let anyone be caught lacking in my business. One complaint is as good as ten. Make him compensate for what alcohol he took." Hongjoong instructed.

"Of course, sir." The manager nodded, taking back the iPad and going through the other updates.

"Continue to manage necessary manpower and suppliers to the club. Revenue is still good." Hongjoong told him.

"I will. Thank you for giving me this responsibility, sir." The manager bowed from his seat.

"This is the list of VIPs coming. As usual, make sure they are well taken care of." Hongjoong slid over the list of VIP names and the dates that they would be coming.

"Of course." The manager folded the paper and put it in his pocket.

"You can go." With that, Hongjoong waved him off and he left. Hongjoong may seem cold and merciless but he treats his employees right, at least those that do their job well. He is a perfectionist and always wants the best, there shouldn't be anything that's lacking when it came to his business.

"Send Wooyoung and San for that private poker game. That's wheret they'll meet our informant." Hongjoong said to those that were in the group call.

"Oooh, I can get a new suit done." Wooyoung's focus and excitement was obviously on other things.

"What about the governor meeting that's coming up, hyung? Are you going with Seonghwa hyung?" Jongho asked.

"Seonghwa should go with Yunho. They know how to work the charm. Plus the governor's wife seems to favour Yunho." Hongjoong thought out loud, making the other laugh.

"No one can resist that face." Seonghwa chuckled.

"Yunho's ears just turned bright red." Yeosang informed and the others could hear Yunho's yell of protest in the background.

"Wait, what time is Seonghwa hyung and Hongjoong hyung settling the issue at the docks? I want to tag along, I could use some action. It'll be fun." Mingi asked.

"Oh! Me too! If Mingi's going, I want to go!" San agreed. Hongjoong could hear Seonghwa wanting to interject but it was ignored. Hongjoong and Seonghwa could never fight the younger ones, they were simply outnumbered.

"You guys always make a mess when you get involved... This time, call your own clean up crew." Seonghwa hissed.

"You gave in way too easily, Seonghwa ah." Hongjoong laughed and leaned back into his seat.

"I already have enough to think about. I have to pick my battles. Plus, if they can handle it for us, I won't risk getting blood on my new coat." Seonghwa said.

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angelofthenight01 · 3 months ago

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The witch's guardian

Wanda Maximoff x Reader (AU)

genre: horror, fluff || warnings: lycanthropy, witch hunting, violence

The biting wind whips through the skeletal branches of the ancient forest, mirroring the turmoil within you. Your breath comes in ragged gasps, each one a painful reminder of the curse that claws at your soul. The moon, a malevolent eye peering through the swirling clouds, fuels the beast within. Tonight, the change is coming. You can feel it, a burning tide rising in your veins, contorting your bones, reshaping you into something monstrous.

You stumble through the undergrowth, thorns ripping at your worn leather tunic, the scent of damp earth heavy in your nostrils. You abandoned the village days ago, fleeing the terrified whispers and the glint of fear in the eyes of those who had once called you neighbor. They knew, or suspected, a truth you had tried so hard to conceal. The truth of the moon’s hold on you, the monstrous transformation that consumed you under its gaze.

You sought refuge in this dark wood, hoping to outrun the terror, or at least contain it on your own. You find a small clearing, a meager sanctuary, and collapse against the gnarled trunk of an ancient oak. The transformation begins, a horrifying symphony of crackling joints and tearing flesh. You writhe and howl, the sound lost in the symphony of the wind. Claws sprout from your fingers, your teeth lengthen into fangs. Fur bursts through your skin, a coat of thick, dark fur, a shield of shame and revulsion. Finally, you’re no longer a person, no longer human. You are a beast. A werewolf.

You pace, your heart a frantic drum against your ribs, your senses heightened tenfold. Every rustle of leaves, every snap of a twig, is amplified into a symphony of fear. The forest, once a haven, now feels like a cage. You are both predator and prey.

Days blur into nights. You scavenge for food, the taste of blood and raw flesh filling your mouth, a stark reminder of the monstrous life you’re forced to lead. You learn to navigate the forest in your beast form, becoming a part of its shadows, a creature of the night. The human you once were feels like a distant memory.

One evening, under a sky bruised with twilight, you catch a scent unlike any you've encountered before. A scent as intoxicating as wildflowers, a lingering note of smoke, and something…else. Something ancient and powerful. It draws you in, pulling you past the usual boundaries of your forest territory, toward an isolated glade bathed in the ethereal glow of twilight.

There, beneath a canopy of ancient trees, stands her.

Wanda.

Even in the dwindling light, her beauty is undeniable. Hair as dark as raven's wings frames a face of sharp angles and mesmerizing emerald eyes. She stands with an air of quiet power, a collection of herbs and strange stones arranged around her in a circle. She is a witch, that much is clear from the aura that radiates from her, and even in your feral state, you know it.

She doesn't flinch at your appearance, doesn't recoil or scream as other humans have. Instead, her gaze meets yours, holding a curious mixture of assessment and understanding. It’s both unnerving and captivating. You find yourself stopping, the instincts that drive you as a wolf warring with an unexpected desire for her approval, or rather, her understanding.

Slowly, you approach, your steps wary but driven. You lower your head slightly, a gesture of submission that feels both instinctive and strange. Wanda watches, her expression unreadable until she offers a slight tilt of her head, a gentle acknowledgment of your approach.

“You're hurting,” she says, her voice low and melodic, a soothing balm to the beastly rage that still rumbles in your chest. “And confused.”

You whimper softly, a sound that holds the pain of your existence.

She moves, but instead of fear, she reaches out, extending a hand towards you, her fingers long and elegant. Hesitantly, you lower your snout until it’s close to her palm. She slowly, and with intention, places her hand on your snout. The touch is brief, a featherlight caress, yet it sends a ripple of warmth through your snarled muscles, a calming wave that soothes the edges of the beast within.

"I can help you," she murmurs, eyes never leaving yours. "But it won’t be easy.”

You look at her, and she at you, and from that moment onwards, you know that your life will change.

Over the next few weeks, you find yourself drawn to her glade each night. It’s the only place where the beast feels manageable, where the pain of your condition feels less like a curse and more like a weight you might learn to carry. Wanda helps you understand the nature of your lycanthropy, teaches you to recognize the triggers, and the slow ways of controlling it. She guides your beastly nature to an equilibrium. She uses herbs and her magic to soothe your mind, eases the transformations.

You, in turn, become her protector. Your wolf form is a fierce guardian, a shadow that lurks in the forest, watching her, keeping her safe. During those long nights, you learn of her history, of her isolation, and her unwavering commitment to the forest and its secrets.

You learn to anticipate the hunt, the growing murmur of human voices and clashing steel that means they've come for her. When the scent of men, their fear and greed, floods the forest, you become a dark whirlwind of fur and teeth. You emerge into the glade, a terrifying figure, and stand between the intruders and Wanda. They've come for the witch who lives in the forest, because they fear that which they don't understand.

Their torches flicker, casting grotesque shadows on their faces. They’re armed with pitchforks, axes, and hunting knives, their eyes filled with a mix of fear and bloodlust. They’ve come to destroy her, and you will tear them apart first.

A roar rips from your throat, a challenge to their presence. You stalk forward, your fangs bared, your eyes glowing with an unnatural light. They hesitate, their bravado faltering in the face of the true predator you have become.

One man, larger than the rest, steps forward, brandishing a rusty axe. “Monster!” he shouts, his voice trembling. “We’ve come for the witch!”

You charge, a blur of speed and rage. You lunge past the axe, your teeth sinking into his fleshy arm. He screams, dropping the weapon, and stumbling back with a terrified yell which echoes through the forest.

The others attack, but you are too fast, too strong. You tear through their ranks, your claws ripping at their clothing, your teeth sinking deep into flesh. You feel a primal exhilaration, a savage joy in the violence you inflict, and you fight with a ferocity born of protective rage. You feel as if you could tear down trees and mountains, you could destroy worlds just to protect her.

You let out a terrifying roar, one that comes deep from your lungs, a primal beast sound that sends them scattering back into the shadows. Your teeth grind against one another, itching for some flesh. Some bones to crush.

They flee, abandoning their weapons, their fear palpable on the wind. You stand panting, your fur matted with blood, the scent of human fear heavy in the air. You turn back to Wanda, and she stares at you with a strange mix of pride, trepidation, and something that could only be called love. Her eyes, though wide, are full of care and adoration.

The night is cold, silent, after the cacophony of the battle, yet in the calmness you see yourself for the first time, see the power, the strength, the protector. You have given into the beast, but you’ve done it for her. You have torn them to shreds for her, defended her with your life, and she recognizes it all.

“You protected me.” She says, her voice barely above a whisper.

You nod, lowering your head, and transform back to a human again. The shift takes its toll on your body, but you're used to it, and you know she'll fix your wounds. You stand before her, naked, drenched in blood, your body scarred and twisted from the transformations, but she takes your hands anyway.

“I know,” she says. “And I am eternally grateful.” She pulls you in, her touch light, yet you feel as if you're being embraced by the sun. "Let’s clean you up. I have some herbs that will soothe the wounds of the body and the soul.”

You allow yourself to be led into the hut, the only place where the beast in you feels at peace, where the human you once were can breathe again. You know that future battles await, that the men will return, and there will always be those who fear the power of Wanda, whom they call a witch. But you will be there. You, the protector, the beast she now understands. Together, you will face the darkness, you, the monstrous protector, and she, the powerful magician, united by a forbidden forest and a love forged in the shadows.

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #scarlet witch x reader #scarlet witch

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frostbitebakery · 2 years ago

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There’s a room where the Light won’t find you

Surrender AU

There are certain misconceptions when it comes to the… the them of them, Cody has to admit.

“I would like to have proof of life of my General,” he says instead of answering the same question the Commander has asked him twice now. The statement sits uncomfortable under his breastbone. He lost count how often he’s had to say it in his life.

“Are you that codependent,” the replica of his mouth snarks back. Curious, usually he and his counterparts have more patience than this.

The answer to that is a definite yes. Obi-Wan and he, they’re woven together. Only Obi-Wan’s lightsaber could cut them apart. He wonders where it is after they’ve taken it from its resting place above his heart.

“You’ll protect it,” Obi-Wan had asked, voice cracking and begging, closing Cody’s palms around the weapon’s hilt. It had been after Ghost had rescued them from that hellhole, after Obi-Wan’s hands had become too weak to wield his lightsaber despite the trials of reconstructive surgeries and physical therapy.

