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fanfic-enthusiast · 2 years ago

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Lunch Date! (Cotl Solob Fic)

It happened again, probably the 3rd time this week. Helob was checking his traps he had set up in Anura for scrumptious little snacks wandering too far from home and instead of a tasty morsel to devour he found a mushroom.

Specifically one of Sozo’s followers from the Spore Grotto. The poor thing was struggling like any other creature stuck in the webs but unfortunately it wouldn't provide Helob more than a headache upon consumption, rather than the savory crunch of bones with their delectable marrow treats inside.

What made the matter more annoying was these followers weren’t smart enough to find their way back to the Grotto on their own, so Helob would usually go out of his way to drop them off with their master.

Not that the trip was difficult, it was just a little strange visiting Sozo sometimes. A fun trip always, Sozo had a unique air about him that Helob really liked. But whenever Helob visited he sometimes acted unusual, one moment they would be conversing a little and the next he would be pulling back suspiciously before popping another mushroom quickly into his mouth, face getting a bit red and him acting nervous, as if he was afraid Helob would steal it from him.

He was an odd fellow. But one Helob did enjoy talking to when he was in a good mood.

“Comes on little fungus, time to return to your master.” He cuts the webbing from the mushroom man who immidiatly gets worried. Seems this one didn't find any mushrooms to give.

“We can look on the way little thing. Now comes on. While its light.”

They found a handful of mushrooms on the walk to the grotto, the mushroom beside him almost weeping in joy when they spotted the red caps poking out of the ground.

When they crossed the threshold into the musty clearing the mushroom ran ahead towards the skeleton Sozo resided in, with Helob following slowly behind, taking in the scenery of the grotto.

There was a sticky sweet smell in the air here, it clung to the residents like the fungi that sprouted from their heads. Occasionally Helob would find a follower overcome with this same sticky sweet smell, mushrooms growing from delicious flesh and bone. The ones growing here probably fed off the large creature now being used as a shelter.

At least they have good taste.

The scent usually made him think of his mushroom covered friend, wondering if that too would be his fate some day. He... didn't like thinking about that too hard.

By the time he enters the main atrium of the skeleton. The little mushroom Helob had rescued from his trap had finished handing off the red mushrooms to Sozo and was being shooed away by the bug in question.

“Glad you like them master! I’ll go get more soon!” “Good good, do that. Now leave Sozo! Go GO!!” He flapped an arm in the mushrooms direction and they ran off quickly, probably to go get more mushrooms. Helob couldn't help but snicker a little. “What are you doing here? Sozo did not expect more visits.” Sozo’s face got red again and he quickly stuffed the mushrooms in his bag. “Just returning your companion there friend.” Helob grinned and walked over, keeping a bit of distance. “They keeps getting trapped. So I keeps bringing them back.”

“Oh. That explains it. Sozo thinks... that's fine then. You can eat the traitor ones. Those ones deserve to be a meal!” He shifts a little from side to side avoiding eye contact with Helob for more than a second.

“Only eat meats my friend, your mushrooms don't settle the stomach quite like a delicious crunchy hot blooded meal... mmmm~” Wow that sounded lovely right now. Something had to be squirming around in one of his traps by now. “Hmph. Why would Sozo believe any ‘meal’ like that is half is good as my menticide mushrooms.” “The mushrooms eat meat yes? I see them growing on the bodies sometimes.”

Sozo opens his mouth to retaliate then stops, glancing around the boney walls of the skeleton himself and the large mushrooms of the grotto called home and nods. “That is true. ...Sozo has a request of his meaty friend. Get me a meal like you. Sozo wishes to try some.”

Helob smiles. “Of course... but what in return? They are hard to catch.”

“hmm... payment in... gold? Bone? Service? Blood of an enemy?? Something else??”

Helob laughs at the . “How about payment after meal? To give you time to think.”

“Y-yes. Sozo thinks that's acceptable. Now leave Sozo be! Sozo has... things to do. Return tomorrow and you will share a meal here!” And that's his cue to head out. Helob makes his way out of the skeleton then out of the Spore Grotto entirely. Seems he had a lunch date the next day! How exciting.

“I best get the bestist treats for us.”

The next day rolled around and Helob was back at the grotto, with two panicked little morsals under his arms all wrapped up in his silk. He made sure to take only the most nutritious looking ones from his haul the day before. They were strong and healthy, but not more so than him of course.

The mushroom followers seemed uneasy at the sight of Helob carrying people against their will but didn't comment on it as he passed. He didn't care about them right now anyways, it wasn't their food.

Helob walked through the entrance and hefted the two meals onto a small table to the side. “Sozo! I comes with our lunch! Hope you're hungry!”

Theres rustling and crashing from the tent nearby before Sozo’s mushroomed head pokes out from the flaps. “Eh? Ah yes. Give Sozo a moment.” And he ducks back inside for a little bit before emerging with some plates and a couple forks and knives.

Helob laughed, “I don’t needs any of that. but thank you.” He pushes one of the squirming people towards Sozo. “Enjoy!”

“...Friend they're both moving.”

“Oh that bothers you? Ok.” Helob usually enjoyed them alive but if it made Sozo uncomfortable he could take care of that. Two quick cracks later, they had two limp meals ready to go and still warm.

“Ta-da! Enjoy!”

“Sozo appreciates it, mushrooms don't move.”

Helob carves through the flesh of the follower to get some meat for Sozo and they talk back and forth, Sozo surprisingly calm through the meal. At ease in the presence of his purple spider friend. Helob felt giddy to be sharing this with someone. It had been so long since he had company for a meal that weren't his dinner. The scent of fresh blood mingled nicely with the sweet spores of the grotto.

They each spoke with such passion about their favorite respective foods and hobbies that they lost track of time. And the oranges of evening started to slip their way into the skull they ate in.

Helob thought this orange suited Sozo quite nicely-

“Your payment.” Helob sniped out of his thought and wipes his face, he had all but forgotten about payment. “ah yess... gold then?”

“No, Sozo... has a gift. But you much close your eyes. ...if you don't like it Sozo has gold.”

“Im sure I will love it friend...” and he closes his eyes with a smile. Hearing Sozo’s bag hit the floor of the room and footsteps approach cautiously. Along with some anxious muttering under his friends breath. Must be a necklace or something.

Hands touched his face, and tilted it upwards from where he was seated at the small table. Before something soft was pressed against his lips.

It was soft, warm and smooth. And as soon as it was there it was gone.

Helob opened his eyes to see Sozo standing there, face as red as the mushroom on his head. Hands covering his mouth and looking like he wanted to scream.

It didn't take much for Helob to piece together what happened and blush himself. He smiled and rubbed his cheek a little.

“I likes the gift Sozo, however.” he stands from his chair and caresses Sozo’s face this time. “there were two meals caught~”

Helob left as the moon rose in the sky, licking his lips. Deciding for himself that he did like the taste of mushrooms after all, but only if they came from Sozo.

#sozo #cotl sozo #helob #cotl helob #cult of the lamb #menticide mushrooms #cotl

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bokettochild · 3 years ago

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Of Gramma’s and Pie

Saw a prompt about Wild and Legend baking pie together, so here we are I guess...

Should this go in the Bunny Merchant’s Fluffy Adventure’s collection? It’s not exactly Ravio centric....

“So, you claim the vet can bake.”

It’s morning and the heroes stopped by again last night, wounded and tired and all too happy to sip warm cider and cocoa while Ravio bustled about and worked with Mr. Hero to organize sleeping arrangements for them. The sun rose long ago, but most of Mr. Hero’s family is still asleep, and when he’d last checked he’d found Captain Hero Sir Jr. dozing on Mr. Hero’s bed with young Wild curled into one side and Tune curled into the other, Mr. Rancher spread out over the top of them like some sort of strange blanket.

Mr. Chosen Hero dozes on the couch, sailcloth wrapped around him as well as Mr. Hero’s favorite blanket, and the veteran hero lies collapsed on the floor (but suitably surrounded by cushions) at his side, the older hero’s hand hanging down to where Mr. Hero clings to it in his sleep, the edge of the quilt trails over the top of him, and Ravio seriously doubts that his housemate will be waking any time soon.

Fortunately, he’s not pressed for company, what with Mr. Traveler Hero happily inspecting the garden outside and humming softly, and Mr. Smithy busily mending the front door that he’s been nagging Mr. Hero about for years now. The tune of their work mixes with that of his own as he mixes up fresh bread dough to bake for breakfast.

Mr. Captain Hero Sir had stumbled into the kitchen mere minutes ago, pouring himself a cup of coffee from Ravio’s beloved Hytopian-press, and sipping it slowly as he sits at the table and watches Ravio work

The statement is out of nowhere, but Mr. Captain Hero Sir’s blue eyes sparkle over the rim of his mug, and Ravio can only smile back. “Yes, Mr. Hero is an excellent cook!”

“Really?” The captain doesn’t sound the least bit convinced, cocking a brow and giving a smile that screams doubt. “The vet, Mister I-Burn-Any-Food-I-Touch?”

“Mr. Captain Hero Sir!” Ravio exclaims, a hand drawing up to touch his chest in a sign of offence. “You speak so cruelly! Sure, Mr. Hero never mastered campfire cooking, but he’s a talented cook!”

The captain continued to stare and smile in unbelief.

“You should taste his pies.” Ravio sighs, determined to convince his friend. “Light buttery crusts, sweet tender centers, just the right balance of spicey and sweet...” He can already taste the thick gooey richness that is mincemeat, eyes sparkling at the thought of molasses, and stomach growling loudly at the mere hint of apple pie. “I’ll ask him to make you one,” He chirps as he snaps back to attention, shooing Sheerow away from his bread dough and offering his little friend a raisin to keep him busy. “What’s your favorite pie, Mr. Captain Hero Sir?”

“Oh no,” Mr. Captain Hero Sir shakes his head, laughing lightly. “I don’t like pie.”

From the bedroom, Captain Hero Sir Jr.’s snores cut off abruptly, Wild kicking lightly in his sleep and Tune’s brows twitching. In the living room, Mr. Chosen Hero starts awake and Mr. Hero stirs slightly, brow furrowing and nose wiggling at some disturbance.

Three sets of eyes stare at Mr. Captain Hero Sir, one through the window, another from the door, and the third practically in the captain’s face as Ravio darts forwards and slams his hands on the table. Coffee sloshes out of the mug and onto his sleeve, but he’s too busy staring down his old friend to care.

“You don’t like pie?!?!?!”

“Um...” Mr. Captain Hero Sir pulls away, wincing at the sudden noise and glancing nervously at the bedroom door. “No?”

He’s torn, half of him utterly horrified and half wanting to order the captain to go sit in a corner and think about what he’s said, as if his friend is a naughty child, and the other worriedly wondering if Mr. Captain Hero Sir even knows what a proper pie tastes like. “But...how?”

Mr. Captain Hero Sir shrugs, almost calm, as if his words aren’t critical to their friendship (they aren’t, not really, but Ravio had thought the captain had more sense than this). “It’s just not something I enjoy. If I wanted to eat fruit I’d go buy some, if I want crunchy bread I’ll buy some, why on earth would I mix them?”

“I sense a disturbance in nature,” Wild and Captain Hero Sir Jr. both stand in the doorway, the younger sleepily rubbing his eyes as the words leave his mouth with a yawn while his elder looms behind him, face shaded in the shadows of the doorway. “What’s happening out here?”

Mr. Captain Hero Sir sighs in resignation, letting his head fall into his hands as he whispers something unintelligible under his breath, but Ravio doesn’t spare him an ounce of pity as he points an accusing finger the captain’s way. “Mr. Captain Hero Sir says he doesn’t like pie!”

Four heads shoot up to stare at the man in question, the sleep fading from Wild’s eyes and Captain Hero Sir Jr. sighing in what can only be disappointment with his older brother/father-figure. Over in the living room, Mr. Chosen Hero has shot up to stare in something like shock at the captain, Mr. Hero’s head rising up next to him with a glower that makes them all shiver.

“Who said what in my house?”

“I don’t like pie.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir reiterates, and Ravio genuinely has to stumble back, hand on his brow as he looks at the captain.

“My own friend! Speaking such words of sacrilege! Such disrespect and sin! Why? I trusted you, Mr. Captain Hero Sir!”

The man in question sighs again, loudly, shaking his head. “You don’t need to make a big deal out of it, it’s just pie, it’s not even-”

“Just pie?!?” Two heroes shout en tandem, Mr. Hero practically vaulting himself over the couch and Wild stiffening indignantly.

“It’s not ‘just pie’!” Mr. Hero protests. “Have you ever eaten pie? Have you never-”

“Pie is sacred.” Wild nods sagely, eyes sharp and firm as they meet the captains.

“See?” Mr. Hero motions to the younger hero. “Pie is sacred! You do not disrespect pie!”

The disagreement turns into a full-blown argument and Ravio can only watch in ever growing shock at how defensive some of the heroes can be about their opinions; Mr. Captain Hero Sir tiredly reiterating his disagreement while the others each travel through the five stages of grief on repeat, Mr. Hero eventually scowling darkly and uttering the words that silence the others.

“I am gonna to make a pie so lip-smackin' good you’ll be on your knees repentin’ for your sins.”

And Mr. Captain Hero Sir looks all the more tired at the words, rubbing his head at the beginnings of a country twang in Mr. Hero’s voice as the veteran turns to Wild, eyes flashing indigo as they meet eerie cornflower blue. “Wild, I’ll need your help.”

“Why?” Ravio whispers, looking between the two.

“Because,” Mr. Hero runs his hands through his long hair, the locks still messy from sleep and left uncombed for days. “I still haven’t been able to recreate Gran’s recipe for apple pie and Wild’s my best chance at figuring out what I’m doing wrong.”

The merchant blinks. Once. Twice. Three times. And stares at his friend. “Doesn’t your grandmother live just down the road a way? Only an hour or so? Can’t you just ask her?”

And as eyes turn to Mr. Hero, the other boy waves him off, ears tainted pink as he turns to the kitchen cabinets and starts searching. “Nope, not tryin’ that. It’s been five years or so an’ she’d only be upset with me for not getting' news to her ‘bout anything. I’d rather save her the bother of fussin’ and worryin’.”

“You-” Mr. Captain Hero Sir is the one who looks outraged now. “You don’t keep your grandma up to date about how you are? What kind of a grandson are you, vet?!?!”

“A terrible one.” Mr. Hero sighs into the cabinet, and while his voice is resigned his ears droop ever so slightly, making the captain pause in his scolding.

Green meets royal blue as merchant and captain exchange a worried look, before both nodding as a silent conversation is spun between them, Mr. Captain Hero Sir plucking up his coffee mug and retreating, and Ravio following behind a few minutes later after making sure his bread is in the oven and that those in the kitchen are fully distracted and properly attired (it brings him no small amount of joy to see Mr. Hero don the frilly bunny apron he gave him last holiday season).

“We’re contacting that poor woman.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir murmurs as soon as the two of them are clear of the kitchen. “She’s got to be worried sick about him.”

“Who?” Mr. Chosen Hero is still blinking sleep from his eyes, but he looks between them with curiosity.

“Legend’s Gran.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir, explains. “Turns out the vet hasn’t contacted her in something close to five years, and now feels awkward about trying.”

