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sequinsmile-x · 1 year

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Obsidian - Chapter 1

A smut anthology, set in the Stained Glass Windows universe.

-x-

Hi friends,

As requested by several people, this is a series of smut one shots that fit within the Stained Glass Windows universe.

Some chapters will be linked directly to chapters within the main SGW story and some won't be.

This first chapter is set in Chapter 7 of SGW and is a direct continuation of their first date 👀. Since it's a continuation, I've included part of the original scene from SGW here to really make it flow.

I hope you enjoy this <3

-x-

Words: 3.2k

Warnings: Smut, 18+

Read over on Ao3, or below the cut

It’s everything she’d always imagined it to be and more.

He’s everywhere. His tongue in her mouth as he presses up against her, his chest against hers, the rumble of the moan he knows she’s trying to fight caught up in his ribs. His hands on her back, burning her even through the material of her dress, are a clear attempt at remaining respectful, but somehow that makes her more aware of everything. Of the hem of her dress bunching around the top of her thighs as she sinks deeper into his lap, of him getting harder beneath her, a preview of what was to come.

He holds her close, his hands firm at her lower back as he breathes her in, remembering every little thing he can. She rolls her hips against him and he groans, part of his brain that he’d successfully ignored all evening coming back online as he pulls back from her, unable to stop himself from smiling as she tries to chase his lips.

“Em-”

“If you’re about to tell me you’re a second date kind of guy I might kill you,” she jokes, her words breathless as she smiles at him, her chest heaving slightly as she stares at him.

“No,” he replies, smiling at her as he smoothes some of her hair back, “It’s not that it’s just,” he pauses, unsure how to phrase it, how to put into words the concerns that had kept him from going any further with her despite his entire body screaming at him, “You’re my best friend, Em.”

She beams at him, impossibly more beautiful as she moves one of her hands from behind his neck to cup his cheek, her thumb delicate against his skin.

“You’re my best friend too, against all odds,” she replies, smiling when he chuckles at her attempt at a joke, “That’s why I think this works.”

“I know,” he says, his hands on her hips as he holds her tightly, “I don’t want to lose you.”

“You won’t,” she says simply like it was the easiest thing in the world. She knows it was her turn to take the jump, that he’d been the one to assure her in the motel room where they began and now he needed it in return. It’s how they’d worked since they’d become friends, the give-and-take that they both needed but had never found elsewhere, “I really want this, Aaron. I want you. We can figure out the rest as we go.”

If it was anyone else saying it to him it wouldn’t be enough. He needed to know everything, to have control, but he trusts her. He loves her, he knows that already but won’t say it yet, afraid it was far too much too soon. So he accepts it, simply nodding in response. She smiles as she leans forward to stamp a kiss against his lips and he hesitates.

“For fuck sake, Aaron,” she says, rolling her eyes at him.

“I just want to know you’re sure, sweetheart.”

The term of endearment makes any misplaced anger disappear as quickly as it had appeared, and she shakes her head at him before she leans back enough to pull her dress off, leaving her in the underwear she’d later admit to him that she’d bought specifically for tonight. For him.

“I’m very sure,” she replies, leaning back in to kiss him before he can look at her properly, pleased when he immediately responds this time. His hands are scorching against her skin, his fingerprints branding her ribs as his hands drift over her, mapping out her hills and valleys.

Her skin was so soft he thought it might drive him insane, and he knows that later on he’ll take his time to memorise her, but right now his need for her overrides that. Desperate and overwhelming as he stops fighting the need to know how her skin felt everywhere. He runs his hand down her stomach, stopping as the texture of her changes, his thumb catching on some thicker skin.

She pulls away from him as the need for oxygen takes over, her forehead pressed against his, and she feels his thumb tracing the scar on her abdomen, and she looks down at the same time he does. She swallows thickly as she watches him trace the whole scar, from just below her ribcage, moving outwards onto her belly in a backwards l-shape. It was faded now, the best it would ever be, and sometimes she managed to forget it was there. This was the first time she’d ever told someone the story behind it, coming up with lies on the spot for past partners as they asked curiously, and it felt oddly liberating as well as making her nervous in equal measure that someone knew all of her like this.

“I know it’s not-”

“You’re beautiful,” he says, his hands drifting to her back as he shifts her closer, cutting off her self-deprecating comment she had ready, “So fucking beautiful.”

The compliment makes her blush, alabaster skin turning pink on her cheeks and down her neck and chest, disappearing below her black lace bra. She was a work of art, beyond his imagination, and he couldn’t believe that she was here with him.

“Aaron-” she starts, but her plea for him to touch her is cut off as he leans forward, licking her nipple through her bra, tugging at the material with his teeth. She holds his head against her chest as he moves to her other breast, paying it the same attention, her fingers tight in his hair. His hands trail up her back again, his fingers hooking under the band of her bra before he quickly undoes it, lowering it down her arms and pulling back just enough for him to take it off completely and throw it over his shoulder. He dives back in. His lips directly against her, already sensitive, skin this time, and she groans, the sound coming from somewhere deep within her belly, “Fuck.”

Aaron smiles against the swell of one of her breasts, pride flaring in his chest at the fact he was already having an effect on her and he’d barely even started. He knew it was a mutual thing, that he was already just as addicted to her. To her soft skin, the way she felt on top of him.

“So soft,” he murmurs, kissing up her chest, taking time to suck at the hollow of her collarbone before he moves upwards, his lips on her jaw and then her cheek before he captures her lips with his. His tongue swoops through her mouth, tasting the scotch they’d shared when they first came back to his and something he’d never been able to name that just seemed to be her, “So delicious.”

Emily pulls him back in, her lips fierce against his as she unbuttons his shirt, a desperation to the action that destroys her usual dexterity. She gets frustrated about halfway down, the need to feel his skin against hers overwhelming, and she pulls the shirt apart, buttons scattering across the floor in every direction. If he cares he doesn’t say anything, he simply pulls her closer, both of them groaning as their chests collide, the movement making her hips tilts even deeper towards his. It makes her pull away from the kiss, a whine escaping her as his hips twitch up into her, the brief pressure against her clit almost torturous due to the clothing still between them.

She takes the opportunity to push his shirt down his arms, her eyes fixed on his chest as he throws the shirt in the same direction her bra had gone. He was more toned than she thought he would be, strong in a way that was subtle as his muscles ripple under his skin. A type of safety in his embrace that she had never felt before, something she knew she could quickly get used to. She leans in and kisses his jaw, smiling as he shivers when her breath skips over his ear. She kisses down his chest, her smile only getting wider as she licks over his nipple, his hand in her hair as he pulls her back up into a kiss.

He moves so quickly it takes a moment for it to register, her back against the couch as he looms over her, the look on his face almost animalistic. He places his hand on her abdomen, fingers trailing over her scar as he looks her up and down.

“So fucking beautiful,” he says, leaning down to stamp a kiss against her lips before he quickly moves down, ignoring how she tries to chase him. He licks down the valley in between her breasts and she arches up into it, moaning as he pushes her back down, his hand still firmly on her belly.

She closes her eyes as he gently kisses her scar, tracing the entirety of it with his lips, tenderness that makes her ache in every touch to her skin. It feels like acceptance, like he saw beauty even in the darkest parts of her history, parts she had run away from as soon as she could.

It feels like love, as absurd as that thought felt since this was their first date.

Her breath catches in her chest as he moves south, a soft kiss against the top of her panties and she places her hand on the back of his head, their eyes meeting as he looks up at her, his eyes blown black with desire.

“You okay?”

She chuckles half-heartedly and she nods, “I’m more than okay.”

He smiles and hooks his fingers in the side of her panties to pull them down her legs, purposely running his knuckles down her skin, watching as goose pimples chase him down to her ankles. She automatically lets her legs fall further apart, one of her feet planted on the floor and the other on the couch. He works his way back up her body, dropping a kiss to her knee, then her thigh, as he lays between her legs. He places his palms on her thighs, pressing them further apart, and she groans, the stretch in her muscles pleasant as she watches him in anticipation.

She’s sure she should feel embarrassed or exposed to the way he’s looking at her, but she doesn’t. It makes her feel empowered. Beautiful.

When he finally leans in and licks through her she moans, her head falling back and hitting the cushion behind her, “Holy shit.”

He smirks against her, turning his head just enough to kiss her thigh before he’s on her again, his tongue against her clit. He groans at the taste of her, his hands hooking under her thighs as he hauls her closer, already addicted to her. She wraps a leg around his shoulders, her heel pressing into the middle of his back to hold him in place. The way he was making her feel was the only thing she could think about, pleasure slowly starting to unfurl in her belly. He pushes two fingers into her, and she moans, her thighs clenching around his head.

“That’s it,” she gasps out, encouraging him, “Right there, please don’t stop.”

He does as he’s asked, unrelenting as he continues to roll his tongue over her clit and pump his fingers inside of her, building her up as she continues to whisper encouragement, her hips rolling against his face and hand. When she comes she feels like she’s falling, everything around her disappearing except the feel of him still against her, only slowing down as she comes down from her high.

When she opens her eyes she’s looking right at him. She’s unsure when he moved, how he’d slid up her body without her noticing, but she doesn’t care. She pulls him into a kiss, licking herself from his lips as she pulls him in closer. She reaches for his belt with shaky hands, undoing it and his pants quickly. He helps her out, shuffling his pants and his boxers down just enough for her to grab him, both of them moaning as she wraps her hand around him. The heat of her skin against him makes his hips thrust by themselves and he breaks their kiss to bury his face in her neck, his groan muffled in her sweaty skin.

He was huge. She’d always imagined he would be, and in the brief make-out sessions they’d had since they decided to make a go of this she’d felt him beneath her. She’d grind against him until he’d stop her, insistent on taking her out on a date before they went any further. She clenches around nothing in anticipation, her body shaking with it as she pumps him up and down a few times.

“Take off your pants,” she breathes out, and he’s up quickly, standing so he can remove them quickly. She places her hand on her hip, encouraging him forward and he stops, shaking his head at her. She frowns, “But I want to-”

He leans down and kisses her fiercely, cutting her off before she can convince him to change his mind, “Later, sweetheart.”

She’s not sure if it’s the nickname, or the authoritative undertones to his voice, but she finds herself nodding in silent agreement. He slips in behind her on the couch, his back flat against the back of it as he pulls her into his chest. He reaches between her legs, rubbing over her clit again, spreading the wetness he found there, that he’d created, before he lifts one of her legs back over his. He pauses and she cranes her neck back to look at him, a soft smile on her face as she nods leaning in for a kiss that was softer than one of the ones they’d shared since they walked into his apartment.

He reaches between them and guides himself into her, their kiss breaking as they both groan at the stretch, his forehead against her temple.

She can feel him everywhere, her body overwhelmed by him, pushed almost to its limit as he seats himself entirely inside of her, his hips flush against hers.

“Fuck,” she whimpers, her clenching around him as her eyes roll back into her head, “You feel so fucking good.”

He takes it as a sign to start moving, thrusting his hips back and forth into her, the wet heat of her around him enough to make him lose his mind. It felt like she’d been made for him, like they’d been made for each other. He presses his hand firmly into her lower belly, moving his hips harder against her as it draws a near scream from her, encouraging him to push his palm even deeper into her skin, her only response is a breathless grunt as he steals the words and breath from her lungs. It makes pride wash over him again and he kisses her quickly, fiercely, before he pulls back, words escaping without him really meaning them to.

“You’re so perfect,” he mutters against her skin as he reaches for her hand, linking their fingers together before he puts their joint hands on her stomach, his over hers as he applies pressure there again. She pushes her hips back against him, both of them giving and taking, desperate to make each other feel good. He rests his lips against her temple, the taste of salt on her brow spurring him on, “Feel how perfect you are,” he grunts, his hips getting slowly more sporadic, “Like you were made for me.”

“Aaron,” she gasps, “Don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

She gets impossibly tighter around him, the trembling of her thighs letting him know she was close along with the near constant stream of moans escaping her, as if she was entirely unable to stop herself. He starts to lose control, his hips speeding up as he grunts, his forehead pressing into her temple as the sound of his skin slapping against hers echoes around the room.

“Where?” He asks, and it takes a moment for his question, what he means, to register. They’d discussed it. He had memories that felt blurry now about her saying she was on the pill, that she was clean, but he wanted to be sure. Wanted to know she was sure.

“Insi…fuck,” her breath catches in her throat as his hand moves back down to her clit, rubbing gentle circles against her sensitive skin, “Fuck, inside. Please.”

They come together, tipping over the edge at the same time as they both tense, their bodies seek each other out, pressing impossibly closer as they ride out their highs. The only sound now is their breathing as they try to heave air into their lungs.

He’s gentle as he rests his hand on her waist, pulling out of her before he encourages her to turn to face him, his arms anchoring her to the couch, to him, so she doesn’t fall off. She smiles at him, a daze to it he’d never seen before, a glint in her eyes he’d seen glances of when they were alone.

He’d knocked all of her walls down, her defences gone, and for the first time in a long time, it felt like someone was truly seeing her. It makes her feel exposed, the thought that he knew her so well already somehow more intimate than the fact they’d just fucked on his couch. She isn’t sure what’s worse, the fact that he’s capable of it, of making her feel safe enough to feel this way, or the fact that she doesn’t care.

“Kiss me,” she whispers, the first words either of them had said since they’d come, her voice raspy in the comedown of her orgasm. He does as she’s asked, not that he would have needed any convincing, and he pulls her into a soft kiss, his lips stamped against hers as their noses squish into each other's cheeks.

“I’m sorry our first time was on the couch,” he mutters as he’s still kissing her, guilt that he hadn’t taken her to his bedroom flooding through him now the desperate pleasure was fading.

“I’m not,” she replies, pulling back to look at him, her palm on his cheek, “This was perfect,” she says, frowning when he still looks unsure, “What’s wrong?”

“It’s just…I bought you flowers,” he says, clearing his throat as embarrassment he doesn’t quite understand washes over him as her eyes get brighter, a hint of a smile on her lips, “Wildflowers because I know you love them. They are on the nightstand in my bedroom.”

“Bit presumptuous, don’t you think” she jokes, laughing as his eyes go wide, an apology she doesn’t need already forming on his tongue as if they hadn’t been having sex only minutes ago. As if he wasn’t dripping out of her onto his couch, “Honey, I’m kidding,” she says, kissing him softly, her hand still on his cheek, “That might just be the sweetest thing a guy has ever done for me.”

He leans forward to kiss her, knowing it’s the only thing that will stop him from confessing his love for her right there. She’s smiling when she pulls back, her fingers trailing through his now messy hair.

“Let’s go to bed,” he whispers, his voice dripping with suggestions, and she nods, her teeth digging into her lower lip before she kisses him once more before they stand up, his arm around her waist as she’s unsteady on her feet.

She knew neither of them would be getting much sleep tonight.

-x-

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kiaroscuro · 5 months

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Such a dapper demon birb. I love putting him in random outfits ;)

The first one is vaguely 1920's inspired because I'd been rereading Chrono Crusade and I do love me some period clothing, and the rest is just for fun.

(But also imagine an AU where Ren and Arsene get transported into the past and have to figure out how to get back to the present, only to run into Rosette on a mission. Rosette would be like: Ya also got contracted to a demon, huh? Is he friendly at least?

And Ren and Arsene would just,,, go along with it, somehow ending up at the church. Upon being questioned what fuels the contract, Ren would be like: ...my soul? And Rosette would cheer. Then the three of them (and Chrono) would wreak havoc on Aion's plans and save Joshua, haha)

A little (ok it turned longer than I'd thougth) snippet under the cut bc I got inspired.

---

Rosette stares at the demon-human pair across the street, silently wondering if she should reach for the seal of her watch or if she should shoot at him while his attention is towards the young man he's currently fussing over. She's never really seen a demon who didn't at least try to blend into the surrounding humans unless it was in the throes of an attack, but this one -- while having a humanoid shape -- has a very distinctly non-humanoid skintone and face. Compared to Chrono, who is often mistaken for an Indigenous kid with his dark hair and sun-kissed complexion, whose only giveaway of his demonic nature were his pointy ears and red-slit pupils, the obsidian-skinned demon across the street was a great warning sign.

"Chrono!" She hisses, eyes never leaving the demon as he adjusts the paperboy hat on his... contractor? Lunch? Next victim? "Who is that?"

Chrono shoots her a glare, though he's also focused on the demon, eyes furrowed. "I don't recognize him," he admits, "and I can't get a read on his power other than that it feels cursed."

Rosette blows out a breath she hadn't noticed she'd been holding. "That doesn't narrow anything down, buddy." She moves her hand from the latch of her seal to her trusty gun, lamenting that she doesn't have any of the nifty and new blessed rounds on her because Kate is stingy at the best of times.

...

"...the demon isn't even trying to hide-- are those wings? I thought that was a cape!" He had great feathered wings folded against the fabric of his trenchcoat, and Rosette wonders how no-one around them notices that he was very clearly not human.

"Rosette, don't do anything harsh!" Chrono tries, but by then Rosette is already marching over, never good at doing things like waiting or following orders. Chrono sighs in exasperation and carefully follows after his stubborn contractee, her blonde hair and blue Magdalen uniform easy to track even amongst the afternoon crowd.

He catches up to her right when she stopped in front of the dark-haired human and is already running through possible escapes in his mind when Rosette shoots the mysterious demon a look. She even has her gun out and visible, as if that would intimidate any demonic being other than maybe low-ranking legion constructs. "What are you doing with the boy, huh?" She asks, sotto voce.

Chrono felt like burying his face in his hands. So much for remaining calm in this highly strange situation. At least this demon seems more amused than anything, if his tilted head is any indication. The human splutters. "I'm sorry--" he starts, and Rosette steamrolls over him.

"You know that that's a demon, right? Are you in danger? I'm with the Magdalen Order, if you need help you can just say so."

"...ah," Chrono mutters, helpless. The demon and young man -- he's really not a boy, considering he seemed a few years older than Rosette -- share a glance, before the human looks down at himself.