“Like your life,” Cody had sworn, lips finally not sore anymore from the ripped out stitches, the punishments from their captors that were so much more effective when delivered on Cody than Obi-Wan himself.

“I would like to have proof of life of my General,” he says again.

The Commander pushes out a sigh. “He’s… okay.”

Debatable. Cody isn’t there and no one knows - can know - how Obi-Wan’s hands spasm after a while, how his knee is acting up. How his grip on himself has been slipping, recently. The tight control even in the chaos had held steady for so long. Because even changed like this, Obi-Wan has been a master of his own self. Until they found these counterparts at least.

They’re so Light, hammers into Cody’s head.

“General Kenobi is asking him some questions himself,” the Commander states like he’s dangling bait.

Cody sincerely wishes him good luck with that. Getting an answer to “What do you want for breakfast” is a discovery of heretofore unknown wells of patience and the higher ground most days. Honey toast, by the way. “I would like to have proof of life of my General.”

Cody, they’re so Light. Obi-Wan is alone with a beacon to the Light he’s been desperately searching for in dozens of universes. He will do something well-thought-through and stupidly risky.

The Commander watches him for a few long moments, and Cody watches right back. He doesn’t smirk in triumph when the Commander activates the comm on his vambrace.

“General, could you put—,” Cody’s mouth twitches at the Commander’s faltering, the steeling for the reality of them, “the Sith on the comm?”

A moment later Obi-Wan is in the holo. Bound but whole, because the good guys don’t believe in torture. “Are you alright?” he asks, sickly golden eyes roving over what the holo displays of Cody.

Cody smiles, softening further once Obi-Wan echoes him with his own. “Yes. You?”

There’s misconceptions about them. Other people’s delusions of knowing them seem to think Obi-Wan and he can only be brutal, be cruel and harsh. Towards everyone else, and towards each other. Trapped in a bloody dance or something rivaling that kind of stupid. Those people don’t, thankfully, know the gentleness flowing through their touches. They kiss the other in reverence, soft and precious monster. What is between them, a connection forged in blood and pain, is anything but. It’s the one thing where they’re truly selfish. Holding each other close, burrowed into each other.

When Obi-Wan had asked him what he wants, the answer had been simple and sprouting thorns.

“You,” Cody had answered, sure and steadfast.

Obi-Wan had almost flinched, cane scraping over the floor. “Even as I am now?”

Always. At every second their lives had existed in orbit to each other. Every possible face Obi-Wan had worn, Cody had wanted him. But— “I think,” he had replied, stroking the paper-thin grey skin under a yellow eye, “this is the only version I’m allowed to have.”

“I miss you,” Obi-Wan says on the holo, and Cody goes cold.

“Obi-Wan, don’t—“

The connection winks out and he knows that it was Obi-Wan, that the Force suppression cuffs must have some fault he detected and exploited.

He whips his head up, urgency clocking in inside his chest and ticking. “Stun him,” he grits out, just to not yell, and startles the Commander. “Make him unconscious any way necessary.” He swallows. “But please don’t kill him.” I need him.

#surrender au #codywan #commander cody #dark!cody #obi wan kenobi #sith!obi wan #my art #frostbitebakery art #sw fanart #star wars au

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lunarthing159 · 6 months ago

Text

[ Gunshot, Rosette, & Canvas ]

A VSAU-AU Fanfiction For @rhapsoddity And Community.

Characters: Sheriff/Jimmy, Wither/Sausage, & Spectrum/Scott

Content Warnings: Detail of Injury, Non-Consensual Hypnosis, & Hot AU Men (Thanks Rhaps).

Extra Tag; @wilbygoesbrrrr Take Your Villain Saus Man

<> <> <> <> <> <>

Stillness.

It was all so still.. quiet.. tranquil..

Almost too much so for The Sheriff's tastes. This place is usually bustling with villains, or even simple criminals by this hour.. yet still.. nothing..

Heroes rarely ventured into the alleyways of this part of Empires City, it was labeled 'not of immediate concern' a long time ago and hasn't changed since. "Tch, figures." He would scoff under his breath at the thought. The whole job of heroes is to help people, and yet they ignore the areas that most need help. Typical, unfortunately.

Oh well, that means more work for The Sheriff to do instead. Hooray!..

Making his way from rooftop to rooftop using his lasso, Sheriff scoured his usual rounds, checking each and every alleyway for even the slightest motive. Even hours later, as he was already slowing down and yawning along the way, he kept searching.

He kept moving.

He kept slowing down.

He kept watching.

He kept yawning.

He kept looking.

He kept rubbing his eyes.

The Sheriff kept Searching

And the searching would seem to pay off.

A simple paper, tucked away in an alleyway corner. A letter, it would seem. The alley walls were lightly coated in city moss, adorned with glass panels & windows leaned onto the sides at the dead-end.

Bingo.

Sheriff decended down from atop the building, using his lasso for the first half and some ladders for the second. "There we go!" Picking up the paper, it read as follows;

To my newest accomplice,

I presume your travels have been well. As I last heard of you, all things are set on your end of our plan. The target has been found, we can begin stage two.

Turn around~

There was no time to react.

The moss along the alley walls came to life in an instant, rushing out towards the sheriff. There was no time to dodge. There was no time to flee. Within moments, he found himself bound within the vines, sprouted thorns digging into his clothes and skin.

And he knew exactly who was causing this.

"Hello there, little cowboy."

Wither. The Thorned Rosebush. The Garden of Decay. The Mania Flower.

He wore a scarlet red mask to cover his eyes and a shirt of the same hue, buttoned down just enough to where his upper chest was visible. He adorned a navy coat that flowed down to his knees with a collar that perfectly framed his medium-length brunette hair and beard. And his smile,,, one that terrified the souls of many, any, & all who have found themselves in his path and wake.

No matter his title to you, you only had one option,,, one chance of survival...

To Run.

Sheriff spent as little time as he could to collect his words, even as his body was thrown into the ground and his arms were bound above his head. He did his best to keep up his usual demeanor, to not showcase his fear,,, his terror. "Well hello there, I know I've shown myself to be a fan of ropes, but this is no way to showcase your own~"

"Oh?" Wither seemed to inquire, only stepping closer. Sheriff prayed the other didn't see the nervous gleam his eyes have no doubt obtained. "Then just how should I show you? Just how much would you like to see~?"

Oh. Oh Sheriff was in over his head. Wither kneeled right infront of him, not in some act of bowing, but as almost a tease, a taunt, a flaunt and display of the other's power in this situation. Sheriff darted his eyes around them, looking for any exit to this situation.

Sheriff let out a cry, the vines tightened, but only around his skin. The thorns dug deep into the flesh, drawing blood and loosening just enough to let him bleed. Dispite the many pains Sheriff has found himself in, he couldn't prevent tears welling up in his eyes. They were trapped there because of his mask, and the salt began to burn, bringing more tears to trap themselves.

"Adorable, do keep up the act, vigilant. Your suffering is delicious." Wither would taunt him, bringing a single finger to swipe across his cheek, causing another wound. Only a small slash, but it was all adding up to the pain Sheriff felt.

It was all too much, even for him,,, the act could be kept up no longer. "Stop,,," it felt so pathetic to beg, but he had no other choice. He couldn't try and writhe out, it would only dig the thorns farther into his arms, legs, & torso. He can only sustain so much damage and guarantee he can make it home. It's all he could do,,, all he could do was beg.

And Wither would only seem to grin wider at his suffering. Perhaps he actually did feed from pain? Who could say. "Don't you worry, I have no intentions to hurt you further. Keep your eyes open, Sheriff. It's time for stage 3~"

What?

And there it was, just outside his peripheral, endless colors began to warp where there was previously only darkness. The visuals creeped into his sight, coating the world around him in shifting and spiraling hues. There was nothing to stay latched on to. There was nothing to stay grounded to. There was nothing to stay focused on. It ate away at his focus, only intensifying every moment it stayed. And Sheriff knew exactly who was working together now.

"Hello there, Rosette~. It seems you've done your part rather well."

"no No NO-"

Not him, not them- anyone but Them.

But it was them. It was, in fact, Wither & Spectrum,,, working together... for... what? What would they need? What could they want? What,,, does Sheriff have to do with this? He,,, didn't know.

And somehow, that terror,,, it distracted him. The world around him began to shift, nothing stayed the same too long. He could hardly make out the walls of the alleyway anymore, only colors,,, endlessly shifting colors,,, endlessly moving colors,,, endlessly spiraling colors,,,

It was... mesmerizing, and any normal person would have fallen victim right here and now. But Sheriff wasn't normal, at least not like this. There had to be a way out, he had to stay strong-

Wither moved to be behind him, wrapping his arms around The Sheriff in a grapple almost adjacent to a hug. Sheriff struggled to not lean into this embrace. Spectrum made his way infront of The Sheriff, gently cupping the other's face within his palms. Sheriff desperately tried to avoid looking as deep as he could into such beautiful eyes. Both villains whispered words to The Sheriff, he tried not to listen, he couldn't hear them, he listened, he couldn't make out what they were saying.

"Hush, --wboy"

"J--- -isten"

"-o thin---g"

"Relax n--"

"D--'t str--gle"

"Fall~."

And fall he did, ever so simply. The colors coated his mind so easily, covering up any thought he may have had and preventing him from forming new ones. They kept swirling in his vision, trapping his mind within it's spirals, falling farther and farther down. All will of fight left his limbs, falling limp within the hold of the one behind him. The world and all in it seemed to fade away as he kept falling further away from it.

His mouth would stay gently open, no tension to keep his jaw closed. His eyes would lose focus, not looking at anything in particular as the world itself seemed to escape him. No thoughts to form, no form to fight, no fight to give. The Sheriff, He could only Be.

Mossy vines untangled themselves from his flesh, retreating back to their posts along the alley walls. Two grins faced the empty husk of a figure, as they knew their plan had succeeded. The bright magenta hue that overwhelmed a previous eye color spoke it all.