“Oh.” Mr. Chosen Hero murmurs sadly. “Poor vet!”

“Poor Legend’s grandma!” Mr. Captain Hero Sir , brows furrowed as he shakes his head. “She’s got to be worried sick about him! Imagine if Wind’s granny didn’t know where he was for five years! She’d be sick as death with worry!”

“We need to contact her.” Mr. Chosen Hero breathes, eyes wide.

“Agreed.” The other two nod.

Mr. Chosen Hero’s hand is the steadiest, and his script the most elegant as they work to scribble out a letter. Originally, Mr. Captain Hero Sir had wanted to forge the letter and present it as being from Mr. Hero himself, but Mr. Chosen Hero had rejected the idea, claiming that doing so would only cause problems. “I’m a master of letter mischief.” The Skyloftian claims with a twinkle in his eyes. “You don’t write a letter for someone, or you’ll just cause trouble. Trust me. The best way to do this is honestly.”

At the doubtful expressions of the other two he adds on, only slightly sheepish. “All other methods are excellent ways of destroying relationships, again, trust me on this one. If we present it as Legend’s words, he’ll just get mad at all of us, and if we lie, then they’ll both be mad and likely hurt. But if we tell her the truth, that Legend is hesitant to reach out because he thinks she’ll only be upset, then any decent granny would either reply or wing it over here as soon as possible.”

“That’s ‘hoof it over here’.” Mr. Captain Hero Sir corrects with a grin. “But you’ve got the right spirit, Sky.”

The other man smiles up at him from his seat, eyes twinkling with trouble. “We share a spirit, so...”

The captain cuffs the back of his friend’s head, missing as Mr. Chosen Hero ducks, giggling softly and smiling as he turns his attention to the parchment and ink that Ravio had provided for their mission. The quill stills just above the paper as Mr. Chosen Hero pauses, biting his lip and looking up at the two of them. “How should I address it?”

The captain blinks, and Ravio watches as the man frowns down at the blank parchment. “...I don’t know. Does Legend even have a last name?”

“Lon.” Ravio chirps, moving to grab a letter laid at the top of the desk and pointing out the words scrawled on it in Miss Princess Zelda’s hand. Link Lon, the paper reads, and both of the heroes blink at it incredulously.

“Lon? Like-”

“Miss Malon?” Mr. Chosen Hero breathes, and the two exchange a glance.

“Miss- Oh!” The merchant brightens. “You mean Grammalon?” Again, he darts across the bedroom towards one of the shelves, the heroes’ eyes following his motions as he selects a framed picture from one of the shelves and presents it to them.

He watches in amusement as their eyes grow wide, Mr. Chosen Hero setting down his quill and reverently touching the picture.

“Is that Time?” Mr. Captain Hero Sir breathes, brows cocked as he bends over to study the picture that now lies in Mr. Chosen Hero’s hands.

“Is what me?” And there the kid/not-kid is, standing in the doorway with raised brows and a curious tilt to his head (some things never change).

“Time, Legend has your picture on his wall.” The captain chuckles, confusion still apparent in his gaze as his younger brother/son crosses the length of the room to stare at the picture.

Sure enough, the picture, faded and grainy, displays Time’s smiling face, free of markings or scars, with both eyes shining in a smile as what appears to be the younger version of the hero stares out from the photo, arms wrapped around an older woman with equally bright eyes and long windswept hair.

“That’s Mr. Hero’s Grammalon.” Ravio chirps as the three stare. “And her grandson, Mr. Hero’s ancestor, Sir Hero Raven.”

“Hero of Ravens?” The three heroes look at each other in confusion, and Ravio has to bite back a giggle at their stupidity. All Heroes were the same it seemed.

“Hero of Labrynnia, but his name was Raven. He’s Mr. Hero’s ancestor and mentor, but don’t let on that I told you!” He whispers, conspiratorially while the three adult heroes blink at him in confusion.

“Legend had a....” Twilight breathes

“How did his ancestor mentor him?” Sky wonders aloud.

“Are they still at it?” Legend grumbles as he stirs the dry ingrediants, gaze turning to where Wild stands by the cabinets, ears perked towards the bedroom door.

“Yep.” The champion replies, climbing on top of a shelf to reach something located higher up. “How do you even reach stuff this high?”

“Same way you are right now.” legend smirks, violet eyes never leaving the champion, waiting for the second he slips and sighing softly with relief when Wild hops easily down. “Don’t tell Ravio though, he’d scold me for putting me feet on things.”

Wild nods and the two return to their work, stirring and mixing and measuring and generally existing within the same space as they work.

It’s nice having someone to cook with, someone who isn’t fussy (although he does enjoy working with Ravio) and a person who’s daring enough to try nearly anything to make a recipe perfect. The vet and champion work in an easy dance, darting past each other and reaching over around and past in order to get what they need, falling into an easy pattern as Legend reaches for the cinnamon to hand to Wild just as the champion hands him a stack of pie pans to place the crusts in once their ready.

It’s easy to melt into the lull of the work, and he’s nearly lost in slicing the apples the right way when Wild’s voice begins to waver with an all too familiar lilting tune that has violet eyes shooting up to stare at him.

“Where did you learn that song?”

“You like it?” Wild offers a weak smile, and the vet can only nod slowly as Wild’s attention drifts back down to his work. “I think my mother taught it to me, I don’t know. It plays in my head when I work, and sometimes when I cook.”

“You too, huh?”

At the champion’s confused stare, he elaborates. “My Gran hums the same song when she works the farm, I’ve known it since I was a tot. Guess I never figured that our weird...” He gestures airily, careful not to scatter flour from his white-dusted fingers. “Family, I guess, that we’d all probably learn it.”

“Where did it come from?” Wild cocks his head, eyes imploring and ever so wide that it’s hard for Legend to remember he needs to look up to meet them instead of down.

“Great Grammalon.” Legend answers easily. He doesn’t know why the words spill from his mouth or why he’s so open with the kid, but Wild isn’t teasing and there’s no one else about now that Four’s moved on to join Hyrule in inspecting the bee hives out in the back. “It’s the family horse song, something of a lullaby too.”

“Does it have words?” Wild presses, curios and open, drawing a short halting laugh from the vet with the innocence of a face that has many times before been twisted in smiles that would make Hylia shudder.

“I recken’ so, never learned them though, just the tune.”

And Wild nods, content with his answer as the two return to their work. When the song drifts over the kitchen again, Legend startles to find that his voice is joining in, humming a soft melody to Wild’s lilting voice, the tune weaving about the kitchen and making every motion and task feel like a dance. They’re both light on their feet, both nimble and quick, both seamless in their motions in a way that makes it so much like a dance that Legend’s nearly lost in it.

In the bedroom, Twilight blinks awake to help write a letter to a forlorn and forgotten grandmother, while, in the kitchen, the vet and champion work to a tune that rings familiar in more than just their own ears.

Come breakfast time, when the others are awake at last and everyone has tumbled into the kitchen, they find Wild clapping the flour from his hands over the top of an already dust covered and violently sneezing vet, who’s smile stretches just as far as the champions as he wipes apple juice slick hands across Wild’s tunic, from the shoulders to the waist, snickering wildly as the younger hero pulls back with a soft whine of complaint.

“You two have been busy.” Time chuckles as he walks into the room, wiping ink from his fingers across Legend’s white dusted apron.

“Twilight, your kid needs to be controlled.” Legend promptly deadpans, earning a hurt look from the champion.

“But we just had a bonding moment!” Wild protests.

“You can’t deny the magic of bonding moments.” Time nods sagaciously as Wild embraces the vet, further covering the vet in flour and now juice as Legend rolls his eyes, but there’s no missing the little smile on his face or the gentle way he pats the arm that wraps around his front as Wild nuzzles into his flour coated hair.

“Mr. Hero!” Ravio’s startled shriek sounds, an envelope fluttering to the floor as he freezes, green eyes widening in horror. “What in Lolia’s name have the two of you been doing!”

“Legend spilled the-” The champion is cut off by a fast-moving elbow to the stomach, making him wheeze lightly as Legend reaches above his head to muffle the kid’s voice.

“Wild knocked a bag of flour off of the top shelf. Don’t worry he- yech!” The vet surges forward with a horrified expression, only to fall forwards into Wild’s arms where they’re still hooked around his chest, the champion’s tongue lolling out of his mouth with a dopey grin.

“Licking the hand? Really Wild?” Twilight shakes his head.

“That’s disgusting!” Legend shivers, wiping his hand off on his once pink but now white apron.

“The vet knocked it over.” Wild says sweetly.

“You lil’ shit!” Legend scowls upwards at the hero holding him, but when Wild’s eyes meet his there’s a glimmer of something mischievous in the vet’s gaze. “How would I even reach that?”

The champion only grins, a bit feral and entirely insane, and squeezes Legend closer. “You're a gremlin too!” And this time when the champion nuzzles again his hair with a delighted growling Legend only sits there in the embrace, covered in flour and wearing the most hideously frilly and pink apron any of them have ever seen, a weary but fond grin pulling at his lips.

“What’s with the letter.” The pink-and-white-headed vet questions, cocking a brow and leaning back in the embrace of a beaming Wild.

“It’s um...” Ravio flushes, darkening continuously as Legend continues to stare at him. “It’s...”

“It’s a letter to your gran.” Warriors pipes up, sipping a second mug of coffee as he sist at the table. “Poor woman deserves to know you're okay.”

The vet stiffens in Wild’s hold, earning Warriors a glare from the champion as well as the vet for ruining the bonding cuddles. “I told you to let it alone.” Legend scowls, hands fisting in his frankly hideous apron.

“And I know what it’s like to be a parent who doesn’t know where their kid is.” Warriors returns evenly, eyes softening slightly. “Privacy or not, you’re hurting someone else, and if it means not respecting your wishes in order to set an old woman’s heart at ease-”

“Okay!” Legend snaps, before sagging back against Wild, going very nearly limp and running is hand down his face as the champion looks down at his cooking buddy with concern in his gaze. “Just- What did you guys write?”

“We told her you’re okay.” Sky offers. “You’ve been traveling and doing things for the royal family and others and you were feeling guilty over not talking to her. We told her why you hadn’t visited, based on what you said earlier, and we said that we’d try and talk to you about it when we could.”

The vet nods slowly, a frown creasing his face where he’d been bright and smiling moments before. “Okay.”

“Are you alright with us sending it?” The gentle hero presses cautiously, and at Legend’s nod of the head Sheerow is already whizzing over to accept the letter from Ravio’s hands before whizzing back out the open window with an eager noise that has Legend shaking his head with a hint of a smile.

“Come on,” Wild hefts the smaller hero in his arms like a child with a puppy. “We need to force feed my dad some pie!”

There was no escaping it, Ravio’s bread was set aside and the only food available was three crisp and warm apple pies, which disappeared almost immediately.

Warriors repented of his sins.

#linked universe #linkeduniverse #apple pie #lu ravio #lu legend #lu wild #lu warriors #lu time #references to #mamalon #sir raven (legend of zelda)#I LOVE THEM YOUR HONOR!!!!#fluffics #warriors is wild's dad

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obeymedreams · 4 years ago

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Sweet as You

Author’s notes: I’m salty that the event will not give me Lucifer and Luke’s card so instead I’m replacing it with sweet headcanons about the essence of the datables’ kisses and what chocolates you’d give, plus a little bit about how you and Luke teamed up to make them!

Content warning: food, chocolate, candy

Length: 2.4 K

Lucifer

You make a coffee bonbon for Lucifer. The shell is dark chocolate with two streaks of colour painted on—one in your favourite colour and another in his. The filling is an espresso ganache that highlights the bitterness of chocolate and coffee while ensuring the bonbon is never too sweet

Lucifer is both impressed with the flavour and the obvious care you’ve put into crafting this confection. He offers to prepare some drinks so you two can enjoy the chocolate together

Kissing Lucifer is being swept up in each other. It feels like passing by each other in castle walls, then hiding behind pillar to exchange impassioned kisses and whispers of love. The world might be continuing around you, but in that moment only the two of you matter

Lucifer feels clarity when kissing you. Everything else melts away and all that is left is the feeling of your lips and the warmth of your love. Your kisses contain an oasis and Lucifer finally feels like he can relax

Mammon

Mammon gets a fancy gold leaf bonbon that has a glossy shine. And to his delight you’ve gifted him liquor chocolate filled with an expensive Demonus that’s all the rage lately

Naturally, Mammon enjoys the chocolates because they’re fancy. However, the real reason he adores them is that they are proof that, to you, he is someone worth splurging on in both effort and money

Kisses with Mammon are messy and unexpected yet both of you feel like you’ve waited forever for this. The first taste of you isn’t enough, and Mammon becomes addicted pretty quickly. It’s a rush, like betting on a rolling dice or a flip of a card while on a winning streak. He feels like he’s losing all good sense yet so sure this is the right decision

His love for you is neither neat nor compartmentalized and neither are his kisses. It’s bubbling affection that he just can’t contain anymore. No matter how many lies he verbalizes, the blush on his visage and the way he greedily steals kiss after kiss says enough

Levi

You craft a chocolate treat based of a scene in TSL! There was a cute scene between Henry and the Lord of the Shadows where they eat chocolates, sharing one last sweet moment before having to part. You decide to recreate it by creating milk chocolate bonbons with a salted caramel filling, making sure to use a mold which creates the right shape!

Levi is floored. He knows EXACTLY which scene these chocolates are from, down to the page and line numbers. He simply gawks for a while and then proceeds to basically have a photoshoot. When he finally takes a bite, you can see the way his face lights up and it’s worth all the effort

Kisses with Levi are an adventure with ups and downs, bumps in the road, but a treasure chest at the end. When you first kiss him, he’s a blushing mess with brain working overtime to suppress his fight or flight instinct. But in spite of himself, Levi leans in and trusts you because no one treats him with this tenderness

His world is still small, aside from his brothers and Lotan, everything he loves could probably be contained in his room. But your kisses expand his horizons and maybe he thinks it’d be worth it to explore the world a little more, even if it leaves him vulnerable

Satan

You make Satan a combination of brigadeiros and mint discs for Valentine’s day! He enjoys that you’ve made chocolate confections but veered outside the classic bonbons. Satan likes the soft and chewy textures of the brigadeiros in contrast with the crunchy sprinkles and the unique texture of sugared mint atop dark chocolate discs

Satan happily opens the box of chocolate. He admires them for a bit and compliments you on their appearance before popping one in his mouth. He feels both loved and a little smug, Satan knows a bit about chocolate confections, enough that he’s certain you’ve put quite a bit of effort into this, which makes it all the more sweet

Lay on compliments about how he’s just as sweet as the chocolate, perhaps referencing a book he’s reading, and how all that work was worth it for his sake and you might get him blushing

Kisses with Satan are like browsing a library—the nostalgic smell of old books combined with excitement of discovering new worlds contained in pages. You’ve had more kisses with Satan than you can count, but even with that familiarity, you feel like you’re uncovering something new each time your lips meet

Asmo

Asmo knows the value of appearance so you ensure your chocolates look just as good as they taste. You make white chocolate disc in the shape of hearts and adorn them with sugared petals. Additionally, you create passionfruit bonbons with cute heart indents which look picture perfect.

Asmo takes a selfie with you while you each hold a chocolate confection. Sweets for your sweetheart!~ It’s cute.