"...we've been shopping, actually, because someone insisted that I need to try to blend in with the locals better."

"Thou do, yes. I'd like to think I've done a pretty good job of it, too." The demon says, his voice echoing in a way Chrono recognizes from high-ranking telepaths. Slightly echo-y, both loud and somehow in the mind. Humans weren't made for telepathy, so he doubted Rosette noticed anything weird about his voice, though maybe Satella or Azmaria would notice it.

The human rolls his eyes and turns back towards Rosette, expression wry. "I'm Ren Amamiya, this is my partner Arsene, it's a pleasure to meet you, Ms Magdalen Order."

Rosette splutters and introduces herself and Chrono after a second, and he focuses on Arsene's face to figure out if recognition will flash in those fiery eyes or not. The demon appears amused at her behavior but not otherwise murdery. He doesn't even appear to recognize Chrono's name, for whatever reason.

And then Chrono blinks. "...partner?" He asks, unsure if he's misheard. He and Rosette share a pointed glance, Chrono's eyes falling to her contract watch, before they turn back towards the two. Rosette's at least packed away her gun, finally.

"Yep," Ren says, popping the 'p', something wary in his posture all of a sudden.

Rosette stares. Chrono has a sudden, bad feeling about this. "...you know that he's a demon." She starts.

"He's certainly a devilish fiend, yes." Ren says, with amusement.

"And you're contracted to each other?" Rosette continues.

"For a given manner of the word, oui." Arsene answers this time, something cautious in his tone.

"Hush. I'm talking to Ren. You know that he's feeding on your soul if you're contracted."

Ren eyes her, and then Chrono, and then Arsene before his gaze falls back to Rosette's, something calculating in it that reminds Chrono dangerously of Aion, back when everything had been normal and before their Rite of Tuning. "You could almost say that we're of one soul, considering we share it."

Rosette nods, lost to the minute details that Chrono's been noticing. "And you still call him your partner and seem friendly towards him?" She asks, hands on her hip, any previous anymosity forgotten. Sometimes, Chrono despaired. Ren and Arsene share another glance before Ren smiles at them with a gentle shrug.

"Of course. The only people who have to worry about Arsene being a danger are husbands." After a beat of silence, he adds: "Because he loves to flirt with women," which lowers Chrono's hackles. Arsene rolls(?) his eyes good-naturedly.

"I was haggling down the price of thy hat, dear." He says, and Rosette snorts at that, completely at ease even while Chrono can't get the feeling off of his chest that this was one strange demon.

But then again, didn't he have to flee Pandemonium in the first place because he and the other Sinners had been 'strange' in the eyes of the Elders as well? Failures? It's possible that Arsene was running low on legion or was otherwise running low on astral and that was why he wasn't trying to appear particularly human, or maybe he's never gotten the hang of it in the first place, like Shader.

...though he did still have his horns, so he should be able to channel the astral energy and shouldn't even need a contract in the first place, unless he was otherwisely hurt somehow -- Chrono knows that they'd spoken the truth about 'sharing' Ren's soul, because the human's imprint was all over Arsene. It's possible that the other demon wasn't as strong as Chrono and thus could keep an open line to the human without quickly draining him like Chrono always did to Rosette whenever she opened the seal, because he had been a very strong demon in his prime, and was still powerful even with the restrictions.

"Ah, we wouldn't want to impose..." Ren says, carefully, and Chrono notices that he's completely tuned out of the discussion like an idiot. He's immediately back on high alert, but no-one's seemed to have died in the interim, so he calms down again.

Rosette is all smiles. "Nope, consider it an apology that I was so harsh to you two earlier." She says, and Ren demurrs a moment later:

"In that case, we'll gladly tag along to dinner with you." He says, with a nod from Arsene, and Chrono... blinks.

With what funds? Not the Orders, right, Rosette? He thought, but of course there was no answer from Rosette as she talked about the excellent selection of meat-based dishes from Antonio's.

Not the Order's funds, Rosette! Chrono despaired.

#myart #persona 5 #chrono crusade #arsene #ren amamiya #ren x arsene #they're soft and in love and i am just slightly obsessed #yay for hyperfixations #my writing #rosette christopher #chrno #help it turned into an actual fic #what the hell that hadn't been the plan #chrono and rosette share a single braincell and it usually belongs to azmaria #rosette meets one (1) potential friendly demon-human contract pair and is like: we'll be friends if you want to be or not #ren and arsene who use the term 'partner' in a romantic sense: you're partners huh #rosette who has too much in her head for romance: yep! we're absolutely partners! chrono is the best partner I could hope for!#chrono who noticed the tone: ah rosette -- that's not what--

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kobblefort · 1 year

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The End of Rushsly

Endgame spoilers for Dwarf Fortress under the cut

In the third cavern layer, one forgotten beast shows up to kill the previous, as tends to happen with forgotten beasts. Up above, the kobbles finally make a refuse pile and discover just how much mussel shell waste they generate. The butchers got to work fixing the "why do we have 30 stray dogs here" problem. And down at the bottom of the world, after all hope was given up on and we just started digging massive chunks like wild cunts...

A pocket of water, obsidian, and gems. Well, it's not adamantine just yet, but I've never even seen a "star ruby" before. And on top of that...

It literally explodes into flames when you hit it sometimes.

Treasure, treasure!!! Literally buried in the walls! A twisting metal scimitar named Leto Bemta - the Boat of Salves - worth more than one of our entire bins full of gems thus far. Obsidian and diamonds. It has to be close. And there's also...

blood? But Zirga wasn't a miner, they never even came down here. And R'eekeek, didn't they die years ago?

It needs to be carved out fully and completely. Nobody's been hurt by the water gushing forth yet, which is a blessing - it's already slow enough for the miners to get down here from the tavern or their apartments. But it's not adamantine yet. More, more. Come on, give me more.

I get more.

Anl was pretty cool. Getting his head exploded by the stomp of a snow wraith is at least a quick way to go, if not a glamorous one. The snow wraith earned herself a name with that kill: Shosclylr. "Badfogs." She takes a second to acquaint herself with the world of the living for a moment, then charges up the stairs. The marksbolds have already been sent down to deal with her. There's no reason we'll have to seal the whole shaft up over one single monster, right?

Even a well-made steel helm only offers one extra second in the face of this beast. I didn't really know Almic. She kills a woodcutter who was in the area picking up gems the same way, Driliv. I didn't really know Driliv either. Tulys Worthspun and Case Griffonboats are next, marksbolds. She just kicks the poor bastards' heads into paste. Kikli Shakenmarks and Syl Destinedechoes die just as fast, and she hasn't even taken a scratch.

A new title, "the Mongrel of Mirroring." I'm calling it off. I'm sealing the shaft. Urd Putridcharms, Alcr Dressworm and Rota Tickbrave barely escape before the hatches are sealed and the doors are barred.

But there was one last person in the shaft. Nucra Framegarnishes.

It ends the same way.

With the last of its prey killed, pulped in a mere instant like all the rest, it just sits there, self-satisfied. It doesn't need to eat or sleep or anything else; it can wait forever.

I can't know how everyone in this room feels about having been turned away before going to face it, but I can't imagine it's good.

This would be a good place to stop, you know. The fortress is entirely self-sufficient, fully stocked, we could just say that we learned our lesson, closed off the shaft entirely and never went back. That avarice's wage can only be paid in blood, that there are things kobble kind was never meant to find.

But what kind of climax would that be?

I want my adamantine.

We've dealt with beasts like this before. There's a way to do this without any more undue bloodshed. There's absolutely no reason to stop. We still have five miners left, and plenty more layabouts who can become one if the need arises.

Once the shape of the monster is revealed, most kobbles that come down to assist in preparing the fortifications turn tail and flee as soon as they enter the firing chamber. Nucra Framegarnishes has begun rotting, stinking, seeping the miasma of death through the walls - and reminding everyone of the agony that not being able to bury them provides. Winter ends, and the year 256 begins. A seventh year of Rushsly. That's supposed to be a lucky number. But even the marksbolds don't believe they're safe, and make up excuses - just before reaching the chamber, "oh, I've got to fill up my waterskin." "Am I sure these are the right bolts?" "I think there might be a better-fitting pair of gauntlets upstairs, I should try those on first."

More goddamn gnolls. The two that almost make it in are crushed in the drawbridge. Why now?

Cire Ghostivy, who always seems to be out on the surface when this happens, is bludgeoned repeatedly by a gnoll thief using their bag as a weapon. It goes on for agonizingly long until he finally dies. These gnolls are from The Ace Seductions, for what it's worth, so they probably didn't get the memo about the fake entranceway with all the traps, as evidenced by one letting his hand get sliced off by a serrated iron disc before, you guessed it, stepping right on a cage trap.

Those who don't anticlimactically step on cage traps end up shredded by the weapon traps instead. Their lives and deaths are hardly worth mentioning. But down at the bottom of the earth...

It takes a few handfuls of bolts, but the snow wraith is finally defeated, bursting into chunks of its constituent snow before us. Finally, it's safe to bury the fallen kobbles. You might notice by the absurd little patrol route that it took some real finagling to actually make the kobbles attack, but finagle we did.

I'm not sure "pyrrhic victory" is the right word to use here, and I can't be assed to look it up, but it certainly isn't a feel-good story. Dralas Containedbanded got the final shot, so we won't be congratulating a new Beast Slayer. Tomb space is starting to come at a premium, and it's hard not to think: all that just for some gems? We already had gems. Adamantine, damnit, adamantine. What I want is adamantine.

Anl Crystaldepth, son of clan leader Alsrta Moltenend, created this magnetite scepter during all that chaos, with a truly impressive value, though it's not particularly interesting. It feels like a lot of the artifacts we've created just have images of gems on them - along with the gems, obviously, sometimes it's like they can't get the gem they actually want and just draw it on there. Very few pieces that tell any kind of story, though if we're here in a few years, that'll probably change - Badfogs the Mongrel of Mirroring might not be the catchiest name, but it should prove hard to forget.

The butchering spree had very predictable results.

Some action from the second cavern layer gives me a pretty good idea of where, exactly, my framerate went, so I cheer on Ashan Plaguehole's optimization efforts. I notice a bunch of kobbles canceling jobs and panicking and start wondering why until I remember...

they can literally see into there, lol. And unfortunately...

It takes this many goddamn names in the combat log to do it, but Ashan goes down at last. The ant people go back to their business, and we've got to get back to ours.

I don't learn my lesson.

Through Zhasrca Foldcounselled's sacrifice, it is finally revealed to us.

One little completely inaccessible tile of adamantine deep at the bottom of the great magma sea.

You know what?

Fuck this.

youtube

I'd grown tired of this fort a while ago, thus the slowing pace of updates. The deep-digging schtick ground all our industry and the actually fun stuff going on in our fortress to a halt. After checking with "reveal hell" in dfhack, I discovered two "HFS Tubes" with the tiniest bits of adamantine to recover from them that are completely inaccessible from just about any angle without going through the hassle of waiting for kobbles to set up pumps and die stupidly channeling out magma. I could just go gung-ho straight into the hole and unleash all the demons and everybody dies, but why? Is that really funny? Is that really interesting? Of course you thought I was going to do that because I am unhinged and it's funny to make all the pretend little virtual people die stupidly but I don't want to. I like my kobbles. I like Ace Steel running around with her three kids in one hand and her massive steel axe in the other casually being one of the greatest warriors kobblekind will ever see. I like Acl Controlledown running around doing the most menial fucking chores like fetching water and burning logs into charcoal despite being the literal founder of the fortress, I like Alsrta Moltenend randomly freaking out about the prospect of someone not making her a bunch of rings fast enough, I liked Cire Ghostivy's dumb ass always being out fishing when trouble came and finally having to pay for it, I liked Zil Dentedleaks being so miserable it was on the precipice of snapping for every moment of its entire life yet never actually doing it. I know it would be totally freaking epic o_O;; for everybody to just all suddenly die stupidly but this game is about stories and that's a dumb story. Rushsly isn't about kobbles getting Punished For Avarice it's about bird towers and were-turtles and drawbridge accidents. So it's going to end here.

There will be plenty more forts because I really like to play this game and writing about it makes it feel a lot less like a waste of time. We're still going to find out what my deal with David Cage is but not today. I said this much earlier but Rushsly will quite literally still be here, persisting in the world as the self-sufficient fortress we created, maybe even becoming the kobble equivalent of Mountainhome in time if the next schmuck who runs it doesn't get everyone slaughtered by gnolls and ratfolk. It's not like there wasn't a climax here: I think the carnage Badfogs caused was more than enough of a big final action sequence to satisfy me and Zhasrca breaking into the magma sea was exactly where I'd like to cap off the denouement. So that's it. Rushsly is retired. As long as they can keep the meat off the floor and the forgotten beasts on their own side of the walls, they might just make it indefinitely. I'd like to make a much less ambitious fortress next, one with a twist - this one was plenty of fun but very straightforward. I'm thinking about either Untamed Wilds or a glacier, and since Rushsly was so isolationist (visitors were never actually allowed into taverns or temples, just for trading) I'd like to do one that's a bit more "public." Whatever the case, we'll be back in Daarunbay Detevay soon. Very soon. I mean like, probably tonight soon.

Thanks for reading

#dwarf fortress #kobblefort #df spoilers

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kiwibirdlafayette · 2 years

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im bored at work and feel like rambling about some mianite verse c!Tom headcanons. so backstory headcanon time

cw for zombie related things and (temporary) character death. under a cut just to be safe

I like to imagine because its implied that the Minecraft Project precedes Mianite S1 (NOT Isles that shit chronologically takes place after S2 when him and Jordan travel back in time to that era i refuse to believe anything else), that Tom starts in that realm/universe. We''ll dub it for the time being Astrakheins (iykyk) as a human. Unzombified.

I don't really know much about TMP in terms if theres a canon storyline but in this HC at least the Syndicate family has a long history of running the industry in this era and in time, the mantle falls to Thomas and his sister Alice. Under their command, the world flourishes into a prosperous empire of farming, mining and resources. In addition, a strong bond is formed with a goddess by the name of Ianite and her the Voidwalkers of the End and the mysterious beings of the nether.

However, as things go. Things go.

Within a couple years of being in charge, Tom falls ill with a mysterious infection that starts to... turn him. While he maintains a healthy physical state, he notices the skin on his hands rotting at the seams of former injuries, his hair changing from its usual brown blonde to a sickly cerulean. Alice and the others come to him with concerns, but the zombification is nothing to him. He goes on as normal, and is quite productive to say the least.

However, it isn't until after the ender dragon fight where something changes, where the illness begins to take over him in a way that renders him bedridden for weeks. Ianite herself has no idea where it could have come from, instead citing a possible origin from the Nether, which in the absence of any god has been slowly deteriorating. And to her knowledge, there is no way of fighting it. He tries to move, but eventually becomes completely immobile despite multiple limb surgeries.

And one day, his eyes closed and would not open again.

Heartbroken, Alice had no choice but to bury him, and continue on. The empire could not fall this easily. Little did she know, as she laid her brother to rest in the ground, something, not of this world watched on. Sitting. Waiting.

And finally it struck.

In the middle of a business meeting with redstone engineers from the End, a multiversal rift tears a gaping chasm through the sky, the edges burning with a blaze unlike anything the citizens had ever seen before. From it jumped a demon, a dragon, a god with furiously glowing golden eyes and a cloak covered in hot ash, his gaze set on one thing only.

The grave of Tom Syndicate.

Using the power he must have possessed he raises a wall of obsidian, magma and blackstone so high that no one can get to him, regardless of how powerful- including Alice. She frantically reaches into her pockets and calls to Ianite.

No answer.

Within he chants a language not ever having been spoken in Astrakheins before, breaking the ground at his feet to rise pools of lava lifting the body of the zombified man before him, opening his fully black eyes and red pupils to face the god.

Tom himself didn't quite know where he was, in all honesty.

He recognizes some things, some builds, some faces. His memory is foggy. He retains some names, the skills in which it would take to survive, but he hadn't come back right. He hadn't come back the same.

None of what he does remember is alluring enough to insist on staying when the god before him, introducing himself as Dianite, offers to take Tom to this realm of anarchy to serve as his champion.

Champion. How could he resist such a title? Especially after this guy seems to have brought him back from a limbo he was stuck in.

The conversation is not heard by others. But it must have been rather promising to have a deal struck in such a short time.

The walls around him and his god crumble to the ground. The earth closes up and the lava returns to its underground tomb. Dianite raises his blade to the sky in victory, and flies up, Tom trailing closely after. He goes almost without second thought back through the rift, sealing it shut behind him almost as quickly as it had opened.

And that's the last Alice and Astrakheins ever sees of Tom "SynHD" Syndicate.

For now.

#mianite #tom syndicate #mianite headcanon #lafakiwi writes #cw zombie #tw character death #tw fictional illness #the alice lore ill add on later i cant let yall know who the Nowhere is yet :]c #anyway yeah enjoy this #i mostly needed to write it out for a Specific Other Thing #before I forgot what i had written the next time i do lore on it #but yeah. anyway excuses for post-revival capsize having tom knowing that kinda feeling. of not really recalling all of their past lives #the zombificiation beam that hit tom is a little abstract in nature but just hear me out #gkm writer arc

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kaylinasher · 2 years

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youtube

Love is not romance and flowers. Love is not always butterflies and longing looks. Love is action, sacrifice, and hard work. It is sometimes brutal, bloody, and violent. It will drive a person to do unspeakable things to protect another. If Valentine's Day is about love, true love, then this is the perfect story for today.

TW = VIOLENCE, MENTION OF TORTURE, BLOOD, DAMIEN IS STILL A DICKHEAD...K?

While Damien had taken precautions with Asher, those with Kaylin had been far more lax. He had imagined her nothing more than a weak and spoiled Princess like her mother. That is where his grave miscalculation came. His own Generals and Asher had trained her to fight, use weapons, and in magic. So it was before dawn when she roused from the unconsciousness her father's boot kick had relegated her to.