They just got a new little puppet~

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Ello! Thanks For Reading! Hope Y'all Enjoyed Your VSAU-AU Villain Yaoi Scosage / Toxic Flytrap Husbands Content :>

#vigilante sheriff au #vsau #vsau fanfiction #empires smp au #vsau sheriff #vsau spectrum #vsau sanctuary #Not Really But I'll Still Tag It #vsau au wither #Lunar Writes Stuff

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residents-of-the-darkforest · 1 year ago

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Fleetsong and Dawnmoth kit name ideas

Mousetuft for the eldest

Sunflame for the younger daughter

Thornshade for the only son

(hopefully I got the order right xdd)

big brain: mouse, sun, and thorn were the first three words Fleetsong learned to sign

'Thorn' would likely be a front paw raised with the pad upward, like how you show it when taking a thorn out.

'Mouse' would be something like twitching whiskers and biting the lip with the front teeth (Dawn probably wasn't thinking when she asked him what he wanted to eat, and he responded with the only thing he could think of).

For 'sun', he would probably just point at the sun. If it's night, he would touch something yellow-orange (usually Dawnmoth's fur) and then reach high.

#fleetsong #dawnmoth #sunflame #thornshade #mousetuft #children that never were #sprouting thorns au

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brandwhorestarscream · 7 months ago

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Megop but hanahaki disease AU 😳

Both of them slooowly getting sick, a constant tickle and itch in their ventilation systems that cant be soothed no matter how much hot energon they drink, no matter what kind of medication they take. On opposite sides of the war, as the casualities grow so does the longing, the regret, the sparkbreak. And as the rift between them grows deeper and deeper, their internals are filling up with thorns and pods. Optimus develops a persistent choking, wheezing cough, and despite energon samples and scans Ratchet cant find any reason for it. Megatron is the same, stubbornly powering through his illness.

Crystal vines and thorns begin sprouting inside of them, roots digging into their spark chambers and beginning to slowly, painstakingly slowly, crush them. It progresses over centuries, spark crystals squeezed by strangling vines as the hanahaki grows worse and worse the more they miss each other.

During one of his coughing fits, alone in his room, Optimus suddenly gags. Blood--not undigested energon, blood--flies past his lips and he chokes on something hard and sharp, scraping his throat. He spits it out, blinking in surprise down at the unmistakable shape of a crystal rose, heavily drenched in energon blood, laying cradled in his cupped servos.

The diagnosis is extremely dire. The disease has spread through the vast majority of his body: crystal flora don't show up on scans, invisible to them because of their unique physical attributes, but once Ratchet opens him up and takes a look at his internals, they're everywhere. The strangling crystal flowers are in most of his vital organs, root system spread through and plunging into mainlines and sidelines, siphoning his energon to feed the parasitic plant. They're so heavily entwined with Optimus's body, growing on him, in him, a part of him, that trying to remove them would require surgery lasting multiple days. And even then, he'd be in recovery for months, and that’s only if he survives. Treatment wouldn't even be permanent, doomed to relapse within a few years time because they cant remove the plant's heart. The heart of the root system, the main bulb, has wound itself tightly around his spark where it originated. The bulb is inside his spark chamber, fused with the protective crystal casing. The roots are jammed in in a thousand different places, in a massive spiderweb network. Cutting them off and removing them would irreversibly damage his spark chamber, and he would swiftly perish afterwards.

The best Ratchet can do is treat him for a temporary reprieve of the symptoms, but he can't cure him. Can't save him. There’s only one cure for hanahaki disease, and Optimus knows it's impossible for him. Hanahaki stems from unrequited love and a broken spark longing for the object of it's desires: the only thing that could save him would be to reunite with Megatron 😌

#megop #megatron #optimus #hanahaki au in the year of our lord 2024?? more likely than you think lmao #extra bonus points if megatron has had the treatment several times and knows hes shortening his own life #but hes so miserable and in such denial he doesnt care

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neverpathia · 3 months ago

Note

"come, quench my boredom," oh, I sure will:

How about some Thorn for the character list game? >:]

FIE! HAVE AT YOU. HAVE AT YOU ALL.

I'm probably not gonna be getting at these as fast as I'd like. Clearly I had a lot to say about Para but at least he's out of the way, and now Thorn...Damn you, Everest Gale. Damn you. (I have gotten my vengeance with the Paranoid ask on you, though. My time had come.) /lh

[checks who's up next] OH COME ON BROKEN TOO?? MY THREE FAVOURITES IN THAT ORDER???

With that said. This one's probably going to be a little bit short because I've thrown out all my energy on that Paranoid post + analysis lol. Sorry, my beautiful creature plant wife, you deserve so much better.

favourite thing about them

I rummage through every facet of her character and I...don't pull my hands out from the drawer, because it's that hard to choose.

But if I really do have to pick, I'd probably go for her character development and what it represents. The Thorn, as a chapter, tells you that things don't have to end at hurt. That there's always hope, even after you act and react, and act and react, and act and react again. That pain isn't the end. That the cycle doesn't have to keep moving, because it can always be halted. That it's never too late to let go and start anew.

And that doesn't mean that the pain was insignificant, because yes, it's always been there. Inflicted, passed on, released outward, turned inward. If dismissed away, it could grow and remain forever. But it could also be dispelled, and one could finally heal.

I'll also point out that she's absolutely adorable, pretty as all hell, and just smoking hot. Because she's the fucking Thorn. And the sheer symbolism—the way the roots of the wild sprout anew and morph into prickles, contorting around herself when she directs her pain inward. The way she finally sees her poppies for the first time when you both let her recover. I'll be fucking sick.

least favourite thing about them

A single crow glides across this part of the post, idly dropping a single white splatter before fluttering away with three wing-flaps. Nothing to see here, carry on.

(I'm very lax when it comes to others' Thorn characterization, because I never really get her character right myself. But it doesn't bother me too much because I rarely post Princess content anyway. And I do think I'm improving with her writing.)

favourite line

"I'm so tired of the bad blood between us. But it's hard to let it go. You've hurt me. ... And I've hurt you."

I think this just encapsulates so much about her arc. She doesn't want this horrible cycle to keep happening anymore. And she's just as accountable as you are. But at the same time, that doesn't mean she's not reluctant. It's all she's ever known at this point, and it certainly doesn't help that the grievances between you still exist either way.

She's not letting her guard down so easily, not here and certainly never as the Witch. But she wants to try. It's hard, but she's already so resigned. And she does want it to stop.

Also she sounds so tired here and it's kind of hot but you can still hear the guilt, the grief, the single sliver of hope...Thorn I really do love you. Thorn, I love you Thorn. Marry me Thorn. Thorn-

brOTP

Thorn and Cage. They're the two most prominent princesses in my post-construct AU (alongside HEA and Razor. sorry Cheated) and they're definitely close as all hell. Both of them get how it is to be trapped in a hopeless cycle, and how it is to break it.

They're like a cat and an office lady. Thorn spontaneously finds stuff in the woods and brings, say, a dead rat to Cage's doorstep for the sake of friendship. Cage dangles a chain over Thorn's head and she gleefully swipes at it.

Thorn twirls around in a flower field as Cage sits in place and smiles, weaving stems into a flower crown. Then Thorn slides onto her stomach beside her, observing as she playfully kicks the dirt. She's a very whimsical lass.

And let's not forget the scars. Cage is always there for the sudden aches and pains, and she's always there to soothe them with some salve and bandage them with meticulous precision. As for Cage's disembodied head...Thorn did try to seal it back together with a few slivers of plant stem, but it never holds for very long. Not for lack of trying, though. They're always best friends.

Thorn is so whimsical and Cage is so stoically silly and oh my god yes. Just yes. And they're both pretty women.

otp

Cheated x Thorn. I've gone over this before but holy shit I love them. They're the ship I've probably drawn the most? I'm pretty sure. I'm definitely not projecting onto Cheated. Don't look at my current account theme.

But either way I really love them together. Just a couple of flawed, faulty people who have been hurt and chosen to hurt in turn. And yet they're changing. And yet they're recovering. They can't find much solace at all, but they're learning to find peace and sometimes that's enough. The little moments they share are few and far between but so very cute and cathartic and- squealing.

But Cheated isn't immune from Thorn's catlike, playful side either. She randomly paws softly on his coat for no reason. She sits cross-legged on his unfinished game of solitaire. And he actually isn't too mad about it, no matter what his lighthearted grumbling might suggest.

However, they both have trust issues and aren't prone to surprising each other that much. This is another one with horrible will-they-wont-they tension. Thorn eagerly brings him little gifts (some less necessary than others) and tells him she loves him so many times a day, but when it comes to actual physical affection...it takes her a lot of courage. But then she kisses him. And then he, flustered beyond all hell, completely short-circuits.

It's a bit like sunshine x grumpy, although it's also chaos x chaos. Both of them are unhinged. They match each others' freak.

nOTP

Mai (@/hello-universe-lovers) would be very disappointed in me. Dramatic drumroll: Oppythorn.

Well, this is a hundred percent attributed to how I write these fucks because, dramatic reveal: My Opportunist is gay. Achillean. MLM. Swings the other way. He's so fruity Disney-villain coded, so how could I not? (No hate to the gays, by the way. I have better gay voices.)

But my version of these two can't be left alone in a room without engaging in a silent dirty-look competition and shooting obscene gestures at each other (if Smitten is present) or devolving into a dishonourable brawl (if Smitten is absent.) He doesn't understand how Thorn's attempting to redeem herself. Thorn doesn't want to engage with him and return back to those dark times.

They hate each other, but they are mirrors. One retreating further into the dark, one letting herself reach for the light. Opportunist is everything that the Thorn wants to leave behind. They're like toxic exes to me.

random headcanon

If Witch is feral, Thorn is domesticated. She purrs when you give her back scritches. She randomly plops herself down on your table for no reason. She finds boxes and wordlessly declares them her new home. And she does not like baths (though she's willing to sit through it if she trusts you enough. And after a while, she begrudgingly appreciates how the water soothes her scars.)

Just because she's perfectly capable of sitting down with you over a cup of tea and holding a conversation, doesn't make her any less of a chaotic little creature.

At the same time, she desperately tries to be kind anytime she can. She bombards the people she likes (especially Cheated) with gifts and favours. She tries to use kind words, but sometimes she hesitates for too long trying to find the nicest thing to say. She's still trying to grapple with the notion that conversations aren't battlegrounds. No more scheming and plotting. Just words. Just people.