But then you bring up how you chose passionfruit for its refreshing taste, so its easy to continually eat the chocolates, because just like the bonbons you’ll never get sick of him! It’s such a small detail but it warms his heart and suddenly you’re trapped in a hug

Asmo’s kisses don’t neatly fit into any single category. He is sweet, masterful and practiced, playful and lets you take the lead, but he is always sincere in his affection to you. Kisses are one of many ways to reaffirm your love

His kisses are like eating an assorted box of chocolates. One kiss is light and flirty, the next is sensual and stroking desire, then another which is teasing and light while interspersed with giggles. Yet all of them leave you with a sweet feeling

Beel

You make Beel a big pile of semi-sweet chocolate bark with variety of toppings, one has freeze dried raspberries, another has almonds, some use hellfire peppers, it’s a whole buffet

Beel plants a kiss on your forehead and thanks you so much for the gift! He begins to dig in to the treats you’ve made and has an endearing content grin the entire time he wolfs the chocolate down. He does his best to remember to offer you a bite too!

Many of Beel’s kisses start off as innocent fondness and true devotion. He loves you and you can feel it in the way he holds you close to him and devours all the affection you give.

But many of his kisses turn hungry, because he can never get enough of you, the taste of your lips, your sweet moans, the way your hands roam, the puffs of hot breaths, they all never fail to leave him wanting more. His kisses feel satisfying and fulfilling, because you get to indulge to your heart’s content

Belphie

You make Belphie coconut oil chocolates! They’re so easy to eat, he doesn’t even need to chew. You have to be careful to not melt them when making and handle the individual morsels, but it’s worth it all in the end

You surprise him by popping the chocolate into his mouth! You’re lucky he trusts you, if it was anyone else he’d probably have spit it out. It’s easy to bite through and melts to spread a pleasant chocolate taste across his mouth.

Probably muttered something under his breath, but he makes sure to thank you for the gift too, even if he is a little blasé about it. At least these ones aren’t dusty

Belphie’s kisses are lazy little things with missed lips and little laughs, huffs of air, and that smirk that makes you want to kiss him stupid until he can’t pretend to be relaxed. Random pecks in the morning, between naps, before bed, but if you ever ask why, the answer is “just because”

Occasionally your kisses are salvation and desperation. No life, no relationship, no person is without turbulence. Your hot breaths prove you’re alive and breathing, the love your pour into him as your lips meet prove he is worthy of affection, and he doesn’t intend to let go

Diavolo

You make Diavolo white chocolate matcha bonbons! The inside is filled with a smooth matcha ganache that’s a brilliant shade of green. The shells are painted with the rough silhouette of your favourite flower. The matcha flavour helps balance out the sweetness of the white chocolate, making a delicious treat

Diavolo is delighted by the gift and compliments the taste! But he also enjoys the story that goes with it when you tell him your thought process, how matcha has become popular across the world in the human realm, and what human traditions are attached to the gifting of chocolates

He’s already plotting what he wants to give you in return, but for now he’ll enjoy your heart felt confection while making sure to give you a piece

Kisses with Diavolo are like fireworks. No matter how many times you see them, they never lose their brilliance. Even if they aren’t always in the sky, they bring you joy each time you see their bright colours and sparkling streaks

Diavolo intends to indulge you in kisses. Even the short ones, before meetings, after class, the domesticity tickles his heart. But Diavolo’s preference leans to long kisses where the two of you meld together. Everything is you, your unique scent, the way his name leaves your mouth, the way you hold onto him, your taste alone makes him want to dive deeper

And why stop at one kiss? He should have another for good measure, maybe two, three, four—well now there’s no point counting so you might as well continue

Barbatos

You make strawberry shortcake inspired chocolates for Barbatos. The bonbon shell is made with ruby chocolate with the filling consisting of whipped white chocolate ganache and strawberry preserves.

The several components merge together to make a sweet dessert and Barbatos appreciates how you use the novel ruby cocoa. Barbatos out of everyone knows how much work must have gone to create these bonbons and makes sure to both savour it and compliment you

Kisses with Barbatos are like sharing a secret. You get special access to a gateway into him, and in these kisses you create a special place just for the two of you

His kisses are almost dangerously good, you swear kissing didn’t always feel this good. But his intensity, the way it’s only the two of you, the mere privilege it is to have him whisper sweet words between gilded kisses, it makes it worth all the wait

Simeon

You make Simeon earl grey tea truffles! You coat the truffles with milk chocolate to create an easy to hold shell. Then you have stripes of dyed white chocolate — one in your favourite colour and another in his.

Simeon thinks it’s adorable at how your chocolates have become a matching couple item with the coloured stripes. He thinks it’s lovely how you made him tea flavoured chocolate, given how many fond memories the two of you have which centre around a cup of tea

Simeon kisses make you feel treasured. He peppers your face is soft kisses, he cups your cheek gently, and the adoration in his eyes almost overwhelms your heart

His love is all encompassing and you’ve never felt safer than when you’re in his arms. Beautiful lashes fan his cheeks, contended sighs, and underlying warmth. Simeon feels like home and with his kisses, you’re falling in love again

Solomon

You know Solomon likes cupcakes and poisoned apples so you decide to combine the two! You make him an apple cakepop coated in coloured white chocolate to look like a poisoned apple!

Unlike his cooking, your sweet tastes delicious and leaves the eater happy. You make sure to use granny smith apples to retain some tartness and Solomon happily eats the confection.

Unfortunately, your sweetheart has also made sweets to express his love for you. Don’t let Solomon give you chocolates back or use a trick to dispose of them! It is not romantic to spend the day puking or sick in bed. Or hey, maybe true love is eating it knowing that it spells out nothing less than doom

Kisses with Solomon feel like an exploration. You get to know him bit by bit and each kiss feels like proof he is wiling to vulnerable with you. Some trips result in airy kisses, others feel like rocky days at sea filled with passion and you’re in danger of running out of breath, it’s always an adventure

Sometimes, you swear you can feel his lips form a smug smile. Other times, he approaches you so gently and the touch of hesitancy, like he can’t really believe he got you, makes you want to shower him with enough love to wash away all doubt. He holds you tight, to him you are warmth and intimacy, and he never wants to let go

Bonus: Making Chocolates with Luke

When making chocolates with Luke, it is best to be sweet with him, guide the angel with soft suggestions without sounding like you’re babying him. Generally, Luke is pretty amendable but he can have a stubborn streak if he feels like he has something to prove

He makes for chocolate confections for Barbatos, Simeon, Micheal, Solomon and you! It’s so cute to see him so excited when he thinks about how happy everyone will be when they receive the gift

You two go through many spoons to check if the chocolate is tempered, rapidly tapping the chocolate to see if it has that snap and sighing when it blooms

By the end of it, you two are a mess with chocolate smears on your apron, but you have nice assortment of shiny chocolate sweets

#obey me x reader #obey me lucifer x reader #obey me diavolo x reader #obey me mammon x reader #obey me levi x reader #obey me asmo x reader #obey me satan x reader #obey me beel x reader #obey me belphie x reader #obey me barbatos x reader #obey me simeon x reader #obey me solomon x reader #obey me luke #obey me luke & reader #lucid dreams #cw.food #cw.chocolate

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loquaciousquark · 4 years ago

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Talks Machina Highlights - Critical Role C2E116-119 (Dec. 15, 2020)

Hi! I missed the first three minutes or so and opened the stream to Brian giving an absolutely incoherent ...ad? for some jewel game? Six thousand jewels just for logging in? Some app in the app store and he’s literally been talking about this now for six minutes and I don’t know what he’s talking about. He finally wraps up, Laura brings the show to a close, and we’re all a little worse than we were before.

Ashley tries to get us back on track and Henry bays over her. Brian tries to ask the first question and breaks off into feigned sobs halfway through. This is chaos incarnate.

Tonight’s guests: Laura Bailey & Ashley Johnson.

How’s Yasha feeling right now about Molly? She and Jester both are desperately curious about whether there’s a spark of Molly left in Lucien that can be brought back. It’s not the same as when Yasha was controlled by Obann; this seems more like just the way this is now. They’d settle for even finding the good in him, like they did with Essek. Brian jokes that they can monitor his mental state if Matt’s Irish accent starts to slip a little bit.

Jester is a little wary about scrying on Lucien now since he’s able to see her back. She’s interested to try again now that Fjord’s given her the necklace.

Ashley has to run and grab a replacement set of headphones from Brian after hers get “crunchy.” It’s pretty cute seeing them run around and smooch on another screen. Brian teases that he doesn’t have any more questions for Jester since Caduceus has been doing all the healing lately. Laura tells us indignantly that she had Heal prepared for Caduceus in that last big fight, but Fjord got to Cad first. Brian explains how this is the same as all the good jokes he always lines up for Talks but never tells. Ashley’s crunchiness continues and we go briefly to a technical difficulties screen while Brian hops up to fix it.

Dani pips in to get this show back on track. Save us, Dani!

Ashley hadn’t thought about the aspect of Lucien controlling his friends’ minds, but finds it really creepy. It’s a cool game dynamic, and it’s a little different because they’re there willingly, but it’s really weird.

Jester thinks that “the tarot cards know all. She wants to buy into it real hard.” If it doesn’t make sense now, it will later. Laura has an Idiot’s Guide to Tarot Reading.

They’re super interested in why Aeor is like it is. Were they more advanced than us? Did they evolve along a different line? Ashley loves sci-fi and is all about this, especially since she wasn’t there for Happy Fun Ball time & hasn’t been able to get caught up on some of the things she missed in between, so she’s using this as an erstwhile replacement. She can already tell there are some things from this campaign that will bother her the way the unopened box did from C1. She and Laura both seethe at the camera about having to leave the spider behind.

Cosplay of the Week! Harland3r on instagram with a gorgeous winged Pike with a shield & mace. It’s an incredible photo and the wings look great.

Travis distracts Laura by dancing like a Trex offscreen. That seems right for this episode.

Jester’s encouragement of Yasha pursuing Beau was important in a lot of ways, not least because Ashley considered herself as uninterested in D&D romance as Travis & was a little unsure of activating a romance among her friends. However, it felt really natural within the game and it was really helpful to have Jester’s in-game encouragement. Yasha’s grown a lot and is in a much more positive place and is ready to find out what’s possible. Laura: “Jester from the get-go has seen Yasha as this wonderful soul from the beginning, and has seen how sad Yasha’s been through everything, and to see the difference that she exhibits when talking about Beau is drastic and wonderful. Jester’s joy in life is helping others find joy.”

Ashley points out it’s also so fun to “yes-and” with Laura because you’re like a little kid being dragged along by the hand - you don’t know where it’s going, but you know it’s going to be fun along the way.

Ashley does have a sense of “thank goodness Marisha isn’t jumping right into this” so she can coax herself into it, but when she tried to figure out the poem she had a lot of drafts that didn’t survive. She intentionally crafted the letter to give Beau an out if she didn’t feel the same way. There’s a lot going on with Lucien right now and there’s constantly a running thought in the back of her head about “maybe Beau is not into this.” Even the last couple episodes with Jester & Fjord have had Ashley finally understand shipping.

Brian brings us to the moment “almost as romantic as the pre-season finale of the Bachelorette.” Jester was “goo” afterwards. Early on in the campaign, Jester was very forward with her flirtations with Fjord & he shut her down. And then he kissed her underwater and immediately went and slept with Avantika, and Jester automatically shut herself down, because she thought she was misunderstanding & would only be hurt by those emotions. She deliberately focused on just being there with her friends, making everyone healthy and happy. These last few episodes where Fjord was flirting back felt like “my teenage heart again, my first kiss, the boy I like actually likes me back!” and she was able to open back up.

Yasha definitely has some instrument plans for those bones. She doesn’t know if she’s going to add to her harp or create a new one.

Ashley and Laura cheer about Travis stepping out his comfort zone. Laura thinks it was really good that he was doing it with her, his real-life wife, to see if he likes that sort of stuff in his D&D campaign. “It was just so sweet. It was just so sweet.” Brian says he’s actually a really romantic dude & Dani is so glad he asked before the kiss. Brian: “It’s going to be so sad when he breaks your heart and goes back to the corpse of Avantika.” Laura: “It’s fine, Jester will be long dead by then anyway.”

Jester does believe the four-year time trade was worth it, but that the city leaves “a mark on your brain,” especially as in-depth as she saw it. “Jester’s always been reticent to talk about her age because she’s aware she’s perceived in a juvenile way by a lot of people, and she’s insecure about that. She grew up by herself without a lot of social interactions and is experienced in a lot of ways now and naive in others; she’s very aware of human emotion around her, but chooses to see it in a certain way.” Losing the time makes her wonder if she needs to grow up & become an adult about certain things now. Laura: “I think actually she’s closer to Fjord’s age now. Actually, I’m not sure about his age. I don’t know how old he is - I’ve never even asked Travis!” Brian: “I think he’s definitely fifteen.” Laura: “Travis, how old is Fjord?” Travis, off-screen: “Sixty-five,” but he’s had the Mask of Many Faces up this whole time. Later, he adds that he’s in his early 30s.

Ashley has really enjoyed digging into Yasha’s more humorous side lately. It’s how she gets comfortable as a player, making it fun and light in a way that this year needs. “It’s also really funny to think that Yasha doesn’t know how Message works.”

Brian congratulates Laura & Ashley both on their game awards nominations. Brian vamps trying to get himself in as the presenter, but incidentally refers to Laura as his sister in the conversation and it’s super cute. “I would like to be the one to give the award to either my fiancee, or my sister!”

Fanart of the Week: @ethanmaldridge with an illustrated page from the Katzenprinz book. It’s just beautiful.

Jester’s polymorph gambit was terrifying, but the stakes got even higher when everyone else got stunned. She does lament choosing a bunny at the start. “Frickin’ Fjord’s armor!”

Yasha loves being polymorphed lately. She thinks it’s kinda funny, especially given her rigid upbringing with such defined roles.

Laura feels like Jester and Vex are weirdly two halves of herself. Brian: “You see the very bargainy, I’m gonna use my wit & smarts to negotiate situations. But at the same time, you’re very open to what people are thinking & feeling and navigating that. What you end up putting out (though it comes across as innocent and naive) is something pure because she truly believes it.” Laura thinks Yasha and Pike are the same way for Ashley, though Ashley feels a little closer to Yasha right now. Sometimes you just feel really exposed. Laura compares how much idealism she put into Jester to her character from Fruits Basket.

Since Yasha didn’t belong to either side in the war, she’s not hugely concerned by the fallout; she more wants to make sure her found family are okay and safe. Jester is the same way, Laura tells us. Jester doesn’t have any greater vision of the Empire & Dynasty interacting; she cares about the people, and it hasn’t been until the vision with the city that she kind of woke up and realized they have to really stop this now. It feels bigger than the Dynasty/Empire. Ashley: “It seems more of a thing for Beau and Caleb to care about.”

Really, up to now Jester was mostly concerned about getting Molly back, but now the stakes seem much higher. “We have to do this. We have to complete this, to beat them, to keep them from doing this.” Yasha is just going with the flow for now. There’s a lot coming at them and they are ready to find out what’s next.