Her body ached, her head thumped, the world around her felt unstable, but she was unguarded and alive. The last two were the most dangerous for both Damien and anyone between her and Asher, because there was one more thing Damien didn't know: his own father had known that one day he would turn on his daughter, and he'd made provisions. Provisions that would change the course of everything

Sunlight is too much for you to bear

It's high time you came up for air

Don't hide a single thing

Behind your perfect skin

Don't keep your secrets in a prayer

As soon as her head cleared enough that raising it from the stone floor did not make the world spin and bring forth a new wave of nausea, Kaylin crawled over to the massive wardrobe that was opposite her bed. Laying flat on the floor again, she stuck her hand underneath and pulled out a silk bag that made a slight jingle. Inside were two black cuff bracelets and a golden chain with what appeared to be a carved obsidian pendant. They were gifts from her grandfather, Lucifer. She'd been told to hide them and if her father ever became a threat, use them. She had no idea what they would do, but Lucifer was the person she trusted right after Asher.

As soon as she slipped them on , the nausea abated and the vertigo ceased. She could feel her healing speed increasing. Maybe her great-grandfather Div had a hand in the creation of the pieces as well. Soon she'd be able to ask them herself, but she had other matters to attend to first.

Sitting up, she pulled open the large doors to the wardrobe as quietly as she could. Her strength WAS returning; but she wasn’t ready to try out her ability to fight just yet, and certainly not naked. First thing to do was clothing, and she knew just what she wanted. At the bottom of the wardrobe, hidden behind all of the garments appropriate for royalty was a set of black utility pants, a black long sleeve top, her thick socks, and her boots. It seemed the perfect outfit for the occasion, and her father HAD always preached being appropriately dressed at all times.

There is nothing you can say or do

I won't cut you loose, no

So break the silence

We know that we can brave it all

Whatever enchantment her grandfather, and possibly great-grandfather, had placed upon the jewelry seemed to be increasing in its speed of healing. By the time she had retrieved all of her clothing, she was able to stand up to put it on. No unsteadiness remained at all. That fact had a malevolent smirk forming on her lips as she walked to her bed and began to reach under the mattress to pull out a few weapons that Asher had gifted her. He could not have known she would one day use them to save him. Since she was sure Div wasn't going to be on her father’s side, nor Lucifer, nor her cousins, that meant everyone between her and Asher were now well and truly fucked.

When she started to head out of her room, dawn was just breaking. Soon she knew Asher’s execution would take place. Her father had ordered him to the dungeon so she traced to a small storage room at the bottom of the stairs that led there. For several minutes she stood still and silent listening to everything that was transpiring outside.

Her father’s voice could be heard giving orders. There were at least two others with him, but she couldn't hear Asher. Tears pricked at her eyes but rage burned in her heart as she believed she was too late. It had taken her too long, and she had failed him. But she would give payback.

If you're hoping we'll be home

Don't be afraid to ask for help

It won't make me love you any less

Don't hide behind me

You're strong enough to face the fall

It won't make me love you any less

As soon as she was sure her father had gone up the stairs into the main part of the castle, Kaylin exited her hiding place with the stealth of a trained assassin. She crossed the short distance to the guard at the bottom of the stairs. Not a sound was heard to give him warning before she struck, the blade on her dagger so sharp that when she slit his throat she nearly decapitated him. Black blood coated the opposite wall and the bottom two stairs.

There hadn't been the sound of anything been dragged when she heard her father pass the room she'd been hiding in, so she hoped that he'd left Asher’s body in whatever cell he'd been held in. At least she could take him to the Palace and see if Abriella could do SOMETHING. She'd beg, even trade her own life.

Just as stealthily as she'd snuck up on the first guard, Kaylin moved down the hallway that led to the cells. Keeping to the balls of her feet, she was soundless. As she came to the last corner, he was relieved to see there was only one guard. Asher had to be dead, her father would never leave only one guard with him. The guard would just become a snack.

No shame, no hurt, nothing to lose

My love my heart don't need to prove

And there's nothing you can say or do

There's no one that can change my mind

It's not a weakness, we all have our crosses to bear

Even though once more Kaylin was absolutely silent, the guard caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to face her. "Well, what do we have here? Daddy just went to get you, little girl. Come down early to have some pre-festivity fun?" He leered at her and she felt nauseous. She kept her dagger behind her back, she was going to enjoy his death.

"You could say that." Kaylin’s voice was smooth as silk. Years of faking obligations for her father had ensured she had no problem acting a part. "Do you really think you're man enough to entertain me?" She wasn't even having to work to fall into seduction mode, it was easier than it had been with the Duke. "I can be very particular in how I like to be pleased."

The guard sauntered over towards her, leaving his weapon on the small table next to where he'd been standing. It was clear that he found her no threat. She did so love to be underestimated. The saccharine sweet smile remained on her face until the very last second, giving no indication of her plans. Then she struck without warning.

This time she was facing her opponent and while her movements were to fast for him to stop, she did end up covered in a significant amount of blood when she effortlessly slit his throat then flipped her grip on the dagger to drive it into his temple til the blade tip exited on the other side of his skull. When she withdrew her blade, he fell to the floor, dead.

"Enjoy Caligo, bastard." She spat on him.

If you're hoping we'll be home

Don't be afraid to ask for help

It won't make me love you any less

Don't hide behind me

You're strong enough to face the fall

Woah, it won't make me love you any less

Kaylin closed her eyes and steeled her heart to go into the "traitors cell" where her father always conducted his torture. She knew what she would find, her heart breaking and her resolve threatening to crumble. But she couldn't leave his body there, she would not give Damien that satisfaction. She would take it with her to the Palace and beg for her cousins to let her bury him there in the Field of Warriors if Abriella would not use her powers of necromancy.

Then she heard the sweetest sound she'd ever heard in her life. Her name. Just a whisper. The faintest whisper. But HIS whisper and that was all that mattered.

Time to call me from the cold

Time to let the truth be told

It won't make me love you any less

After digging through the guards pockets for the keys, she was in the cell in a flash. The sight of yellow blood splattered on everywhere had her desire for vengeance rising with each beat of her heart. Asher’s head was hanging, his hair saturated with his blood, and a pool of it surrounding his feet; but as she drew close to him she could see his chest moving still. Thank The Source that he was alive and she hD not imagined that whisper! Placing her hands gently on the sides of his face, she raised his head and looked into his eyes, tears brimming in hers and found her breath stolen by all she saw. The normal spark that she saw in them was dimmed and fading, but the fight was still in them. She had to get him out of the cell so that he could heal and so that she could get them to the Palace for help.

“Hold on, Ash. Please.” She pleaded, then added what she had been unable to tell him earlier due to them being interrupted. “I love you too.” A soft kiss on his lips he, then she gently released his head down. Kneeling, her fingers slipped in his blood a few times but she was finally able to undo the shackles holding his feet. She knew they didn’t have long before someone found out that she wasn’t in her room and came looking for her, so she was trying to hurry, but the amount of blood in the cell was a hamper. No doubt that they would know that she was down with Asher. They’d have to know she would never leave without him.

Once his feet were free she stood, letting him lean against her to take the weight off of his already ravaged wrists. His yellow blood coated his forearms, and even partially his upper arms as well, making then slick also. As fast as she could, she found the key on the ring that released the manacles that held his wrists. When his full weight fell on her, he knees buckled at first, but she was too stubborn to fail now. Locking her legs, she slid her arms under his shoulders, “come on, Ash, you’ve got to help me. We’ve just got to make it to the door. I'll get us home.”

Closing her eyes and summoning every ounce of strength she had in her aching and still bruised body, she started backing towards the door. Her hands on his back could feel that it had been completely ravaged by her fathers sadistic brutality; of the two of them, he was the worse off by far Kaylin was determined that even if she died when they landed in the Palace, she was going to get him out of here and make sure he was safe. This was her fault, all her fault. He had paid for her wanting him in human form in her father's castle.

With each step that Kaylin took, Asher tried to as well. He knew his weight on her was slowing them down, but the damage that Damien had done was not healing because of the iron that had been on him and encased the room was slowing his healing. He couldn’t let her die in this cell for trying to save him, he’d already failed up in her room by letting them get the upper hand on him and not defending her better. He should have taken her from this place when she admitted that their feelings were mutual. If he'd just protected her they wouldn't be in this position. Instead, he failed her.

If you're hoping we'll be home

Don't be afraid to ask for help

It won't make me love you any less

Don't hide behind me

You're strong enough to face the fall

Woah, it won't make me love you any less

They were only a few feet from the door when Kaylin heard her father’s voice bellowing down the stairs from the floor above to search the whole castle for her. She didn’t hear his boots coming down yet, but that didn’t mean that he wouldn’t be at any moment. One foot out of the cell, that was all she needed. One foot out and she could get her fire magic to work and trace to the Palace, anywhere in the Palace. “Okay, dragon, now would be a good time to shift into your tiny form, or help a little more. You’re kind of heavy and we’re about to have guests, handsome.” She kissed his cheek because she was about to cause him more pain and she hated it, but there was no way around it. They HAD to get the fuck out of that cell. "I'm so sorry…"

Asher was about to give a sarcastic retort back to Kaylin’s comment when she locked her hands across his ravaged back and yanked, throwing all of her weight backwards and pulling. He knew WHY she was doing it, but that did not mean the white hot, blinding pain that shot through his entire being, almost making him lose control over all function, was any more bearable. What it did do, however, was to cause him to jerk one foot up as his body tried to free itself from whatever was causing the further torment that his nerves were being subjected to. When that foot came down it was forward of his body. Focusing every single ounce of strength that remained within him, he pushed against the floor with that foot with a roar. He could feel when they cleared the threshold, then they were engulfed in flames.

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jaeyunverse · 2 years

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[12:48 p.m.] The tension between you and Park Jongseong couldn’t have been cut even with the sharpest of knives.

It was a wonder how no one else was noticing the way he was staring at you. Sitting across from him at the table, you could practically feel his gaze drilling holes into your forehead. No matter how much you tried to ignore him and focus on the salad on your plate, you kept feeling like you were shrinking under his scrutiny.

You couldn’t really blame your friends for their lack of observation, though, since most of them were still hammered from your visit to the club the previous night.

God, you wanted to forget what went down yesterday so much. Horrible wasn’t even a good enough word to describe how terribly you’d messed up.

You did not regret kissing Jongseong, however, you did hate yourself for leaving him alone without any explanations right after. You could only imagine how confused he must have felt.

You knew your behaviour warranted an apology, but you couldn’t figure out how to approach him about it.

Did he even want to be approached? Did the kiss even mean anything to him? Would you only be making a fool out of yourself by saying sorry for something he didn’t even care about?

Your and Jongseong’s relationship had been strained ever since high school. Even now, you didn’t know the real reason behind your fallout. All you could remember was that one day, you suddenly began using your vulnerabilities as weapons against each other.

It was unclear who started it, but your loathing had graduated along with you and followed you into college. You supposed that somewhere along the way, the line between hatred and attraction had become very thin.

Sharing a heated kiss in that hallway had only erased it forever.

“You okay, Y/N?” Yeji asked, finally noticing how distant you were acting.

You stopped playing with your salad and gave your best friend a weak smile. “Just tired. I think I have to go to the restroom. Be right back.”

Getting up from your seat, you began walking away before she could offer to come with you.

You needed to be alone and far away from Jongseong.

Unfortunately, luck wasn’t on your side. The moment you entered the empty washroom, a pair of hands slammed your back into the wall, caging you.

“What the fuck are you doing?” you hissed.

“What the fuck are you doing?” Jongseong shot back, glaring down at you. His eyes were depthless pits of obsidian, and you were slightly intimidated by how angry he seemed. “We need to talk about last night.”

Refusing to avert your gaze, you said, “I was drunk—”

“Why did you leave me alone?”

Your mouth parted open in surprise. The last thing you’d expected him to ask you was that.

“I—” you began, trying to come up with an answer. “I freaked out. I’m sorry,” you added.

“Why’d you freak out?” Jongseong asked without skipping a beat. “I kissed you back.”

“I freaked out because you kissed me back,” you snapped. “Like I said, I was drunk. I thought you would have realised that and pushed me away.”

That was a huge lie. Since Yeji’s well-being had been your responsibility, you had stayed away from liquor. In hindsight, it hadn’t really stopped you from making bad decisions, though.

Jongseong chuckled bitterly. “Stop lying. I know what a drunk person smells like. Tastes like. You were clean and you consented.”

He was right. Kissing him had been something so unimaginable that he had pulled away immediately and demanded to know if you were drunk. The moment you had convinced him—with a lot of effort, no less—that you weren’t, he had captured your lips in a desperate haze.

“Do you really find me so repulsive?” he continued, taking a step away from you. Guilt clenched your heart upon seeing hurt flash across his face.

“No,” you said. “I don’t find you repulsive. I can’t stop thinking about you and it’s driving me fucking crazy.”

Jongseong’s eyes widened in surprise, his breathing becoming laboured. “Then why’d you suddenly leave?”

“Because I wasn’t supposed to kiss you!” you burst out. “I wasn’t supposed to let my goddamn emotions get the better of me! I wasn’t supposed to lose control! But I did, Jongseong, and when I realised, I fucking ran.”

For a few moments, he didn’t speak, the shock of your revelations rendering him speechless. He could only stare at you as he tried to process everything. And then,

“Are you losing control right now?”

That was all it took for you to snap once more. Grabbing the nape of his shirt, you smashed your lips against his.

Jongseong was quick to react. He snaked an arm around your waist and pulled you close, pushing the back of your neck with his hand to deepen the kiss.

Tilting your neck to the side to give him better access, you let your own hands travel to his hair and wove your fingers through the strands.

You opened your mouth for his tongue, but a knock cut you off. “Y/N?”

Shoving him away, you cleared your throat and hastily fixed your appearance. “Yeah, Yeji?”

“Everything okay in there?” her muffled voice filtered through the door. “You’ve been a while.”

“I’ll be outside in a minute. You can go back,” you said, meeting Jongseong’s gaze.

Yeji seemed to hesitate, but then you heard her shuffle away. “Okay.”

Once the sound of her footsteps had completely faded, you turned to face Jongseong.

“Later?” he spoke before you could, annoyance evident in his voice. You couldn’t even blame him for being pissed at being interrupted—you pretty much shared the same sentiment.

You nodded, already moving towards the door. “Text me.”

That was the second time you left Park Jongseong behind. He wasn’t worried, though, because this time you had promised to return.

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artzychic27 · 3 years

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Hey! Uhm, so, what's the plot for the Nathaniel gets akumatized, Lila uses Marc as shield, Nath accidentaly hurts him and he goes ballistic?

Like, it's Evillustrator or someone else? And does Marc get severly injuried? How screwed Lila will be when Nath finaly gets his hands on her?

I love your fics so much!!

(Sorry, I’m just seeing this 😅🥲)

@nerd-chocolate helped me out with this

And this fic happens a little something like…

It’s another day at DuPont for our favorite artist, he’s just grabbing his lunch out of his locker when…

He hears a conversation between Lila and Marinette coming from the girl’s bathroom

At first, he thinks to ignore it, thinking Lila’s just giving one of her empty threats (He knows Lila’s a liar) until he hears Marinette scream and then Lila hissing for her to keep her mouth shut

Lila walked out of the bathroom, but when she sees Nathaniel and figured he must at heard her, she tried to make it seem like she was defending herself, but Nathaniel tells her to cut the bullshit and she drops the act

Instead of threatening to make him a social outcast, Lila decides to hit him where it hurts. She threatens to beat Marc up

Nathaniel is very tempted to stab her, but Marinette calms him down

As soon as Lila leaves, Nathaniel breaks down into angry tears, upset that he can’t do anything to help Marinette at risk of Marc getting hurt, and while she does try to calm him down, an Akuma gets to him

Hawkmoth: Blah blah blah, Inferno, blah blah blah, do you accept?

While the Akuma Cloud™️ surrounds him, Marinette makes a break for it to transform. In Nath’s place is an Akuma dressed in this gold armor, carrying a sword, and it looks like his hair is made of fire

He storms out of the locker room, and the floor he walks on singes

Meanwhile in the cafeteria, the class is starting to become bored of Lila’s endless stories

Mendelieve’s class watches from the sidelines, making bets on when she’ll be exposed

Lacey: I bet… Today.

Simon: *Scoffs* Sure, Lacey. Lila will be exposed on this day and… Hades will drag us to his domain. *A ring of fire appears in the middle of the room* I take it back! I’m not ready to go!

Inferno then emerges from the fire ring all dramatically

Lila is quick to run out of the cafeteria and into the courtyard with Inferno chasing after her with his sword, all the while yelling for everyone to hear what she said to Marinette

Marc: She said what?

Jean: Damn, I wish someone would fight for my honor like that.

Just when Inferno finally has Lila cornered and blocks people (including Ladybug) off attempting to rescue her with rings of fire, Lila, at the last second grabs someone to use as a human shield before he can hit her with his sword

But… The person she grabbed was Marc

Much to the shock and utter horror of pretty much everyone in the courtyard, Inferno’s sword slashes Marc’s arm, leaving a burning gash

Inferno starts to freak out (Imagine Carrie’s hallucination after the pig’s blood got dumped on her) as smoke and ash begin to surround him

Now in his place is a being made entirely out of magma and black chunks of rock with flaming hair who has to be at least as tall as the school (Imagine if Te-Ka and Obsidian had a kid)

Not liking where this was going, Lila ran with Inferno running after her

Ladybug gets over her shock and chases after them, but every time she gets close enough to Inferno, he throws fire at her

Chat Noir arrives and attempts to help, but they’re still no match for the Akuma

Just when they think things can’t get any worse, Inferno creates fire monsters to help him look for Lila

Chat Noir: … We’re gonna need a lot of water.

Ladybug: *Remembers the Dragon Miraculous… Then remembers Kagami isn’t in town right now*

As they try to think of someone else to use the Miraculous, a hoard of fire monsters find and chase after them until someone pulls them to safety, Cosette

(No, they’re weren’t cutting school, just having lunch with their family today)

Cosette: Wanna explain how Te Ka ended up in Paris?!