I also like to think that her control over the thorns is actually pretty high. As in epic-anime-fight-scene level high. Thing is, in-game she's too dejected and tired to actually excise any control over them by the time you see her, so she just sits there helplessly in this prison of her own making. She sealed herself in there. She didn't even know if she deserved to escape, and she certainly didn't think so. God. Love you.

unpopular opinion

I'll just echo what everyone else says. She's not just a softie; she still has her claws. People need to remember that she stemmed specifically from Witch.

We need more creature Thorn content.

Maybe she's deliberately trying to be more civilised and get rid of her cat-like mannerisms. Perhaps she gets a little bit embarrassed when she's caught engaging in kitty stuff, and quickly corrects herself. Or maybe she just doesn't care. Being a scrunkly little creature doesn't have to interfere with rehab, right?

song that reminds me of her

For some inexplicable reason, Sweater Weather reminds me of her. Maybe it's the voice, I don't know.

Love Like You and I'll Call You Mine also strike me as pretty Thorn-coded, though I'm frankly not that good at picking out songs for characters.

favourite image

Oh I am so glad you asked because-

LOOOOOOOOOK AT HER SHE'S SO PRECIOUS AND THOSE EYES THOSE DOWNCAST EYES THE SHEER GRIEF AND REMORSE AND THE WAY SHE'S STILL CLUTCHING AT THE KNIFE DESPITE IT ALL AND- dead.

Special mention goes to these, though.

Godddd she looks so cute and defiant in the last two, and so small, and so vulnerable, and so adorable, and so-

Yeah. I think I'll leave it here as I proceed to scream to myself about her. Just her.

#slay the princess #stp #stp princess #the thorn

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cheralith · 2 years ago

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a dedicated tenderness — 「 knives (nai) x reader 」

content warnings ; none

contains ; college!au, modern!au, secret relationship, just plain fluff with hundred spoons, polygun being sillies

notes ; could be read as a continuation of the previous nai fic, could not! still has the same aspects of it tho :3

You had met the Saverems when they moved across the street just barely diagonally from your house when you were just shy of six years old. Vash had caught you staring at their moving truck from behind the tall oak tree that provided a shaded sanctuary amidst the blazing summer heat. He remembers waving hello to the eyes that peeked out from the trunk of it before they flinched and ducked behind the sturdy wood again, slowly creeping back up to see if the pair of bright turquoise eyes were still staring at yours.

And when they were, Vash, being the more friendly and lively one of the two twins, decided to take it upon himself and drag his brother to go greet their new neighbor.

"Hi!" A sauntering young Vash had called cheerily to you, who was still hiding shyly behind the oak tree. "Are you our new neighbor? We just moved here!"

The young twins had managed to circle the trunk of the tree and before them stood a child around their age adorned in a colorful striped t-shirt and dirt-dusted overalls. Vash remembers you stepping back from the eager youngster, a less enthusiastic and distant version of him trailing not that far behind. You nodded, kicking at the dirt and not wanting to make eye contact with the sparkled-eye boy.

"My name is Valentinez, but you can call me Vash," he had said to you with a bright smile. He gestured to his lighter blonde and much more aloof counterpart. "This is Knives, you can call him Nai."

Your shy demeanor had suddenly faltered for a swift moment, your eyebrows getting all scrunched up in confusion at the odd names given to the two boys that little did you know, would set a place in your heart for the rest of your life. And it's returned back to the Saverem brothers. Your existence has stained each brother in such a unique way, and both Vash and Nai don't think they'll ever be able to forget you, not when your first words to them were,

"You guys kinda have weird names."

Such a sentence had lead a divide of two contrasting relationships involving the brothers—on one hand, Vash had taken it lightly to heart and merely laughed it off, easing himself into a breezy and steady friendship with you. On the other, Knives, or Nai as (only) you and Vash refer to him, had jutted out his lower lip in offense and insulted your dirty overalls, not taking into account that children still didn't have a filter before the age of ten. It forced you and him down a winding and tangling path, one that was devoid of flowery compliments and fresh smiles and laughs like the path of friendship you and Vash walked down together.

Oh no, the road you took with Nai was much more rocky, much more dwindling, and much more confusing. Insults jabbed at you and him like thorns as you'd trip over nonsensicality like sprouted tree roots waiting for you to stumble over them. The weather is never consisted as you travel down with him (never hand in hand, he'd so much as hiss out in faux pain whenever you'd brush against him). It could be stormy one day—the clouds heavy with misunderstandings, arguments and tears. It could be partly sunny—a ray of light peeking over the dismal clouds, similar to the nature of kindness that rarely shone through sometimes. Or it could just stay cloudy, as it has always been since the dawn of your "friend"ship with Nai.

Regardless of relationship status, there was certainly one thing that Vash had always knew of—that his brother had always had a quiet admiration for you. He just never seemed to act on it as much as other suitors of yours did. He isn't actually sure when Nai began to see you in a different light, but Vash can confirm that the longer he waits for something miraculous to happen, the more time will eat him alive.

He's seen it on his brother's face before. When you began your first relationship back in the more tender days of high school beginnings, Vash's eyes behind his glasses had flickered to a pair of similar ones across from him as you had introduced your then-boyfriend and he remembers the heaviness and ruddy ache that flittered across Nai's cavernous eyes. They contrasted your glowing ones, eyes filled with life and hope for the better future as you showed him off to everyone.

It was almost ritualistic, Vash thinks. Nai never seemed to care for romance unless it came to you. Vash thinks Nai would break all pairs of his glasses if he were to ever to say anything of a sort to his face, but he knew Nai was saving that blank space in his heart for you to fill, whether he realized it or not.

Nai Saverem is picky with people. He doesn't befriend those as easily as his younger brother, preferring to stay alone and distant with people that could easily take up his time so carelessly. It's why he shoos away any of his admirers with a cold glance that tells them they have zero chance with him and why there seems to be a certain thickness in the air whenever he's around that creates an invisible bubble around him. It's a thick barrier that refuses to let unknown others in and lets them know they won't be welcomed anytime soon. Introverted as he is, his energy is only so small, so there's a certain brand of people that wastes his time and therefore, he only uses his energy on people that he thinks are worth using it for.

And so Vash can't necessarily say he's too surprised like the others when Milly makes a separate groupchat that contains a series of images involving the two people excluded from it. The first is of Nai waiting outside the science building where your final class is held during Fridays. It was an odd place for him to be considering he only had one class on Fridays and would usually be home by mid-afternoon, so it was strange that Milly had caught him during the peeking hours of twilight still on campus.

The second is an image of you walking out the building and waving a hello to him, followed by the third of you and Nai's blurry figures connected via your hands in a sunset-inked sky making your way to Nai's car. The fourth of the photo sequence is a video. With a soft tenderness from Milly's hands, you get into the passenger seat with ease, the normal conversation of hostility and teasings between you and him seemingly devoid because there's no snooty faces or rolling of eyes. But it's when Nai properly starts the car that things take a turn. Its engines revving to life, he takes the time to pause and properly cradle the back of your head with his hand and properly give you a brief but soft kiss before pulling back with a dust of pink on his cheeks at the sight of your giddy, miniscule smile.

Behind the camera Milly gasps and drops her phone out of surprise on the concrete, and the video echoes the crack of the screen's phone before Milly's whine of "Oh no... it broke!" ends the video.

As buildings and nature of all arrays pass by, Vash replays the video over and over again in Wolfwood's car, examining it and the other images in full and wondering how Nai's daydreams finally came to life. Vash rubs his eyes behind his glasses, still attempting to process if what he’s seeing is real—that his icy older brother was truly thawing his resolve at the sight of you visibly and blooming a foreign affectionate that even Vash rarely sees nowadays.

Wolfwood groans when he hears the sound of the beginning of the video play again, grip tightening on the steering wheel as his knuckles whitening out of annoyance. "Would ya cut that out already! I get it, they're datin'!"

Vash flinches at his boyfriend's irritated tone. He tucks away his phone with a hasty laugh and apology. "Sorry, I'm just a little baffled that they're finally together after all these years."

The brunette makes a sort of scoffing noise. "I didn't lose all hope that your brother would never find love, but in all my years, I didn't expect it to be (Y/N) out of all people," he mutters, a cigarette dangling from his hand that sits on the edge of the window, its peppery scent lingering softly in the car. "How long do ya reckon they'll last?" he asks everyone in the car. "My bets on three months, their bickerin' is gonna put an end to it 'fore somethin' else does."

"That's mean, Wolfwood," Meryl scolds and flicks him on the back of his head, earning a yelp from him. "I'll admit myself I don't know how those two came to be, but I only wish them well and if they're happy with each other, that's all that matters."

Milly chimes in with a positive cheer. "Agreed! I'm just happy that Mr. Knives has finally found someone!" she chirps. "I really didn't want him to end up as a sad old grandpa alone."

"I wasn't insultin' them," Wolfwood huffs, "I was just merely statin' the reality. Y'all saw it earlier today too—both of 'em playin' musical chairs with the seat Knives stole in the lounge when (Y/N) got up to go get water."

Meryl shakes her head. "It's still really mean to assume their relationship won't last. I don't know about you guys, but I can see them—hey! You missed the turn!"

"Shit!"

Wolfwood swears aloud, hissing as he realizes he's passed the entrance to a vast park on the busy street. He makes a swift and hasty U-turn on the road that makes everyone grip onto the nearest object for dear life before zooming into an entrance that lead to a hidden field in the woods. The car slowly drives by it, where everyone can see a a lone picnic blanket atop a small hill with a laptop playing Miss Congeniality sits on a picnic basket. The back of two people face the parking lot, and it doesn't take long for everyone in the car to assume who they were.

On Fridays, it was a ritual to go to someone's house for a relaxing movie night and just wind down with everyone's presence for the evening. Today, however, you and Nai had excused yourselves from it with what seemed to be valid excuses until Milly's paparazzi work had jumbled in hours later.

“Can’t,” Nai droned, his eyes still glued on his laptop. “I’ve some papers to grade for one of my classes before the midterm ends.”

“And I’ve got a lab report to write up with my lab mates later,” you mentioned. “I can catch next week’s if that’s okay.”

It clicked to them that it was secretly code for you and Nai to actually attend a secret picnic movie date, which Wolfwood took mild offense to as Miss Congeniality was one of his favorite movies, disliking that it was being used for a date out of all things.

"They can't be serious," Wolfwood sneers as he pulls into a coveted shady area of the parking lot, safe from yours and Nai's view but still able to provide the gang with proper sights. "What screams romantic about Sandra Bullock having to attend a pageant? There's literally so much better romcoms out—"

"Shut up!" Everyone scolds.