And that’s that for tonight! Brian thanks the crew especially for working incredibly hard on switching everything to home-based streaming. He then gets stuck halfway spinning around in his chair and the last thing we hear is him idly wondering “What’s Fjord taste like?” which seems pretty on brand for tonight’s show. Is it Thursday yet?

#critical role #critical role spoilers #talks machina #talks machina spoilers #long post for ts

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dandaelions · 3 years ago

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"feel my rhythm" album thoughts!

guess who has 2 presentations for work in the next 2 days ripppp but whatev rv is still my no. 1 priority 💗

this got quite long, so under the cut!

feel my rhythm:

okey dokey what is going on HERE

alright first of all, the first 15 or so seconds are just Sublime, lulling you into that gentle flow and causing you to relax - before that beat drops a dirty bomb over the whole thing. why TF is this so clinky clanky???? why???? the bach sampling is so beautiful and if you were to isolate the vocals with it, I think it would actually sound pretty nice but for some reason they overlaid those damn skirr skirr trap beats and bass boosted it into oblivion. I get they were trying to create this classical-hyperpop hybrid but I don't think this came together quite as cleanly as they has hoped. also enough finger snaps in bridges!!!! please sm tell me you have more up your producing sleeve than the 10 free effects that came with the trial software. otherwise I feel like the bridge actually sounds pretty decent? and don't even get me started on that key change in the final stanza oh my god!!!! why!!! key changes always feel like such a cop-out way of adding an extra 30 seconds to a song that already feels too long.

it feels like they were going for psycho v2 (but now on shrooms). which is a shame, I feel if they had maybe pitched the song down a few notches and added in some more subtle beats to actually complement the classical sample, this could've actually been really good. for a song called "feel my rhythm", there doesn't seem to be very much of it at all 😔

also note about the MV: DANGGGGGG it's so beautiful!! part of me wishes it was a bit more darker thematically but all the art references were sooo cleverly incorporated, plus I loveddd all the sets and outfits. ok, so in seulirene's "monster", seulgi corrupts irene and turns her evil. here, I think they are showing seulgi still being evil, except now she can also take the shape of a bird (seen in the epilogue). irene, dressed in black, is still evil from the "monster" MV, and is shown handing a basket of strawberries to a giant...mask-guy?? idk what that is lol 😅 joy is seen holding that mysterious red light in a cage, except it escapes. bird-seulgi gives the light to joy and we see her turn (thanks @littlesunshinedae for making the connection that her wings are actually the evil swooping in for her). yeri gets corrupted through that floating water thing (and leaves her egg to hang out with the birdy-people) and wendy gets corrupted with the rotten strawberry. they're all seen wearing black and sitting in a dark room, with their lighter counterparts in a garden. so now there's two versions of them?? at least that's what I got, anyone else find other things? also are birds supposed to symbolize anything...

rainbow halo: ok, 8-bit stomp n clap that's a vibe...ooohhh okkkkk that's a CRUNCHY bass line, v nice! oh yeah this is sounding slick! oh snap irene ok I see, love how she doubled up on that beat there. woooo love this synthy groove! did they add a freaking saxophone in the chorus omggggg. nice drop-off in the bridge, that's a satisfying build-up to the last stanza. ah ok like the stop-n-start. also pls bring this sax back for other songs, I think that's my fave element of this song! oooh this was so clean from start to finish, this is def going into their "velvet" portfolio!

anyone wishing that this is what they tried mixing into bach for "feel my rhythm"??

beg for me: OK!! OK!! that dirty dirty synth at the beginning 🥴

oh SHIZ that beat drop and then those vocal lines on top? HELLO?? THIS CHORUS???? dance for me work for me beg for me, I'll do it all!!! is that JOY coming in after the first stanza?? 😦 BRING OUT YOUR FREAK GUYYSSSSS IM !!!!!!!! these lyrics PHEW

this is It. nothing else to add.

BAMBOLEO: rv citypop?? is that you?????

retro enthusiasts, rejoice!!!! ofc you can't have a retro song without those boom boom space drums they did their research! oh WHOA that chorus, that modulation is soo interesting!! LOVE LOVE LOVE what they have going on here. oh nice guitar solo! THESE CHROMATIC HARMONIESSSSS OH GEEZZZZ im just blown rn honestly ram these instrumentals ** ** ***** idc anymore.

good, bad, ugly: oh very classy, this is so seg-c. looks like "automatic" had a glo-up! oh they all sound FANTASTIC, love these jazzy vibes, it suits them perfectly! "every day I just love me" DANG RIGHT'S RIGHT LADIES

in my dreams: oh those harmonies!! oh that drop! I was not expecting the bass to come in that strong! the instrumentals definitely convey the highs and lows of unrequited love. ohhhh I'm getting some aespa "lucid dreams" vibes. that symbol crashing during the chorus, like you’re screaming your love to the clouds!! this BRIDGE 👌👌👌 wow what a finish!! so beautiful and bittersweet :')

overall: the title track isn't feeling the rhythm, but the b-sides sure are. WOW I think these are some of the strongest songs they've put out in a while!! I'm so glad they got to showcase their "velvet" side in some of these quieter, more subtle songs. we got some showstoppers!!

#album thoughts #dang i had like four different people ask me if I was gonna post thoughts asldkfjsadkjf I love fame 🤣#well I hope this was what you wanted lollllll

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remmushound · 3 years ago

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Chapter 9 - Dinner Drama!

Summary: The Splintersons have a look around the home and then try to enjoy their dinner with their hosts.

Tags: @brightlotusmoon @scentedcandlecryptid @selfindulgenz @digitl-art-monstr @ilo-artistry

After a swift perimeter check to ease their nerves, the visitors finally started to settle into the lair. It was still so new, so enclosed, that Leo couldn’t see himself being comfortable any time soon. Not until he could confidently locate all the exits, and all the entrances, and where weapons were stored. Not until everything was as secure and as open as his lair was. It wasn’t his right to change the place, but it was his right to not feel comfortable when there were so many places enemies could be hiding unseen. So many dark corners, concealed cubbies that could be hiding threats. So much potential for danger.

When Leo got an opportunity alone with Leonardo, he immediately knew what he wanted to ask. “Hey Leonardo, is your Raph still… you know, calling the shots?”

Leonardo had been anticipating that question all day. He gave a pointedly loud sigh and rolled his eyes as he slumped around to be facing his counterpart, “You ask that every time we see each other. You know that?”

Leo felt his cheek grow hot and his head shrank slightly. Trying to save face, he was quick to defend himself. “Well— a lot can change in six months!”

“Six months…” Leonardo sighed again, and this time it was more genuine and heavy. The revelation of just how long it had been washed over him like an icy bucket of water. Yes, it had been six months, hadn’t it? The time seemed to slip away from him. “Yeah… and a lot has changed. But that hasn’t.”

“I just figured… your whole situation would have changed by now. Especially with you boys growing up.” Leo made an effort to explain, awkward now that he knew he was wrong in his assumption. And he had been so certain too! Since he and his brothers had arrived, Leonardo was acting so confident, so much like a leader! Had Leo just imagined all that?

“Well you figured wrong.” Leonardo said, and now his voice had a defensive edge, “Raphael is just as capable as ever. He is and will always be our leader. Do you have a problem with that?”

“No, no, not at all!” Leo put his hands up in an offering of peace, “i was just wondering.”

“Yeah.” Leonardo made sure to side-check Leo as he passed, “Sure you were.”

~~~

“Hey little Mike, you got a minute?” Raph waved at the smaller version of his brother.

Michelangelo looked back, and then skipped over to Raph while humming a happy, upbeat tune. “You’re really risking it all by calling me little again~! What do you need?”

“Er…” It took Raph a second to brush past the threat laced into the happy voice, “Just… y’know… I saw a pool during the tour and was wonderin’ if it was recreational or jus’ for training?”

“Well we usually swim laps in it for warmups, but I don’t see why you couldn’t swim whenever. We got floaties if you need ‘em! Mine have sharks on them!”

Raph grinned. “Do they now?”

Michelangelo nodded eagerly. “Yeah! I’m not allowed to go in the pool without them cause I can’t swim so good.”

“Aw.” Raph nodded along, “That’s too bad.”

“Yeah! I‘m too heavy— I sink like a rock! Can you swim?”

“Eh, more or less.” Raph gave a so-so motion. “If my life depended on it, sure. Never really had much access to water that wasn’t a cesspool or Amazon river.” He shivered at the memory of being dropped in the water, the current pulling him and his brothers along like they were little more than skipping stones.

“Oo! Sounds fun!” Michelangelo chirped, “But do be mindful of Piebald; she likes to swim in there sometimes!”

“Piebald?”

“Oh, she’s a mutant goldfish. She was dad’s pet, but then we flushed her and she mutated and then pretended to hunt us with a hook, but it was really all just an elaborate prank from her and dad to punish us for lying.”

Raph stared. “Oh.”

“Yeah, but she’s totally nice now and not at all sadistic and revenge-driven! No worries.”

“Wasn’t worried at all.” Raph lied.

~~~

After their quick assessment, Leonardo and Donnie had come to the decision that Mikey needed the simplest medicine of all: rest. Raphael had been more than happy to stay with Mikey until the turtles could adjust to the new environment, but exactly when that would happen was anyone's guess. Mikey was sat in Raphael’s bed, wrapped in the snappers heaviest comfort blanket and hugging Cheech as he listened to the snapper chatter with all the joy of a child. Klunk had settled in and was sleeping on Mikey’s lap in a tight orange ball, purring to his hearts content.

“Oh oh oh!” Mikey chirped quickly, “Tell me more about the capybara tell me more about the capybaraaa!”

“His name’s Todd.” Raphael indulged, “He owns a puppy farm in the woods near here.”

“Puppies..” Mikey sniffled softly and hugged Cheech tighter, “This day just keeps getting better and better. Are he and the mantis friends?”

“Todd’s friends with everyone.” Raphael answered.

“Oh my gaaaawwdd…” Mikey fell back down on his carapace, laughing weakly as he stared up at the ceiling. “That’s awesome…”

Raph moved to carefully reposition Cheech in a way that Mikey could still hug him while laying down, fixing the blanket and pillows to make sure the shinobi was as comfortable as possible. Mikey’s eyes were closed now, the stuffed bear drawn to his chest as he laid peacefully. Raphael stood slowly and made his way to the door.

The moment Raphael’s hand touched the handle, Mikey sat up straight. “Where are you going?”

“Oh— sorry. I thought you were asleep.” Raphael said, and he returned to Mikey’s side.

Mikey settled back into the bed, cuddling deeper into the blankets and giving a series of high pitched chirps that eventually faded to nothing. Raphael gave it a few more minutes before slowly getting up and going to leave again.

Like Dracula out of his coffin, Mikey sat up again and spoke so suddenly that Raphael couldn’t help but flinch. “What about the other mutants?”

Raphael took a deep breath as he spun around on his heels to face the turtle who still wasn’t asleep. “What do you wanna about them?”

Mikey grinned. “Everything!”

*** 

Donnie didn't think anything could top him meeting Shelldon that night— and then he saw Donatello’s lab for the first time. The beautifully artistic designs mixed with a generally futuristic style made for a gorgeous display of technological genius . Just like Donnie’s own lab, Donatello had several screens activated at once, scanners and alarms and traps all set to be activated at the simple trip of a sensor. The entire room was lit up in a peculiar violet hue, almost as if it was under one big black light. If that was the case, then Donatello certainly kept his room spotless.

“Oh my kami…” Donnie gulped, his eyes emeralds in the darkness. “Can I live here? I wanna live here…”

“You gotta pay rent.” Donatello said.

“I’d give anything to have my lab like this!”

“Would you give your right cornea?” Donatello leaned against the wall.

“Eh, my eyes are useless. I would give up a kidney or a gallbladder though.”

“I’ll grab the bone saw.”

“I’ll sign the consent form…”

***

“Dinner is served!” Michelangelo presented a simple dish of pizza gyoza to the table; one could say it was just homemade pizza rolls, but that ruined the magic! Besides, they were more doughy like a dumpling than anything crunchy.

The two families were gathered around and eager to eat, seated around two tables that had been pressed together to make enough room for ten diners; each set of brothers were on opposite sides of the table, while the heads of the table were reserved for the Splinter’s. The absence of one of the two fathers didn't go unnoticed.

“Itadakimasu.” Splinter said to the proud Michelangelo, “The food looks delicious. Won’t your father be joining us?”

Another chill came to the room. Another exchange of unsettled looked.

“Dad asked not to be disturbed.” Leonardo said simply.

The Hamato family turned their eyes to their food, working with the same mind to scarf down the gyoja as fast as possible, filling their mouths so they wouldn’t have to speak. The Splinterson family took the same opportunity to look around at each other, all but Mikey having the same, constricted looks on their faces; Mikey was already lost in his own mind, his eyes blank as he smiled and shoveled the offered dinner into his mouth.

“Surely your father would prefer to eat his supper while it is still hot?” Splinter insisted.

Raphael stood abruptly. His plastron bumped into the table and made the dishes clink and glasses splash with the force of his motion, but chair screaming as it was pushed back.

“You know what? You’re right.” Raphael hurried to gather another plate and pile it with gyoji, his eyes avoiding Splinter’s as he piled the dinner on a tray with freshly brewed tea. “I’ll bring this to him right away.”

When Raphael left, he took the conversation with him. He returned minutes later but the air of the room remained quiet and tense. Eager to break the silence, Leo finished off the last of his gyoji.

“Gochi sou sama deshita.” He said, and bowed to Michelangelo, “And while I am thankful for your hospitality— we all are— this isn’t a social visit. We really need to get back to our world. Can your gift do that, Donatello?”

“Should be able to.” Donatello said with a nod, “It was designed for two trips, here and back.”

“Great, then what are we waiting for?” Leo looked around for an answer but no one offered one, “Those creatures are still in our world, could be targeting our people, our city!”

“We need a plan first Leo.” Donnie tried to reason, “We can’t just run in blind.”

“Then we should be planning instead of just hanging out!”

“Can’t plan on an empty stomach.” Michelangelo said, pointing his chopsticks at Leo. “We’re eating!”

A sharp hiss came from Leo’s throat. “Don’t. Point. It’s rude.”

Michelangelo put his chopsticks back down and shrank away from the violent hiss, the retreat as instinctual to him as going into his shell.

“Leonardo…” Splinter tried to reason, “Please settle down and allow us to have a nice supper before discussing.”

“But we need to discuss this now!”

Leo’s disobedience of his father made his brothers gasp, Raph pulling back slightly while Mikey even broke out of his minds wandering to tune back in. Leo flinched at his backtalk and fell into a quick, clumsy bow.

“Shitsurei shimashita, sensei.” Leo said in a low voice before regaining his composure, “I just feel like these guys aren’t taking this situation seriously.”

“And I feel like you expect us to pull a solution out of our asses.” Leonardo hissed back.

“Now now, there’s no need for vulgarity…” Splinter tried.

“I’m not suggesting that you have the answers, I suggesting we need to find them instead of doing house tours!” Leo snarled back.

“If you don’t like it, you can get out.” Leonardo didn't back down.

“Leo, it’s fine, cool it.” Donnie tried to mediate, grabbing a hold of his brother’s arm; he was almost convinced Leo might lunge over the table at his smaller counterpart if this went on for much longer.