After explaining what they know, Chat Noir then suggests that Cosette should use the Miraculous

Cosette: Yes, yes, yes and YES!

Wyvern joins the team, Ladybug’s Lucky Charm is a badass water gun… THIS!

That’s all I’ll share for now… Also, I’m gonna figure out a way to add this scene in the fic for Inferno and Marc

I WILL figure out a way, mark my words!

#miraculous ladybug #miraculous #marc x nathaniel #nathaniel kurtzberg #marc anciel #ao3fic #akuma #just saw this ask #sorry #akumatized nathaniel #ao3 #fanfic #mlb ocs #dragon miraculous

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visd3stele · 3 years

Note

Can you do a fanfic where post TWK during her exile Judeis on a date Cardan sees gets jealous and decides to “punish” Jude smut of course

'Course, fox :)

thanks sm for the request, I hope it's what you expected 💛

°•▪︎~▪︎•° masterlist ; requests °•▪︎~▪︎•°

TW: smut, hate/angry sex, rough, penetrative (vaginal), oral (m receiving), unprotected (do NOT do it), lack of consent at the beginning (which IS NEVER OK) going to vague/unclear/hinting consent (which still ISN'T good enough), praising (like once or twice), a bit of Cardan's tail (quite innocently), begging and kind of degradation (not really, but idk how to call it and it seemed appropriate to have a warning for it) and orgasm dnial

- think that's all, lmk if I missed anything

A/N: I really, really, wish this went well. It's actually my first time writing smut and I don't know what I'm doing tbh. I hope it's not confusing and that it makes sense lol.

Sorry for the delay, as well, my mental health hasn't been the best these days and I couldn't manage to write one paragraph without deleting it right away...

Bow down, your highness!

"Hello, Jude." That voice. The voice she never thought she'd hear again. A cold timbre running down her spine. Cardan Greenbriar, the High King of Elfhame.

The young king has waltzed his way towards the booth where Jude and stranger were having dinner together after spending a good fifteen minutes at least fuming outside and watching with clenched fists through the windows of the restaurant. Cardan had been sending Jude letters to ask her to return by his side ever since her exile, and all the while she ignored him for mortals. Unacceptable!

"Cardan?" Jude wan on her feet in an instant, fingers itching towards the cutlery on the table. She imagined stabbing the traitorous husband for months on no end and seeing him seemed to be the spark her fury needed to fully ignite. "What do you want?" She hissed.

"So rude of you, Jude. Aren't you going to introduce me?" Cardan fixed her with his dark gaze, obsidian eyes ablaze with anger to match Jude's own. He didn't bother to hide his fae form, pointy ears adorned with silver lined jewels and tail cutting the air behind him, slashing with dangerous force like one of the queen's daggers.

"I think you should leave, dude," Jude's date begun, noticing the effect Cardan had on her. But he ran out of words when he turned and his eyes landed on the tall, lean, otherworldly figure. "What the-" This time the fae boy stopped the speech, waving a hand and freezing everyone for a private chat with his wife.

"Turn them back to normal," Jude threatened.

"So worried for these mortals, Jude. Or is it just this one?" The king pointed with disgust at her date.

"What do you want?"

"You." A simple statement. An easy demeanor. A plain word. But for Jude, it was the oxygen that fueled the fire. She closed the distance between them, stepping thickly and raising her fisted hands ready for a fight.

"Me? ME? You stupid, ignorant, lying bastard! You exiled me in front of the whole court!" She yelled, each word emphasized with a punch. His shoulder, his chest, his arm. Cardan did nothing to stop her, schooling his features to never betray the pain she actually inflicted on him. Except for when Jude tried to get him in the face. He caught her wrist, then, bringing her closer to him.

So close, their bodies were pressed together, chests fighting for dominance with every breath. Cardan's free hand sneaked around Jude's waist, holding her in place with his palm placed tightly on her lower back.

"Let go of me, you-" gasping, Jude's words came to a halt when Cardan's lips captured hers, claiming het mouth ferociously.

"You're my wife, Jude. Shouldn't have forget that," the fae king said when he pulled away, menace lingering in his dry voice. Jude made a face, breaking her hand free and opening her mouth to speak another river of insults. But before she could manage to do that, the strange, yet familiar, scent of magic engulfed her. And with a blink, Jude Duarte found herself back in the royal chambers in Elfhame.

°•▪︎~▪︎•°

"I thought I'm never to return again," the mortal queen of fairies mused, inhaling deeply to calm down. In a battle it's always better to have a cool, leveled head.

Cardan rolled his eyes. "As if I'd believe you."

She wiped her head to look at him, frowning. "You betrayed me!"

"You did it first! You lied and used me to your own gain."

"And you pushed me around for years, making my life a living hell with your senseless friends."

"I married you in the end," Cardan said and for a moment a glimpse of guilt flashed through his eyes, only to be replaced by hurt and then hatred when Jude scoffed.

"That was a big, fat lie and you know it."

"I cannot lie, as you're aware of. You, on the other hand, can only speak lies."

Jude felt her cheeks heating with the overly well known feeling she always got near Cardan. Though she could never quite name it, it was strong, overwhelming and it clouded her mind in all the wrong times.

"Alright, then, here's a truth for you. I," she marched forward, "hate," her feet stormed over the polished floor, "you!" Jude was now face to face with Cardan again, close enough to wrap her hands around his neck and k...

"Then why can't you keep your distance?" He mocked, leaning closer, his breath brushing the tip of her nose. Jude scoffed and tried to push him, but with a stealth recently discovered in his trainings with the Court of Shadows, Cardan caught her arms, turned them both around and pinned her to the nearest wall.

As much as Jude was better built than the fae king, the latter took her by surprise, heart skipping a beat as the proximity made it impossible to clear her mind. The hungry look in his eyes didn't help either. His pupils dilated so much the line between them and his black irises blurred and almost faded completely.

"What? No more clever words for me, Jude?" His hands traveled to her hips, digging in the cold material of the jeans, keeping her in place. The mortal girl swallowed hard, confused, yet still boiling with the anger of a wounded ego and hurt pride.

Composing herself, Jude brought her head forward, a crack echoing in the room when her forehead hit his chin. "You had a chance, Cardan. Now take me back. Elfhame is no longer worth it." You are no longer worth it, were the words that hanged unspoken.

Cardan pushed her back with renewed force, squeezing her waist and taking one more step in her space. "You're my wife, Jude. Mine!" He empathized his words with another kiss. This time he bit her lower lip, earning a yelp of surprise that parted her mouth. Seizing the opportunity, the king slithered his tongue past her teeth, exploring. With a sound of defiance, Jude tangled her own tongue with his, kissing him back in a type of fight she wasn't used to. But Jude wouldn't yield to Cardan. No matter what they're playing at.

Soon, these thoughts would flee her mind. When the High king would pull apart, sending her a satisfied smirk. When she'd struggle to process it, having his lips pressed to her neck.

Indeed, Cardan now grazed his teeth against the sensitive skin of Jude's throat, licking and biting his way downwards. His mouth attached itself to her collarbone, a tickling sensation spreading through Jude's body. A spasm lightly shook her. Grinning cruelly, Cardan traced the skin of her neck with his nose, stealing taunting kisses until his mouth reached her ear. Nibbling at her lobe, sucking at the skin underneath it, the fae whispered in Jude's ear.

His breath was hot and swift like an unexpected breeze and the mortal queen took her time understanding what he said. "Do you wanted him to do this to you?"

A moan left her lips and her eyes widened in surprise. Cardan chuckled darkly, continuing his attacks on her neck. But this time, his mouth traveled lower. Down inside her decolletage, teasing the warm skin of her breasts. And his hands joined right after, sneaking under her shirt and playing with the keys of her bra. "Is this what you did all these months? Fooling around with that mortal man?"

Jude felt like she was losing, spinning out of control. "And what if I did?" She retorted. "You made it clear I'm not welcomed back, so why not, right?" She wanted to hurt him. And she did, but Cardan wouldn't show it. Not tonight.

He launched his mouth back on hers, kissing and biting and licking, claiming her lips as if he could push back her words like this.

His hands were roaming again, snapping her bra open and lifting it above her breasts underneath the shirt. His long fingers traced their shape tentatively, thumbs circling the hard nipples. He cupped and squeezed, drawing a muffled moan from Jude. When Cardan broke the kiss for air, he used the time to toss away the shirt and the bra, renewing his descend on Jude's body. His lips tested the valley of her breasts, the feverish skin of her upper abdomen. Whenever his teeth pinched, Jude would squirm under his touch, whenever she felt his tongue on her, she'd scratch her nails against the wall, moans wailing out of her throat.

His tail wrapped around her waist, securing the girl when Cardan's cold hands slipped beneath her belt. Twitching the material of her panties between his fingers, the fae king suddenly stopped. "Is it him you want?"

Jude made out a strangled sound, unnerved and disappointed. She tried to talk, but her voice was lost. "Is it?" Cardan asked again, putting more force into his words this time, voice edging with a hint of fear and heartbreak. Jude considered lying again. Saying yes and forcing him to take her back. But she wanted more. More of Cardan, more of his touch, more of his experience and attention. "Tell me, Jude," the mortal queen gulped when the king stood up against her again, his fingers now digging in the soft flash of her butt.

"No."

"No? What do you want, then?" The fae asked, a self pleased grin tugging at his sharp features. Jude's breath itched, then accelerated when light caught the lust in his eyes, mirroring hers.

"You," her voice was barely a whisper, but it sent Cardan's mind in a flip, thoughts leaving him as he claimed her mouth once more.

"Again." He groaned. The fur of his tail tickled her spine. "What do you want?"

"You," she forced out, eyes fluttering close as Cardan's hands reached for the button of her jeans. "Say that again, Jude. You want me?"

"Yes."

"Say it," the tail squeezed tighter around her bare middle and Jude became vaguely aware that her pants were gone as well. "I- I want you, Cardan." She breathed out, quickly, impatiently. To which the young king responded with a guttural moan, dwelling in the feeling of hearing Jude say those words. But Cardan couldn't forget the months his queen spent in the mortal land, neither could he pretend she didn't went out on dates. A slow smile itched on his lips, dark and mischievous, like its owner.

"Then prove it." Their eyes met, staring unmovingly for what seemed like hours until one of the king's maniquered eyebrows arched in a silent dare. "It's time to bow down, your highness," he rasped out, trailing his gaze to the floor and back to Jude. "Get on your knees for me, Jude." Cardan's tone was taunting as he traced his thumb over her swollen lips.

The mortal's heart raced against her rib cage when she passed her tongue over her lips, forgetting about her husband's finger laying innocently on the pink flesh of her mouth. She watched as he gulped, his Adam's apple bobbing while his feather light touch hardened on her face. And without leaving his gaze, Jude sunk on her knees.

Cardan's smirk widened. The High King had imagined this times before: Jude, on her knees before him, ready and willing to please him. He loosened the ties of his pants, freeing his hard erection. His fingers threaded through her hair, bringing Jude's head closer. She finally broke the eye contact, focusing as she brushed her parted lips over his cock's tip. Cardan's grip on her head tighten, and with a swift motion he bucked his hips against her mouth. The sharp movement pushed the fae king's dick further down her throat and the mortal's eyes widened before recovering and rolling her tongue over it.

The High King set a terribly fast pace, keeping his hands on Jude's head to coordinate her. She licked up and down, lips brushing the sensitive skin as Jude sucked on the fae's cock. Her moans vibrated against him, sending Cardan in a frenzy. "Good girl," he rasped softly. One more roll of his hips caused Jude to lose balance. Her palms moved forward, supporting her weight.

The king groaned, the image of his wife on all fours building the familiar knot in his stomach. But he wasn't done yet. "Get up." As soon as she did, he pushed her back to the wall. Jude was biting her bottom lip, disheveled, feeling warm and heated on the inside – a mix of ecstasy and embarrassment. When Cardan tossed away his own shirt, completely bare like herself, Jude couldn't stop her hands from touching the light muscles of his chest. "So eager to touch me."

As the words left his mouth, the fae king picked the mortal up. Jude's legs snapped wide open, circling Cardan's waist. Without warning, he thrusted inside her, snatching from her a breathless gasp. "Cardan," she moaned.

"That's it, Jude. There's only me for you." He said in a low groan, pushing deeper with each thrust. His hands digged in her sides as his tail wrapped around Jude's leg, pulling her towards him in sync with his thrusts. Her fingers tugged at his hair as she arched her back. "C- ah- rdan." As soon as she did, the king attached his mouth to one of her breasts. He sucked on the skin, kissing his way down to the sensitive nipple. He licked it once, twice, biting hard on it. "Cardan!" She yelped, which only caused a chuckle to echo on her chest Cardan to give the other breast the same treatment.

His thrusts became more urgent, her walls tightening perfectly around his cock. And just as Jude was about to come, Cardan stopped.

"What are you doing?" She asked out of breath.

He gripped her chin and forced her to look him in the eyes. "What?" He feigned innocence. "Is there anything you wanted?"

She glared at him. He took one step backwards. Jude whined at the empty feeling when Cardan's dick slided out of her. "You shouldn't have go out with someone else." He took another step back. The king was close enough that their naked chests bumped against one another, but too far for Jude's liking, especially after the heights of pleasure he carried her on. He moved again, slowly and mockingly, unwrapping his tail off her thigh and crossing his arm.

"Wait!" Jude pleaded. "Please."

Cardan arched a brow expectantly. "Hm? Please what, Jude?"

"Get back here and..."

The High King shook his head. "The time when you ordered me around is gone. If you want something from me, beg, Jude. Beg me for it."

And she did. Heavens make her forget it, she did. The mortal queen pleaded, eyes cast on the floor in shame, voice shaking. There was a pause after she spoke. Silence settled agonizingly and then she dared to look up.

Cardan's eyes sparkled with delight, a cruel smile spread on his face. He walked towards her so fast Jude couldn't fully comprehend it until his lips were crushing hers. His hands cupping her face with a ferocious force, tongue pushing against her own and tow sets of teeth clenching. She moaned, anticipation growing in her chest. But Cardan pulled back and morphed his features in a fake pout.

"Too bad you've been acting poorly, Jude. But maybe next time, if you ask nicely."

And with that, he's gone, leaving Jude naked, heated and ravished, wanting for more.

170 notes · View notes

kohanayaki · 3 years

Text

.:Time and Time Again:. (Marauders Era x Reader) Ch 2

As you reconcile with Sirius, he reminisces on how you came to be friends despite a rather rocky start (mostly told through flashbacks taking place in the Marauders era).

LINKS: CH 1 CH 2 CH 3 CH 4 CH 5 CH 6 CH 7 CH 8

________________________________________________________

Ch 2 .:Pranks and Past Prejudices:.

~Previously~

“I was about to see if you were awake,” Sirius admitted with a small grin, “Seems we both had the same idea.”

He shifted his weight from foot to foot, stepping aside slightly so you could come in. If the Sirius Black from your school days had offered you into his room in the dead of night, you would have slapped him upside the head; but things were different now, and so were the two of you.

However, as you glanced around the room you almost laughed at how remarkably unchanged it was, and why wouldn't it be? He hadn't lived here since he was sixteen, and he was only living here now because he preferred this house to an Azkaban cell by a small fraction. While the rest of the house was set in deep tones of obsidian and gray, save for the green Slytherin theme of his younger brother's room, Sirius' room was all warm shades of red and gold, Gryffindor paraphernalia covering every inch of it from Quidditch trophies and old banners to a tapestry he had stolen from the Great Hall when they'd won the house cup that year.

The room was littered with memories of your school life— a set of charred robes from when he and James had drunkenly lit the Quidditch field hoops on fire, an old Beater's bat that he had broken in half during the Cup finals, an old Gobstones set you used to play with in the courtyard, and stacks of classic rock records that you and Remus had gifted him for the holidays. A muggle toolbox sat in the corner of the room from when he'd made improvements to his enchanted motorbike that couldn't be done with magic, which you were certain his parents were mortified by.

Posters of bikini-clad women were plastered across the wallpaper, and you recalled the day he told you his mother had a fit when she realized he'd used a permanent sticking charm on them so she couldn't take them down. Said posters were still present, but mostly covered up by all the photos of him and his friends from their school and early Order days— the only noticeable sign of change you could see from his moving back in. It was truly like some sort of time capsule.

As soon as you tore your eyes away from the room and turned to focus on its owner, a tense silence fell between you two. This was the first time you had seen Sirius in over a decade. The last time you two spoke, he was in chains being led away to Azkaban. What was there to say? How could you possibly think things could go back to the way they were?

“Sirius,” your voice cracked with emotion as you said his name, and when you saw the look in his eyes, so similar to the look he'd given you when he was in that horrible barbed cage during his trial, the dam just broke.

You practically threw yourself at him, sobbing quietly into his shoulder as the fabric of his shirt bunched up in your trembling hands

“I'm sorry,” you said, “I am so, so sorry I didn't believe you, Sirius. I didn't know, I didn't—”

“(Y/n), it's okay,” Sirius said softly.

You almost jumped at his gentle touch, his arm wrapping around your waist and one hand coming up to pet your hair. It hurt him to see you like this, that you went through this much because of him.

“There was no way you could have known,” he said, resting his chin on top of your head as tears continued to stream down your face, “There was no proof that I wasn't the Secret Keeper. We'd decided to make it that rat at the last second. Only James and Lily knew and, well, they couldn't exactly attest to my innocence.”

Hatred bubbled up in his chest at his own mention of Pettigrew, but he forced it down for you, his expression softening as soon as he looked at you. “That was bad judgment on my part, I suppose,” he said in an attempt to lighten the mood, although twelve years in prison was a difficult matter to joke about.

“I should have just believed you,” you muttered into his collar. Sirius' other hand reached out to cup your face, wiping the last few tears from your cheeks.

“Come now, even Moony thought I'd done it,” he said, a small smirk finding its way to his face, “I know what it looked like. . . I don't blame any of you for not believing me. So please, don't blame yourself for this, (Y/n). You're still my best friend.”