"You'll give away our cover!" Meryl hisses. "The point is to be subtle and quiet, you idiot!"

Wolfwood snides and rolls his eyes, his hands throwing up in surrender.

On the other side of the hill, you gently press another strawberry to Nai's lips. His teeth gently bite into it, the juices of it slowly seeping out from the corner of his lips for your thumb to scrape away, a feather-like touch grazing his lips as it does so. You go to stare at the red-stained tint on them for a moment unconsciously, the natural gloss the fruit left off almost hypnotizing you.

It goes unnoticed by Nai, however.

"If you wanted a kiss, just say so," Nai says, plucking the greenery of the strawberry out your hand to put it into the trash pile.

You break out of your trance with a stunned shiver going up your spine at the sound of Nai's casualty. It was still somewhat unnerving for him to be saying such things, especially considering how he used to be before you two began dating. Words conveying such warmth were still unusual to hear, but it wasn't like you didn't like it.

A warmth creeps on your cheeks and you blink. "What? No, I was just simply... going to fix your collar, that's all!" you lie hastily. Your hand goes to fidget with an already-neat shirt collar before your wrist is grabbed by Nai's own. It pulls you into him and Nai's lisps peck your own quickly before his attention returns to the movie like nothing had ever happened.

You swear you can feel some steam coming out of your head. While you were usually the one that began the small touches of affections, it always felt different and much more intimate when Nai would return them or replicate them in his own fervor. Maybe it was due to the lack of intimacy he displayed to anyone else, or perhaps because they were from Nai himself that they felt more personal—the man who barely showed any emotion to anyone other than distaste and apathy—and so for such an individual to be sharing such liaison with you just felt more close to heart because he chose you to share it with.

"I thought you weren't one for PDA..." you mutter, fighting the urge the lick your lips as the acidity of the strawberry leftover lingers on them.

Nai shrugs. "We're the only ones around here, so the 'P' aspect of PDA doesn't necessarily apply right now."

"That's what you think," you interject. "There could be some weirdo prodding around the bushes as we speak, spying on us, y'know!"

He lets out a soft snort as the ending scene begins to play out, where Sandra Bullock begins to give her speech about friendship in the banquet hall starts to seal up the ending ropes of the movie. "And what weirdo would want to spend their time spying on two college students on a picnic?"

"A weirdo who tends to enjoy movies and real-life romance."

"Those people don't exist."

"To you they might not, but to me anything is possible."

"Shut up before I kiss you again."

You snort aloud, fighting the urge to react to his declaration like a schoolgirl. "You're acting as if I don't want th—"

Milly gasps loudly as she watches Nai dips his face to yours to once again, kiss you, but with more ardor than the last, this one lasting much more soundly than the previous one. She can sense there's true passion and dare she say, genuine love, in it and she melts at the sight of it fondly.

Vash himself watches the scene unfold with wide eyes, pausing his munching on his sandwich as he hogs the binoculars from a protesting Meryl. It takes all the fight in him to not proudly cheer aloud at his brother making a move and he gags on his sandwich when he witnesses Nai tuck a lock of hair behind your ear after the kiss. His lips still tell nothing of a sort, still a stiff downward line like they usually were, but the rest of his radiates a sort of fluster when you giggle softly at his antics. Confidence looks good on his brother, Vash thinks.

"Shit, they're on the move!" Wolfwood exclaims after a while of spying. Everyone hastily packs their things and duck as an ignorant you and Nai make your way down the hill and back into his creme white car, where Wolfwood's doesn't trail too far behind. The four of them spend the rest of the evening not watching a romantic movie as planned, but instead fending for the real life soap opera that enacts in front of them, tailing you and Nai as you travel around town and into various shops.

"Who do you think made the first move?" Meryl asks with her eyes peering behind the binoculars, peeking behind the window of the car that sits parallel on the same street a record shop was. "I'm placing bets that it was—oh no, everyone duck!" They shift under the seats when you two walk out with small bags in hand holding sorts of records and CDs, still talking aimlessly and the beat-up grey-black Camry still unnoticed in the background.

"Never really took Knives for a music-type of guy..." Wolfwood mutters. They slowly rise up from their spots and beginning to tail the car again.

Nai's eyes go to flicker to the rearview mirror. "Are they still following us?"

You give a chuckle and glance at the side mirror, where a familiar car of sorts drives only a car behind you. You had realized back at the ice cream parlor that four pairs of watchful eyes had their sights on you and Nai awhile back, but figured it'd be awkward to confront them and ruin the date. Instead, you let them have their fun being pretend James Bonds and went on with the date like usual, attempting to ignore them as much as possible (it was quite hard, however, when you could see Vash and Wolfwood almost start wrestling in the front seats for aux).

You knew that you and Nai had to come clean sooner or later, but he had admitted that he wasn't ready to state publicly that he was in a committed relationship. You still weren't sure whether it was because of his own pride of being frustratingly independent or it was nervousness of entering a new era that was holding him, but you respected his wishes and continued to play the part of a bickering old couple stuck in the bodies of college students like how you were beforehand. You think you were still just as nervous as you were in the first few weeks.

But when Nai's voice echoes the words he promised to you when he officially asked you out with sweaty palms and palpitating heartbeats, a warmth in your chest unfolds in comfort, reminding you to look on the brighter, warmer side of things, even if you weren't too confident.

"I... really want to make this work... so I promise to do all that I can if you'll do the same."

You give a soft smile at his promise he made awhile back to a particular no one. Nai raises a brow at your mysterious grinning.

"What are you smiling about?" he inquires as he leads you to the entrance of your apartment building.

"Oh, nothing..." you shrug off, leaving Nai in the dust of confusion.

Nai narrows his eyes for a bit in suspicion before sighing out aloud. His eyes go to hover on the sight of that dumb Camry again, its shaded windows concealing who its passengers was from view but Nai has seen it too many times to count to know whose car it was and only who could be inside of it. The smoke that wisps from behind the driver's window does nothing more that confirm his suspicions as he picks up the scent of familiar menthol cigarettes that doesn't take him long to guess who it belongs to.

"Do you think we should confront them?" you ask.

Nai shakes his head, "Just let them be for now. I'll deal with them later," he murmurs when he leads you safely into your apartment building. "Text me when you get up to your apartment," he directs before brushing his lips against your cheek as a goodbye.

You nod, affirmative. "I will, thank you for today, too," you praise fondly and give his hand one last squeeze before you let go. You watch as Nai makes his way back to the entrance before you call his name out again.

"Hey, Nai?"

His head turns back to you, raising a brow. You take this time to fully embody him before your own eyes, from the tufts of his hair to each freckle on his body.

Nai before your relationship and Nai in a relationship you think are two vastly different people, and you still can't place your finger on who the real one was. A part of you thinks he's putting up a front in the eye of the public for his own self-preservation, but another part tells you that he's merely just showing a newer, more refined side of him that you've never seen before—a more tender and protective version of Nai that you think only Vash has seen before a handful of times. Sometimes, you pride yourself in confirming that this side of Nai, whether it was real or not, was only shown to you as a sign of trust from his desolate self.

However, there were other times that made you think this honeymoon era might not last and you and him will go back to how things used to be, altering the fate of your relationship for the worst. A petal of guilt would bloom every time that thought crosses your mind due to the unsettling feeling that perhaps you didn't confide in Nai enough, that maybe you just didn't earn enough of him to lock your feelings into place.

But when he waits patiently for your response, blinking slowly, you realize that perhaps it was indeed the latter—a slow exposure to a new side of Nai Saverem—that was yours for the taking.

"I love you," you declare in the foyer, your voice echoing and forcing your message to repeat itself to him for a few seconds.

Your eyes scan for a reaction from him and you earn a flustered, non-verbal one as a response, one that makes his lips thin and makes him thickly swallow and cheeks flush. A grin teeters on the corners of your mouth as you watch him attempt to utter out a reply. It falls short on his tongue, however, and you're only given a nod and wave before Nai (almost hurriedly) exits the building, the tips of his ears pink.

A giggle slips its way out of you as you enter the elevator, fondly thinking on his lasting image. Baby steps, you think.

On the floors below, Nai groans and drags a hand down his face at the memory of your declaration to him. It's more difficult than he thought to ignore the loud thundering of his heartbeat, and he doesn't quite enjoy how it twists his chest so... tightly. He feels foolish for not even gathering up courage to just say a mere "Me too." back to you, but his embarrassment suddenly dissipates upon seeing the same car still in its place. Nai suddenly remembers the last errand he has to take care as his feet carry him to it, the scent of a cigarette growing stronger each step.

"Wolfwood, can you at least take that outside?" Meryl complains as the the black haired man lights up his fourth cigarette of the night. It's a miracle how his car seats don't reek from the stench.

He shakes his head, jutting it towards the building. "No can do, sweetheart. Our cover will be blown if Knives sees m—what the hell?!"

A loud bang rumbles through the car from the roof and the familiar figure of Nai Saverem looms over the car before he ducks his head down and gestures for a nervous Vash to roll down the window. Vash, fear-stricken, obeys his command almost automatically, leaving Nai to stare boredly back at everyone's pale faces. Wolfwood thinks Nai's fist had created an indent on the top of his car, but his words fail him when he goes to stare at Nai's icy face.

"So did you guys have fun spying on us?"

a/n ; this was just kind of a fluff blurb to help me write something that was the next chapter of if the shoe fits because i kind of needed something fresh and new to work on. writer's block? i'm not too sure! i hope you enjoyed either way!

thank you for reading once more and as always, comments and reblogs are always appreciated <;3!