“I am cool!” Leo pulled his arm free, knocking Donnie back in the process. That got Raph involved, the box turtle standing up ready to confront his brother. Before he got so much as a word out, however…

“Everybody COOL IT!” Raphael slammed his fists down on the table.

The table splintered under Raphael’s slamming weight, chips of wood flying out like dangerous projectiles. The words, with all the force of a hurricane knocking trees out from their roots, brought a silent stalemate. Raphael looked pissed. His eyes were white, entire body like a taut wire that would snap at the slightest breaths. His nostrils flares, and when he had screamed, white, foaming spittle flew across the table. Now, it dripped down his lopsided jaw and chin.

“Not another word.” Raphael said, this time calmer as he left the table once more. All eyes followed him to the doorway to find a small, gray rat standing there watching them.

Yoshi’s mouth was pulled down in a tight frown, eyes glossy. His paws, shaky as they were, held his tray of dirty dishes that he had been intent on cleaning; for now, he just… stared. His fur seemed several shades paler, his hair tangled and unkept, and though it was hard to tell through the clothes. he looked skinny. The mutant looked around at the table, at the turtles and the rat he had paid many visits to, but when his eyes passed over them they held no recollection. No memory. Just dark confusion, empty and cold.

“Dad…” Leonardo said softly, but at Raphael’s threatening chuff, Leonardo said nothing more.

“Hey pops— here, let me get that for you…” Raphael took the tray from his father and hurried over to throw them haphazardly into the sink. He came back after, his massive hand completely engulfing Yoshi’s back to guide the old rat away away. Yoshi followed the snapper at a slow gait, though his feet dragged as if they were made of the heaviest lead and it took a while for him to get anywhere. “Come on, let’s get you back to bed okay?”

Everyone watched as the father and son disappeared out of the dining room, none of them daring to breathe, nonetheless utter a word.

#Leo Drama starting early #raph risking it all #Mikey: who needs sleep when it’s story time?!#Yoshi dear?#tmnt #teenage mutant ninja turtles #rottmnt #tmnt au #tmnt 2014 #tmnt 2016 #bay turtles #beyond the bay #bay/rise crossover

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katnissmellarkkk · 4 years ago

Note

what about ~ general ~ #48?

Gravity

Heyyyyy, so uh, remember sending this? Well, sorry this took 100,000 years. And uh, sorry, this got so long imma break it up into three separate parts. Because, ya see, the prompt you sent sparked a three chapter growing back together story. And... your prompt, which was general #48 “I won’t hurt you”, actually doesn’t appear until the final chapter 🤦🏼‍♀️... we love an overwriter, right?

Okay so anyways, hopefully part two will be out soon. And forgive this for not being my greatest writing ever.

And thanks, love, for sending me a prompt to start with!

Peeta and I grow back together.

"How long are you going to waste those paints?" I tease wryly, announcing my presence as I lean against the doorframe.

Peeta doesn't even glance back at me, but I can see from my angle his expression turn sardonic. "Until this shade of green is exactly right."

I chuckle, coming further into the room—using extra caution to not startle him as he can be easily triggered when his mind is preoccupied elsewhere—and attempting to peer over his shoulder at the canvas.

It's covered with a cloth though and this time he turns to look at me before laughing softly. "Trying to sneak a peek?"

I glance at him, a little ruffled, before my eyes find my feet. "I didn't know it was supposed to be secret," I defend, for some reason feeling embarrassed by my curiosity.

Our dynamic is still tense some days. We haven't kissed since we were in the Capitol and that was only to fight off his hijacking. We haven't genuinely kissed, kissed because we wanted to, for nothing but our own simple pleasure, since the Quell, on the beach, the last night before we were separated.

Since before Peeta was taken by the Capitol. Since before he was hijacked.

But his memory is better now and the clouded, haunted look is long gone from his eyes. In it's place is the same brightness, the same instinctive kindness, the same gaze I used to see even in the worst of circumstances.

Still though, I don't always know what to say or not say. I don't know what our boundaries are now.

I know that his house and mine are always open to the other one. I don't have to knock or announce myself when I come over, and more times than not I return from hunting to find him situated at my kitchen table, waiting for me before cutting our breakfast bread.

I don't always know where our trauma ends and our friendship begins. I don't honestly know where we even stand anymore. From allies to friends to unconscious lovers to enemies and back, I get whiplash practically trying to decipher it, and I can't even imagine how much more confusing it must be for him, still after all this time.

He is more committed to that stupid over-the-phone therapy we've both had forced upon us though. He is committed like an old dog to a rotten bone to healing himself from the wounds Snow inflicted.

I'm about to find an excuse to leave the room, to more than likely leave his house altogether and go out to the woods, like I too often do when I'm at loss for words or things grow awkward, when his fingers touch under my chin. He gently lifts it up to meet his sky blue irises. "Come help me mix colors," he implores, his eyes enthusiastic and genuine.

I nod tentatively after a moment, following behind him, like a wide-eyed child. Like my sister used to follow behind me when we walked from the Seam to town and back.

He makes room for me at the table he's turned into his painting palette. On it resides papers upon papers, each covered with dozens of green variants.

"Peeta," I gap at him, my eyes getting wide. "How have you made all these shades?"

He scratches the back of his neck, blushing a little, and managing to get a moss color on his neck from the wet paint still situated on his fingertips.

I have the most insane urge to clean his neck off myself, to touch him there, as though a spot that's always displayed in plain sight could suddenly be so intimate.

I squash that desire so fast, I feel my temples pulse.

"I've been working on getting this color right for a few days now," he admits sheepishly.

I raise my eyebrow at him, a little more coy than I was only a minute ago. "A few days?"

"Okay, so it's been a couple of weeks."

I laugh then, really laugh, from the bottom of my stomach. It only last for a few seconds but it's such a rarity still that I ever feel that kind of unadulterated joy, and I choose to bask it for all it's worth.

It doesn't escape my notice though that I only ever have these rare moments in Peeta's vicinity. Not that I plan to openly share this—with anyone, really, but especially with him—but it's something I can't help but clock, even if just to myself.

Apparently I'm not the only one who finds my laugh significant, because when I look up at him again, Peeta is staring at me with a look of awe now shining in his gaze. A look I didn't realize until he was back in Twelve, until he was back mentally, until we had started on the memory book together, that he'd lost in his hijacking. It was a gaze I had seen in thousands of moments before, on the train, in the beds we shared at night, in the arenas, in my living room.

That shining look of awe in his eyes is just another thing I didn't realize how much I missed, how much it meant to me, until it returned. Another thing I didn't even realize Snow took away from me.

He breaks the silence between us again, his mouth turning up on one side, his eyes suddenly glazing over. For a moment I brace myself for a flashback, something that I have become accustomed to witnessing on a regular basis. He never loses his mind, he never snaps or thinks I'm a mutt or anything of the sort, but he'll grow quiet for a long moment and he'll clutch the underside of the table or the back of a close by chair, and shut his eyes until it's over.

But he isn't having a flashback now. Instead, his words are wistful and full of longing. "I miss hearing you laugh like that," he quietly says, unashamed. Like he's always said everything. Confidently, even when he wasn't.

I offer him a small smile in return before turning back to the paint covered table, segueing not as subtly as I wish. "Okay, so how am I supposed to help you make your ideal green color?" I turn to him and add in a teasing tone, "I'm not quite as experienced in frosting as you."

It has the desired effect and he comes to show me how to mix the paints properly, how to add in other colors to make a lighter or darker shade of green.

"So this is why the frosting on the cakes were always so intricate?" I ask after a couple of hours of us just blending paints together.

"Because I'm a perfectionist? No. Because I needed to get the cakes to sell quick enough that I wasn't forced to have the stale, crunchy ones for dinner. Over-the-top frosted cakes sells faster."

I shoot him a sad look at that. I always forget that while I had to work hard from a young age to bring food home to my family, Peeta got stuck with the leftovers no one from the entire district claimed.

Hours pass and I get so lost in mixing colors—okay, actually, I'm playing after a while, as Peeta continues to mix paints—that I don't realize until the sky outside turns dark that we skipped lunch and dinner.

"Peeta," I say, tugging at his arm with my now paint covered palm. "We have to eat."

He shakes his head though. "I've almost got the exact right shade."

I huff. "You need to feed yourself. Or else you'll pass out and I'll have to drag you to your bedroom and it'll be rough on us both."

"So it won't be any different than Sunday at Haymitch's?"

I laugh at that again, really laugh, and my stomach aches and cramps from the unused muscles waking back up after their long hibernation. "Come on," I urge.

"Katniss, I swear, I'm almost finished," he insists again, very solemnly. "Go get food from the bakery for both of us and I'll be done by the time you get back."

I let go of his arm, feeling myself deflate as I realize he's truly not budging. "I can't be the only one who goes to town with paint covered hands," I throw out there, as a last resort.

Without even looking away from the table, he adds, "and a paint covered face."

My brow furrows, confused, when he taps my nose with his wet finger. "Peeta!" I try to exclaim but it gets eaten up by my giggle, which is quickly overpowered by his.

"You told me once green was your favorite color!" He defends, holding up his hands.

I swipe my still wet sheets of paper off the table and fling them at him, effectively covering his cheek and the shoulder of his shirt in a soup of green.

"Oh, you aren't getting away with that," he promises and grabs me around the waist when I bolt for the door. "You couldn't even beat a man with one leg," he teases as he hoists me up and propels us both towards the wet paints again.

"Don't you dare," I threaten but my smile, one I can't repress, isn't letting me give the correct authenticity to my tone and in the end, he only smirks at my words.

A half hour later, I exit Peeta's house, having scrubbed my face the best I could in his bathroom sink. I only made the green fade from my cheeks and nose, not completely evaporate, and my neck is still strewed with flicks of the forresty shade.

My stained shirt is covered though as I pull on Peeta's jacket, having for once left mine in my own doorway, three houses down. Instead of going to fetch it, I choose take him up on the offer to borrow his, pretending it's about convenience and not because I like the way his smell of vanilla and cinnamon and something entirely his own lingers on all his clothing.

I use the key he gave me to the freshly rebuilt bakery and let myself in the backdoor, more so because that's where I'm most comfortable entering. Peeta's new bakery is almost identical in structure to the old one, and his mother would have never let me come in through the front, let alone trade my game over the counter instead of in the chilly back alleyway.

So many times I peaked inside the back, peered over the old baker's shoulder while he examined my squirrels. Majority of the times it was only to see the blazing hot oven, to fantasize about how it must feel to work with that kind of heat in the winter, to have heat so easily accessible at your fingertips that you can take it for granted. But sometimes it was also to catch a glimpse of what the inside must look like, my curiosity getting the best of me.

Being from the Seam, you so rarely had reason to enter a Merchant business. Being from the Seam, there was always a part of you that wondered what the other side of the community must live like.

Well, now I know. I have, really, since I became a victor and Peeta took me with him here on a seldom occasion to chat with his dad while he mother was gone.

I can't help but admire the handiwork of Thom and of many others in the community. They rebuilt the bakery—with assistance, both creatively and manually, from Peeta himself—in only a few months time and it looks like it was never decimated. The woodwork of the wall panels, the marble tile of the floor, the cream color of the walls.

It was like the old bakery, but made newer and fresher.

However, as I grab a loaf of bread and pastries—Peeta did say to get whatever I craved—I spot something out of the ordinary.

The walls visible to the customers in the front are reserved for Peeta to paint murals on, whenever he finds himself in the right mood to create whatever idea he has sitting inside his head. But the walls in the back are typically full of notes and lists and customer orders and—Peeta's own idea—thank you notes and cards from members of the community, who adore him even more now than they did before the war.

But all those things have been cleared away from a section of the wall space. There is a noticeably large blank space, right above the oven and counter, where no one else but Peeta will be able to view it.

It's maybe a little thing to be hung up on, but it strikes me as so strange I cannot stop thinking about it.

I choose to stop at the rebuilt Hob after I finish at the butcher's, offering Greasy Sae an extra pastry for her and her granddaughter.

She takes the offer with a sly look, handing me a container of soup to go with the bread.

"What?" I ask, unsettled a little by her glance, like she knows something I don't.

"I see someone's been painting," she just simply notes, gesturing with her chin to my green stained hand and wrist.

"Oh!" I catch on now. "Yeah, I was just helping Peeta."

The excuse doesn't seem to diminish the glint in her eyes. "Helping. Yeah, I'm sure."

I roll my eyes in her direction as I walk towards the door, calling out, "goodnight," evenly over my shoulder.

When I get back to Peeta's though, he isn't in his art studio. Instead he's in the kitchen, grabbing silverware and plates for us to eat. "Grab bowls too," I call as I plop our food down on his countertop. "Traded a pastry for some."

He shoots me a sardonic look now. "You know you don't have to trade for everything, right?"

"I like it more than spending money," I retort easily, slipping off his jacket. "I'm going to go scrub my hands in the bathroom again before we eat," I say, glancing at my still green digits.

"Well, hurry," he urges teasingly. "You have gotten me so used to eating things when they're fresh, I almost can't stand waiting anymore."

His hand playfully pushes on my back, propelling me towards to the stairs, and I have a hard time denying even to myself the thrill that runs through my body when him unexpectedly touches me.

I quickly wash and scrub as much paint off my palms and wrists as I can, drying hastily on the towel Effie definitely sent from the Capitol.

But I find myself with a sudden irrepressible urge, one not even the food downstairs or Peeta waiting can quench. As I pass by the art room, I see the painting he was so meticulously working on now sitting on his drying table, leaving the canvas empty.

I know I shouldn't invade his privacy but, after everything else we've been through, there isn't much he would keep from me.

At least, that's what I tell myself to rationalize my prying away as justifiable.

I walk to the table, as quietly as I do in the woods when hunting prey, as not to tip him off in case he is listening from the kitchen. I'm unprepared to offer my excuses for snooping to his face, despite the fact I can't picture him being too put out with me.

I am also utterly unprepared for the vision that awaits me in the now finished painting.

Laying flat on it's back, the painting stares directly up at me as I approach. The canvas displays a beautiful girl, with black hair and large grey eyes and a very endearing, bashful smile. There's a variety of flowers in her hair and in her hands she's holding a small bouquet of dandelions. There's a warm, glowing sunset behind her and a willow tree in the distance. It takes me a moment to realize, but her sweater is a dark shade of green, more pleasing to the eye than any leaf or shrub I've ever come across, even on the Victory Tour, in the most lovely botanical gardens the country had to offer.

The girl in the portrait is beautiful and shy and happy and you can see, even in a painting, that she doesn't enjoy having her image captured.

I have to blink six separate times before it finally registers that the girl is me. Her skin is a multitude of colors, varying shades from where something ate a part of her flesh away. But instead of that making her less attractive, it only serves in making her all the more stunning. Her skin is a gorgeous vision and I don't know how Peeta managed the impossible. I don't know how he managed to make me beautiful, but he did.

"Katniss?" I hear him call, and I jump at the sound of his voice ripping me out of the moment. His tone is light and playful, and I have to swipe my hand across my eyes to rid myself of the moisture that's leaked out before he sees. "You coming to dinner?" He asks from the bottom of the stairs and I give the lovely work of art one last look before I follow his voice, a rare, uncontrollable smile forming on my mouth as I shut the door behind me.