“Oh, now you've done it,” you sniffled, laughing despite yourself as fresh tears spilled over. Sirius laughed along with you and yo u could feel the sound reverberate through his chest, rich and melodic. Warm.

He wrapped both his arms around you, holding you tight as you two chuckled like a couple of idiots, standing there glassy-eyed in the middle of his room. If anyone else had bore witness to the scene they'd have thought you'd gone mad, but in that moment you couldn't care less. Your body had been buckling under the weight of your guilt and how much you had missed him. Hearing him say that he still considered you his best friend. . . that was more than you could have ever asked for.

Sirius swelled with pride as he saw he was able to make you smile, something he'd long considered a small victory. He couldn't believe how much your relationship had changed. If someone had told him all those years ago that you would turn out to be someone he couldn't imagine his life without, he wouldn't have believed them. But he supposed life was unexpected like that. . .

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ 1973 ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Ever since the day you'd stood up to him, James Potter found himself increasingly curious about you. Of course he and his friends continued to pick on Snape, but when you were around to fend them off it became more and more difficult to do so, something that the leader of the self-proclaimed Marauders decided was cumbersome.

James insisted that to get to Snape they would have to take you down too, since you were so keen on protecting him.

“We need to cut the head off the snake,” he had said.

And so, slowly but surely, James shifted the cross hairs of his mischief-making from Severus Snape to you. It started out small; a Bat-bogey hex here, some heat sensitive combustion power under your cauldron there. What he didn't expect in the slightest was for you to actually retaliate with pranks of your own.

Quidditch season had just ended as the year came to a close, and James, who was supposed to be helping clean out the Gryffindor tent, was lying on his back and fiddling about with a golden snitch he'd found wedged in the wooden scaffolding. His head perked up as he saw the Lily across the pitch, walking next to you and chatting. He clearly couldn't care less about what, as he had no problem interrupting your conversation.

“Hey, Evans!” he hollered, heading towards you two.

As soon as Lily spotted him she rolled her eyes.

“And now we're walking faster,” she muttered, grabbing you by the arm and tugging you along.

“Aw come on, I just wanna talk,” he said, quickly catching up with you. Before long he had jogged a few paces ahead, turning around to block your path. “Hey,” he said with a smirk. He was wearing his Quidditch practice uniform, broom in hand.

“Merlin, you are nothing if not persistent,” Lily huffed.

“What can I say? I'm a Chaser~”

“Goodbye, James,” Lily deadpanned at the pun, and he quickly moved in front of her again.

“Wait, wait! Just watch this, okay?” he insisted.

You bit back a smirk, grateful he hadn't paid you any mind until now.

“Trust me, you've never seen anything like this before,” James said cockily, willing his broomstick to hover a few feet off the ground and hauling one leg over to mount it. However, as soon as his arse hit the wood, his entire body phased right through it. He groaned as his tailbone made unceremonious contact with the ground, his broomstick now hovering above him. As soon as he looked up the stick dropped and plonked him on the head, solid again.

You burst out laughing, revealing your wand that had been obstructed from his view by your sleeve.

“(Y/n)!” Lily looked at you in shock, hitting you in the arm playfully but unable to fight the laughter that rose in her chest. It was nice to see him get a harmless taste of his own medicine.

“Well, you were right, Potter,” the redhead said, “I've never seen anything like that before.”

James' face flushed with embarrassment while you two walked away, gathering his broom and whatever remained of his pride. You wouldn't get the better of him again.

Or, at least that's what he told himself until the beginning of your fourth year.

________________________________________________________

James strode down the corridors leading to the Great Hall with a pep in his step. It had been an unusually peaceful morning; despite having slept in, he wasn't in much of a rush to join his friends who had already made their way to breakfast.

The real reason for his quick pace was because he couldn't wait to see your reaction to his latest prank. It was a classic, amped up a bit thanks to a tube of ink from one of the “magic” markers at Zonkos. He hoped you liked your new look, because you were going to be saddled with it for a while.

As he walked through the courtyard he shot a wink to a fourth year Hufflepuff girl he recognized from his Divination class and she covered her hand with her mouth, turning away from him slightly as she tried to hold back the giggles that spilled from her lips. He gave himself a pat on the back, oblivious to the fact that the laughter was directed at him, an unawareness that stayed with him up until the moment he threw the doors to the Great Hall open. The gasps and laughter that followed him only grew as he sat down at his usual spot. Even his friends were staring at him, wide-eyed and unblinking.

“What?” James ran a hand through his hair in confusion, “What are you guys—!!”

As his hair flopped in front of his face his peripheral vision was curtained with the brightest shade of neon turquoise he'd ever seen.

“No,” he said, “no, no, no way!”

He grabbed one of the food trays, dumping the pastries that were on top onto the table. Peter squeaked as he caught a few that were about to fall, setting them down quietly on his own plate.

James stared at his reflection in the shiny metal, and sure enough his once pristine brunette hair was colored the bright blue of the magic marker whose contents he'd dumped into your shower bottle the night before.

“Did you like the shampoo?” a voice behind him asked innocently.

He nearly jumped out of his skin as he turned around to see you, your hair colored the same bright blue shade. Now he was thoroughly confused.

“It smells nice, right?”

“How did you. . . if I. . . why is your hair—”

“A simple connection charm on the shampoo bottle,” you said, “anyone who touches it receives the same benefits and results of the next person who uses it within three hours. In this case, you landed yourself a dye job and a hell of a keratin treatment, so you're welcome. The spell was already on the bottle to begin with; pretty convenient when you have dorm mates that can all save on buying product, and besides it can be kind of nice to skip a hair wash day every once in a while. I suppose I should thank you, I didn't have to do any shopping or sneaking around for this one. You did all the work for me.”

You put your hand to your chin, pretending to study him for a moment.

“You should take care of that fast, though” you said nonchalantly, gesturing to his hair, “you don't look nearly as cute as I do in this color, Potter.”

To further prove your point, you waved your wand around the crown of your head, and with a quick utter of 'aufero hue' the blue in your hair seemed to melt right off the strands, leaving behind your natural (h/c) locks. The color swirled around the tip of your wand in an aqueous state for a moment before you flung it aside. It landed with a splat! against the Gryffindor table, staining a section of the wood that same shade of bright blue as if it had grown that way.

“I'd do it for you myself, but I don't want to,” you smirked, “ Perhaps you could take a few remedial classes to learn the color-leeching charm. Have fun figuring something out!”

And with that you flounced away, leaving behind a very embarrassed, very blue, and very reluctantly impressed James Potter.

He may just have found himself a proper rival.

Sirius scoffed from where he sat.

“Oh please, the stupid charm can't be that hard to do,” he said, taking out his wand.

“Not that I don't have faith in you, mate, but I'm probably better off seeing if Slughorn has anything for this,” James said.

“Why don't you just soak your head in some Valerian water? That's what takes the color out of potions, right?”

“Peter, he might go bald if he does that.”

“Oh.”

_______________________________________________________

James would go on to land a few good jokes on you too. There was one night where you had snuck into the Prefect's bathroom and emerged with a mermaid tail, which was pretty awesome until you realized you had no way of getting out of the tub. From then on, you and James would continue to try and get the jump on one another, marking the start of your now-infamous fourth year prank war. It entertained the students and infuriated the faculty. Gradually, your pranks on one another became more light-hearted, meant to amuse the other person and make them laugh rather than actually hurt or humiliate them.

“Very funny, (L/n),” James said as he walked up to you, his body turned around 180 degrees from the waist up so he had to shuffle backwards to face you. You laughed, nearly choking on your pumpkin juice as you saw your handy work.

“What are you, five?”

“Right, because you're so much more mature stalking and bullying my friends,” you quipped back.

“I really don't understand how Snivelus is your friend.”

“Severus,” you said crossly, “and for the record, I really don't understand how Remus is yours either. He seems like a nice guy.”

“Har har,” James rolled his eyes, “Now would you turn me the right way 'round already? I've got Quidditch practice.”

“Nah, I think you're fine to play like this.”

“Honestly? Not a bad tactic. I can cover my blind spot and stare at my own ass while I fly.”

“Who's five now?” you grinned.

As the months went on, instead of storming over to each other and slinging insults, your interactions with James became more akin to playful banter. And frankly, Sirius didn't get it. You were a Slytherin, and a pureblood at that. Hell, you were a descendant of one of the 28 pureblood families. Everything about you went against everything he believed in and relished in getting away from each year when he would leave home to go to school. You were in the same house as those stupid blood purists, you probably were one yourself—

“You're glaring.”

Sirius blinked, snapping out of his stupor as Remus nudged him in the shoulder. He said nothing, slowly returning to eating his dinner as he tore his eyes away from you, sitting at the Slytherin table with Snivelus, Evan Rosier, and his younger brother of all people. He stabbed at his roast potatoes a little too harshly and his friends traded looks among themselves.

“You alright there, mate?” James asked cautiously.

“Fantastic,” Sirius said, shoving another forkful of potatoes into his mouth to avoid saying anything unsavory as he spotted you heading towards their table.

“Coming to the library today, Remus?” you asked the boy to his right who looked up at you in surprise.

“Oh, sure thing,” he said, “I'm off for the night.”

“Great, we can study for Arithmancy then,” you said. Remus nodded at your suggestion and you gave him a dazzling smile, walking off with your books.

“Since when did you two get so chummy?” Sirius bristled.

Remus rolled his eyes.

“We're just studying for the upcoming mid marks,” he said, “They’re proficient in Ancient Runes and History of Magic. As a study partner it's. . . refreshing.”

“Oi, are you calling us stupid?” James rose a brow.

“Your words, not mine,” Lupin grinned. He saw Sirius' bothered expression and sighed, collecting his things.

“You might get on if you bothered to get to know them,” he told Sirius out of the others' earshot, slinging his book bag over his shoulder before heading off in your direction.

You only continued to grow inadvertently closer to James throughout your fourth year, your prank battle coming to its epic conclusion with the two of you joining forces against some particularly nasty upperclassmen. Your practical jokes subsided, your quips and passing insults were traded for real conversations and walking each other to class. You hated to admit it, but he'd grown on you— especially with him letting up considerably on bullying Severus and annoying Lily lately.

All the while, the closer you got to James the more irritated his best friend became. In Sirius' mind, the more time you were spending with James the less time James was spending with him. They hardly hung out alone anymore. And since James started hanging out with you he started mellowing out, which made Lily start hanging out with him, which made him even more tame. Sirius just wanted his best friend back.

“You do realize that issue would largely be resolved if you weren't so bothered by hanging out with both of them together, right?” Lupin had brought up one night as Sirius was airing out his frustrations.

“I'm not going to bother making friends with someone whose family is so wrapped up in blood politics they forget to be human beings first. Trust me, I've met their mother enough times to know.”

“Have you ever asked them about it?” Remus pressed.

“I don't really need to, do I? They're a (L/n). Open your eyes, Moony!”

Remus' brow furrowed, a shine in his eyes akin to sympathy as he regarded Sirius.

“Perhaps it's you that needs to clear your vision, friend.”

A/N: Thank you all so much for the unexpected early support on this story! I have a lot planned for it~ If you’d like to be added to the taglist just let me know !

Read chapter 3 here!

Taglist: @blackpinkdolan @sleep-i-ness @parker-natasha

#harry potter #the marauders #marauders x reader #sirius black x reader #james potter x slytherin!reader #james potter x reader #remus lupin x reader #regulus black x reader #harry potter x reader #harry potter fanfiction #marauders era #marauders fanfiction #marauders #severus snape x reader #severus snape #multi chapter #marauders x you #marauders x y/n #post azkaban sirius

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xkaileo · 3 years

Note

Oh, well, since you're taking prompts for fluffy sasusaku stuff and I LOVE a fluffy Sasuke, how about this?

I imagine Sakura kept her feelings to herself after the war, thinking it was pointless to keep on confessing to him. So she asumes Sasuke only wants her as a teammate or a friend at most. After his redemption journey, thou, Sasuke attempts to make her understand he loves her, but gets frustrated bc she wouldn't understand (she wouldn't take any chances). Therefore is up to Sasuke to make his feeling known...

Think you can come up with something? 🙃✨

Alllll rightey! It took a couple of iterations for me to get it the way I wanted, but here we are!

Proof

"I'm home, Sakura."

"...Welcome home, Sasuke," Sakura greeted, wishing she didn't feel dead on her feet. And dead on her feet was putting it mildly; she had just finished a twenty-four-hour shift at the hospital and was getting ready for bed. A knock on her door this late at night was the last thing she'd expected; she'd only answered it on the off-chance it was important, possibly Tsunade or Shizune looking for her for something urgent.

This... well, it wasn't urgent, but it was worth answering the door for. It'd been almost two years, and in that time, they hadn't spoken a word to one another. She remembered how he was when he left; he touched her forehead, thanked her, and went on his journey. Sure, they'd exchanged letters, but things had been... Cordial. Friendship was putting it simply. It'd made Sakura begin to wonder what he'd meant that day. Nevertheless, she knew he'd been near when she was up against Kido. It'd touched her to think he came running in such a way when Kido had captured her.

She remembered what she'd said to Kido that day. The real Sasuke's slimmer, his eyes are cooler, his voice is just a little bit lower, and the bridge of his nose is straighter. Looking up at him... She'd been partially correct. Slimmer, definitely. Taller would have been more accurate. Sure, she'd gauged his height based on how much Naruto had grown, but it was still shocking to see it in person! His voice was definitely lower, and his nose... Straighter, for sure. But his gaze felt... warm. His right eye was that same deep obsidian colour, while his left, just barely peeking past his messy, unkempt bangs, still had that icy purple tinge from his Rinnegan.

He almost couldn't believe he was seeing her again after all of these years. He'd noticed she cut her hair again; it'd grown long by the time he'd left, but it was back in a short bob just to her chin. Her hair was straighter, more... feminine, in a way, and she had notable bangs again, worn in a side-swept fashion. She looked... exhausted. Was that a product of Kido's work? He'd heard of the man, and while he wouldn't admit he'd been on his way to give Kido a piece of his mind (along with a well-placed Chidori strike), he was sure of it.

"May I?" Sasuke glanced at the doorway, the threshold which he'd yet to cross. He hoped it wasn't too late at night; he didn't want to burden Sakura in the slightest.

"Oh! Right, of course, come on in." She wasn't going to leave him out in the cold! "I'm sorry, it's been a long day, so I'm a bit tired. You're, um... you're welcome to stay if you'd like." She gestured down the hall. "There's a spare room and a few things I bought just in case you stopped by." A few sets of clothes in colours he liked, as well as some personal hygiene products she thought he might enjoy.

He stepped across the threshold, closing the door behind him and locking it for safety. He then removed his cloak, hanging it by the door. Sakura's place... it felt like home. Maybe it was because of her, but something about it felt homey, even if it wasn't his home. It was difficult to describe. He could see now, upon closer inspection, that she was indeed exhausted. She must have worked a long shift at the hospital.

"Thanks." He was certainly grateful for her hospitality. He stepped forward, studying her for a moment before his hand reached up, fingers gently running through a few locks of her hair. "You should rest. You're exhausted." He wanted to say more, but words seemed to elude him.

"...Right. I should, um... yeah. Good night, Sasuke. I'll see you in the morning." Her heart was pounding, and she knew she needed to get out of there. Ducking in the direction of the hallway, she dipped into her room and closed the door, pressing her back against it in an attempt to catch her breath.

Those impostor's words were ringing through her head.

"I love you, Sakura." She couldn't help but hear them over and over again, wishing they'd been coming out of Sasuke's mouth. The moment he touched her hair, she'd been reminded of that. She'd been reminded of the way her heart had pounded hearing them, the way her chest fluttered at the sight of him. Her own words echoed in her head.

Just me going missing? He won't come back to the village.

Maybe she'd been wrong. Maybe that wasn't him. Maybe he hadn't come back to look after her when Kido kidnapped her. Kido wanted to use her as a pawn, a scheme Sasuke wouldn't have fallen for. Maybe she'd been right all along. He hadn't been coming for her. He wouldn't have. He wasn't so foolish and reckless as to engage in that kind of thing.

She wanted to ask him, but that would have to wait until tomorrow if she could find the courage. At this point, she was convinced he wanted nothing more than to be friends. She got dressed in her pyjamas, staring at the door and contemplating before opening the door a crack like she always kept it, then made her way to the bed. She curled up with her back to the door on the furthest side of the bed, clutching a pillow to her chest. She was tired and upset, but at least a pillow could muffle her tears.

So she thought, anyway.

Sasuke stood outside the room, a bit dumbfounded by Sakura's sudden reaction. He'd wanted to take things a step further but refrained from her evident exhaustion. Why push her when she was in that kind of state? Instead, he chose to ready himself for bed, a soft smile twitching at the corners of his lips as he saw there was even fresh clothing for him to sleep in. As usual, Sakura thought of everything and had it ready.

He was passing through the hallway when he heard the door to her room crack open, the motion causing him to pause. Something about her behaviour threw him off; he could always sense when she was upset. It reminded him of when they were kids, and she'd been acting strangely before the Chuunin Exams. He'd known something was up then, and he was getting the same feeling. He waited silently until she seemed to have settled down, listening carefully. He could hear... Oh, he knew that sound.

Moving with silent, catlike grace, he pushed the door open and moved to the bed, seeing Sakura laying with her back to him. He was slow and quiet as he lay down on the bed behind her, close enough that he could reach out to touch her. He was worried; if she was like this, it was probably something he said or did. He seemed almost always to be the reason for her tears. Sakura was nearly startled when he laid down on the bed, her muffled sobs stopping as she realized he must have overheard her. The soft hand on her shoulder caused her to jump, though she didn't move away from him.

"Sakura? What's wrong?" His voice was warm, but she could hear his worry.