#trigun #trigun stampede #trigun 1998 #trigun maximum #millions knives #millions knives x reader #knives x reader #nai x reader #knives fluff #trigun fluff #trigun fanfic #trigun x reader #vash the stampede #nicholas d. wolfwood #meryl stryfe #milly thompson

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numberonetacostan · 4 months ago

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(the ask got too long for tumblr so this is part one)

I'm sure you picked up on this already but I am a sucker for hurt/comfort. But not the fluff type of hurt/comfort at all more the type every single ugly side of you is exposed to other people around you one way or another and they have to see how you absolutely breakdown as you spill everything you have had inside of you for so long and instead of driving them away for your dismay they get closer and you panic. Its very specific but god do I love it. I like things like this to happen with taco its why I had an entire fantasy type of AU where all of taco's overwhelming feelings just completely fucking consume everything, and I don't mean it figuratively I mean it LITERALLY consume everything at their wake and come into the shape of a maze (this should happen sometime around post episode 15), so yeah imagine chilling on your own for then suddenly being sucked into this weirdcore type of space that looks like a garden and is filled with roses of different colors. I for once would be pretty freaked out. So taco's despair had reached a peak so big that, it all manifested into a big maze, accidentally swallowing everyone and everything around her into it, everyone is confused and dizzy and just pretty freaked out after a while, they go through some doors and they come to realize the things they get into when they open the doors are quite literally memories. And to everyone's dismay, those memories are no one else's but taco's. Its not obvious at first, they see a young black haired girl in an school uniform around the age of 13 in these memories meant to be her (this entire thing is connected with my amphibia x ii AU where taco actually has a childhood and parents.) they do not recognize her as taco first, but they see some fragments, little snippets of memory that don't seem to be all that positive. And then, they get to one specific memory this one this time regarding season 1 and come to the realization this is taco. Some people would have a hunch that the maze manifested because of her but none of it would be confirmed until they actually find taco- and god is she in an awful state. She has new more fancy dress, it makes her look almost like a doll, and she is wrapped around roses that make her bleed. Suffice to say, people like mic and pickle (yes, pickle, because despite everything he doesn't want to see her dying.) PANIC. Knife is the only one calm enough to carefully get back an unconscious taco enveloped in roses with very sharp thorns. When taco is awake she is confused, its the type of awake after you completely bawled you eyes out at night, but when she is actually conscious of what is going on she completely freaks out she does NOT want any of this people to see her in this insanely vulnerable state and she begans to have a panic attack, suddenly the maze rumbles and a lot of roses begin sprouting frenetically and its the moment they realize, yes this is taco's maze. Knife once more is the one that snaps taco back to reality so no one ends up dying somehow or at least badly hurt and begrudgingly so taco follows them around to see if there is an exit of this hellish place. And, an exit there is- however...its not an exit that they look for. To get out of this maze they have to 1 kill taco- or 2 go through basically most of the memories of her life since she was a child, a teen and an adult. And well, taco is NOT happy about this in the slightest in fact she spends most of the time trying to convince the others to kill her. They have this much easier- and in her head- more favorable option, basically a ticket out of here and a way to get rid of her so she is confused and frustrated when they don't seem to take it, at some point she gets pent up and just leaves them alone, she hates the simple thought of EVERYONE being able to go through the most vulnerable times of her life including the mess her family used to be, but she doesn't stay alone for long as they find her again and taco is forced to comply to her dismay. 1/?

Hi Kiara!!!^^ Welcome back, and thank you for sending in an au!! For the sake of ease, I've put the rest of your au below along with my response :).

when going through the memories taco faces away from nearly every single one of them and refuses to look at anyone on their eye when they're done. A lot of these memories are about her own struggles with her family the having to keep up an act due to them and slowly begginning to lose herself, things so vital like her sense of taste- her identity and everyone is forced to see how it gradually gets worse for her. How she chooses the options she thinks will make other happier instead of what make her happier. The having to see this moment in teen!taco's life where she realizes- she doesn't know who she is. There is a moment of pause as her smile completely disappear from her face and she goes ''....what did I like?'' ''what did I wanted to do again?'' ''everything has been tasting so stale these days...even mother's home cooking...'' ''where is the real me?'' (yes she is asahina mafuyu from pjsk in the AU basically) having to see the moment she cries as she tries to explain her mother how she truly feels for then being dismissed and in her mind getting SO overwhelmed she runs away from her home. Having to see the exact moment she weaponizes her ability to pretend and go with a facade something that destroyed her from the inside out- not for no one else but herself, and yet still going through the same consequences anyways. Having to see that what she said in the finale was really an outburst, something born out of anger and frustration, perhaps she was also scared that pickle himself wouldn't like her once he realizes that she is not a real person, she is just a good actor that takes the world as her own stage. And tries to survive with deceipt. And so she also ran from him before he was able to leave her first, and so she turns against him because its okay anyways. He didn't loved the true me, and yet still feeling miserable afterwards. As a fun fact, the memories are all represented by roses of different colors, depending of the state and color of these roses they represent how taco feels about them, or felt in the moment. For example in the place where most her season 1 memories reside there are SO many yellow roses, most of them wilted and thorn. Yellow roses represent friendship and once upon a time jealousy. With this knowledge, we get into the room where the memories with mic are, and as another fun fact, mic is the only one that can get through these. Its a silent way taco goes to express her devotion to her, that her subconscious brain is still despite everything loyal and doesn't want her to get in trouble. These places are filled with burgundy roses which basically convey deep passion and romantic devotion.

as mic keeps going through the memories they not only grow in size but new ones begin sprouting. I think mepad is the one that usually explains the meaning of most roses if the contestants ask because I think he knows about flora and stuff, he is a machine and he is also worried for taco, but in these he chooses to keep his mouth shut because he understood is taco's subconscious mind basically confessing and he wants her to do that on her own. Maybe he will tell mic the meaning of them when they get out of there and you bet mic thinks about it all night. Knife I think is other one that slowly picks up on their meaning at some point cuz he is knife and maybe he will tease taco about it when she is not actively having panic attacks and breakdowns post-maze. there is even more but the cast is able to see baby taco (around 4 years old or so) and mic is like in TEARS because BABY TACO SHE LOOKS SO CUTE. its the kind of reaction you have when you see an adorable puppy somewhere.

(End of asks.)

This kind of reminds me of the MeLife Neural Network, with the possibility of a contestant's emotions getting so overwhelming it taps into the network!!! The white void that Taco and Mic were in during their break up in episode 14!!! And you know I love me that MeLife Neural Network!!!!!!

Auough my dear sweet Taco would very much rather die than be vulnerable in front of everyone for real. Poor baby having to relive everything with all these people that hate her. And the flower symbolism!!!!! I love flower symbolism my partner and I each have a copy of the same book so we give each other numbers like little codes for love messages <3. And her even subconsciously being so very loyal and even protective of Mic is so sweet!!!! And Mepad my king knowing but keeping his mouth shut augh we love a gentleman who loves lesbians!!!!

Baby Taco would be the cutest thing ever actually thank you for that mental image!!! Sorry if this response is a little shorter than usual, my (old man) dog has been begging for attention the entire time I've been trying to type this and I am a mere slave to his whims (and big baby eyes).

#inanimate insanity #ii taco #taco ii #loomy's answers #ii mic #tacomic #mic ii #ii mepad #mepad ii #knife ii #ii knife #pickle ii #ii pickle

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ratwithhands · 1 year ago

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I made these guys earlier in the christmas break, anyways carnivorous plant alien submas AU :7. (Don't mind the simple doodle style, I was in a bit of an art block when I made this)

The race is called Sapioflora, and they're basically half flesh, half plant matter. There's a couple different types in terms of species, but generally most rely on photosynthesis and absorption through roots. The difference with these two is that they are carnivorous and rely less on sunlight and soil than others, hence why they're fine having more covering clothing. Their civilization has managed to develop to the point of spreading to other planets in the same star system, and running into other alien species. As of right now I'm debating between a few different versions of this concept to write about since there's:

one where the story focuses solely on the twins as conductors and no other characters from pokemon are present

one where other characters from pokemon are present as other Sapioflores

one where other characters from pokemon are present as other alien species

one where the twins work as bounty hunters (and may or may not run into other pokemon characters)

The last one is particularly funky since it delves into Sapiofloran colonies on other planets, interspecies relations/conflict between Sapioflores and other aliens, and how the twins use their abilities to their advantage.

Oh speaking of that, it was pretty fun to mess around with how their designs work! Emmet is a much more vibrant colour, and his body is much more soft and flexible due to him constantly regrowing his body and making new vines. He wears shorter sheer clothing to take advantage of the sunlight, and has a wide open panel on his back to leave room for him to sprout new vines in the event of battle or to just help with a task. He eats an absurd amount of food in order to get enough energy to make this constant growth and replacement possible.

As for Ingo, his body is much more woody and solid, so he tends to move slower but hit harder (and take hits better). He sprouts leaves when more sunlight is available, draining them dry and discarding them once he's had his fill. He tends to wear more thick clothing to protect from harsh temperatures/prevent moisture loss, though he has gaps and slits all over in order to allow him to sprout as needed. Here's a sketch:

There was more but I can't remember what it was, anyways here's some bonus doodles. Have a good night and let me know what you think :7

^ doodle of Emmet's vines. Emmet is mostly thorny, he's also able to make modified thorns into blades. This is more prevalent in the bounty hunter version concept, but he can still do this in the others (Ingo can do this too! Depending on the situation they'll either make blades or saws)

^ Emmet will use his vines when he doesn't want to do something directly, usually to do two things at once, but he'll sometimes use it when he's tired

^ Emmer :7 fun fact his teeth are just weirder thorns, so they have the same colour as them. (I still haven't decided whether Sapioflores have eyes, but they'd probably sit under the leaves on their faces)

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shhh-secret-time · 1 year ago

Note

The soulmate AU fic’s are so cute 🥹🥹 I’m so incredibly in love with your writing! The Stan fic made me giggle so much 💙💙 HE IS PERFECT

I’d love to request one for Kenny if you’re not totally sick of the soulmate stuff 😂🩷

Anon. I need you to listen to me carefully. I will never, ever, be tired of soulmate stuff.

In fact, that's it. You're getting the softest Kenny fic of your life! Maybe

Warning: Body Horror, Blood, Injury, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, Anxiety, a bit of depression. Violence.

Pairing: Kenny x GN!Reader

One of your favorite lessons growing up was the time your class learned about plants. You and your fellow classmates all sat at your desk with a little pot of soil to call your own. It didn't mean much to you at first, but as the class went on and the teacher her lesson it began to sink in.

This was life.

You remember going starry eyed as she pressed the smallest little seed into the dirt and poured a little water onto it. This woman had introduced you to something so simple yet so beautiful. How a little sunlight and a little bit of water could grow into something so gorgeous. So, you dedicated the next few months to that little seed. Staying awake late at night whispering secrets to it like an old friend, making sure it was nice and watered.

Needless to say, you cried when your little plant didn't sprout as quickly as everyone else's. You didn't understand what you were doing wrong. Your teacher tried to reassure you that you were doing fine.