After everything else that's happened, only Peeta could make me feel like this.

A few weeks later.

I admire the bright yellow primroses, now in full bloom, the lightly blowing wind only complimenting their beauty and elegance instead of disturbing it.

I stare blankly at the flowers planted in my sister's honor. My sister who should be here now, should be stitching bleeding wounds and helping with the reconstruction of the town. My sister who should be admiring Peeta's frosted cakes and convincing me to dance with her in the living room by the fire. My sister who should have never been in the Capitol that day, should have been tucked away in Thirteen with our mother, should have never grown up as quickly as she was forced to or had her life stolen in a split second.

Peeta's fingers sift through my hair, unconsciously sensing the tension building in my body as I feel a rise of anger at all Coin and Snow took from me in the name of power.

I turn my head up to glance at him, craning my neck a little. I'm about to say something, I'm not sure what yet, but something to convey that I'm fine. Something to brush off what I assume are his concerns. But I'm surprised by what I see when I peer up. His face isn't what I expected.

Instead of concerned or curious, he's having his own sort of contemplation. Instead of even looking at me, he's staring up at the clear blue sky, watching the white puffs of clouds floating microscopically slow across the the way.

But his brow is furrowed and his mouth is turned down and he seems uncharacteristically miserable.

"What's wrong?" I ask, sitting up now. We'd been laying beside each other—maybe a little too close but neither of us seemed to mind—on the grass in my backyard, just trying to rest. We'd planned on working on new entries for the memory book today, but I hadn't slept at all last night and when he came over this morning to find me, still home and not in the woods, with my fingers pinching the bridge of my nose, it was him who'd suggested a day off, relaxing in the grass under the sun.

He barely glances at me now, not really acknowledging my inquiry. "Nothing," he states simply and his hand touches mine for the briefest of seconds before pulling away.

"No, tell me what's bothering you," I insist defiantly. I don't know if it's the crankiness from lack of sleep or if I'm just fed up with having words left unsaid between us, but I'm not backing down.

"Katniss, come on," he says exasperatedly and his tone irks me further.

Instead of snapping and saying something I may regret later, I just shake my head at him, pushing myself upwards and beginning the walk back to the house, with every intention of abandoning our afternoon plans of relaxation. "Okay, wait!" He calls in retaliation and I feel him stretch to grip my hand in his again, only this time not dropping it after only a moment.

I relent and move backwards, sitting down to face him cautiously. I'm not worried that he's going to snap or harm me, not even in the slightest, but I am worried that both of us in foul moods-with our minds that are already teetering just on the edge of sanity-will lead to a painful, heated argument.

The last thing I want is to fight with Peeta. As much as I hate to admit it, even to myself, I've come to rely far too heavily on his presence in my daily life. Driving him away is too agonizing to consider right now.

Peeta doesn't let go of my hand for a long beat and when he does, he does so in a slip so awkward it leaves me believing he didn't even realize he was still grasping it. "I was just thinking about Gale," he blurts out, his eyes wide and a little nervous.

I just stare at him though, waiting for him to elaborate. "You were thinking of Gale?" The name burns the inside of my mouth, the face of the person I once called my friend now only bringing the gut-wrenching image of my sister's last moments of life, as the bombs he potentially built floated from the sky down towards her and hundreds of other unexpecting children. "Wh-why were you thinking of Gale?" I press, my voice caught between shocked and angry.

But Peeta seems prepared for my strangled query. "I guess, I was thinking of every which way... I guess, I was really thinking of the possibility of Gale returning," he explains, and my blood turns to ice. My vision swirls at the very thought and I have to force myself to swallow as my throat suddenly feels very dry.

"Did you hear something I haven't? Do you know if he is coming back to Twelve?" I press as evenly as I can. It's fruitless though, as he shoots me a sympathetic—but still somewhat distracted—look.

"No," he promises, shaking his head. "No, I haven't heard anything about him. I'm just assuming that he will at some point-"

"Why?" I can't help but implore, my voice more aggravated than I intend.

Peeta gives me a look like the answer to my words is blatant. "Because this is is his home, Katniss. You're his home," he emphasizes.

"No," I instantly repel. "No, I'm not his home. Don't even say that. I-I'm not..." I can't seem to make the words come out intelligibility. Instead, I find myself choking on the sounds and syllables. "What even brought this on, Peeta? Why would you be thinking about this?"

At that, he shrugs and breaks his conflicted gaze away, leaving me boring deep into the side of his skull as if the answers I craved would be visible there. "I was happy," he offers quietly, after a long stretch of silence. "I was happy here with you and it got me thinking of all the ways this could be taken away from me."

Oh, I realize as his words hit me. Of course. Of course that's where his mind went. Because not so long ago, every single good thing in his life, from his family, to his home, to his freedom, to his sanity itself, were all viciously and mercilessly stolen. Of course Peeta has such little faith that anything good will last for him anymore.

Still though. To think of Gale as the thing to ruin our days together, our growing friendship, would almost be laughable if it wasn't so insane.

"Why him though?" I press, unable to comprehend his line of thinking. "Why did you think about him coming back?"

He shoots me the same look again, like he can't understand why I even have to ask. "Because that is one sure way you'd be done with me."

"What?" I exclaim, like he was speaking in a language I'd never heard before. "Why would that mean I'd be done with you?"

Now his expression turns downright exasperated and I feel like mine must match. "Because, Katniss. He's-he's..." He struggles with finding the proper wording again. Something that is so incredibly rare for Peeta Mellark that I don't even register it. "He's the one for you," he continues softly after a moment, no malice in his voice, just what he believes to be facts. "I knew that—I've always known that. Long before I knew much else about you, I knew that Gale and you were practically-"

"Peeta, stop," I cut off, maybe not soon enough. "Gale and me... no," I insist venomously. "No, he..." And if Peeta is struggling to speak, I'm know I'm obviously doomed right now. I take a breath and just stare into the blue pools in his eyes and force myself to speak, even if it's difficult, even if I'd rather be choking on a rusty nail right now. "I will never have anything to do with Gale again," I declare gently, doing my best to remain calm and steady.

Peeta shoots me a wary look and I suddenly have to question if he knows about Gale and the bombs. The question that can never be answered, the connection I'll never be able to prove or disprove, but know in my gut what the answer likely is.

He can't know, if he thinks there's a chance that I'd ever have any sort of relationship with Gale again.

"Peeta," I struggle to get out, feeling breathless before I've even began to utter any of it. "Gale is the one—or he might be the one, I don't know, I'll probably never know—who built or created or wha-"

But he's shaking his head rapidly, comprehension flickering across his face. "Katniss, I know," he says, and reaches out to squeeze my palm again. The unexpected touch sends a shock wave through my body but I'm too overwhelmed to really notice. "Haymitch told me about Gale's part in Prim's death."

I rip my hand away so fast, acting before thinking, betrayal spreading through my entire being before I have the chance to even process his words. "If you know that, why do you think I'd ever have anything to do with him again?"

Peeta is starting to really grind on my nerves with that incredulous look he keeps giving me. It's as if he cannot follow what I'm saying or thinks that I'm not seeing his side of the argument or something else that is quite obviously wrong.

How on earth could Peeta ever think that I would be able to look Gale in the eye after what he did? After what he might have done? Does the might of even make a difference? If there's any discrepancies between if he did or didn't murder Prim, how could I ever hold a conversation with him while that hangs between us? How could I meet his eyes and always be reminded I can never meet her's again? How could I ever trust someone like that, that made callous decisions in the heat of righteous anger? Someone who had no idea what it was like to be forced to murder and have it labeled a game. Someone who actively ignored the warnings of those who had? Who actively allowed himself to be used as a puppet for a radicalist who was no better than Snow himself?

Peeta's voice yanks me from my thoughts. "Because, Katniss," he starts gently, looking rather mournful, effectively softening my anger against him just a bit. "You forgave me. How am I any better?"

I just stare at him. "You couldn't help what you did, Peeta."

"Wasn't Gale used too? Just by Coin instead of Snow?"

"It's not the same thing."

"Why not?"

"You didn't possibly kill my sister. And God knows how many other kids," I finally say, the fight in my voice still hanging on.

"I almost killed you," he reminds me, as if I have forgotten.

"It's not the same thing, Peeta," I whisper again, my eyes more compelling, more insistent, than my voice now. He sees that, as he's gazing deeply into my steel colored irises.

He takes a deep breath, mulling over his words before speaking them aloud. I realize then he must have been thinking about this for a while. The concept disturbs me for some reason. Like he's been having this debate in his head without me and I'm late to the event. Like he was actively having this argument already and didn't think to even get my side of the story first. "What if Snow had programmed me to kill Prim instead of you? Then would you have forgiven me?"

I have to look away at that moment because I outright don't know what to say. Would I have been able to ever forgive him for it, for trying to murder my little sister while not in his right mind? Would I have been able to look past it, to see that he was used and abused and destroyed to get to me? Or would I have been so stuck on the idea of anything hurting Prim that all his trauma would have become background noise? Would Gale be the one here now, having this conversation with me, while I was denouncing Peeta's name?

I can't give him an answer and we swore not to lie to each other, in light of everything we've been through, so instead I turn my eyes up to look into the forlorn blue skies I've become so accustomed to and say the only thing I know is true. "I honestly don't know, Peeta."

He nods at that, almost immediately accepting my honestly. Almost like he anticipated those words from me. And he offers me a small smile before standing himself up off the grass and walking towards the backdoor to my house. "I'm going to head home for the day," he says quietly, with no resentment in his voice.

My heart sinks at his words, as some long stifled string inside of me wishes to attach onto him and hold him here with me. To refuse to let him leave until that forlorn edge evaporates from his gaze. But something more prevalent, more powerful, is also churning inside of me, something that cannot stand being withheld even for a day, and I find myself calling out his name against my better judgment.

"Peeta!" I exclaim urgently, my voice rocky and scratched.

He turns and looks at me, his eyes curious to what I could have to say. And I don't know what else to utter, but the truth. The misunderstanding I'm irrationally unsettled by, the misconception that I can't continue to let fester inside his head.

"Gale was never the one for me."

Peeta blinks in surprise at the blatant assertion. He opens up his mouth to speak several times, confusion marring his features, but nothing comes out.

And in case he somehow wants to rationalize my statement away, in case somewhere in his head the demon Snow planted is trying to squash any assurance my statement may inspire, I repeat myself again.

"Gale was never the one."

A month later.

"Haymitch, come on," I mutter, pushing my old mentor towards the front door. "Go home. Sleep off the alcohol."

The older man murmurs something equally unintelligible and also somehow still undoubtedly rude at me, shoving my hands away from his back, where I'm trying to aim him in the direction of the exit.

"The boy is much gentler," he snaps, swaying heavily with his vigorous words.

"We have always agreed that Peeta is superior to me. You can go to his house if you want him to tuck you in tonight."

Haymitch guffaws at that, out of his skull. "Now wouldn't that make you jealous?"

"Get out!"

"Night night, Sweetheart."

After he's gone, I lock the door in case he tries to come back, tries to raid my kitchen again or use my couch as a free bed.

Nothing is more freighting than thinking I'm alone in my house and then seeing a man sleeping in my living room, first thing in the morning.

As I head upstairs though, I realize what I just did. Giving Haymitch the idea to go to Peeta's house, to torture him with his inebriation like he does me, and I wonder if Peeta's angry with me now.

Not real, long lasting anger, of course. Just simple irritation. But still, as I change into my pajamas and brush out my braid, I wonder if I've now destroyed Peeta's night.

At first the idea of our mentor giving Peeta a hard time tonight still doesn't seem like a too terrible situation to me. Peeta's definitively the one that will put up with the tiresome antics of the old drunk until he can't any longer. He's the one who will be more likely to have mercy on a sloshed Haymitch and let himself lose sleep, too kind for his own good.

But then it hits me that when Peeta loses too much sleep, when his insomnia kicks in, or when commotion keeps him awake, he surely has a flashback the following day. Resting later into the day doesn't help either, as any disruption to his sleep schedule can really mess with him good.

I feel myself rush to the window across from my bed, peering out to look three houses down, to see if I can spot the paunchy old man heading in that direction.

I see nothing and no one. It's the black of night, in the middle of winter. No one else lives in what used to be Victor's Village, aside from us three. The road between our houses is cold and wet and entirely void.

Still, I try to squint, to see if I can make anything out over at Peeta's.

His light is off. That much I can tell. The light in his bedroom is turned off, the room is too dark to see into, porchlight is turned off, and all this indicates he's fast asleep, Haymitch went home to his own house and I have nothing to worry about.

However, something else catches me attention then. Peeta's window. It's open. Just like it used to be. Just like before the Quarter Quell. Even in the middle of winter, in the darkest part of the night, he's always kept his bedroom window open.

I tell myself it's paranoia, or it's neighborly kindness. But I decide to open my window as well, in case I hear Haymitch pounding on Peeta's door and disturbing him at an ungodly hour. In case I hear Haymitch causing a ruckus outside Peeta's house and I have to go get him before he causes any massive disturbance.

I tell myself it's because I feel guilt and not because I miss Peeta, even in my sleep.

Especially in my sleep.

I doze off, desperately forcing myself to believe that lie.

When I wake up three hours later, it's not because Haymitch is making noise. No, he hasn't made a peep that I could hear since I kicked him out.

No, I wake up because of a wholly unexpected cacophonous sound.

I wake up because Peeta is screaming.

Peeta is screaming loud, on top of his lungs, like someone is holding a knife or a gun to his throat at this very moment.

It's a sound I recognize instinctively. And not because it resembles the version of him that was rescued and brought to Thirteen.

No, I recognize the sound because it sounds eerily similar to the noises I make from nightmares of the same events, because of flashbacks of the same memories.

Most victors understand each other to varying degrees. We've all lived through literal hells, we've all had our trauma projected across the country, we've all been through horrible ordeals that almost no one else could ever empathize with.

However, most victors didn't win their games together. Most victors don't know what anyone else's personal nightmares are about. Most victors can't even imagine what any of the others are seeing, in any shadow of a dark room. In a the cobwebs of our minds that not even the most proficient doctor can clear. Most victors can't see the haunting reflection in the dark smeared glass that remains unique to each individual victor.

Except me and Peeta. Except us, the once Star-Crossed Lovers, the girl on fire and the baker's boy, the two mouthpieces of opposing sides of war.

The two of us understand each other on a level deeper than anyone else on the planet can even begin to imagine, and it's this fact that draws me thoughtlessly out of my bed at the sound of his cries, and over the threshold and down the street before I even realize what I'm doing. Before I can contemplate it and think my way out of doing it.

I pound on his door, turning my palm pink with the applied force. "Peeta?" I exclaim but all I hear in response is a gut-wrenching howl in pain. I worry for a moment that he's managed to injury himself somehow. That he's lost his prosthetic in his own frenzy and now is lying helpless on the ground.

I take a chance, pleading silently for the door to be unlocked as I turn the knob.

I'm not sure if I should be grateful that Peeta doesn't lock his doors before going to sleep—he doesn't even close his windows though, so how can I be surprised?—but for the moment I bask in the one lucky instance and make a mental note to yell at him tomorrow for it.

My tired, cold legs shoot up the stairs, racing towards his bedroom blindly through the darkness. "Peeta?" I call out again, quieter now than before, not wanting to give him a heart attack.