"Oh, it's-- nothing," she lied, biting her lip. He sighed from behind her, sitting up long enough to gently pry the blanket from her grasp; she didn't resist, feeling too glum and defeated to fight him. He moved the pillow above both of their heads before reaching to encourage her to turn over, awkwardly propped up on the stump of his left arm as he did so. Once she faced him, he settled back down to meet her gaze, never taking his eyes off her. She was too upset to look him in the eye.

"It's not." He brushed her hair away from her face, his expression soft. "What is it?" He wasn't about to take no for an answer, not when she was like this.

"I... I'm sorry, It's just--"

"No," he interrupted, keeping his tone soft. "Don't apologize. Not when you're like this." Sakura wore her heart on her sleeve, and he knew that. If she had a reason to cry, it was probably a good one. She was shocked by his interruption; she found it natural to apologize when she was like this. She never wanted to be like this in front of him.

"I just..." She sighed, knowing she wasn't about to escape his persistence. "You didn't fall for Kido's trap, did you." It was less of a question and more of a statement.

"No." His answer was simple, but he continued to gently stroke her hair, knowing that wasn't all she wanted to ask. She would work her way to it eventually. He just had to be patient with her. "Did you think I would?" Perhaps he was a little offended at the idea that he might have fallen for something like that.

"I.... No, I didn't. And... Of course, you didn't," she mumbled. "And I was a fool to believe that." She couldn't understand him. Here he was, being warm and sweet to her, and yet he mustn't have cared as much as she thought. The mixed signals he was giving her were tiring. "I should have expected you wouldn't have come for me." It was confirmation enough for her.

"I didn't say that," he corrected.

"But you didn't--"

"I didn't fall for Kido's trap," he reiterated. "I never said I wasn't there." He'd come, but he'd come knowing that that roach had set a trap. He knew exactly what he was walking into. He'd been ready to take on whatever Kido had to throw at him; he'd been quite angry that Kido had used Sakura to lure him out. It'd made his blood boil.

"So... You were there?" She wanted to hear him say it.

"Mm." He nodded, shifting a little closer to her.

"...You came?"

"Yeah."

"But... why?" She wanted to know. Was it for her, or was it another reason?

"Shh. Tomorrow." He laid a finger over her lips to silence her. "Come." He shifted to pull the blankets over both of them, adjusting so he was more on his back and she could lean her head against his shoulder. So much for that spare bed; he wasn't going to be sleeping there tonight. At least the perks of not having a left arm--or more accurately, only having the upper half of one--meant it was easy for her to lay like this.

"But--"

"Tomorrow," he scolded, tucking her in closer against his side. "Tomorrow, Sakura. I promise. When you're rested and not overthinking everything." She needed to sleep; he could tell she wasn't thinking straight. He continued to stroke her hair, running his fingers absently through it in an attempt to calm her. Any time she tried to speak, he silenced her, coaxing her back to sleep.

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

He was up early the following day and gone, letting Sakura sleep in from her long night. He left the clothes she'd had for him folded neatly on her bed with a note. Sasuke had written only two words as his message.

Thank you.

Sakura stared down at the note with confusion. She remembered last night, but it was still a blur. She'd been in one of her moods, but he'd come in and comforted her... only to leave. She looked down at the clothes. He was... probably already gone. Parts of the conversation were a blur, but she was too tired and mopey to care.

As she moved about the kitchen to make breakfast, the door opened, and Sasuke stepped through. He had a bag of supplies and was looking at her curiously. She still had that same look from before. He wondered, was this the right time? Was now the time to say it? It had to be.

"Oh... I thought you'd left again."

"Supplies," he said, lifting the bag before setting it aside. "Soon, though." He figured a week, maybe two... he could afford to stay in the village a little longer. He had no pressing matters to attend to. Two weeks seemed like a good time; if he felt like staying longer, then he would. He had Sakura's hospitality to thank for that.

"How long?" She assumed a day or two. Sasuke still hadn't given her the impression he was staying for very long. Although... His actions last night left her with mixed messages.

"A week or two," he confirmed. He could still see that gloominess in her posture, making him soften and contemplate. He had no idea how to tell her what he wanted. Hell, he didn't even know what she would say to him. He hadn't forgotten his promise. It felt like a selfish thing to ask; he wanted her, that was no doubt, but on some level, he still wondered: did he deserve her? Or had she, after all this time, chosen to move on? He wouldn't have blamed her for that. He couldn't have expected her to wait for him, nor could he ask for such a thing.

"Hungry?" He knew he was, and he could see she'd done nothing other than making a pot of tea. It smelled good; he elected to pour himself a glass, lifting the pot so he could refill hers, too.

"No... not really." She had almost no appetite. There were leftover rice balls in the fridge, but she didn't have the energy to eat. She thought back to Tsunade's words: attract a man with your boobs. What boobs, honestly? She thought wryly to herself. Okay, so maybe she wasn't an ironing board or little miss titless like Ino liked to tease her, but it wasn't like anyone could tell with how she dressed. She definitely looked like an ironing board with the way her casual clothing hung loosely.

Sasuke was watching Sakura intently, seeing how her mood seemed to be dipping more and more. As she was too caught up in her thoughts to notice, he moved around the table, standing behind her as she rose and turned to leave her seat. She was so distracted she nearly bumped into him; when had he moved so close?! Her nose was almost in his chest, and looking up, she could see he was staring down at her.

"You should eat," he scolded lightly. He couldn't just let her starve herself; it wasn't healthy. Standing here, seeing her like this, he was beginning to realize... he hadn't the faintest idea how to talk to her. Not when it came to holding a normal conversation; that much he could handle. When it came to his... feelings, he didn't know how he should express them. Everything thus far had been out of impulse, out of instinct; it was uncomfortably unplanned for the Uchiha.

He raised a hand again, tucking some of her hair behind her ear. Sakura couldn't even meet his gaze; she was too afraid of what she might find there. The old look of callous detachment, like he usually had... or a warm, friendly smile? The latter would be better, but it wasn't what she wanted. Hell, she wasn't even sure she'd get what she wanted. Ever.

"I'm not hungry." How could she have an appetite in a mood like this? "Just— never mind. Forget it." She brushed past him, pacing toward the door. She glanced at her jacket, contemplating; a walk would clear her head. It was cold outside, and the forecast had called for snow.

"Sakura—" he grumbled at her, frustration rising and becoming noticeable in his tone. "What's up with you?" He was becoming frustrated because he could tell she was upset, and he hadn't the faintest clue why. Sakura was usually beyond happy to see him, yet he'd barely seen her smile at all since he got back.

He loved her smile. Why wasn't she smiling for him anymore? Had she moved on in his absence? Was his presence causing her agony, knowing she might have to break his heart? He could take it... not that it would be easy, not after she'd spent so long worming her way into his heart through years of pain and anguish.

"What's up with me—?" She turned around, feeling tears well in her eyes as she stood facing him, fists clenched at her sides. "What's up with me—what's wrong with me is that I'm an idiot! Of course, you wouldn't have fallen for Kido's trap... you were just mad he'd dare even try to sully your name, not anything to do with me! Kakashi even sent you messages, and you responded to none of them." She laughed pitifully at herself, shaking her head with a wry smile. "Of course, that wouldn't change your mind. It didn't matter. It never did."

"Sakura..." Ah, there it was. His curt nature, as always, left things unclear. "I was there..."

"Yeah. You were there." She threw her hands up in the air in exasperation. "I'm a fool. There won't—there isn't anything there, and there never will be. I'm just... I can't keep doing this. I keep thinking you'll give me a straight answer, but it should be obvious, shouldn't it? You can't because the answer's already there. It's already been said. I'm your friend. Your comrade. That's it. That's all it'll ever be, and I'm a stupid, lovesick fool for thinking otherwise." She sniffled and wiped at her eyes, pulling her sandals on. "And here I am, crying again because I just don't get what I want. Just—forget it." She opened the door and slammed it behind her, taking off into the snow without even caring that she'd forgotten her jacket. The cold was the least of her worries.

Sasuke stood there dumbfounded by her words. Sakura was... more sensitive than he was expecting. Well, he should have expected it, but it took him by surprise. Sakura was always so strong, so resilient; he hadn't seen it coming. Yet... standing here, he knew it was his fault. He hadn't been clear to her, had he? He could feel the frustration building, but he knew he had to find her. He reached for his cloak and pulled it on, pulling his hood up to stay warm. It was snowing like mad outside, and it certainly wasn't warm. Add to the fact that Sakura had left without her jacket, and he was beyond worried. Where could she have gone? He leaped up to the rooftops to scan the area, finding nothing. He couldn't sense her chakra nearby, either, and he was no sensor.

But he knew someone who was, and it was someone Sakura might go to if she were upset. Leaping across rooftops, he landed in front of the Yamanaka Flower Shop, bursting through the doorway with a purposeful stride. Ino was working on an arrangement; her blue eyes widened with surprise as he swept in so dramatically.

"Sasuke? When'd you get back?" He was the last person she was expecting to come through the door.

"Is she here?" He demanded, eyes glancing around.

"Who? Sakura? No." Ino frowned at him. "Why? Did you check the ho—"

"No, she won't be there. Can you find her?" Yes, he was impatient, but he couldn't care less at the moment. The longer he took to find her, the worse she'd start to feel, and he couldn't have that.

"Why, what— you know what, I'm not even going to ask." Ino set down her shears and closed her eyes, making a sign with one hand as she focused. She'd find Sakura. Whatever Sasuke's rush was, it had to be important. She knew there was no danger—that much she would have sensed already—but if it was essential to Sasuke and involved Sakura, she was obligated to help.

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

Sakura ran as far and as fast as she possibly could, disregarding the rain that pelted against her face and soaked her hair. She paid no attention to where she was going, moving further and further away from her home. She barrelled her way through trees until she found herself on a very familiar path. She could never forget it; somehow, it had managed to stand the test of time through assault after assault on the village.

It was the path that led to the gates. The only way that led out of the Hidden Leaf Village. She let out a pitiful laugh when she realized it. Of course she would end up here of all places. She always seemed to end up here. It was a place of too many memories for her. She took a seat on the bench, staring at the ground as memories flashed across her consciousness.

She remembered waking up on the bench that day. She wasn't sure how long she'd been out, but it was long enough that he was gone. Despite her futile attempts to convince him to stay, or even convince him to bring her along, he'd left her behind. He'd turned her down. When he'd left again after being pardoned, he did the same thing.

Sasuke cared, that much she knew. There was no question about that. He'd proven that point enough times; she meant something to him. It just seemed that what she meant to him wasn't what she wanted. What she wanted was a selfish request, and she knew she couldn't expect it from him. It just made what she'd been through sting even more. The only time she'd ever hear those words out of "Sasuke's" mouth, the only time she'd hear "his" voice saying it would be from a fake.

Sakura sat there with her hands balled into fists in her lap, snow falling all around her. It was snowing hard, enough that she could feel it starting to settle on her head and shoulders as she sat there, still as a statue, struggling to hold back tears. If she cried, they'd freeze on her eyelashes, and that wouldn't be good. No, that could be dangerous, in all honesty. Regardless, she couldn't help it. They made trails down her cheeks and dark marks in her lap, her shoulders shaking.

As soon as Sasuke got word from Ino where she was, he was out of the shop in an instant, sprinting through the snow until he landed nearby with his usual catlike grace. There she was, sitting on the bench, half-covered in snow and shivering. Crying, too, he suspected. His heart broke to see that. Why was it always here? What was so special about this particular place that they seemed drawn to it? Slowly he approached, his sandals crunching in the snow as he came up beside her, sighing. With a single hand, he gently brushed the snow off her shoulders and the top of her head, pulling his cloak off and wrapping it around her.

She was surprised he was even there; how had he managed to find her? She hadn't even known where she was going. She kept her gaze turned down and away from him, refusing to look at him, but when he wrapped his cloak around her, she startled. It was warm, and she welcomed it.

"You're going to catch a cold," he scolded.

"It doesn't matter," she snapped back. "I don't care. Go away."

"No. And you're a terrible liar." Sakura always cared. That much he knew. She cared about everything around her. She did care about herself... even if she put it off a lot of the time, pushing herself further than necessary. He'd seen that a few times in the past.

"I don't care. Take your stupid cloak," she griped, pulling it off her shoulders and shoving it at his chest, "And leave me to be the stupid, lovesick idiot who's infatuated with a guy who never has and never will feel the same wa--" A hand over Sakura's mouth stopped her from continuing. It stayed there briefly before reaching to wipe a thumb under her eyes. Sasuke's hand reached down to his cloak, replacing it on her shoulders and ignoring the cool breeze that blew through his own.

"You're not stupid. You're not a lovesick idiot." He brushed more snow off her head and out of her hair as best he could, reaching back to pull the hood up over it so no more would collect on her damp hair. His hand then reached under her chin, pulling her sad, tear-stained gaze to meet his. She was hesitant at first, but she could feel her heart pounding in her chest.

Sasuke leaned down, gently pressing his lips against hers. They were cold, but his touch warmed her; he could see her cheeks tint that familiar red shade, and he was ready to catch her if she felt light-headed. Naruto had told him girls could get like that at times... Or, at least, Hinata did.

"Sakura. In two weeks, I'd like to travel again. I don't want to travel with my teammate or my friend." He pursed his lips momentarily. "I'd like.... to travel with my wife, if... if she'll have me."

Sakura's jaw dropped. The kiss had been one thing; it'd been his way of showing he cared without words, something that was common for him. But... his wife? Was he asking her... to marry him?

Sasuke felt anxious when she said nothing to his request. Was he unclear? Did she think he meant someone else? Was his usual awkwardness causing more problems as it had previously? Maybe he should say something more. Something that was more... direct.

"...Sakura Uchiha... It has a nice ring to it, doesn't it?" He regretted that choice the moment the words came out of his mouth. All he could think was that it was something stupid and corny Naruto would say, and it sounded utterly unnatural coming from him. A bead of sweat formed on his brow as he watched Sakura's reaction. Even she hadn't been expecting him to say that! It... well, she did like the sound of it. Sakura Uchiha... His wife. Sasuke's wife.

"...I'm sorry. That sounded..." Ugh. He couldn't even begin to describe it. Sakura snickered, then giggled a little more, reaching up to wipe at her eyes. Okay, so he sounded lame, and Sakura was laughing at his expense, but at least she was laughing. At least it brought a smile to her face. A slight blow to his ego was worth it if she smiled again.

"Of course, Sasuke, but... There's just one thing..." She wiped at her face again, delicately pulling some of the frozen tears off her eyelashes.

"Hm? What is it?" He kept a hand on her cheek, lightly running his thumb underneath her eye as he looked down at her with a soft, affectionate expression.

"Do... you really think we can plan a whole wedding in two weeks?"

Sasuke chuckled. "I don't know. I think that's something better left to you." He leaned forward, kissing her forehead. "Let's head home first and get you warmed up. We'll figure it out together."

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zintranslations · 3 years

Text

Kaleidoscope of Death, Ch. 125

Kaleidoscope of Death by Xi Zixu Link to Chinese / Novel Updates

Chapter 125: Fish-Eaters

As for the outcome of this battle…Lin Qiushi slowly approached the doorway and looked in through the door crack.

He found the inside of the room completely enveloped in darkness, but could still make out the mess all over. Furniture was scattered all over the floor, but the most eye-catching piece was—lying in the center—the fishman that looked on the brink of death. It was the yellow-eyed fish monster Lin Qiushi had seen only yesterday inside this room. It was still alive, but its breaths were already quite weak. Even when Lin Qiushi stepped closer, it didn't give off any reaction.

Lin Qiushi was still careful though, especially when approaching the fish. They didn't know if it still had any fight left in it, after all.

The good thing was that the situation was a bit better than they'd anticipated—the monster's body was covered in a myriad of injuries. Its blood wasn't red, either, but an unfortunate inky green that was both viscous and rancid. The monster lied on the floor, not reacting at all as Lin Qiushi and Ruan Nanzhu got close. Even when the two were standing right in front of it, it didn't so much as twitch.

Ruan Nanzhu stared in silence for a bit, before sticking a foot out and stepping on its skin. When he saw that it still wasn't reacting, he said, "it's almost dead."

"Mh." Lin Qiushi inspected the monster, watching as its breaths grew weaker and weaker. In the end, the airy rhythm also halted, and it died just like that. That was when Lin Qiushi got out a dining knife. "I'll do it."

"Wait," Ruan Nanzhu said suddenly.

Lin Qiushi looked back. He thought Ruan Nanzhu would say something to stop him, but instead Ruan Nanzhu only pulled a pair of plastic gloves out of his backpack and handed them to Lin Qiushi.

"Put on the gloves. Don't get its liquids on you."

The dark green liquid flowing out of the fish-monster was indeed unpleasant to look at; it was best to avoid physical contact as much as they could, since they didn't know what the consequences would be.

Lin Qiushi nodded, took the gloves, and put them on. Dining knife in hand and half-crouched on the ground, he began cutting off that spike-like thing on the top of the fish-monster's head.

His motions were careful, constantly alert to any movements from the fish-monster, afraid that it would get suddenly violent again before actually dying.

But fortunately, throughout the time it took for Lin Qiushi to remove that spike from the monster's head, it didn't react at all. In fact, it was already dead—though its pair of big yellow eyes remained wide open, there were already no signs of breathing in its body.

Lin Qiushi got up and handed the spike in his hands to Ruan Nanzhu. Then he took the gloves off and tossed them to the side.

It was a long, sharp spike, about half a meter in length. It was very hard, and could easily puncture a hole in a solid plank of wood. Black bloodstains covered the thing, and it was easy to imagine that during the battle, it too must have left quite a number of injuries on the white-eyed monster.

Ruan Nanzhu wrapped the spike up in a plastic bag and very carefully put it in his backpack.

Lin Qiushi said: "The string, the long sword, and the aperitif. It's all ready."

Ruan Nanzhu looked up at the sky and said, "we'll wait until evening then."

Lin Qiushi nodded.

The three of them walked up to the top deck and found a place to sit and chat. The rest of the people were still traversing the cabin, searching for clues to the door and key.

"This door seems kind of easy," Gu Longming said.