Your name falls from her lips as she helps you wipe the tears from your eyes. "You're not doing anything wrong. Plants can be complicated. Some take a little longer than others but there's nothing wrong with them or with what you're doing!"

At the time she was talking about the plant, but as you got older the words stuck with you. And maybe she really was just talking about the little seed, but as you got older it got harder to not apply it to people.

You watched as people took to their own colors, growing and being shaped by the world around you. Some grew thorns, others grew branches. Most planted their roots, souls intertwined with the small town of South Park.

So why did it feel like you were the only one still in the ground, barely sprouting?

You're not doing anything wrong.

God, you wish you could believe her.

But it was hard when you were so overwhelmed with comparing yourself to the others. You weren't athletic like Stan or Red. You weren't top of your class like Kyle or Wendy. You didn't have the charm of Jimmy or Nichole. No, you were just you. What was special about you?

Kenny McCormick could. The blond could write a book on all the things that made you special. Pages filled with how kind you were, how you lit up every room you walked in even if you didn't realize it. If he was a smarter man, he'd probably find a way to compare you to some sunrise. Something beautiful!

Instead, all he can come up with is a dandelion. You may not be the most exotic plant in a flowerbed, but you were beautiful. Like dandelions you were everywhere to him. Under the gentle rays of the sun, pushing through the cracks of the sidewalk; brightening up his day. He saw you on the side of the road waving to him with a gentle sway, yellow petals beckoning him over. He saw the way you stretched up and up past the others eventually changing to those puffy little white balls.

But he's not a smart man, and on top of that he had a reputation. Kenny loved people, he loved that people loved. He loved his three asshole friends; he loved them more than they deserved. He loved his sister, the best thing to ever come from his parents, and that included him. Sometimes that love came out a little too much, he just had so much of it to give. Because like you, Kenny never really felt like he was good enough.

In a world of soulmates, love was hard. If Kenny caught ink on skin that seemed to change, or paragraphs of words on people's arms, he knew that his love would just be temporary for them. He often wondered if you had anything like that. Maybe a tattoo somewhere on your body that would indicate who your soul was bound to. The thought would keep him up at night because no matter how many times he checked; Kenny never saw ink. Never saw pictures or words with someone's thoughts. Stan and Kyle always were the lucky ones.

Lucky people don't lie in a dirty alley with their sides split open. Lucky people don't have to clench their sides to try to stop their blood from slipping out of them.

How could he be so careless? He'd done this song and dance for years now, ever since he was old enough to throw a fist and really make it hurt. Some nights it felt like this was the only thing he was good at, taking a hit and getting back up. Kenny McCormick was the world's punching bag.

He closes his eyes for a moment, and God it felt so good. To just let his eyes rest for a moment, he's been running on Monday's sleep, and it was fucking Wednesday. A small part of him thought about just letting sleep take him, how would it be different than his room?

Oh, but Karen.

And those guys trying to mug that poor woman, yeah, they were still a thing.

Kenn- no Mysterion pulls himself to his feet, the long purple cape hides his shaky legs. Yeah, Kenny might be the world's punching bag, but Mysterion fucking hits back. The dark purple gloves, now stained with a dark red, press into the wound trying to staunch the flow. His vision was getting dizzy, but he wasn't seeing black yet. He still had time before he'd wake up in bed again. Just enough time to break a few bones.

Meanwhile across town you sat in the living room of your small apartment, whatever YouTube video playing in the background. A nice little book rests in your hand, it was a quiet night for you. Most of them were as your apartment was just you and your little cat, the chunky little lady rest by your feet happily purring, just content to be around you. Well, you, your cat, and your plants. Right beside you were pots filled with various plants you'd grown over the years. From seasonal flowers to three different shaped bonsai trees, to various colored succulents, and finally your favorite Orchid. The beautiful purple flower had bloomed recently, and it was your pride and joy.

Everything was perfect, no stress about having to be better than you are. No deadlines or classes that made you feel dumb. No obligation to socialize and try to entertain people you didn't exactly call friend. That is until the sharp pain in your side made you scream out. Your cat jumping away from you and cowering on the other side of the couch, she looks terrified.

Right along your side, just below your rib, felt like it was being ripped apart. Like someone was taking their nails and pulling your skin apart. You lift your shirt and stare down in horror, as bright red spider lilies sprout from your skin. Thick green stalks wrap around each other and soon the crimson petals sprout out, it would be gorgeous if it wasn't in your skin. You feel like you're about to pass out, the sudden act was enough to make your body start shaking.

"W-What the- what the hell?!" You want to scream, want to cry out but all that comes out is a hushed whisper.

Luckily the pain stopped as soon as the flower finished blooming, the pain dulled down to a low buzzing around your skin. Your hands were shaking as your fingertips traced the flowers, unable to comprehend what was really happening. You blink, and then you blink again and again. They're still there and the velvet petals under your fingers were real.

Impulsively you moved the flowers apart until you found the base of the stem, there you saw how your skin meld together perfectly with the plant. It was like they were always a part of it. With a deep breath you grab the plant by the stem and pull. The pain it shoots through your body is unlike anything you've ever felt before, but it offers no resistance as it comes out of your body.

You squeeze your eyes expecting blood or at least a wound, but you don't feel your skin rip open. Instead, it feels like something has slipped from your skin, like pulling string through a closed fist. Through heavy breathing you open your eyes, and you felt your heart start to settle, the beautiful flowers were now tightly clenched in your fist roots and all. On closer inspection they had little drops of water on the petals as if they had just been watered. It was only then you realized you had been crying.

You couldn't sleep for the rest of the night, tossing and turning as your hand kept coming up to your sides. The area was numb, it didn't hurt but you couldn't get the image out of your head. It made your skin crawl and the shiver down your spine felt sharp, sharp enough to make your back arch. As the morning sun greeted you letting you know it was time to get up and start the day, the first thing to greet you were the spider lilies sitting next to you. You don't know why you didn't just throw them away, get rid of them and never think about it again, but they really did look so beautiful.

Now they were sitting on your nightstand next to the window, dancing back and forth as the little draft that entered your apartment led them in a waltz. As you pull back the blankets and your feet hit the cold floor of your apartment, your fists clench around the blankets as you stare down in horror.

Your knuckles were covered in poppies, little sprouts pushing in between the dips of your fingers. On your right hand they were much larger blooms and more prominent on the knuckle itself. You hiss at the way it parts your skin, much less clean than the spider lilies were. The poppies wiggle a bit making room as another one pushes up and breaks your skin. This time there is a little blood, not more than a paper cut would give you but still it was alarming.

Rushing to your bathroom you run your hand under the water, the fast-running water slamming down on the little red petals. Another red flower. Another flower meaning pain or death. You're much more careful this time, gently plucking the poppies up from your skin and placing them to the side on the wet counter. They come up just like flowers last night, with ease and when you inspect your knuckles there's nothing as if it was never there.

"Guess I'll get a pot for you guys..." You mutter to the flowers, rubbing your hand over your knuckles.

There was a part of you that thought about emailing your professor as to why you wouldn't be coming to class, but what would you even say?

Good morning Professor,

I won't be able to attend class today, I am not feeling well, and I was wondering if I could get the notes for today's class from you. I sincerely apologize and hope that I will recover soon.

Good morning Professor,

I won't be attending class today as I had a family emergency come up! I hope you understand, and I will be in class when everything settles down.

Hey Professor,

I've got fucking flowers growing out of my fucking skin! You know anything about that?!

You let out a loud groan and lean forward on your desk, pushing your laptop to the side. Your sweet little roommate jumps up and meows at you in response, she nudges her head against yours and puts her paw on your cheek. A small attempt to make you feel better, she's trying. When you don't move, she meows again only louder this time, her head smacking into yours.

"Ow! Okay! I know I can't just sit here all day." She looks at you when you lean up and snap back.

She sits all prim and proper as you get up from your seat, she watches as you pace around the room and gather everything you need for the day. When she meows again you stop and look back at her, conversations with your cat weren't uncommon some days it felt like she was the only one you could really talk to. It was sad but it was better than spending nights alone talking to your plants.

"Look, I've got to go. I'm paying for the stupid classes I might as well just go. I just have to hope that whatever happened last night, doesn't happen again!" You grab your coat and throw it over your arm, giving her one last look. "Maybe I can talk to someone there? Maybe someone knows what this is, until then you're in charge of the house! No eating the plants while I'm gone!"

When she doesn't meow back at you, you narrow your eyes at her in suspicion. "I'm serious!" She jumps off your desk and walks over to the couch where she rolls on her back. Not a care in the world.

Curse that cat and her adorable behavior. You've got no choice but to trust that she'll behave. On your way out you grab your keys and make your way down the steps of your little home. Days where it was nice and sunny out made you happy you live so close to your college campus, other days it was a drag to get out of bed.

The rest of the day went by quietly, just how you like it. You couldn't help but fidget in your seat out of fear of spontaneous flower growth. What if a really large plant came out of your back while you were sitting in front of someone? If it was like the spider lilies last night, you'd most definitely scream out in pain and that would be embarrassing. Once class let out you were the first one out of your seat, practically bolting to the door.

This was getting to be too much, you had to find someone to talk to about this. The anxiety of when it would happen again was overwhelming. As you pass the little library you stop and check the inside, maybe you didn't have to talk to anyone about this. Maybe it would be in a book or at the very least you could try googling it.

As you walk into the quiet little domain you spot a few other students standing around talking to one another. Some sitting by the common tables, others tapping away on the public computers. Just as you're about to make a beeline for one of the computers tucked away in the corner, a soft voice stops you almost making you leap out of your skin.

"Hey, are you okay? Oh, I'm sorry! I didn't mean to scare you!" The voice was so gentle and soft, you turned to see Heidi Turner smiling at you.

Heidi Turner was one of the sweetest people in the school, she went through leaps and bounds to be a better person after high school. Most days she keeps herself either in the library offering to tutor other students, or volunteering around town in various ways. She was always kind to you, and you always wanted to call her a friend but something stopped you. Even though she was a sweet girl, that fear of bothering her was still there.

"Oh um...it's okay! Really, I was just uh...going to use one of the computers. Is that okay? Am I allowed?" God, you want to find a hole to crawl into and just die.

"Of course you can! I was actually coming over to see if I could help you find something, but it looks like you've got it all figured out!" She beams up at you with a little giggle.