After all, an intruder, just about any intruder-even my own mother-appearing in my house in the dead of night, would probably knock me unconscious from the adrenaline overload that would surely overtake me.

Because unlike Peeta, I do lock my door—every single door in my house—at night, the image of anyone coming to hurt me while I'm asleep and at my most vulnerable too powerful for me to rationalize away.

But Peeta doesn't hear my voice now and even without any light, I easily locate his bedroom. Despite the fact I've never been in it before. That revelation occurs to me as I'm about to open the door.

Even in our closest and most sacred moments together, I never once set foot inside his bedroom. I'd barely even walked into his house prior to coming back to Twelve after the war. And when I did come here now, we typically stayed in the kitchen or art room for some reason.

All this races through the back of my mind as I push the door open and reveal Peeta, tangled up in his bed sheets, bare-chested and sleeping in only his pajama pants. His fingers clawing at the wall ferociously, his eyes wild as the deer I hunt, when they realize I'm there at the very last second before the arrow pierces their hearts.

"Peeta," I whisper now, my concern for what must have set him off overtaking any qualms I may still have. I try to tell myself to be careful and keep a safe distance, as I don't know if he's himself right now or if he's once again the loaded weapon Snow broke him down and turned him into.

But when he looks at me, his blue eyes wide and wet and terrified and awed, like he thinks I'm nothing but a dream, I can't make myself believe he's anyone but the boy who saved my life years ago. So many years ago now, it seems.

And when he whispers my name and blindly, instinctively, desperately, reaches for me, I just can't make myself stay away. Without hesitating, I lunge forward and for the first time since the Quarter Quell, I throw myself straight into his arms, like I belong there.

My arms wrap around his neck and I feel him pull my body to his, pulling me down against him, molding our two shaky forms together as one. He pulls my legs around his waist and wraps me in a hug so tight my ribs physically hurt and I can't even breathe.

I burrow my face into the skin of his throat, inhaling his scent in an unabashed, reckless act, and turn my cold cheek to lay against his rapid beating heart.

"I thought you were dead," is the first thing he whispers, as the tears still running down his face hit my forehead.

"I'm not," I promise, trying to make my voice convincing, even as I'm reeling by this sudden turn of events.

I never, in a million years, thought I'd ever end up in his arms like this again. This embrace, this comfort, is something else I truly believed Snow had stolen away from me.

"I dreamed you died," he whimpers again, like he didn't hear me.

"I'm here, Peeta. I heard you having a nightmare and I came. As fast as I could." I don't know why I feel the need to tell him this information, but when his trembling starts to lessen I feel slightly validated.

"I lost you," he whispers, his voice hoarse and broken.

"You couldn't lose me if you tried." The words come out without warning, and I'm glad somehow. I'm so tired of words being held back or dropped between us, of neither of us knowing what to say to the other. Of shoving down what we're both really feeling.

Even if right now may be the worst time for declarations, with Peeta exhausted and upset and visibly traumatized, I still feel relief spread all over my body, for having the guts to say what I'm thinking for once.

I see the wheels beginning to turn now, in his bloodshot, puffy eyes as he slowly begins to process the last couple of minutes that's brought us back into the position we held nightly only one year ago.

Has it really only been a year?

I expect then for him to recoil away from me, or apologize even, citing that he doesn't know what possibly came over him. But, to my surprise, he does none of that. Instead Peeta hugs me tighter to him, pulling up the covers he'd kicked away, effectively sheltering us beneath their protective warmth.

"Stay," he whispers into my hair, his arms shaking as they become a soothing balm around me, leaving me feeling safe in a way I refuse to ask for. Giving me back a refuge I considered all but gone. "Please, Katniss, stay with me?"

Without thinking twice, without giving myself a chance to second-guess the words, I whisper into his chest, exactly where I can feel his beating heart, "Always."

#everlark #thg #everlark fic #the hunger games #prompt #play with me 🥰#ask #fanfic #my writing #fanfiction #gravity ♥️ 🌅 🥖#cate 🦋🧸💗💐

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matchamorphosis · 4 years ago

Text

𝑀𝐸𝐿𝐿𝐼𝐿𝐿𝐴 𝐶𝐴𝑅𝑅𝐼𝑆𝐼𝑀𝐴

𝑙𝑖𝑡𝑡𝑙𝑒 ℎ𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑦 𝑑𝑒𝑎𝑟𝑒𝑠𝑡, 𝑦𝑜𝑢’𝑟𝑒 𝑠𝑤𝑒𝑒𝑡𝑛𝑒𝑠𝑠 𝑖𝑠 𝑎𝑑𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑛𝑔.

𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑎𝑟𝑦 || our beloved and sweet Steve Rogers tries to boost his sweethearts mood with music, pasta and art.

𝑔𝑒𝑛𝑟𝑒 || fluffiest fluffy fluff

𝑝𝑎𝑖𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 || avenger!steve rogers × black!fem!reader

𝓌𝑜𝓇𝒹 𝒸𝑜𝓊𝓃𝓉 | 3.1K

𝑤𝑎𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑠 || 18+ sfw, depression mention, anxiety mention, a little bit of crying, red pasta sauce on white shirts, a lot of kissing, steamy scenes hinting smut but not detailing it any further, cringe poetry at the end. — minors do interact —

𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑔 𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑚𝑝𝑡𝑠 || be my baby by the ronnettes . man on the moon by zella day . adore you by harry styles

𝑤. 𝑛𝑜𝑡𝑒 || i’ve been meaning to get this idea out and I finally managed to do so! pretty please like, reblog, and comment what you guys think and if you like my content follow me to see more of my future works! anyways, enjoy reading cherubs!

he notices the shift in the air.

the lack of your smiles and sweet giggles around the house. the house always silent now without you passionately speaking about a novel or book your obsessed with.

an absence of blasting music you would usually play when you’re experimenting with a new recipe. the soft music of your soothing humming as you take care of the vegetable and flower garden. or simply just openly talking about your plans that you’ve planned to him.

instead of being enveloped in the virtuous sunshine that you were. spreading your rich buttery rays— a grey cloud has formed. for you wake in silence, cook in silence, just breathe in silence.

it’s not good silence… it’s a grey silence that sets a dreary fog in the sunny Brooklyn brownstone. Steve has been wanting to know what’s upsetting you so sorrowfully yet the move to confront you about it isn’t the touch up he really wants.

the night before when you tucked yourself in bed his thoughts instantly knew that tomorrow was going to be your day. all for you and specially catered for you and only you to give your heart whatever it needed.

anything to see his sweetheart smile again and to hear the symphony of her laughter.

the morning comes and Steven wakes before you, showers and prepares a breakfast in bed meal fit for a fairy queen in those mystic fairy tales. bringing it to you when you stretch your arms and legs on the crisp cotton sheets of your shared bed.

♡ naked you are from the precious love making from the night before, your eyes widen at the tray in Steve’s hands and he smirks when your eyes gaze to his bare chest that isn’t covered by the white button up

♡ “good morning sweetheart,” he says steadily placing the tray to your sheet covered lap, you quirk and eyebrow to him, it’s mainly you who makes the breakfast because he always makes the pancakes lumpy with unsifted flour and eggs crunchy with shells

♡ waiting eyes filled with adoration he’s looking down on you just waiting or you to take a bite of his self made meal and you look down with a shaking laugh before taking the fork besides the plate of pancakes and taking a bite in them

♡ as you expected you bit into a lump of raw batter yet you forced the swallow the bite down, covering the thick taste of pancake batter with a fresh bite of a strawberry

♡ “they weren’t any good were they? try the eggs- and I promise no egg shells this time!” he explains taking the plate of pancakes and moves the steaming small plate in front of you, and you’re surprised as you notice the eggs weren’t abnormally dry and cold or runny with excess butter and milk

♡ the eggs go into a yellow contrast against the colorful colors of red peppers, chives, and mushrooms with little pieces of bacon here and there you were willing to actually enjoy this

♡ lifting your fork you look up at his eager eyes as you take a bite of his eggs and your utmost surprised to find them delicious, your mouth watery for another bite

♡ and with that other bite steve smiles and internally praises the aggressive five step Gordon Ramsey YouTube video he watched

♡ sure he wasted eight eggs and a ton of your garden vegetables in making the perfect scrambled eggs for you but it was worth it seeing you finishing the last bits of fluffy egg

♡ you wash it down with a cup of coffee steve prepared for you, humming in delight, one of the many things steve rogers can get right and not overthink is the right amount of sugar and cream in your coffee

♡ the soft sips between you two as you both enjoy your cooling cups, steve opens the rest of the soft curtains of the large windows letting the sunlight fill the room you keep the cool white sheet against your chest

♡ finally feeling like today is going to be a good day you find that it couldn’t get better when you lightly gasp as steve trips on the small persian rug, spilling some of the lukewarm bitter liquid from his daisy yellow mug onto his white button up

♡ the laugh that exerts you is untamable but the playful glare of steve’s stare also is as he takes of the button up and throws it into the woven laundry basket in the corner of the room, taking a slight advantage as you gaze upon his muscled structure

♡ the jump from his position to the bed is heavy enough on the mattress that you bounce up, causing the coffee in your mug to spill on you

♡ the gasp that follows steves laugh is return by your piercing glare as you settle the coffee mug down on the night dresser besides you

♡ smacking steve’s shoulder away as he attempts to draw closer and closer to your exposed chest, having you soaked the white sheets with the brown liquid your neck and upper chest are sticky with coffee and smelt like it to

♡ “go away, i’m mad at you,” you murmur but you don’t even attempt to push steves face away from your neck, his tongue licking the sweet coffee from your skin

♡ “c’mon sweetheart, even when I made you breakfast and fucked you good last night,” he says, the same devious tongue sliding down from your collarbones dips to the space between your cleavage and steve snuggles his face in the warm of it

♡ the sun's glare streaming from the open windows shine on you two as you feel steve’s muscled arms wrap around your waist, “steven?” you quirk although those strong arms are swift enough to carry you over his shoulder, a giggle leaves your mouth as you’re carried from your bed to the bathroom

♡ steve starting the shower, the steaming water and gentle soap foam scrubs cleanse the sticky coffee from both your skin but it seemed the coffee wasn’t the only sticky warm essence that needed to be cleaned from both your skin

♡ the afternoon rolled by, the steamy interactions of you and steve in the shower ended hours ago however the same teasing is still persisting as you two prepare your lunch

♡ you and him have loved the pasta in that one restaurant he took you on a date months ago, and it was like a single sparking magnet as you two both said that pasta would be great this evening

♡ so immediately, you jumped from your side of the couch forgetting the remote in your hands as you surfed through the channels and he followed you after dog earring his current page of his book

♡ and for once in a short while cooking in your own kitchen is bringing you joy again, the chopping board in front of you presenting the sliced tomatoes fresh from your garden, you’re thrilled that this summer beared more than last years crop

♡ turning your head over your shoulder you see steve hovering over the stove, stirring the minced garlic and onions that soak and simmer in the olive oil in the large pot, slightly moving his shoulders and hips to the upbeat temple of The Ronettes

♡ you shake your hips turning and walking by his side, his eyes never leaving yours he stirs the mixture as you place the tomatoes in the steaming pot the delicious hiss of the juicy redness basking in the garlicky onion oil has you both hovering your noses over the pot and taking a deep inhale, giggling as you two let the pot come to a heavy simmer

♡ you refill your empty glass with wine again, noticing steves is empty as well you refill his as you savor in the open mouthed neck kisses, teasfully scolding steve as he bites

♡ the music coming from the small tiny stereo is impossible for it to flood the thoughts in your mind but it seems to do its lyrical magic as steve takes you by the hand and twirls, hands at your hips and yours on his broad shoulders you dance and waltz around the grand white marble kitchen

♡ the misplaced steps eased with wine soaked giggles and chuckles, the smell of the ready tomato sauce, shredded parmesan, and homemade flour pasta dough transport you two to that lovely date you two had at the italian restaurant months ago

♡ even though you two can dance forever, both your tired feet hurry to complete your homemade meal; the sight of the red sauce drenching the thick noodles with the shredded pieces of cheese on top and the buttered bread basket have you both hurrying to prepare the lunch outdoors

♡ dressing the backyard table handsomely, the checkered red and white table cloth covers the rusty ancient metal the scene beautiful around the vast flowers and green vegetation

♡ white china plates along with the companying wine glass, shiny forks and napkins go atop; the bottle of red wine and pot of pasta in the middle you complete the table with a vase of fresh plucked flowers

♡ steve grabs your waist from behind, you lace your fingers with his as you find your both swaying side by side, you move your head to see steves eighth glass empty softly smiling as his lips reach down to kiss your cheek

♡ it only makes him wrap his arms around you tighter; “dear?” interrupting his trail of kisses he only hums a response, continue to dance while adorning your neck with his wine-suckled lips

♡ “what are you doing?” the deep giggle from your lips is replaced with a moan once you feel his fingers rub your cunt through your blue gingham sundress

♡ “i’m sorry darling but I can’t think when you’re around, you drive me,” he whispers and that makes you smirk, “you can’t get drunk steven, may I remind you that dreaded blessing doesn’t grace you,”

♡ that remark is disregarded as you moan yet again when his hand creeps under the hem of the dress, trailing his fingers to rub the wetness of your underwear

♡ “I get drunk off your love, you are indeed a blessing in disguise,” he hums in your ear

♡ “and what would the disguise be? dreaded?” your voice slightly weak although you keep your best to respond in the same teaseful manner

♡ “when I get drunk off your love, I understand more and more that anything dreaded about you is how addicting your love is.”

♡ that helps ease the uneasiness in your belly a little but your quietness isn’t so reassuring so he twirls you in the spot, he will not have you unhappy on this special day

♡ “let’s eat baby, I hate to waste our meal to only dig into the one in front of me,” his words reel a bashful smile from you and you two find your way to your table, finally forking the cheesy pasta into your mouths it goes excellent along with the buttered rolls and glasses of wine

♡ forceful after forkful, glass after glass you two talk just how you two used to and the feeling fills the anxiety riddled hole in your chest, he enjoys the strong smiles and giggles from you as you both childishly slurp your pasta and wine

♡ a loud drunken snicker spills from your mouth when his forkful of pasta lands on his white button up again and again, the poor white article stained with red pasta sauce and red splotches of wine, his second one of the day

♡ “steven I fear for the next white button up in your closet,” you giggle and he rolls his eyes at you however a smug smirk forms as he shrugs his shoulders

♡ “you’re right dear, I wouldn’t want to add onto our laundry,” he says and you smile while taking a sip of your wine and he disguards the stained article of clothing to the empty chair besides him

♡ the white wifebeater showcasing his thick arms and toned chest, the yellow sun rays seem to fully bask his body, creating a golden glow against his skin

♡ even when you could unashamedly stare at him forever you feel your face heating up as his smirk and sexually provoking stare meets your eyes

♡ you roll your eyes at his handsome smug face, looking down at your plate, your forkful of pasta in one hand and glass in the other

♡ steve goes back to his pasta however his wandering hands rest on your knee and you aren’t surprised how you practically melt just from that action

♡ “try to not make a mess of yourself steven, you’re doing the laundry this week,” you slyly smirk giggling when he keeps attempting to slip his fingers in between your tightly shut thighs

♡ “don’t worry about me doll, but I can smell your mess from here,” he smirks and you’re breathless as you open your legs and allow his fingers dip into your mess

♡ pure loveliness that’s what you embodied, lying upon the crisp white sheets of cotton the sunlight creates a glowing aura around you

♡ a pencil in his hand he does his best to captivate and illustrate the hills and bends, the dips and curves of your smooth bare skin

♡ the colors are vivid and bright in the cerulean rises of his eyes, the shiny green grass beneath the thin white sheet, your rich skin in the peachy pink sheer drape, the golden rays shining down against the apples of your cheek

♡ how is steve capable of capturing all of this?