"How was it easy?" Ruan Nanzhu replied tepidly. "If Linlin hadn't found the clue about the insects, we'd likely still be completely turned around right now."

Toward the insect-covered NPC, everybody's instinctive reactions would be to avoid him, not knowing that he was actually the key to getting out.

"True." Gu Longming scratched his head. "You're both amazing."

Ruan Nanzhu asked, "what's your real name?"

At Ruan Nanzhu's question, Gu Longming first startled, and then looked giddy. He knew what it meant that Ruan Nanzhu was asking for his real name—that Ruan Nanzhu was agreeing to let him join Obsidian. Someone stronger that Lin Qiushi…Gu Longming laughed, and told them his real name:

"My real name is Ye Niao."

Ruan Nanzhu nodded his understanding.

"Once we get out of this door, I'll go and find you."

"You know where I live?" Gu Longming asked peculiarly.

"Of course I do," Ruan Nanzhu said. "I wouldn't have let my Linlin cross doors with you otherwise."

Not only did he know where Gu Longming lived, but he also knew Gu Longming's real name. These questions of his were only to test Gu Longming's sincerity.

Gu Longming: "…" He really didn't know what to say at the moment.

Due to everything that happened in the past few days, the number of people who gathered to eat in the dining room once again decreased; there was only a scattered few sitting at the table.

These people sat in the dining room scantly eating, but the atmosphere was at least fairly cordial.

Ruan Nanzhu's group didn't eat any fish, of course. What Lin Qiushi couldn't understand was that the others didn't seem to be as repulsed by the fish as they once were. The guy who'd been seasick, even, had a couple of bites of fish today.

"You don't think it's gross?" Gu Longming couldn't help but ask the person sitting beside him.

"I don't think it's as gross as I imagined." For the past few days, Shen Juexin had been throwing up an inhuman amount, but he seemed in better shape today. His face, at least, was no longer wax-yellow. He said, "Ooh…I think I feel much better now."

Lin Qiushi said, "it's better if you stop eating. The fish doesn't look fresh at all."

Shen Juexin scratched his head: "It's fine, isn't it?"

Then he took another bite with no sign of disgust.

Watching Shen Juexin's motions, Lin Qiushi felt conflicted. He'd tasted the fish before, and it really was disgusting—and he could still smell the same fishy stench, so he imagined the taste hadn't changed. He just didn't know why Shen Juexin now thought the fish before him was fine…

Just as Lin Qiushi was contemplating this, he saw Ruan Nanzhu pick up some chopsticks—then Ruan Nanzhu too had gotten a bite of the fish and set it in his mouth.

"Zhu Meng?!" Lin Qiushi was startled by Ruan Nanzhu's actions. He didn't think Ruan Nanzhu too would taste the fish.

After swallowing it, Ruan Nanzhu's brows furrowed.

"…It really isn't bad anymore."

"Isn't bad?" Lin Qiushi felt that something was off. After he heard this, he too gave it a try, and made sure that the fish meat still had no other flavors but that gamy rot. "But it's still bad…Hang on…"

He looked at Ruan Nanzhu, eyes filled with disbelief.

"Unless the aperitif is random?"

Ruan Nanzhu was silent, his chopsticks poking at the fish on his plate.

There were still eleven people alive, and seven of them were seated in the dining room. Not counting Ruan Nanzhu, there were at least three of the seven sitting with chopsticks in hand, feasting on the fish. And judging from their expressions, it wasn't a hardship at all; in fact the fish looked to be delicious.

Lin Qiushi had a bad feeling about this. He said: "Zhu Meng, don't eat anymore. Let's go back to our room."

But Ruan Nanzhu didn't move. His eyes were downcast, gaze falling on the fish in front of him, as if it held some immense power of attraction that made it so he couldn't easily set it down.

His behavior sent chills down Lin Qiushi's spine. Lin Qiushi shot Gu Longming a look, and Gu Longming understood without speaking, taking one of Ruan Nanzhu's arms with Lin Qiushi on the other side and pulling him by force out of the dining room.

And then the three found a random room. Once inside, Lin Qiushi pulled the bedsheets off in a rush and tied Ruan Nanzhu firmly to a chair.

Luckily, as Lin Qiushi did all this, Ruan Nanzhu's behavior stayed calm. The most he did was bunch up that pretty brow of his and ask, "what are you tying me up for?"

Very calmly, Lin Qiushi replied: "I'm scared that you'll eat the fish."

Ruan Nanzhu didn't say anymore. He cocked his head, agitation appearing amidst his expression as if he too didn't really understand why he now liked eating fish. Lin Qiushi thought he'd say something about it but in the end, he didn't, only saying, "alright then."

It seemed that this door had been too easy—so easy that they'd let down their guards. Lin Qiushi told Gu Longming to bring Ruan Nanzhu out into the hallway to prevent being carried away by the changing rooms. As for himself, he returned to the dining room, and discovered that pretty much everybody inside had started eating the fish in their plates.

What had originally been bland and faintly rotted fish meat were now, in their eyes, some kind of rare delicacy; they feasted with their heads buried, completely unaware of Lin Qiushi's arrival.

Lin Qiushi took one look before taking off. When he got to the top deck, he saw Xiao Mo from before crouched by herself in a corner, her face pale. When she saw him coming she met his eyes with a panicked gaze.

"What happened?" Lin Qiushi asked her.

"The kitchen…" Xiao Mo spoke up, her voice faint. "Something's happened…the kitchen…"

"What?" Lin Qiushi said. "What happened?"

"It's like they'd all gone crazy." Xiao Mo kept her distance from Lin Qiushi, like she was scared of being close to anybody right now. "They're eating the fish. They're all eating the fish like they're crazy."

Though it was just a few sentences, Lin Qiushi still understood the full meaning of Xiao Mo's words. He nodded and said: "Alright, I understand. Take care of yourself."

Xiao Mo: "Are…are you going over there?"

Lin Qiushi: "Mhm. I'm going to go take a look."

Xiao Mo didn't say anything more.

Lin Qiushi turned and headed for the kitchen beside the dining room. The kitchen's position was also fixed, and the thick fishy stink could be smelled before even getting there.

Lin Qiushi's feet stopped at the kitchen doorway, and he didn't go inside. From there he heard an odd chewing sound coming from within. Through the window, he saw the horrifying scene.

Several people were squatting on the ground with their faces buried in a giant fish. The fish hadn't been cooked in any way, and appeared a faint, dead white; red veins could still be seen among the flesh. But the three people inside didn't seem to care at all, putting their whole faces practically inside the meat. Their expressions of fulfillment could faintly be seen, as if the fish in front of them was some truly delicious food.

Lin Qiushi could take a lot, but even he felt a wave of nausea at a sight like this.

He took a deep breath and steadied his mind before stepping into the kitchen and calling out: "Are you guys alright?" He wanted to see if these people were still conscious.

But the reality before him doused his hopes. It was like the people in front of him hadn't heard him at all, their attentions staying rapt on the fish meat. None of them even looked up. It was obvious they had already deviated far from the norm.

Seeing such a scene, something immediately came to Lin Qiushi's mind, and he turned and left. He was worried about Ruan Nanzhu, worried that these same changes would take place on Ruan Nanzhu's body.

After Lin Qiushi left, Gu Longming had brought Ruan Nanzhu outside into the hallway with the chair. The hallways didn't change, and so when Lin Qiushi came back, he saw Ruan Nanzhu still sitting in the seat. Only, Ruan Nanzhu's expression wasn't looking so good.

"Zhu Meng," Lin Qiushi called to him. "Hang in there. You'll be fine after tonight."

"But I'm really hungry." Ruan Nanzhu hung his head, and a tendril of hair curled at his cheek, making him look both weak and fragile with a pitiful air that was hard to refuse. He was biting his lips, and there was a watery light flickering in his eyes. "Linlin, I want to eat something."

Lin Qiushi got food out of his bag in a hurry, but when he put it to Ruan Nanzhu's mouth, Ruan Nanzhu just pressed his lips together.

"No. I don't want to eat that."

"Then what do you want to eat?" Lin Qiushi asked.

"I want to eat fish," Ruan Nanzhu said. "Let me have some, please?"

He looked up slightly, gazing at Lin Qiushi with wanting eyes.

To tell the truth, had it been anything else, Lin Qiushi would likely have caved immediately when faced with a Ruan Nanzhu like this. But in this situation, he had no choice but to steel himself and say, "no."

Ruan Nanzhu's pitiful expression disappeared in an instant, his eyes going icy and his voice going just as terrifyingly cold: "Lin Qiushi, do you know what you're doing?"

This was the Ruan Nanzhu from outside the door: impervious and haughty, like a god looking down upon ants.

"I do." But Lin Qiushi was unmoved. He reached out and lifted Ruan Nanzhu's head by the chin, enunciating each and every word: "I know exactly what I'm doing. You want to eat fish? Don't even think about."

Ruan Nanzhu glared at Lin Qiushi's eyes like he was trying to find the slightest bit of wavering in Lin Qiushi's gaze. But evidently, he failed, voice softening again: "Linlin, Linlin, but I really really want to eat fish…"

His attitude went back and forth like so, but Lin Qiushi stayed steely and completely unmoved.

Watching from the sidelines, Gu Longming was impressed as well. He said, "Damn Linlin, you can withstand all that?"

Lin Qiushi: "What am I meant to do if I can't? Let him go eat the fish?"

He told Gu Longming what happened in the dining room and kitchen, and afterwards, Gu Longming scrunched up his face.

"Why this sudden development…" He seemed to think of something. "Could it be some kind of acceleration effect after the yellow-eyed fishman's death?"

"I don't know." Lin Qiushi glanced at the time—there were still four hours until evening. They had to make it through these four hours.

He could practically see the shadow of the people gobbling up fish meat on Ruan Nanzhu. Lin Qiushi roughly calculated that there were no more than four people still normal on the entire ship; everybody else seemed to have been possessed.

No matter how much Ruan Nanzhu threatened or tempted, Lin Qiushi acted like he couldn't hear a thing. In the end Ruan Nanzhu seemed a bit tired and stopped talking altogether, sitting in the chair in silence.

So Lin Qiushi began preparing for the task that night.

The entire ship was currently full of the aperitif. The long sword was in his hands, and the string had also appeared; he was just like a knight about to enter the labyrinth to rescue the princess—though it seemed the current case was that he'd tied his princess to a chair with his own two hands.

Seeing Ruan Nanzhu's condition, Gu Longming sighed and scratched his head.

"That's just really weird. You and I have both tasted the fish before, so why is Zhu Meng the one affected?"

Lin Qiushi indicated that he also didn't know.

There must be some hidden condition—maybe only those who hadn't tasted the fish were affected. But it was all only speculation for now, and the answer to their speculations wasn't important. The important thing was that they finished this door as quickly as possible. Lin Qiushi couldn't keep Ruan Nanzhu tied up forever, after all.

It was the first time he so anticipated an evening. Once he saw the sky gradually darken, Lin Qiushi and Gu Longming moved the tied-up Ruan Nanzhu back inside a room, chair and all.

Ruan Nanzhu still wasn't speaking. Lin Qiushi understood him, however, and could tell from his eyes that Ruan Nanzhu still hadn't given up.

"Linlin," Ruan Nanzhu suddenly spoke.

Lin Qiushi glanced at him.

"Linlin, are you going off to defeat him alone?" Ruan Nanzhu said. "I'm worried about you going on your own. Won't you let me go with you please?"

"No," Lin Qiushi said. "See? You're lying to me again."

Ruan Nanzhu kept up the righteous tone, saying: "I'm not lying. When you go fight, I'll be behind you watching your back."

Listening to the way Ruan Nanzhu spoke, Lin Qiushi thought he ought to be angry, but couldn't help a laugh instead: "Watch my back? You mean while I kill the monster up front, you'll be behind me eating fish?"

Ruan Nanzhu peeked once at Lin Qiushi, and said nothing more.

"Does the fish taste that good?" Lin Qiushi asked him.

Ruan Nanzhu pouted, still silent.

"Does it taste better than me?" Lin Qiushi asked some more.

"Of course you taste better," Ruan Nanzhu mumbled. At the present, his whole manner was off. It was like he was a little kid. "But I'm just too hungry right now, and I can't eat you, I'd be too sad."

Lin Qiushi laughed.

Beside them, Gu Longming could only eat up the dog food in silence, thinking aah, they can't do that, shit's already hit the fan and they still have to flaunt this flood of love.

Lin Qiushi watched the dimming sky outside and inwardly counted themselves lucky that he and Gu Longming were still normal. Otherwise, this door would've been a real problem.

By the time it got dark, Ruan Nanzhu was a lot quieter, staring peacefully out the window. Lin Qiushi initially thought that after he got some rest, he'd pester them to eat fish some more—but then he fell asleep.

"Should we put him on the bed?" Gu Longming asked Lin Qiushi quietly. Ruan Nanzhu had been tied up all day, after all.

But after some thought, Lin Qiushi shook his head.

"No. Keep him tied up." He couldn't be sure if Ruan Nanzhu was actually sleeping right now—if the bastard was faking it, then considering his fighting prowess, even Lin Qiushi and Gu Longming together might not be able to keep him down.

Plus it was nearly night. The monster was due to appear, and if Ruan Nanzhu got out, something could easily happen.

"I should still go with you," Gu Longming said, watching Lin Qiushi fetch the long spike from the bags. "We can watch each other's backs."

Lin Qiushi shook his head and rejected Gu Longming's suggestion: "You stay here to watch him. If I can't manage alone, then you being with me won't be much help. Plus, he's not in a good state, someone needs to be guarding him."

Seeing Lin Qiushi's determination, Gu Longming could say nothing more but a wish of good luck.

Lin Qiushi nodded, taking Gu Longming's blessings.

Once the night dimmed, Lin Qiushi kept an ear out for motion outside. Finally, he caught onto a faint sound. It was a sound he'd heard many times already—a large creature moving across wooden floor boards.

Lin Qiushi looked at Gu Longming.

"I'm heading out."

Gu Longming: "Go on, Ge, I'll take good care of my sister-in-law."

Lin Qiushi: "…" Why did that sound so wrong?

Seeing Lin Qiushi's expression, Gu Longming laughed quietly.

"Alright, it was only a joke. And as if there's a sister situation here at all. Godspeed, come back soon.

Lin Qiushi opened the door and headed out. He went to the dining room first.

The dining room was the starting point of the maze. It was also the starting point of the insect string; by following the line of insects from there, he could find the monster.

Lin Qiushi took the long sword and followed the string carefully forward. Following his stride, he quickly began to hear an unpleasant noise. It sounded like a wild beast was gnawing on meat, and the only source of meat on the ship was…

Across the width of the top deck, Lin Qiushi found his target.

It was a giant fish-monster, its body buff and covered in ink-colored scales. Only, compared to yesterday, there were many more wounds on its body. Lin Qiushi naturally knew where these wounds came from. At this moment, all of the fishman's attention was on the chewed up mess of a human body beneath its feet. It didn't seem to have noticed Lin Qiushi carefully approaching from behind.

Lin Qiushi knew this was his only chance, so he was at once cautious and filled with ruthless determination. He took the long horn in hand and slowly lifted it—then he plunged downwards, piercing right through the fishman's neck.

The fishman let out a ghastly screech. Black blood gushed from its body before it collapsed limply onto the ground.

But Lin Qiushi didn't trust that; after the fishman fell he followed up with a bunch more aggressive stabs. Only when he was sure of its complete and total death did he exhale in relief.

He stood where he was, resting for a minute, before using the spike in his hands to split the fishman's stomach open. He endured his disgust as he searched all over, and finally, amidst the wreckage of offal, found what he was looking for—a green bronze key that looked completely normal. Though there was nothing special about the way it looked, in Lin Qiushi's current eyes, there was nothing in this world cuter than this very key.

He picked the key up, put it in his pocket, and left the deck.

[Ch. 124] | [Ch. 126]

#kaleidoscope of death #xi zixu #cnovel #chinese translation #死亡萬花筒

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kitsunefire7 · 3 years

Text

For the Obiyuki bingo block—

🧜‍♀️Rusalka💧

The talented @fade-touched-obsidian wrote me a one-shot to help inspire me for this block TWT I love it so much. More to come soon 😉 ✨

ENJOY READING @fade-touched-obsidian story below the line 👀 ✨👇🏻👇🏻👇🏻

Also part 2 > https://kitsunefire7.tumblr.com/post/656976456957739008/for-the-obiyuki-bingo-block

Blood.

Ugh. It’s everywhere.

The coppery taste fills his mouth from the rivulet that runs a trail from the deep cut above his eyebrow around his brow bone, down the side of his nose and beside the apple of his cheek before it finds a home where the corner of his lips meet. He'd wipe it away if he had the energy or if lifting his arm didn't cause overwhelming pain. At least it has stayed away from his eyes, keeping his vision clear. Well, as clear as it can be given the circumstances anyway.

It cools against his skin, sticking his clothes uncomfortably so his shredded remains of a shirt pulls on the skin slashed wide open on his chest adding further injury to an already insulting one. His clothes, soaked through long ago with his life as it drains out of him, drip and mark the path of his final mission.

He's almost there. He can make it.

His vision fogs over at the edges as the small mountain lake comes into view. The trees that protect the lake from the sight of passersby disappear into the mist of his mind, leaving no trace of their existence but for the faint birds that serenade the wilderness around them and the reflection on the glass-smooth water. A frog croaks from wherever it has hidden himself from sight. The wind blows soft as a kiss on the cheek but the water never ripples and he can’t help the sigh that escapes him.

He’s never known ‘home’ as a place; it has always been wherever one woman, one heart, was. He has nowhere to go. No one to say goodbye to. Not anymore. But he can succumb to his injuries where his home- her heart- was lost forever.

There's something poetic there, his carefully concealed romantic heart knows. He'd think about it more if he didn't need every remaining wit he has focusing on finding his way before he loses consciousness.