You think for a moment, if you had to tell anyone about the situation you were in Heidi was a good person to tell. She wouldn't go around telling other people and it wasn't like you had anyone else to really confide in. So, you take a deep breath and go to stop her from walking away. "Ac-Actually Heidi, um could you help me with something? Real quick."

Heidi stops and turns back to you; she cocks her head when she sees the nervous look in your eyes. Now she looks worried, not scared you think but concerned. She walks closer to you and gestures for you to follow her towards the computer, when the two of you are far enough away from the other students she whispers.

"I had a feeling you were looking for a friend, are you okay? You look like you've seen a ghost."

A friend? She thought you guys were friends? That alone was enough to make you relax a little and let out a breath you didn't know you were holding. You rub your arms a little and look behind you before responding.

"I'm really freaked out Heidi and I don't know how to talk about it."

"Hey, it's okay. Take it slow, I'm right here. Is someone hurting you?"

Your eyes widen at that, and you quickly shake your head at her. "What? O-Oh no no! It's not someone it's- well it's something?" When she looks at you confused, you groan and shake your head. "I mean something happened last night and it's really freaking me out!"

You tell her the events that transpired last night, avoiding the gruesome details as to not freak her out. You expect her to call you crazy or to laugh in your face, but she doesn't.

No, instead she stands there and nods along with you. Even offering her hand to you to take when you start to tear up, the fear of it happening again came crashing down mid-story. She offers you a gentle smile, rubbing your back as you try to calm down.

"It sounds like a soulmate thing." You rub your eyes at her as she speaks, trying to get the tears spilling from your eyes out.

"A... soulmate thing? But why now, and why this?"

"It takes some people a little longer before their soulmate signs trigger. I run a support group for people who run into theirs a little late, or for people who don't have any at all." Heidi says it as if it's the most normal thing in the world to her.

You stare at her in awe for a little while, clinging on to every word with such desperation. She was like an angel, a guardian angel telling you there was nothing to worry about and that this was normal.

"As for why your trigger is this...I don't know. Triggers manifest differently for each person, there's a lot of studies on soulmates. I'm sure someone at the school is much smarter than I could tell you." She pauses for a moment and her eyes light up with excitement. "But hey! This means you've got a soulmate, I'm just sorry it's so painful for you!"

On the other side of the library Kenny was lying on one of the little bean bags chairs the school threw in for comfort. Tucked away in some corner, his plan was to take a little nap in. Somewhere where he knew his friends wouldn't come looking for him, well Kyle might but he'd never thought to find Kenny here. But when you walked in with that look of panic on your face he sat right up, like he had just gotten a full eight hours of sleep.

Why did you look so terrified? What was going on? Did you need someone? You were looking around the library like you were being followed.

These thoughts began pounding at the front of his mind and just as he was about to stand up and walk over to you, Heidi beat him to it. He couldn't make out everything you were saying, but from the way you whispered to the smaller brunette it sounded serious. His lavender eyes follow you into the other corner of the library, the one right across from him.

He should look away; he should mind his own business and try to shut out your conversation. But he can't help it, he knows it's rude, but he can't get the image of your scared face out of his head. So, he closes his eyes and tries to hone in on your conversation with Heidi. It takes everything in his power not to get lost in the way you speak; your voice was so soothing. Kenny imagined it was what honey melting in tea would sound like if it had a voice.

That's when the topic of soulmates came up. He jolts up again and his eyes widen over at you as you describe the flowers sprouting from your skin. The hands resting in his orange patchy parka shuffle over to the wound on his side, or at least where it was. Like every time he died, he'd wake up with his body fully healed with no scars or signs of his life being taken from him.

However, if he didn't die his body would keep the scratches and little wounds on his body. Earlier this morning he got a little careless and split his knuckles, maybe he was putting into many hours as Mysterion here of late but if those stalkers didn't want to be punched, they shouldn't be stalking people. He nearly leaps from the bean bag when you talk about poppies growing from your knuckles this morning, telling Heidi the exact location where he had split his.

His heart was racing, he couldn't believe what he was hearing. There was no way he was that lucky, that he was that deserving that someone like you would be his soulmate. Just before he can stand up the universe reminds him just how unlucky he really is.

"Kenny! There you are! We've been looking everywhere for you dude!" Any other time he would have been happy to hear Stan's voice, happy to see the others following right behind him.

"This is so sad you guys.... Kenny is sleeping in the library now. Is your cardboard bed that uncomfortable?" Any other time Kenny would have shut Eric down with a comeback of his own, but all he could muster was a glare. "Whoa what crawled up your vagina this morning?"

"God damn it Cartman quit it and stop waving that fishing pole around! You've got fucking hooks on it!" Any other time Kenny would have ignored Kyle's yelling, the ginger looked for any excuse to yell at Eric.

"Guys! Look I'm really not in the mood to-" But before Kenny could finish, Eric swung around to face the man yelling at him.

The metal hook at the end of Eric's fishing rod that he was carrying around for god knows why, slammed into the side of Kenny's face. The sharp hook caught the side of his cheek and pierced through the flesh. Instead of screaming out in pain he bit his lower lip and muffled it, once you've been stabbed in a dark alley trying to fight off a group of people it just becomes second nature.

"Dude!"

"Oh, shit Kenny!"

"Sick! You're getting blood everywhere!"

Kenny didn't have time for this, not when you were-

Oh god you.

His eyes dart over to where you were standing with Heidi, silently praying to whatever poor god that would listen to him that you were alright. He watches as you cup the side of your face, hesitating for a moment before your fingers met the cluster of clovers growing on the side of your face.

It doesn't hurt this time. Not like the last few times, in fact it feels gentle. Fingers that aren't yours caressing the side of your face, a whisper of something more, that clumsy first kiss, all of it wrapped up in one little moment. The three leaf clovers bloom across your cheek stopping just at the edge of your lips where finally a single six leaf clover sprouts.

He doesn't wait another moment; with his gloved hands he takes the fishing line that connects the hook in his face and his friends fishing pole and snaps it. His friends watch in horror and awe how he breaks it like a dried twig, like it was nothing to him. Kenny's on his feet before they can stop him again, moving across the library floor with purpose. The pain in his face is nothing compared to what he'll feel if he lets you slip away from him again. His reputation be damned, his pain be damned, all of it damned!

The library went quiet, and any hushed whispers were stopped when Kenny made his way over to you. He didn't even seem to care that he was leaving quite the blood trail behind him, and if anyone in the library cared they quickly changed their minds from the look on his face alone. The sound of his footsteps behind you made you turn to face him, but you don't have much time as he takes your wrist and drags you away from the many eyes and ears of others.

The school grounds are quiet right now, most people either have already gone home or are in class. Kenny doesn't slow down when walking and you don't stop him from dragging you across campus. He takes you further off school grounds, back near the many hills of South Park where the grass is peeking out from under the snow. The first signs of spring being crushed under your heels as you walk. Turning to face you, he doesn't get a word out before you're already looking up at him ready to talk.

"I'm sorry." He almost doesn't pick up what you say, the way you whisper it so softly. The clovers on your face can't make it easy but he can't help but admire how you make them look so ethereal; a painting come to life. Timeless and within reach.

"Why are you sorry?" Kenny struggles to talk as blood pours from his mouth and down his chin.

You don't know why you chuckle or why you smile at him, you should be terrified. Horrified for him that he was standing there talking to you with a fishhook in his mouth like it was the most normal thing in the world. Yet, with him it did feel normal. Unlike the other times you've interacted with the blond. This time it felt right.

If this was the work of him being your soulmate at play, you didn't really care. For the first time in your life things felt peaceful, you didn't feel the pressure of others. Because there were no others, just Kenny and you on a rolling hill. Just two dandelions growing next to each other and basking in the setting sun.

"That you're stuck with...me?" Your voice breaks through the little fantasy in your head and reality comes shattering back around you.

Kenny shakes his head and grins down at you, the gap between his front teeth that he hates now, bare to your eyes. Suddenly he doesn't feel so insecure about it. "I was just about to say that to you. You're the one who's got a plant growing out of your face."

"They were spider lilies and poppies yesterday." When you laugh Kenny has to resist the urge to grab you and pull you in for a kiss.

"If I get to hear you laugh like that always, never apologize to me again." You go to laugh again and look away from him, but he takes the sides of our face and turns you to back towards him. He's so gentle with you, shaky hands being careful not to crush the clovers on your face.

'Anyone else would have.' You think.

"I'm serious. Never apologize to me for being you again. You have no idea how thrilled I am that it's you. That I finally get to have someone to call mine and it's you." Those purple eyes bare down into yours like rain in a thunderstorm. You can even feel the water rolling down your cheeks and he's brushing them away with his thumbs. Whispering soft hushes, telling you not to cry.

"Kenny..."

"Shh, it's alright. I'm only saying it because I get it. I know where you're at but... maybe...maybe this is the universe telling us it's time to love ourselves. I'm not saying we've got to figure this out now I know I've got a bit of reputation of-"

You cut him off, for the second time today Kenny's been cut off, but he doesn't care when your lips are pressed so gently against his. The taste of copper doesn't even seem to bother you either. His eyes flutter shut, and his hands drop from your face to your waist where he pulls you in like he's always wanted to.

"I don't... think you're as bad as you think you are." You whisper against his lips and Kenny feels like he's going to melt.

"I don't think you're as bad as you think you are." He throws your words back at you with a playful purr behind his tone. "Baby I could tell the world just how perfect you are."

You scoff at that and roll your eyes, but the shy smile that plays on your lips tells Kenny exactly what he wants to hear. He reaches up to wipe the blood of your face, but you stop him and take his hand pressing a kiss into the palm of his gloves. You run his fingers through the clovers and take a deep breath, taking in everything around you.

"One step at a time Ken. For now, let’s worry about getting that hook out of your face."

"Huh? Oh yeah, I kinda forgot about it."

"How?"

"Was too busy getting lost in your eyes~"

You snort and push his hand away from your face, but it doesn't go far. Instead, you intertwine your fingers with his and pull him towards the school. Kenny follows you down the hill with all the love in his eyes he can muster.

Kenny McCormick had so much love in his heart to give, and now it was all yours. Maybe in the days to pass you’ll fill your apartment with the various plants and each little bud and flower would remind you of just that. That you weren't alone, you were surrounded by his love. That you were enough. That too him, you were words he couldn't put together and express. Other than...

I love you.

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