♡ there is a twinkle in your eyes, a smile pulling on your shiny lips, the perplexed uncertainty displayed on your lover's face is humorous; the way his fist is under his jaw as he looks in pure concentration at his sketch

♡ you eyeing his bare chested physic is ironic, that now you are mentally sketching your lover as he sits unknowingly mistaken as to what to do to improve his sketch of you, it seems like the universe has planned you two to be parallels

♡ steve looks like the white marble statues those genius architectures long ago spent decades trying to perfect, to make the boulder of marble into something someone could worship

♡ the warm cloud buzzing in your chest is truly youthful and pure knowing this carved marble Adonis is yours, the truth has you smiling to yourself, the sweet sight he’d see all the time despite the few days you were in your sad blue

♡ the joyful beam so pearly white and charming it reminds steve of the beautiful women who covered his mother’s makeup tins, he seems to keep marveling at your beauty instead of sketching

♡ “dear?” your voice soft and smooth it awakens him and moves his eyes from your bare thighs to your eyes, and that’s what he has gone wrong, your eyes; he was never good with drawing eyes and it be an insult trying to draw yours

♡ “yes dear?” his voice coming off an octave deeper the angel he has his head makes a few blond hairs fall from his hairline to his eyes and you giggle

♡ gliding your fingers through the golden locks moving them away to see his blue irises digging into yours, but yours are down to the pink plumpness of his mouth

♡ it’s a tell on the neediness although the sharp features he possesses makes you bat away shy and steve laughs this time

♡ one of his hands softly grabbed your turning face, the smile you both share individually is childish and pure like young school children sharing a kiss at recess

♡ although you two aren’t children the way steve smirks at your state and how your hands touch all the right spots on steve chest is making you guys feel young

♡ if only the sun didn’t have to set you two can bask in the yellow sunlight and enjoy your session of naked body sketches, baskets of strawberries and diamond glasses of rosè

♡ but when your lips touch, the sun doesn’t set nor does it rise for the feel of your mouth against his makes all of humanity reset, the blissful seconds of the warm sunlight leaving your skin you have one another to keep you warm

♡ when your lips part the sun is disappearing in the sky and the moon begins to show herself, the honey bees not swarming the flowers they will return tomorrow morning

♡ the shadow presenting itself in the brick ground and grassy patch garden steve carries you in his arms into the house

♡ as you lay your head on his chest you know that blue feeling in your chest is slowly passing but as someone as patient as steve is to you and the kindness you give to yourself and to him you know

♡ tomorrow will be the different yet hold the same adoration as today, forever

♡ the poem steve has planned for reader that he will read to her before she goes to bed ♡

DEAREST LITTLE HONEY you are a gift for the mind and soul, your sweet remarks and actions are like the buzzing bees of spring. collecting and gathering the yellow pollen, you gently pluck the saturation just from a touch. a shoulder, hand, cheekbone you collect all the sweet smelling pollen from me, yet you give it back.

but how? you may ask, a bumble bee does not give back the pollen it took from a flower! but it does, it returns the pollen from the flower, from time to time in quick seconds with devoted speed, time and amity.

it passes the pollen from flower to flower, till it’s love sprouts thousands more. and the flower the bee started with does not grow old but it eventually releases its seeds of opportunity. for the act of one simple flower, one kind favor sprouted the love and devotion of a thousand. and we should know that I am not a small flower fearing the love of the bumble bees anymore but a field of flowers that continue growing passionately. I am a product, the very nature of the aftermath of your sweetness, my dearest little honey

#steve rogers #steve rogers × woc!reader #steve rogers × reader #steve rogers × black!reader #steve rogers smut #steve rogers fluff #steve rogers imagine #steve rogers head cannon #marvel headcanons #chris evans × black!reader #chris evans × reader #chris evans fluff #chris evans smut #chris evans headcannon #brattycherubwrites

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pastelsandpining · 4 years ago

Text

My Only Wish (Naughty or Nice)

The fifth prompt in 12 Days of Christmas by @zelink-prompts

Prompt List

Cover Art: coming soon!

Words: 2087

Summary: Zelda reads about a foreign holiday called Christmas and decides to bring to life one of the traditions for the other Champions. She’ll need a red suit and a bag of gifts, but luckily she knows just the person to pull off the holly, jolly Santa Claus.

BotW Pre-Calamity Zelink, not AoC related!

Zelink-mas 2020 l Masterlist

Link was beginning to wonder if the pressure was getting to the princess. She was always pushing forwards in the face of adversity, but it wasn’t her frustration and sadness that made him believe she’d finally cracked.

It was when they took up residence in her study and she whirled on him with a book in her hands about goddesses only knew what.

“I’ve conducted some research,” she began, which was not new to him but filled him with a sense of playful dread anyway, “regarding Hylia’s Day and other holidays we celebrate here in Hyrule. We know that culture and religion are the basis of all holidays, and the difference in what is celebrated and how stems from those traditions. I was curious about the world outside of Hyrule. I thought perhaps I could read something about their beliefs and traditions that could help me awaken my power, but I found a celebration that’s incredibly similar to ours.”

She dropped the book on her desk and cracked it open, beckoning for him to join her. He stepped over, standing close enough so that when he leaned forwards to join her over the pages of the book, he could smell the flowery scent of her hair.

He couldn’t read anything on the page. Not when his attention was taken up entirely by her. So he listened to her speak again, following her fingers dancing along the page.

“A religion referred to as Christianity celebrates something called Christmas. For worshipers of the faith, this day is celebrated as the birth of their savior. But the holiday became something widely celebrated by people not of that faith. It became a day of giving gifts and spending time with family. People decorate with trees and lights and hold grand parties. And just like how Hylia brings joy and peace to families on Hylia’s Eve, they too have a figure that travels to every corner of the world, leaving gifts for the children! Multiple sources have claimed that this figure keeps a list sorting the children into categories—meaning whether or not they’ve been naughty in the past year, or nice. Naughty children are given coal, which is quite funny really. He goes by quite a bit of names, too. Father Christmas, Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, Saint Nicholas—but they’re essentially talking about the same figure.”

“There’s a lot of similarities,” Link agreed, glancing in her direction.

“I know what you’re thinking. What does any of this have to do with the sealing power?” Her cheeks flushed, the pink tint reaching to the tips of her ears. “Well, ah… it doesn’t. But Hylia’s Day is coming up and… and everyone’s been so down and patience is wearing thin and I thought perhaps we could do something to cheer everyone up.”

He wasn’t sure what sort of unseen force compelled him to obey the princess. Yet he couldn’t even bring himself to think that the scheme she’d come up with was absurd. He’d follow her to the ends of Hyrule should she ask him to.

It was why he wasn’t exactly surprised to find himself accompanying Zelda and a holly, jolly Daruk across Hyrule. Though he couldn’t believe the princess had actually crafted the entirety of Father Christmas’s red outfit.

“This Sandy Claws really doesn’t know fashion,” the Goron said, adjusting the hat upon his head. “The less restrictive the clothing, the better for movement.”

“You play the part very well,” Zelda assured, patting the towering boulder on the arm. “Besides, I read that he’s quite the eater. Children leave out cookies and milk for him, so perhaps you’ll get lucky tonight.”

“If the cookies are prime, crunchy rock, then I can hardly resist. Right, brother?”

Daruk slapped him on his back, sending Link tumbling forwards. Zelda’s arms caught him, and he was quick to regain his balance with the feeling that the Goron did that on purpose.

“Besides, we’re really only visiting the other Champions. I wish we could do more, but we’re lacking the magical sleigh that can travel at the speed of light,” Zelda spoke again, tapping away at the Sheikah Slate.

“Santa leaving Santa a gift, huh?”

“Oh, Link already took care of that. You’re not allowed to open it until the morning.”

Daruk turned to look at him, surprised. Link only shrugged with a small, only slightly smug smile.

“I’m sneaky,” he said. The Goron laughed and Link took a step closer to Zelda to prevent being slapped on the back and sent tumbling off of Death Mountain.

“So what did you deem me?” Daruk asked, his hands resting on his hips to Link’s utter relief.

“Nice, of course,” Zelda replied with a pat to his arm. “I can’t think of anyone who might be classified as naughty.”

Link could think of one.

But he didn’t voice his opinion and instead shrugged in agreement, and the three of them were off to Zora’s Domain. He had to admit wearing the green of the mythical Santa’s Elves was an experience—he felt a sort of respect for the color. But it was nothing compared to how Zelda looked in her costume. She’d really gone all out for this, with a green little hat and all. It was cute, and admirable really, that she was willing to go so far to spread happiness.

Happiness they desperately needed right now, with the Calamity looming ever above their heads and constricting them like a snake.

Anyway.

He supposed it would’ve been hard for anyone not to react upon seeing three oddly dressed individuals, Zora guardsmen included. But all the Princess of Hyrule had to do was smile and they let it go without question.

“What’s your ruling on Mipha, Father Christmas?” Zelda asked, lifting the Sheikah Slate.

“Nice,” Daruk decided, rather unsurprisingly. But Link nodded in agreement.

“Sidon too. Can’t leave something for Mipha and not her little brother,” he pointed out.

“I’m hurt you think I hadn’t considered that,” replied Zelda with a satisfied smile. “Alright, each package is specifically wrapped. Mipha gets the red box with the blue bow, and Sidon is the blue box with the red bow.”

Daruk swung the red sack from his shoulder and rummaged through it.

“You might have to do this one, tiny princess. Not sure how the big guy does it without waking anyone.”

“Oh, I’m sure you’re more than capable! We’ll be right there with you,” Zelda encouraged, pulling something from the Sheikah Slate. “But if you feel you need it, I made an elixir that increases stealth.”

“What would we do without you?”

The trip into Zora’s domain was relatively short after that. Zelda slipped into Mipha’s room to deliver the gift while Daruk and Link took care of Sidon, and she was pleased to know it’d been successful. Then, they were on their way to Gerudo for the next Champion.

“Urbosa was incredibly hard to gift,” the princess said, thinking aloud. But Link was listening anyway, glancing over to her incase she decided to continue.

“What did you end up getting her?” Daruk asked as he paused to rummage through the sack of presents.

“Something of my mother’s,” Zelda replied simply, eyeing the small, wrapped box. “I think she would treasure it.”

A tiny smile graced her lips and Link felt his fingers twitch with the urge to take her hand. But she didn’t look sad. If anything, she looked comforted.

“You should deliver this one, Princess. I mean, Santa or not, Link and I can’t get into town,” Daruk pointed out.

“I’ll be quick,” she promised before disappearing behind the walls of Gerudo Town. And while he knew she was safe there, he always felt an anxiety he couldn’t place.

“She’s real spirited,” said Daruk, nearly knocking Link over with his nudge. “It’s mighty kind of her to want to do this for us.”

“She wants to spread happiness,” he replied with a small shrug.

“And is it working?” the Goron asked. Link didn’t answer, but he made a point to not look at Daruk and instead kept his gaze on the arching entrance to the town. A few minutes later, Zelda came back out and the group made their way to Hebra.

“Revali,” Zelda spoke, tapping at the slate. “What’s your ruling?”

“Naughty,” Link replied, without missing a beat. The Princess stared at him for a moment, then pressed a hand to her mouth to muffle her laughter.

“I don’t want to agree, but..” Daruk said, scratching his beard, “he did call me an ‘oversized pebble’.”

“Revali’s just..”

“Mean,” Link input, cutting Zelda off without really intending to.

“I was going to say young.”

“Well, so are you and the little guy here!” Daruk argued.

“Revali is a strong personality, and the Rito are a proud people,” Zelda stated, crossing her arms over her chest. “It would be rather rude to gift everyone but him.”

“I thought Santa’s whole thing was rewarding the good and punishing the bad,” said Daruk.

“Yes, but Revali isn’t bad, per say. Besides, we didn’t bring any coal.”

“I live on a volcano.”

“..Daruk.. tell me you did not pack coal.”

“That would be a lie, tiny princess.”

It was Link’s turn to fight back a laugh this time, biting the inside of his cheeks to keep it contained.

“Well, I can’t exactly stop you. But be sure to leave the real present too!”

But Daruk had disappeared into Rito Village, leaving the elf-dressed duo behind.

“I still think Revali would be on the naughty list,” Link said with a shrug. Zelda gave him a playful shove.

“Be nice,” she reprimanded, shaking her head.

“Do you think it’s possible for Revali to be nice?”

“I— I refuse to speak ill about any of my Champions,” but she was smiling through her words and that was enough of an agreement for Link. “I do hope Daruk hurries. I’m not sure how long the stealth elixir will last.”

“I’m sure that would make for an interesting sight to wake up to.”

To that, she laughed. Maybe the best part of the night was getting to spend time with her outside of Calamity related business. It almost felt like they were friends.

And then Daruk was back, and the group got ready to part ways.

“Thank you, Daruk. It was fun,” Zelda spoke, setting a hand on his arm.

“The fun’s not done just yet, tiny princess. I’ve got two more on the nice list to gift.” The Goron pulled two more wrapped gifts from his bag, handed one to each of them, then set off for Death Mountain with a wink.

Link looked at the gift in his hands, something a little heavy with a beautiful wrapping job that could only have been done by nimble fingers. He glanced up at Zelda, who seemed just as surprised.

Well, it seemed he wasn’t the only one who snuck something into the bag.

“Um,” she spoke, fiddling with her unopened gift. “I just.. it’s nothing big, but I.. I thought you’d enjoy it and you’re a Champion as well..”

Oh, it was a cue. Link nodded once, then carefully unwrapped the rectangular object. What remained in his hands was a book, and a fairly thick one at that.

“I had to beg every chef I know to get the recipes,” Zelda said again, taking a slight step forward. “It contains food from Faron to Goron City, as much as I could find. I also threw in some older recipes I found in cookbooks in the library, but I’m not sure how good any of them are.”

“I.. thank you,” Link replied, because there was really nothing he could say. He looked up at Zelda and offered a small smile, even if it wouldn’t be enough.

She ducked her head and started to open her own gift. As soon as the treat was revealed, he found it was his turn to nervously explain.

“I heard it’s your favorite. I, uh, scribbled down a recipe I found, so if it’s not good..”

But she was smiling at him, and his words died on his tongue.

“My mother used to make a fruitcake every Hylia’s Day,” she said, and before he could give an apology or say anything else, she was hugging him. “Thank you.”

When Link returned to his quarters for the rest of the night away, he fell asleep with one thought in his head.

One day, he would love to cook every recipe in that book for the Princess.

#zelink #botw link #botw zelda #botw zelink #christmas prompts #zelink prompts #another dunk on revali #he'll never have peace so long as i'm an author

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