He's beginning to stumble as his outer limbs grow more and more sluggish but he managed to make it after all. He trudges on, needing to expend precious remaining energy to pick his way through the overgrown grass as his dexterity leaves him until he slips and falls gracelessly into the murky shallows.

The groan that escapes him as the water laps at him rattles and breathing is becoming harder. He can feel fluid in his lungs and there’s a burning in his chest that isn’t directly caused by the wound there, he can feel that pain hugging the new one as if they are long lost friends.

Ha. Fitting. Very fitting that that thought plops down at the forefront of his brain when he’s here where a long lost loved one left the world.

The water turns a grotesque reddish brown around him as the water rinses his clothes while more blood leaks from him with every miniscule movement. He must be running out if it has slowed this much. At least it’s almost done. Maybe, if he’s lucky enough his sins are forgiven, he will go to a place where he can see her again soon.

The fog of his vision grows darker as though night is setting in to take place of the midday sun above him. He's close. It's almost time. He breathes as deep as he can, sending pain lancing through everything and everywhere. It doesn’t feel like he’s gotten any air into his lungs at all, his attempt to suck in air dying painfully in vain.

Eyes as deep green as the leaves of the trees around him, porcelain skin smooth as bone, and unmistakable crimson hair rise out of the water. The nose and everything below are still submerged. Yet, despite the face appearing from the water, no water is on her face and her exposed hair is dry.

He's losing it, hallucinating. Which is a promising sign, really. He still can’t breathe but the pain of his body’s struggle to survive is subsiding.

That water is no deeper where she watches from a few feet away than where he sits. A human couldn't possibly be there without parts of their body being seen. His knees and the top half of his torso poking up out of the water are a testament to that.

And, yet, here she is. Unseen except for a haunting top-half of a face as she moves closer. Once she’s an arm length away, she emerges so her torso is out of the water. Her movements as fluid as the water swirling around her in the otherwise completely still lake. She reaches for him, hands cold as the death seeping into his extremities, closing around his shoulders.

The birds have stopped singing. The frogs are no longer croaking. Even the wind itself has left the area, leaving nothing but silence before she hisses and grips tighter, taloned hands sinking into his already damaged body but all he can see is her. He feels the pressure but no pain and through her hissing all he can hear is her melodic voice. A voice he hasn't heard in far too long when every minute of it’ absence felt like an eternity.

He reaches for her cheek, causing her face to twist into an unhold sneer of disdain, but his hand connects. It’s blurry but he can see that it has even though he can no longer feel his hand. The creature before him is so foreign but so much the same and he whispers a fractured, "Shi-ra-yu-ki?"

She blinks, angry snarl ripping from her before recognition filters in. The pressure of where her hands have dug in pulses before remembrance softens her grip and her facial features.

"O-Obi?" Her voice is shrill and has an ethereal echo to it. It sounds like it would be an agonized cry if she were a living human. He knows what he physically hears but there’s a disconnect somewhere in his sense and the only thing he processes is the voice he’s missed for so long. "What happened to you?"

Her heartbreak is palpable as she runs an icy finger he can no longer feel the chill of along the torn skin of his chest. He doesn’t feel that either

"I wanted to come home," he says, straining to whisper through the last of his breath and consciousness.

"I wanted to come home," he had said as his eyes fell closed.

Her heart no longer beats- hasn't in a long time. But she feels the moment his words hit their mark as true as any arrow he had ever shot.

He's no longer awake, never will be again, and from his mostly horizontal position, his mouth is filling with blood. He's on death's door.

He wanted to go home.

With a strangled cry of her own, she drags him into the center of the lake, and then pulls him under.

Bring him home, she shall.

She carries him down, down to the silt and clay, taking great care as she lays him out beside where her own body came to rest those years ago. She no longer carries the burden of tears but inside her head, where her heart still feels, she dies all over again but this time it is so much more painful.

She moves and manipulates the lakebed into as close to a burial chamber as she can manage with a slow and steady tenderness she hasn’t used since she was human tending to her gardens.

Her last thought before she slipped away was of him. After her rebirth, she never imagined she’d see him again, never imagined she would mourn his loss as anything more than a vague concept after enough time had passed to assume he had probably died as an old man.

She has nothing to mark the spot. Nothing to use as a headstone. Though it doesn’t matter in the end. No one enters these waters anymore, not since she claimed the lake as hers after she drowned and began protecting the space from any threat. There were many men before him and there will be many more after, no doubt, since now she has the tomb of her beloved to guard.

She runs her hand along the top of the raised hill. She points a finger and rolls a beautiful script across the mound before she collapses across his name, holding tight to the body that remains of the man she loved. There she stays for countless hours, days. She doesn’t know and it doesn’t matter. She has nowhere more important to be for now than right here with him as he rests.

“Welcome home, Obi.”

#Obiyuki #obiyukibingo21 #Rusalka #akagami no shirayukihime #ans #water nymph #snow white with the red hair #swwtrh #Shirayuki #obi #obixshirayuki #anime #manga #fanart #lemon #lime

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sarcastich · 3 years

Text

Crown Made Of Barbwire

Everyone got their wings, sooner or later.

Feathers of every color, size, variation.

They start as two little bumps on your back, itching like a growing tooth, around the same time you hit puberty. A bit earlier for girls, a bit later for boys. They grow over the course of your teenage years, and stop once all their feathers have reached their full size.

Some people could fly with their wings, some couldn’t. Most people’s wings were two meters on each side when they were outstretched.

Peter’s wings had only taken two years to grow fully, and were beautiful, pure-white angel wings.

He’d never seen anyone with wings like his. All the other white wings were more like snow owls, speckled with browns and grays, or had underlying colors that gave the top feathers a tint.

He couldn’t quite fly with them, but they were perfect for gliding. He’d scale the tallest buildings in his area, and get a running jump off of them, plummeting for a moment before he got pulled up and flew around the neighborhood until his wings got tired. Of course, you couldn’t just fly anywhere whenever you wanted to. You needed permits, licenses, there were laws to uphold. Most people preferred staying on the ground, anyway.

But not everyone got to keep their feathered wings.

Peter had always heard stories of the burnt ones.

His aunt used it as a reason for him to be good, or when his friends were yelling about seeing criminals they’d allegedly seen out ‘n about.

“-Eat your greens or your wings will burn right off, Pete”

“-I’m telling you, man! His wings were all black and torn up, I’m not kidding!”

They were the result of corruption, evil, immorality, and sin. Once soft feathers scorched, charred, and turned into soot. They blackened and burned away, turning into a shadow of their past wonder, skeletal and black.

Peter had never imagined that one day he’d be standing at the Four Seasons, shooting photos for The Bugle, trying to get a good shot of the Tony Stark.

Peter was among the crowd of journalists and other photographers, rapidly clicking away, aiming his camera lens at Stark. Reporters were yelling out questions, waving wired microphones and recorders over the barrier between them and the walkway Tony Stark was walking down.

There was something about his wings that set them apart from a normal burnt set. Most CEOs, businessmen or just rich, successful, famous people had burnt wings.

But Tony Stark’s weren’t just burnt.

They had horns cascading from the tips to the forearms. The burning away of the pure white feathers had revealed bat-like structures. Stark had no idea why, or how. That was just how they were. Or so he’d told the public.

Peter’s breath caught in his throat when Stark focused on him, looking into his camera and flashing a well-practiced smile. Peter fumbled for a moment before he looked through the viewfinder and took several photos.

And again, he’d never imagined that he’d get a personal request for a photoshoot, by the Tony Stark.

He packed his camera bag with shaky hands, taking extra drives and lenses.

His boss had pulled him aside earlier that morning, and told him that Stark had reached out and asked for Mr. Parker to be the one present and in charge of the interview’s photos. Peter, of course, had accepted in a second. He’d be an idiot to decline. Tony Stark’s picture on his portfolio? What kind of artist would he be if he said no?

Peter stepped out of the glass lobby of The Bugle offices half an hour later and looked up from his phone, his camera bag slung over his shoulder. He was wearing a deep red sweater over a white collared shirt, the front tucked into his soft beige dress pants. He hoped his outfit wasn’t too casual for the occasion, but he didn’t really have time to change anyway.

Just as he looked away from the screen, a sleek black car pulled up in front of him. The driver’s window rolled down.

“Peter Parker?” the driver, a roundish man, asked.

“Y-yeah- yes!”

The man jerked his head towards the back seat door.

“Get in, kid.”

Peter did as told, nervously sliding into the car, barely moving when he sat on the leather seat, hugging his bag.

“Wh- Where’re we going-?” His voice came out a lot squeakier than he’d meant for it to.

“Stark Industries Tower, where else?”

Almost an hour later, the car stopped in front of the blue, glass building. The driver got out and opened Peter’s door. He hadn’t moved since he’d gotten in.

Getting out of the car and almost forgetting his bag, he mumbled, most of his attention drawn by the tall tower.

“Thank you- uh, mister- um-”

“Hogan. Happy Hogan.”

“Yes! Thanks!”

With a nod, he closed the car door and got back in, driving off. Peter took a deep breath, held his bag properly again and started towards the building.

After a short chat with one of the three receptionists, he was led to an elevator a bit farther away from the general area of the entry. He and a shorter woman entered the lift. Judging from her formal attire, Peter guessed she was an assistant. Her wings were far smaller than his own, made up of light blue feathers with streaks of royal blue. He kept his own wings contracted to offer her enough room in the small space.

“Friday, take us to the penthouse, and please let Mr. Stark know that Mr. Parker will be arriving shortly.”

Peter looked at her, confused until a soft tone went off and the elevator started its ascent.

She smiled at him before he let out a soft “Oh-” and averted his gaze.

With another soft tone, the lift stopped and she gestured for him to step out.

“Thanks-”, he started to say, but the elevator door was already closing behind him.

The elevator had opened to something like a living room area. Two sleek, white sofas were facing the rounded glass walls, with an ornate sculpture between them that looked like five giant bowls stacked on top of each other. Everything Peter could see was modern and minimal, with a white-gray aesthetic throughout the penthouse.

He looked around nervously, holding on to his bag by the shorter strap.

“Mr. Parker, welcome.”

Peter gasped and turned around with a jump, startled.

“M-Mr. Stark! Y-yes, hi, I’m Peter Parker, I-I’m here for the Bugle interview shoot?” He inwardly cringed at how he sounded, stuttering, his voice a lot higher than it usually was, clutching his bag for dear life.

Stark smirked at him. “I know, kid, calm down.” He gestured towards the sofas. “Please, make yourself comfortable.”

Peter stuttered out a thank you, and sat down at the far end of one. He kept his wings close to his body, feeling like he was taking up too much space, still hugging his bag to his chest. He looked up shyly, taking Stark in properly. His wings were relaxed as he walked to the sofa facing Peter, sitting down comfortably.

“Are you afraid of me, Mr. Parker?”

“N-No sir. I mean, you’ve obviously done s-some- uh-.. Not so great things- but uhm- You’re an icon, people admire you-”

“Would you like anything to drink?” Stark cut him off, motioning to the minibar that had very literally risen from the ground.

Peter stuttered out, “Oh- N-No, thank you, I can’t drink on the job-”

Stark poured himself two fingers of whiskey in a lowball glass, without ice, and gently pushed down the top of the minibar, and it reclined back into the floor, looking like another dark grey ceramic tile.

He took a sip, eyes trained on Peter.

Peter cleared his throat, relaxing a bit. “So, where d’you think would be best for the uhm- the shots-?”

They talked about light placement, the conversation somehow dragging over to technology and science, Peter engaging a lot more, and forgetting his nervousness eventually.

After about an hour, they got up, Peter set up his camera, and took his photos.

A behind-shot of Tony Stark with his hands tucked into his pants pockets, wings stretched out behind him. A side profile, while buttoning his suit, and various other shots.

Peter was on his knees, getting a photo of one of Tony Stark’s iconic shades on a small table, the city line stretching out behind it.

Stark had excused himself to take a call, and told Peter to take photos of anything that he wanted. Peter didn’t hear him step back into the room, too focused on trying to set his camera’s shutter speed. Stark quietly took long strides to him, stepping in front of the table.

“Oh, Mr. Stark-! I just wanted to take a shot of the glasses, they’re-”

He stammered into silence as Mr. Stark softly ran the back of his finger along his cheek. He held it under Peter’s chin, tilting his head up. Peter was blushing furiously, but couldn't make himself look away.

“Let me see your wings, angel.”

Three months later, Peter’s life had changed drastically.

He was decked out in the latest designer clothes, a skinny white Etro strap top to match his wings, baby blue Dolce & Gabbana shaded glasses perched on this nose, sitting by a marbled kitchen counter, a Valentino white leather clutch bag resting on it, and inspecting his manicured nails.

A man in an obsidian black suit entered the room, buttoning his jacket and running a hand through his hair, smirking.

“Ready, angel?”

Peter looked up, a cheeky smile on his lips. Wings fluttering, he slid off his high stool and made his way to him. He straightened Tony’s tie and pecked his nose.

“Yes, daddy.”

He leaned away, but Tony let out a growl, grabbing Peter by his waist and pulling him flush against his body.

Peter gasped, “You’ll ruin my outfit!”

“Angel, I bought it.”

Peter pouted, “Well yeah, but you gave it to me”

“I’ll buy you a new one, you spoilt brat.”

Peter giggled and cupped Tony’s face, looking into his eyes and leaning into his touch. “Y’know I love you, Tones.”

They kissed softly, Tony not letting go of his vice grip on Peter’s waist.

“Tony, we’re gonna be late... I want you to check the set up one last time-”

“Angel, I had you set things up. I trust you.”

Earlier that day, Peter had gone to the hotel’s restaurant on the top floor, under a different name and reservation. He’d checked the entire place for wires, mics, or anything that could put them in any sort of bad situation. He checked exit points, weak spots, and all the cameras. He’d been thorough.

He had taped a Glock 9 mm handgun underneath their side of the table, checking repeatedly to make sure it was fully loaded and had its safety off.

Peter grumbled a bit, before letting go of Tony, dramatically sighing, rolling his eyes and picking up his handbag from the counter.

“Well, we should get going anyway.”

Tony shot him a wolfish grin before grabbing his wrist and pulling him back.

“You missed something, i mio angelo.”

He tilted his head to the counter, a navy blue felt box sitting on it now. Peter was surprised. He knew it was a jewelry box, but he hadn’t asked for anything, and even though Tony loved showering him with gifts, there was usually some silly occasion he used as an excuse for it.

He curiously looked at the box, wondering what it was. Something beautiful, no doubt.

“Go on then, Angel, it’s yours.”

Peter stepped back up to the counter and set down his bag on the nearest stool. He pulled the box closer to himself before glancing at Tony, who was smirking at him, arms crossed against his chest.

He slowly opened it, keeping his eyes on Tony until the lid was completely vertical.

His eyes flicked down to the box, and he took in a sharp gasp, hands flying to cover his mouth. “Tony, you didn’t!”

Tony’s smirk grew into a full grin again as Peter rushed around the counter to kiss him, cradling the box in his arms, even though he could easily just hold it in one hand.

“Of course I did, mia carissimo.”

Tony took the box from Peter’s hands, setting it down on the counter. He pulled out the choker he’d gotten for his princess, with Round Brilliant cut, D rate diamonds in the center of Cushion cut diamonds arranged like figure eights.

Peter lightly grazed his own neck with his fingertips, already feeling the weight on his neck, even though he hadn’t touched the jewels yet. Tony held up the necklace.

“May I have the honor?”

Peter silently turned his back to Tony, holding his head high. Tony pressed a kiss to the back of Peter’s bare neck and gently ran his hand through Peter’s feathers, making him shudder before placing the necklace on his neck and fastening the tiny clasp. It didn’t have a chain at the end, it had a specific size. Peter’s size.

Half an hour later, Tony held the passenger door of his Audi R8 Spyder open and led Peter out, Peter giving him his hand like a princess, to the entry of the hotel. There was no swarming press, just the coming and going of guests of the hotel.

Handing his keys over to a valet, Tony pressed a kiss to the back of Peter’s hand.

“Relax, angel.”

They walked into the lobby hand in hand, people stopping to stare at them every few feet. Even if they didn’t know who Tony Stark was, they’d stop to look at the man with the bat wings and the boy who looked like an angel.

They didn’t stop at the reception, they walked straight to the private elevator that led to the restaurant, Tony’s security detail already armed and ready at the top. Once they got there and had been patted down and checked for weapons by Osborn’s security, Tony walked them over to their table.

It overlooked the city skyline, winking lights dotting the land underneath them. He pulled out a chair for Peter, getting a soft smile in return. Sitting in the chair next to him, he held his hand again. Peter shot him a worried look.

Peter kept his voice low, “I thought you said he’d be here on time?”

“Princess, he’s only five minutes late. His detail’s here, he’ll be here, too.”

Peter toyed with the table’s centerpiece while they waited. After about ten minutes, Tony abruptly got up, rebuttoning his suit.

“C’mon bambino, we’re leaving.”

Before Peter could get up, there was a short yell and a loud muffled thump from the elevator.

The glass wall beside their table shattered, rapid shots taking out most of the security team. Tony yanked Peter down by his suit collar, looking out at the building in front to try and see the snipes. The elevator doors ominously opened, a man in black armour stepping out. His wings were plated with metal.

It all happened in the span of two seconds.

He shot the remaining guards before training his gun on Tony. Before he could get a word out, Peter pulled the gun he’d hidden earlier. In an instant, he cocked it and aimed for the man’s head.

The assassin had been a split second too late in aiming at Peter.

Peter fired.

The shooter fell to the floor, dead.

Peter dropped the gun, falling to his knees, a sudden hiss sounding behind him.

His wings had burst into flames.

He yelled out, pain blooming in his wings and along his back. Tears sprung from his eyes and ran down his face, ash falling around him, smoke rising behind him as Tony rushed to his knees beside him, holding him as he cried into Tony’s shoulder, his agonized screams muffled.

In the matter of minutes, his angelic wings were gone.

#starker #starker fic #starker moodboard #wings au #hope yall like it #gonna go cry now #reposting bc im a bit of an idiot

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